Writer's Troubles: The Pensieve Predicament

"This?  It is called a Pensieve," said Dumbledore.  "I sometimes find, and I am sure you know the feeling, that I simply have too many thoughts and memories crammed into my mind."

"Er," said Harry, who couldn't truthfully say that he had ever felt anything of the sort.

I never knew what Dumbledore/J.K. Rowling meant either, until I started writing.

I’m a planner – in my writing, that is. Though my real life/bedroom/organisational skills are pretty chaotic, I’ve never had so much as an inkling towards pantsing a story. I like detail, foreshadowing, sub-plots and sub-sub-plots. For me, planning is the only way to go.

A story as intricately plotted as the HARRY POTTER series requires a lot of planning. So, I could always sympathise with J.K. Rowling on her Pensieve idea/wish, even if – like Harry – I’d never quite felt the kind of idea-overload that inspired it. And then, when I started writing for myself, I began to empathise, too. With the main plot and the sub-plot(s) and the villain and the hero and the love interest(s) and the mother/daddy issues running around in your head, things get a little crowded. And confusing. And sometimes just thinking about plotting leaves you needing to lie down.

J.K. Rowling, with her seven books, innumerable sub-plots and entire magical world, clearly understood the agony of the Pensieve Predicament (and so she created one for Dumbledore, that lucky, brilliant bastard). Often, you’re so focused on the main storyline, or the protagonist’s relationship(s), or your latest genius addition to the plot, you forget to add the key details necessary to get your heroes from (A) to (B). Other times, you’re so mentally exhausted by your plotting and planning that you just want it the heck out of your head – but not gone forever.

Enter the Pensieve… if only it was for real.

I’ve tried to overcome the PP without magical intervention. I write down every idea; I’ve got flowcharts galore. I keep a paper and pen beside my bed at night – because if I don’t get it out of my head, I’ll never sleep. I’ve been through 10 notebooks, 20 computer files, and a ream of A4 paper. And that’s only notes – I type every WIP.

Every little bit helps, even if it’s just to chart the evolution of your story. But, just like with her Pensieve idea, it’s JKR who has come up with the best solution I’ve seen so far – as evidenced in her HARRY POTTER & THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX mindmap.

I can’t lie – it’s pretty friggin’ amazing. Not to mention helpful. JKR lines up her main plot points with their simultaneous sub-plots in everything from the Order, the Prophecy, Harry’s love life and Hagrid’s giant problem. It’s a fairly early, rough draft – almost none of the chapter titles are the same, and Umbridge’s first name is Elvira (also, there’s something called “‘Missy’ shipkiss” which sounds amazing) – but the major plotlines of the novel are all present. Mostly, though, it’s an awesome example of thorough outlining. It’s also particularly handy for setting out each plot in their chronological sequence, and for visually mapping every simultaneous action.

Creating your own is even easier on a much-more-manipulable Excel spreadsheet, and I definitely recommend it. Outlining is also handy for breaking through writer’s block, working through plot holes, or – like the Pensieve – just getting it out of your head. Writing is more than a full-time enterprise; the words never quite go away. But this – and the following tricks – can help you clear a little headspace for the other important things in your life (like sleeping. Also, work/study, friends/family and significant others, but mostly just, you know, sleep):

-       try meditating – just clearing your head. Sit/lie down, focus on your breathing, and try not to think. (Especially helpful before bed.)

-       write a to-do list, with everything you want to accomplish today/tomorrow, and plan your time accordingly.

-       write down every idea as you think of it. That way, you won’t forget, and you won’t waste half of tomorrow’s allotted writing time trying to  remember it.

-       invent a Pensieve. Or at least ask Steve Jobs to give it a crack. (iPensieve, anyone?)

I know, JKR. I wish I had one too.

Gender Roles: The Fine Line Between Special and Mary-Sue

(Apologies for the silence! We return to your irregularly-scheduled programming now… ish.)

(Also, spoilers! for MATCHED, THE HUNGER GAMES and TWILIGHT.)

