No Peace: A Steve Dancy Tale

Available soon

No peace

After marriage, Steve Dancy has quietly settled in San Diego. He can hardly remember his days of wanderlust, and he’s grateful to have left behind the violence of a raw frontier. In a celebratory mood, Steve invites his mother to a meet her new grandchild in a chic resort in Monterey, California. With the delivery of a handwritten note, his world suddenly reverts to the savagery of his bygone days. 

There will be no peace.

Honest westerns filled with dishonest characters.

Time Travel Anyone?

I love time travel. We’ve all experienced time travel whenever we’ve opened a book and been transported to another place and time. When you slap the book closed, it returns you to where you started. Well, sorta. You may lose a few hours, but nothing's free.

All books do this, but I particularly like the time travel genre. Two of my favorite time travel books are A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court and Lightening. In 1889, Mark Twain sent his character Hank Morgan back in time to the reign of King Arthur in the sixth century. Like all of Twain’s work, life lessons are delivered with humor and skillful storytelling. Another great time travel novel is Lightening by Dean Koontz. Written in 1988, Lightening takes a unique perspective that cannot be described without a spoiler. Despite being over thirty years old, the novel has traveled to the present wholly intact.

Up until recently, I didn’t believe time travel was real. Then my nephew showed me his time travel machine. After testing it, I assure you that it works perfectly. Instead of flashing lights, electric pulses, or whirling brass spindles, he made his machine with duct tape, a kitchen timer, and a bathroom scale. He duct-taped the kitchen timer to the bathroom scale. That’s it. When you’re ready to travel, you set the timer to where you want to go and then climb aboard. When you hear the timer’s ding, you’ve arrived.

Pretty nifty, huh?

Crazy Rich Asians Tells an Old Story Anew

Last night we rented Crazy Rich Asians based on the book by Kevin Kwan. I had heard a lot of good things about the film, but I was disappointed. I had seen the story before. 

Then I remembered an old Kurt Vonnegut lecture on the shape of stories. I had posted the short video a few years prior and followed his advice in Crossing the Animas. Evidently, I was not the only one. Kwan adapted one of his story lines and transferred it to Singapore. Vonnegut said writers were free to use his model and claimed that any who did would make a million dollars. Kwan cashed in. Me, not so much. However, if you liked Crazy Rich Asians, take a gander at Crossing the Animas. (Soon available in audio in a fine reading by Paul Manelis.)

Watch Vonnegut's talk. It's funny as hell, yet still packed with good advice for storytellers.

Opposites Attract ... readers, viewers, and fans

Steed and Peel

Joe Bunting has a good article on literary foils at The Write Practice. Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock, John Steed and Emma Peel, The Lone Ranger and Tonto, Homes and Dr. Watson, Martin Riggs and Roger Murtaugh, Cole and Hitch, among many others. I’m inclined to favor a good buddy story over the lone protagonist. I even prefer James Bond when the rule-following CIA agent Felix Leiter is around.

Use literary foils to maintain tension when there are no bad guys within sight. As can be seen from these few examples, famous literary foils possess opposite personalities. That’s why on television cop shows, partners are contradictory. They can play off each other in any circumstance. This device makes it easy to generate low-key tension when the protagonists are disengaged from battling whatever has irked their ire.

Bunting correctly points out that literary foils can also be a love interest or an antagonist. When an antagonist is used as a literary foil, the relationship goes beyond rivalry. There’s an emotional tie between the two. In other words, the protagonist and antagonist are in a relationship. Homes’ long-running battles with Moriarty and Clarice Starling against Hannibal Lecter come to mind, but I’ve always been partial to Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner.

Cole and Hitch

Literary foils are an indispensable tool for writers. The Steve Dancy Tales is written in the first person, so without Jeff Sharp and Captain McAllen, it would be necessary to rummage around inside Steve head to get a feel for who he is and what he’s about. That would be boring. But with two contrary foils, Steve can interact with his friends and his personality is shown, not told. In The Shut Mouth Society, Greg Evarts and Patricia Baldwin are opposites in every conceivable way. The relationship makes it easier to keep the tension taut in this thriller.

There is an old saying that opposites attract. I’m not certain about life, but they certainly attract readers and viewers.

Hollywood at its Worst

Us Old Guys Don't Like Change

I rented Man of Steel last night. When I saw it in the theater, I was disappointed. Actually, more than disappointed. My first words to my wife were, “I hated that movie.” My wife felt differently, so I decided to give it a second chance. I still hate the film.