Mary-Sues are a universal evil of the literary world (or, if you’re 13, a totally realistic and appealing character). They’re too pretty, too kind, too powerful, too smart, too ass-kicking. They never fail. They suck.

They are also, however, disproportionately common in female protagonist POVs, and difficult to avoid entirely. To an extent, all fiction offers at least some wish fulfilment. Even dystopic tales of subjugation and control diametrically emphasise freedom and resistance. Narrative progression ensures character development ensures change – and usually for the better. It’s why we read – because reading is an escape, always. Sometimes, you want to spend time with a character whose world is slightly more awesome than yours.

Then we have the opposite. Authors, terrified of getting stuck with the Mary-Sue shame-label, create characters who are simple, ordinary, average (like you and me. I mean, unless you’re a dragon-defeating warrior princess, in which case you should really be shopping for a new wand or whatever), who get dragged into events beyond their control and even their interest. But when these identifiable characters continue to refuse their Call to Action and resist involvement in the actual plot, things go from realistic to boring fast.

So here’s the conundrum: how do you make a character interesting enough to be worthy of a reader’s time and attention, but not so ridiculously amazing that their journey reads more like an author’s dream journal than a novel?

We can illustrate this dilemma with real-life literary examples. Maybe I’m beating a dead horse here, but some of the best examples of the Mary-Sue vs. Boring Betty debacle come from major debuts in recent YA history: think Katniss in THE HUNGER GAMES, Cassia in MATCHED and (do I even need to say it?) Bella in TWILIGHT.

Let’s start off with the most recent – Ally Condie’s Cassia. She’s just a normal girl in a perfect world living out her pre-planned life to a tee – until she falls for the wrong guy. Let me preface this with a disclaimer: I did not enjoy MATCHED. (More on this later.) One of the biggest reasons for this was that I felt Cassia was just way too boring to devote an entire novel to. Sure, she rebels from the Society’s restrictions, but mostly in though – in her own head. She and Ky get together… and hold hands. Then she goes off and farms somewhere, planning to search out her lost love, with no ostensible plan.  I’m fairly sure Cassia’s primary character trait is boring.

Then we have Katniss, whose name should be your first tip-off to her Mary-Sue undertones. Not so fast, though – Katniss is complex, self-reliant and, well, kind of a bitch. However, she’s also preternaturally and prodigiously talented with a bow and arrow, gifted with a beautiful singing voice and – like Bella – she’s got the ~secret pretty~ thing nailed. Katniss is primped and preened in every single book, adored by viewers who don’t actually want to see her die (shocker), and given the nickname ‘The Girl on Fire’.

But then MOCKINGJAY happens.

The beautiful, ass-kicking, heart-breaking Katniss gets scarred, tortured and develops a pretty serious morphling addiction. She kills again – this time, almost indiscriminately – and resists, resists, resists getting sucked into a war she wants no part of (even though it’s against the regime who stuck her in an arena to kill off other kids. Que?). She spends most of her time in a coma. MOCKINGJAY is about a war whose leader doesn’t want to fight. In losing interest (and often consciousness), Katniss ensures we lose ours too.

Bella brings up the rear, and the winning Mary-Sue position – possibly of all time. Has there ever been an author with such blatant self-inserting intentions?  Bella is adored by the boys at her new school, equally hated by the girls, and the only girl in a hundred years to catch the eye of ridonkulously handsome vamp Edward. When her vamps her in return, she turns out to be the best of them all. Possibly the most annoying thing about Bella-Sue is her unrelenting denial of any and all of these traits. Is she modest or stupid? Either way, they could’ve renamed the stereotype after Bella when Meyer was done with her.

So how do you find the balance? It takes practice and revision. It also requires neutrality. Not everyone will love your character; not everyone will have disliked Cassia like I did. Instead of making your character likeable, make them compelling. Someone whose world and experiences you’d be happy to follow, for good or bad.

And remember: if you’re planning on experimenting with a new character, get tested first.