Man of Steel is a prime example of Hollywood’s penchant for CGI over storytelling. We don’t need characters, just eye-popping explosions with booming sound effects. I’m a fan of Amy Adams, but in this film she came across flat. And Perry White? What was that about? His role contributed nothing to the storyline. This darker Superman moves in the direction of an anti-hero, so perhaps that explains his complete lack of humor. The bad guys and gal were unmemorable, which is crucial to storytelling.

When director Zack Snyder met with his CGI geeks, I’ll bet the conversation went like this:

“We got some really terrific stuff,” the head-honcho geek says. “We put together thirty sequences of Superman and Zod crashing through buildings so you can pick the ones you like.” 

After watching the special effects, Snyder slaps the honcho guy on the back and says, “Nice work. We’ll use ‘em all.” 

“Okay, what about the fanciful creatures on Krypton? We’re over budget.” 

“Just slap something together. Maybe adjust some of that flying dragon stuff you used before. Just get something quick and cheap.”

The CGI was intended to appeal to the younger, hearing-impaired market, but some hacks also tried to wrench the plot around to appeal to women. One of the major themes of the saga is Lois Lane trying to discover the identity of Superman. But some Hollywood genius said women want romance, and they’re unwilling to wait for a sequel. Simple. We’ll discard that useless bit of tinsel and rewrite Lane as the strong champion and savior of Superman, and that way they can flirt from the gitgo.

I could be wrong, of course. Man of Steel may be a classic. A smart retooling of the saga for a modern worldwide audience. The movie did gross nearly $300 million in the United States alone. However, it cost somewhere around a quarter billion dollars. Even with foreign box office and home rentals, that does not qualify as a blockbuster.

I might be a curmudgeon, but I liked the original Superman better. I preferred the humor and light tone and creativity. The domestic gross was three times the budget, so they must have got something right.

A Writing Cheat Sheet

Many seem to believe if they just got a proper set of instructions, they could be a good writer. Many famous writers like Mark Twain, George Orwell, and Elmore Leonard have even provided aspiring writers a list of rules.  Here is a Writing Tips PDF that collects rules from George Orwell, Edward Tufte, Strunk and White’s, and Robert Heinlein. I especially enjoyed Evil Metaphors and Phrases. These clichés are definitely cringe worthy, if I can be allowed to use yet another cliché.

(Here is my collection of writing advice.)

There's a problem with all of these lists. If hard rules were all that was necessary to become a great writer, then we’d be awash in breathtaking literature.  We have writing tips, rules, and guidelines aplenty, yet they don’t seem to convey the masters’ magic. What gives? All of the rules are good writing advice, but first there must be compelling content.

I used to golf until I realized I pretended to enjoy the game. Prior to making this discovery, I took a lesson with two friends from a teaching pro. We spent about two hours on the range and putting green. Lots and lots of tips and advice. My head was swimming. I couldn’t get my grip right for fear my backswing was too fast. 

The all-day lesson included a round of golf with the teaching pro. We presumed he would critique our play as we went along. No way. On the first tee, he told us he wouldn’t comment on our play until we were ensconced in the clubhouse for refreshments. He said we should forget everything he had told us. Forget it all. His advice was meant for the driving range and putting green. He reiterated that as we played this round, we were not to worry about grip, swing, or stance. We should concentrate on one thing and one thing only—keep our eye on the ball. Simple. Keep focused on the primary basic of all the basics. It was a fun round of golf with one of my lowest scores.

My point is that when you write a first draft, forget the rules. Focus solely on the story. Telling a great story is the real magic the masters have mastered. Don’t pull out the rules until you start the second draft, then use them ruthlessly on the third and fourth draft. Hone and polish your manuscript until it’s as bright and shiny as a new penny.  (Sorry, I couldn’t resist closing with an “Evil Metaphor.”)

Books that drove me mad

Kimberly Turner published a piece on Lit Reactor titled, “7 Horrifying Ailments Named After Literary Characters.” I believe she missed a few, but then Turner wrote about real ailments. Here are a few phobias I developed from reading books.

Marathon Man made me afraid of the dentist.

Ever since Psycho, I lock the bathroom door when I shower.

The Ghost and the Darkness made me fear tall grass.

2001: A Space Odyssey convinced me computers were out to get me.

Apollo 13 made me afraid of the number 13.

The Da Vinci Code kept me away from art museums.

The Shining made me avoid long, empty hallways.

How about a free vacation?

Matt Haig posted an article titled “12 Years as a Writer”. It’s a lessons-learned piece. I especially like #11, which reads:

“We like stories because time moves us forward, when what we want to do is move sideways. We want to live every possible life, not just ours. Stories are how we can window shop other possible lives without committing to them. They teach us everything.”

While we’re immersed in a story, time in our world seems to stop. How often have you looked up from a book and asked yourself where the time has gone.  It is possible to time travel. All we need is a great novel. It transports us to another place and time and then quietly dumps us back into our own world without all the pyrotechnics of the movies.  As Haig says, a story allows us to “window shop” other ways of life vicariously ... and safely.

Storytelling is an art, and because everyone can enjoy it with no special knowledge, it is the universal art.

So … find a good book and take a vacation. You can visit anywhere, any time. Happy reading.

Honest stories filled with dishonest characters.

Storytelling made dead simple

Aspiring writers frequently agonize over words, sentences, and paragraphs. They want to get every piece of it right. Because they admire great writers’ style and distinctive presentation, they believe the technical aspects of writing are foremost. They are not.  Storytelling is foremost. If you don’t believe me, listen to Kurt Vonnegut on the Shapes of Stories. Here is one of the best writers of the 20^th century telling us how to compose a story.

Pablo Picasso

Great writers first understand the art of storytelling, and then concentrate on telling it in a fresh and pitch-perfect manner. The painting to the left is a portrait of Pablo Picasso’s mother, painted by her son in 1896. All of her features appear to be on the proper side of her face. This was not an isolated Picasso painting. Before shaking up the art world with George Brague, Picasso mastered the craft of figurative painting. For Picasso—and most great authors—a thorough understanding of how to use their medium came before experimentation.

The basics of storytelling are simple. I was taught that in the first fifth of the book, you get the protagonist up a tree. In the middle section, you throw rocks at the protagonist. In the final section, you get the protagonist out of the tree. This sounds simple and close to what Vonnegut advises. It’s surprising how such a simple formula creates an interesting story. After all, no matter how pretty your sentences, you must keep the reader interested or he or she will wander off to parts unknown.

The art of the short story has always eluded me

Western author JR Sanders posted to Facebook a link to “The Top 20 Literary Quotes About Short Stories,” at Writers Write, a South African website. (It was posted yesterday. Ain’t modern technology grand?) My favorite quote was from David Sedaris, “A good [short story] would take me out of myself and then stuff me back in, outsized, now, and uneasy with the fit.”

The article reminded me that I have never done well with the short form of storytelling.  A short story must convey a story, a mood, and a theme in few words. A difficult task. It may not be an exaggeration to claim that while novels are a craft, short stories are art. In bygone years, I did win honorable mention in a 100-word novel contest, but that was more about cleverness than storytelling.

I love to read short stories and own many collections, but I don’t have the time to write one. My last comment, of course is not a new thought. Pascal wrote, “I have made this longer than usual because I have not had time to make it shorter.”

In 1690 the philosopher John Locke wrote about a famous work, “But to confess the Truth, I am now too lazy, or too busy to make it shorter.”

In 1750 Benjamin Franklin composed a letter describing his groundbreaking experiments involving electricity, writing, “I have already made this paper too long, for which I must crave pardon, not having now time to make it shorter.”

In 1857 Henry David Thoreau wrote in a letter to a friend that “Not that the story need be long, but it will take a long while to make it short.”

Woodrow Wilson was asked by a member of his cabinet about the amount of time he spent preparing speeches. He said, “It depends. If I am to speak ten minutes, I need a week for preparation; if fifteen minutes, three days; if half an hour, two days; if an hour, I am ready now.”

(Credit for the above quotations goes to Quote Investigator, a good site for writers.)

Abraham Lincoln spent untold hours crafting the Gettysburg Address, which at 271 words is one of the shortest and most famed political speeches of all time.

Brevity done with forethought is powerful. A comedian’s quip can destroy a longwinded speech. Just ask any target of Will Roger’s wit.

Ever since the demise of the family weekly magazine, short fiction has had few outlets. This is a shame. Western Writers of America occasionally publishes an anthology of short Western works, but there are few other places to even submit short stories. 

Perhaps Amazon will once again redefine the market. The online bookseller has started Kindle Singles, which are short works in both fiction and nonfiction. The idea seems to be catching on because many national bestselling authors are publishing short works in this manner. Although I don't write short stories, I hope Kindle Singles revives the form. After all, throughout history, art has needed powerful sponsors.