The Utopian Moment of YA Dystopia

YA is having a golden moment – and so is the dystopia genre. Dystopian novels are burning up the bestseller list, scoring seven-figure advances and captivating (or perhaps terrifying) readers, young and old alike. The question of what is driving the genre’s success is inevitable; its answer, however, is less certain.

Dystopic worlds, in their simplest form, are about the dispersion of power and its inherent inequality. It’s no surprise, then, that today’s teens – so often at the mercy of parents, teachers and the dominant ideologies of their societies – are connecting with the characters inhabiting the controlled, oppressed worlds of their favourite books. As they recognise elements of our own world within these societies – from an overreliance and acceptance of invasive technology to political, social and environmental instabilities – they also recognise their own adolescent struggles in the trials of these characters. It’s such struggles that both shape dystopian YA and form the basis for its popularity.

What is it teenagers want? At a time when they are beginning to explore life outside the world childhood has confined them to, as they become better aware of politics and world affairs and the environment and The Man, teens desire a voice to express their own perspectives. (And they will take it any way they can get it; social networking is the new soapbox, and teens have rarely been more empowered.) As advertising and the internet offers them everything and nothing, they want real choice, and not just between sneakers and heels, or Facebook and Twitter. They crave, above all, freedom.

And so they see themselves in dystopia’s creations: in Katniss’s struggle for freedom from the Capitol’s control throughout THE HUNGER GAMES; in Cassia’s complete deprivation of choice in MATCHED; and or the suppression of dissenting voices in THE SILENCED. Real-life teens may not undergo the operations, bloodbaths, pre-arranged marriages and various other tortures of their favourite protagonists, but in dystopian YA, ‘what-if’ becomes window to a new (and perhaps potential) world – one where choice is often demanded of the MC, even if physical freedom doesn’t seem to be on the cards. And, crucially, teens get behind their protagonists because they fight. Dystopian worlds are never static; the protagonist endures the trials of their own dystopic world because they choose to fight for a new one. Dystopian encompasses despair and hope, choice and coercion, submission and rebellion, depicted via characters who (in slightly-altered circumstances) undergo many of the same basic struggles as us.

Teens don’t just see themselves; they see their world. Dystopia holds the pull of something all too real. In our global society, where technology is omnipresent and seemingly omniscient, and the word reality demands inverted commas, teens can find the world at their fingertips and inside their heads. It’s accessible and controlling both. Reading affords an escape and, in the dystopian genre especially, is often a reminder that our world is not as bad as it has the potential to be (just ask 1984). It is a narrative of warning, and of optimism. And it highlights that indelible truth: no world ever exists without some discontent, some unequal power dispersion, least of all our own. Dystopia emphasises the perfect imperfectability of independent thought, and hence of people, as well as the price we – and our characters – can pay for it.

Gender Roles: Girls with Purpose

Gender in all forms of fiction is, and always has been, a contentious issue. Girls in YA get hit pretty hard: they are declared too wimpy, or too brash; they are damsels in distress or punch-first-ask-later, without-weakness warriors. An effective middle ground character is hard to find and even harder to write. Every writer – not just those in YA – must struggle with this conundrum, and it’s a difficult balance to attain. 

What makes a strong but realistic female character, then? Here’s the hard part: there’s no one defining answer. It’s not simply the ability to take part in the action or to punch danger in the cojones. Strength is about resolution – determination and perseverance. It’s about having the ability to make a choice and making it, no matter how difficult the outcome. And that goes for every character, regardless of gender.

This strength requires sacrifice, objectives and desire. To keep getting up after getting knocked down, (all) characters need purpose – a reason to. They need ambitions, interests – goals that drive them outside of the central quest. And these simple characteristics are missing in a scary amount of female YA leads today.