10 Films that Revolutionized Computer Graphics

I object when computer generated imagery overwhelm the story. Actually, I've objected when CGI is substituted for storytelling. About.com has listed what they believe are the 10 Films That Revolutionized Computer Graphics. I think it is a good list, but I would have added one of the superhero film.

Blade Runner

CGI is a great development in film when it is used to advance the story instead of as an end in itself. I think Jurassic Park is an excellent example of the blending of live action, CGI, and storytelling.

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Hollywood—Get Real

I beg to disagree

Writer’s Digest is not my favorite source for writing advice. Actually, the magazine and companion website are not even on my radar. I have found Writer’s Digest articles arcane or commonplace. Sometimes they are downright wrong. Recently they published “5 Mistakes to Avoid When Writing a Fiction Series” by Rachel Randall, the managing editor for Writer’s Digest Books. Since I write a fiction series, I looked up this article. It pulled off the difficult task of simultaneously being arcane, commonplace, and wrong.

The “5 Mistakes” were commonplace, but the advice on how to avoid them was often arcane. Like everything in this magazine, it is writing by formula. It’s all about the mechanics. This may work for their readership, but not for me.

Calling the article wrong is probably an overstatement. The content is correct. The problem is omission. The “5 Mistakes” have nothing to do with why readers adopt a fiction series. Readers pick up the next installment of a fiction series because they want to learn what happened to the characters in the story. Readers must be invested in the characters. In fact, I believe characterization is the sole key to a fiction series.

Writers need to know their characters. Thoroughly. If a writer truly understands his or her characters, many of the “5 Mistakes” will be avoided automatically. Characters have a personality, a backstory, and a network of friends and acquaintances. They do not behave inconsistent with these characteristics. Like real people, fictional characters don’t change willy-nilly—they constantly change and/or grow, but the reader must witness this challenging process. (Breaking Bad is a good example.)

The “5 Mistakes” article misses the greatest mistake in fiction series—poor character development. A great deal of series fiction puts too much emphasis on technological wizardry, relentless quests, or slow revelation of a mystery. These authors forget to populate their plots with characters that readers care about. And in the end, that is what matters most.

http://amzn.to/29oDRbQ

Honest westerns filled with dishonest characters.

We can all learn from Shakespeare

Writer’s Digest did a piece titled, “10 Things Shakespeare Can Teach us About Writing Thrillers.” The ten tips actually help with any genre. Shakespeare was a great writer and a suburb storyteller. It’s the combination that makes him world renown nearly 400 years after his death. In his day, he was not a literary figure; he was the equivalent of a prime time screenwriter. Shakespeare wrote to fill theaters with paying audiences. (Somewhere around forty people depended on his plays for their livelihood.) 

Populist or Elitist?

One of my favorite writer quotes comes from Raymond Chandler; “It might reasonably be said that all art at some time and in some manner becomes mass entertainment, and that if it does not it dies and is forgotten.” 

Shakespeare is remembered because he aimed for mass entertainment. Shakespeare’s appeal to the general public is what makes these 10 writing tips powerful. All of them have to do with the storytelling side of his great talent. From an artistic standpoint, he was an unbelievably gifted wordsmith, but craft alone will not make a writer immortal. 

Nor, quite frankly, will storytelling divorced of good writing. Just ask Harold Robbins.

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Mash-ups—Second Thoughts

Previously I wrote a blog posting which questioned whether Western mash-ups worked. I personally dislike mash-ups because they rely too much on a clever big concept rather than on good storytelling. I suspect Hollywood likes mash-ups because they don't think a Western story can stand on its own, especially with the younger crowd. So I openly displayed my prejudice against projects that draped a popular genre disguise over a Western in order to make it more marketable. Besides, I hated Cowboys and Aliens. I prefer unalloyed Westerns.

Except I forgot one of my favorite Westerns. Part of the attraction of Westerns is vicarious adventure, and no film caught this concept better than the Yul Brynner classic Westworld, which happened to be a science fiction/Western mash-up before someone coined the term. What would happen if an imaginary adventure became life-threatening? How would a naïve observer react if make-believe suddenly became real? Now that’s a theme for a great story.

All of this was brought to mind when I read that HBO has committed to a Westworld series pilot by Bad Robot and Warner Bros. Here is the story in Variety. So I was wrong. All mash-ups are not bad … only the ones I don’t like.

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Has a Western mash-up ever worked?

Academic Nonsense about the American West

Looking for literary critiques of Western literature, I accidentally came across the article “Westerns” by Nicolas S. Witschi in Oxford Bibliographies. Witschi is Professor of English at Western Michigan University, where he teaches literature, cultural studies, and film. Sounds like some fun subjects. His website boosts, “My book Traces of Gold argues for reading the history of literary realism in the American West as a figurative engagement with the material, economic, and cultural value of natural resource industries.”