Perhaps this issue is simplest to illustrate through a gendered comparison. When it comes to the male leads of HARRY POTTER and THE DEMON’S LEXICON, Harry and Nick each have several interests exclusive from their overall quest in each novel: Harry plays Quidditch and leads clandestine magical defence groups; Nick practices stabbing things and putting the moves on girls. They have goals and ambitions, and a drive to succeed in what they do. Conversely, girls like MATCHED’s Cassia or Nora in HUSH, HUSH seemingly struggle to define themselves outside of the boys they fall in love with and the obstacles standing in the way of that love. They express little to no indication of future career pursuits or even current extra-curriculars.

Sometimes, an imitation of such interests is offered in the form of a fierce, even self-sacrificing desire to protect family members or friends, such as that which seemingly defines THE VAMPIRE DIARIES’ Elena. While this desire is noble and admirable, it is almost always the female character’s defining and only trait. (Compare this to Harry, who is capable of both defending his friends and staying upright on a broomstick.) For female MCs, this protective interest seems to become an inherently maternal/matriarchal role that they exist to fulfil. Alongside this desire, no other interest can compete: it negates the need for ambition or even hobbies, and the female character is purportedly complete.

People will always have aspirations, even when the odds are stacked against them. So, too, must female MCs. And some of them do: think the studious, perfectionist and fiercely competitive Hermione, who will not compromise her intellectuality to score a date with Ron; or Mae in THE DEMON’S LEXICON, whose literary and fashion interests speak of neuroses and individualism both. Both girls have interests outside the quest, but both also display the aforementioned protective instinct over their friends and family. This instinct does not compromise their individuality precisely because it does not define them. They do; they choose who they are and who they will be.

Such choice is a central feature in the lives and relative strengths of two popular YA protagonists: Bella Swan in TWILIGHT and Katniss Everdeen in THE HUNGER GAMES. Katniss and Bella are, of course, very different characters: Katniss shoots forest game to feed her subsisting family; and Bella microwaves pizza for her man-child father. (Both girls do possess an inability to choose between love interests, but that’s another story.) It’s easy to see how the self-sufficient, capable Katniss appears an inherently ‘stronger’ character than Bella, the ultimate damsel in distress for sincerity-starved 21^st Century tweens; and yet what defines them is not their relative ass-kicking abilities, but their choices… or lack thereof. This is what Laura Miller espouses so succinctly in her comparison of these female leads:

One thing you can say about Bella Swan, though: She knows what she wants. For the two books leading up to "Mockingjay," Katniss acts decisively and often effectively, but only when she's backed into a corner. […] "I'm not just a piece in their game," is her habitual refrain, but except for a few climactic and highly circumscribed moments, she's often just that. What does Katniss really want? It's hard to say.

Yes, Katniss may shoot to kill, and Bella’s incessant whining can make you want to kill yourself, but Katniss’ relative passivity throughout THE HUNGER GAMES series (especially MOCKINGJAY) ultimately negates her physical strength, and even her desire to protective those she loves. When faced with a difficult choice, such as furthering her role in a destructive war (she wants no part of), Katniss simply shuts down – much as Bella does when Edward abandons her. Without choosing, and without subsequent determination, Katniss and Bella are both lost amongst the physical and mental wars raging around them, ineffective and purposeless.

Characters need strength to make these choices, and to follow through with them. They need goals and ambitions that make such difficult choices worth the risk, and the determination to see these goals through when they are constantly knocked down. Their purpose, as characters and as humans, is what makes them strong.

Call to Action Comparisons

The Call to Action (or Adventure, if you’re Joseph Campbell) refers to the exact moment when the character first learns everything they know of their world is about to change. The Call to Action is not, therefore, the moment a character learns of their specific quest and the obstacles to its achievement. It’s a journey, an exposition: the Call may involve initiation into a new world, or the emergence of a new threat in an old one.

The Call is a key, inciting incident (as it is also known) in both genre and literary fiction. For Clay Jensen, it’s the package on his doorstep; for Rose Hathaway, it’s being yanked back to the vamp world she thought she’d left behind. Either way, the Call is life changing. Regardless of whether they (initially) take the offer up or not, the character will never be the same after the Call is made.