Wow! I was stopped by figurative engagement. In fact, I was stopped dead in my tracks as I stuggled to figure out what this showy sentence meant. Witschi was trying to convey a message, but instead of comprehending, I was Googling academic jargon. It reminded me of the line in Planes, Trains & Automobiles when the character Neal Page tells Del Griffith, "And by the way, you know, when you're telling these little stories? Here's a good idea - have a POINT. It makes it SO much more interesting for the listener!"

The article reads no better. Witschi seems to recommend studying Western literature as a sort of anthropological investigation of American culture. Although, it's hard to tell with sentences like, “As for questions about ‘literary’ quality and complexity, recent critical methodologies have not only expanded the criteria for assessing such things to include artifacts of mass market or popular appeal; they have also brought to light, with the purpose of working against it, the very means by which discursive power functions to identify and separate.” That’s as clear as the night sky over Montana.

The breadth of Western literature is astounding. From James Fenimore Cooper to Larry McMurtry, authors have been writing compelling historical novels about the American frontier. I’ll accept negative academic criticism of the Western genre as soon as I read a piece that dismisses The Once and Future King by T. H. White as mythology that promotes conquest, vigilantism, and sexism. Instead of searching for tidbits that can be extrapolated into a doctoral thesis, perhaps Witschi’s literature and film students would benefit from reading Westerns to learn the art and craft of storytelling.

After all, storytelling is the real oldest profession.

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Has a Western mash-up ever worked?

I’m not a purist. My own westerns are about miners instead of cowboys, my plots delve into the politics of the frontier, and my protagonist is a wealthy Easterner. I also liked the Lone Ranger, even though it went overboard on special effects and cuteness. I can go off the beaten track and even enjoy oddities like Cormac McCarthy’s weird punctuation. But mash-ups? Where did this fad come from? Mixing diametrically opposed genres is like fusion cuisine where the main course and dessert are lumped together in a stir-fried. It may be an interesting novelty, but it won’t change traditional menus.

I believe a fiction writer’s job is storytelling. It must be done well, with good characterization, but essentially the task at hand is telling a ripping good story. Effective storytelling takes people to another place and time. It can be the Wild West or Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A mash-up tries to take the audience to two different places at two different times. It’s jarring.  Besides, these writers seem more concerned with how clever they can blend the genres, rather than storytelling.

Many Western enthusiasts lament the lack of audience for Western literature and film. Unfortunately, there will be no resurgence by mashing up Westerns with the latest teen craze. It’s not that easy. Intriguing characters with a well-crafted story arc will draw readers to any genre. Just ask Larry McMurtry, Elmer Kelton, Louis L’Amour, Owen Wister, Jack Schaeffer, John Ford, or Clint Eastwood.

The Inferno by Dan Brown—A Crummy Book

At the time of this writing, Inferno by Dan Brown has nearly 5,000 Amazon reviews for 3.9 stars. Since I thought this was a poor novel, I’m going against the grain. I would give it 3 stars if it was written by a developing author, but it only gets 2 stars in my book because it’s obviously been thrown together by an apparently waning writer.

There is an adage in writing that the author should never let his or her research show. When the action is stopped to pontificate about some factoid, it jerks the reader out of the story. This is forgivable once in a while when the story is good. Inferno does not have a strong story and Brown commits this offense countless times. The reader can imagine him getting a VIP tour around a historic site and Brown peppering his escort with questions about passageways and trivia. He let the locations define the story instead of making the locations a backdrop. This makes for a mediocre travel guide and a lousy novel. All plot, no story.

If Robert Ludlum didn’t invent the chase novel, he perfected it. The basic formula is that a man and a woman meet, there are murders, the bewildered couple become suspects and run, they are chased by good guys and bad guys from one exotic place to another, and a puzzle must be solved or bad stuff will happen to the world and our protagonists. Ludlum made you feel for the characters’ plight, but Brown uses characters like historic sites to merely carry the plot. The reader doesn’t know Brown’s characters. They are as enigmatic as the puzzle. I don’t criticize Brown for adopting this formula. (I used it in The Shut Mouth Society.) I criticize him for mimicking Ludlum’s voice with single declarative sentences meant to hammer a point, and even copying Ludlum’s amnesia device from the Bourne series.

In short, The Inferno was lazy writing.