The Call comes early: Tracy Marchini argues the Call should be evident within the first chapter. Not all stories adhere to this, and with mixed results. We can explore the effectiveness of an early Call to Action by comparing the recent dystopian efforts THE HUNGER GAMES by Suzanne Collins, and MATCHED by Ally Condie.

THE HUNGER GAMES

 - Call to Action: “It’s Primrose Everdeen.”

 - When? Last line, first chapter. Textbook.

 - Is the Call Refused? No way – Katniss knows at once she’ll be taking her sister’s place.

 - Effective? Very. After a (fairly boring) first chapter, we’re in. Katniss’ world is changed, and she’s signed up for slaughter. (Also, the swiftness of the Call makes up for some of the boring.) 

MATCHED

 - Call to Action: (is there one? I’m not so sure. For argument’s sake, let’s say it is when) Cassia sees Ky’s face flash on her screen – and she begins to question her perfect Society.

 - When? MATCHED takes forever to get to anywhere vaguely exciting, let alone this first Call. The bit with Ky’s face comes in at the end of chapter three (when I’m ready to gnaw my own arm off, or at least quit reading).

 - Is the Call refused? Big time. For the most part, Cassia wants to believe the Society’s excuses, and that Xander’s her real match. Her doubts creep in somewhere around the fifth and sixth chapters.

 - Effective? No.

The extent to which a character is already ingrained within the story’s dominant world will also influence the type and timing of the Call. If a character knows nothing of the world in which their quest will take shape, their Call to Action will also form their introduction to this new world (and require more information, sometimes leading to its delay). If a character is already fully ingrained in this world at the story’s exposition, their Call will come in the form of a new threat or complication to this established way of life.

We’ll illustrate this dichotomy by examining the Calls within two fantasy texts: HARRY POTTER & THE PHILOSOPHER’S STONE by JK Rowling, and Sarah Rees Brennan’s THE DEMON’S LEXICON.

THE PHILOSOPHER’S STONE

 - Initiate or immersed? The Boy Who Lived is pretty much clueless as to the magical world existing around him.

 - Call to Action: Built up to by several (hundred) persistent and creepily addressed letters, Harry’s initiation comes via a half-giant knocking down his door.  

 - When? Hagrid rocks up at the end of the third chapter, and spells it all out (yeah, I did) in the fourth.

 - Is the Call refused? There’s a bit of dithering over funds and dubious magical abilities, but overall, Harry’s pretty happy to get the hell out of Dursleyville.

 - Effective? Given the amount of backstory to be dealt with, as well as a first chapter that should really be a prologue, I’d say yes. It comes as late (if not later) as in MATCHED, but it’s the plot points dotted through these early chapters of THE PHILOSOPHER’S STONE – You-Know-Who’s departure, chats with snakes and especially those letters – that keep readers interested until the Call is made. (But then again, we all know I’m biased.)

THE DEMON’S LEXICON

 - Initiate or immersed? Nick’s old hat – been there, stabbed that.

 - Call to Action: Mae and her demonically doomed brother, Jamie, arrive at Nick and Alan’s place to request some magical assistance.

 - When? At the second chapter’s end.

 - Is the Call refused? Nick can’t tell Mae and Jamie to get lost fast enough. Definite yes.

 - Can be confused with: the First Plot Point – which, here, is not the revelation of Jamie’s demon marking but Alan’s. The FPP introduces the character to their quest, often through the removal of choice (a key factor in the Call to Action, below). The character becomes aware of the goal they must achieve, and at least some of the difficulties that stand in their way. For Nick, it’s when his brother – the one person he can’t stand to lose – is threatened, and Nick knows he’ll do anything to keep Alan safe.

 - Effective: yes, though less impactive.

Another thing to consider is the relation between the Call and choice. As noted above, the character has the ability to choose between accepting the Call and refusing it. Refusal can indicate anything from selfishness or immaturity to denial or self-preservation. Often, the First Plot Point will remove this choice from the equation, by making the odds life threatening instead of life changing (as with Nick, Alan, Jamie and Mae). The Call to Action represents not obligation but opportunity – for both character and reader.