Slice of Life vs. Bigger Than Life

Superheroes are the polar opposite of a slice of life. Killing lifeless zombies, evil vampires, extraterrestrial aliens, or bad witches is not a slice of most people’s lives. At least, not people I know. Popular culture has a hard time seeing that Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird makes Gerry Lane in World War Z look like a wimp. Our heroes live in a fantasy world because heroics in real life are make-believe.

Hollywood is especially prone to fantasy. Sherlock Holmes was a cerebral detective until reincarnated by Robert Downey Jr. as a martial arts action hero. Hansel & Gretel kill witches with weapons a gamester would love. The Lone Ranger wields guns and fists like a superhero and can even leap tall buildings in a single bound. The trend is to go extreme, the more extreme, the better.

Comedy has become unworldly, as well. Real people are not that outrageous, uncouth, or ill mannered. The problem with being edgy is that you have to continuously venture ever closer to the precipice. Would On Golden Pond, As Good as it Gets, or When Harry Met Sally get green lighted today. Probably only if they added some never-before-seen shocks. (Okay, shoving Simon’s dog Verdel down the garbage chute probably qualifies.)

Am I arguing for a return to slice of life stories? Not really. I like action/adventure, clever dialogue comedies, and especially mystery/suspense stories. And I write Westerns. None of which fit in the slice of life genre. I would prefer, however, more variety in contemporary fiction and film. Fiction is not as big of a problem because good books stay around and there are thousands still waiting for me. Movies are different. When I look at a theater listing and six out of eight films are about men and women that can deflect a bullet with a sword, slice a monster’s head off while leaping six feet off the floor, or throw a paralyzing blow from a piece of stick, I usually end up staying home to watch yet another permutation of CSI. 

Would You Care for a Slice?

I don’t believe there are only seven basic stories types, or that all stories are about “a man goes on a journey or a stranger comes to town.” Stories span a long continuum, with hard reality at one end and pure fantasy at the other.

One of the categories used to describe stories is slice of life. This moniker means the story describes mundane events that could happen to anyone. This is where literary authors shine. Great writing is supposed to make slice of life fiction engaging and enlightening.

Illustrators have always worked with storytellers

This kind of thinking has sent many aspiring authors down a path to oblivion. In truth, there are no pure slice of life books. At least, not any successful ones. Look at Little Women, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Help, The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, or anything by Jane Austen. These books may seem mundane or low key on the surface, but the authors are expert storytellers. Take The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency as an example. Most of Ramotswe’s cases are mundane to the point of being inconsequential, but the investigations are as suspenseful as any Agatha Christi murder. To Kill a Mockingbird and The Help artfully reveal courage in commonplace social situations. Little Women often seems autobiographical, but Louisa May Alcott knew when to deviate from her real life to keep the story interesting. Austen kept her readers engaged with suspense, characterization, and dialogue, all vital tools for storytellers.

People don’t live in the rhythm of a story. Everything that happens does not move an individual’s life toward a conclusion. People do not consistently spout clever lines. Writers put those words in their mouth. Writers scrape off all the boring stuff from everyday life. And writers move the story unfailingly forward.

To keep readers captivated, study the art of storytelling. 

Fiction: art or craft?

You can buy innumerable books about how to write fiction. I have bookshelves full of them. Some help, but most are regurgitations of the same old stuff. The majority of these how-to books present a formulistic approach: If you get each of these elements right, you’ll have a bestseller. I beg to differ.

Neither too hard or too soft

I once bought three writing books simultaneously. The first was the bestselling text for college creative writing courses, the second was How to Write a Novel for Dummies, and the third was a middle-of-the -road advice book by a relatively successful novelist. The worst of the bunch was the college textbook which was all about mechanics and literary devices. Plot was reduced to paint-by-numbers. The Dummies book was a poor second. The actionable advice could have been adequately summarized on two typewritten pages. The middle-of-the-road book was by far the best of the breed and it has guided my book buying on writing from that point forward.

I’m biased. I believe storytelling is the most important aspect of fiction. Characterization is a close second, with plot a distant third. Literary devices are inconsequential until you have a compelling story.

There are great storytellers, great writers, and great storytelling writers. The first can be commercially successful, but eventually fade away. The second never gain a large audience. The third become immortal.

(Twain, Shakespeare, and Homer are but three examples.)

Raymond Chandler wrote, “all art at some time and in some manner becomes mass entertainment, and that if it does not it dies and is forgotten.” The secret to mass appeal is engaging stories. 

Fiction may be art or craft, but it is certainly not engineering.