Great Voice, But Don't Be a Tease

"I just need to know that someone out there listens and understands and doesn't try to sleep with people even if they could have. I need to know that these people exist."

-- Charlie, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, by Stephen Chbosky

Today on the bus I saw some teens taking a picture of a stranger they were mocking. I heard, "Dude, this is so going to Facebook," and "I'm tweeting this now" while one boy tapped his phone. Mockery gone viral. Ah, modern youth: everything's for posting, and everything's for comment. For one shining second, each of us can be paparazzi or celeb. Take your pick.

Beyond sociological observations, I could classify this scene as a "man versus man" external conflict, or even "man versus machine" for the stranger whose picture was taken unawares by cell phone. Or perhaps, assuming the mockers have a conscience, it's a "man versus self" situation where someone in that mob asked himself if his actions were right and wrong.

With youth in mind, I read YA wondering how well it will fly with teens. In case you haven't noticed, I'm pursuing my "personal MFA" here, reviewing YA while polishing my novel, How Wendy Redbird Dancing Survived the Dark Ages of Nought. Studies are going swimmingly. Besides wondering how today's kids take these reads, I take my own pulse--what's my taste?--while weighing the craft of many talented authors--how well does characterization, plot, setting, style, etc, work?

Charlie, the protagonist of The Perks of Being a Wallflower, had me at hello. His voice is honest, to the point of being embarrassing, and it's calm, to the point of being robotic. The whole novel is Charlie's letters to a stranger:

"I am writing to you because she said you listen and understand and didn't try to sleep with that person at that party even though you could have. Please don't try to figure out who she is because then you might figure out who I am, and I really don't want you to do that. I will call people by different names or generic names because I don't want you to find me. I didn't enclose a return address for the same reason. I mean nothing bad by this. Honest."

After defending himself against a bully who attacks him during his first week of high school, Charlie notes without any particular worry, "Some kids look at me strange in the hallways because I don't decorate my locker, and I'm the one who beat up Sean and couldn't stop crying after he did it. I guess I'm pretty emotional." Even with the frequent crying, it's as if there's a thick rubber curtain between Charlie and us; his emotions bat against it and sometimes, creep around the barrier, but the time they get to us, they're muted, enervated, distilled.

So naturally, I wanted to know what was up. I kept reading to find out what this boy's issue was. I knew his best friend had committed suicide before the novel began. I knew Charlie had lost his Aunt Liz to a car accident. From a great distance Charlie offers brilliant observations about the worlds around him--that of his family and then very slowly, new friends he manages to make, and then the girl he secretly loves. Friends treat him with kid gloves, like a breakable toy they play with or a small child they're teaching the ropes.

The entire novel I wondered if at the end we'd learn Charlie is on the autistic spectrum. We can only speculate what Charlie's psychiatrist visits are for, though I agree all along he needs them. I liked his differences that touched every relationship he forms--whether with his English teacher or other students--because you sit on the edge of your seat wondering if they will abuse him or take advantage in some way. But people find him charming--particularly two seniors who become his constant companions--and his teacher feeds him advanced reading all year. With the help of these "normal" people who all struggle with various issues of their own, Charlie can come of age in a somewhat normal way, learning how to make friends and survive classes and join the community. The friends have dramas that Charlie reports on as if embedded with the troops but not quite moved: cheating boyfriends, questions about sexual identity, and drug and alcohol use. Their dramas filter through Charlie's insulated perspective, we need to see how their train wrecks will turn out.

SPOILER ALERT

But I had no idea that Charlie suffers from a past trauma of sexual abuse. He cries often, and as the book progresses, suffers a few breakdowns, even catatonia. He discovers masturbation at a fairly late date, age 14, so maybe that was a clue. But it's not till the final pages that we learn of the abuse that fueled his current behavior and sadness. We also never learn who he's been writing all this time.

And so Charlie, a character I'd cared about, deflated for me like a balloon. All that rubber insulation had to pay off in some way, but not with this neat diagnosis, this tied-in-a-bow ending of a hospital stay. I liked the story, but I wasn't moved.

Obviously, if I made it to the end, the work was a success, correct? But Charlie's internal conflict is hinted at only via smoke signals--Charlie versus his buried pain--and even with his odd actions of writing to a stranger, his clinical observations about fellow humans, and the bouts of crying, I didn't learn enough to expect such an ending or even suspect who turns out to be the actual perpetrator (Aunt Liz).

I realize that trauma goes underground. I realize that Charlie is giving us hints all along of PTSD. I don't doubt that his character is quite possible and that his experience probably speaks to many readers. The goal of this novel is not to explore the terror of his flashbacks or his work with the counselor where we might descend into myriad labyrinths and never emerge. The novel aims to tell us the perks of being a strange, withdrawn boy who somehow manages to cross his own barriers, however unexplained to us.

Fine. I say, "Great voice. Great character worthy of being followed. But don't be a tease."

By "tease," I mean that if Charlie can't tell us what's up, then someone, maybe the surrounding characters, maybe elements of setting, must tell us somehow. Or how about the recipient of the letters? I know that Charlie leaves no return address--a clever way to ensure no contact--but why not let that plot be foiled? Lush by Natasha Friend has a similar premise of writing to an unknown person, where a girl with an alcoholic father and family chaos leaves messages for a stranger in a library book. But the stranger writes back, and Samantha the protagonist evolves. The mystery (AKA the tease) morphs into a conflict and complication for her character. We as readers feel rewarded for our time spent in anticipation, confusion, and wonder.

I find myself doing the same thing Perks does in my own novel: starting down a path and not finishing what I began. In my revisions, I've looked at the secondary and tertiary characters and asked, What's the consequence of their interactions with Wendy? What's the pay-off? For all actions there must be an equal and opposite reaction, if I may dare create a physics formula for fiction; there must be that gun going off...wait, I just plagiarized Chekhov. You write a stranger, we need to see that stranger's face some day. You act strange, we need to know why, or get some hints that are stronger, more helpful, long before the last few pages. Give me a chance to build a thesis about Charlie's internal conflict at least--and then fine, blow it out of the water like any good mystery novel, but give me a fighting chance.

I still recommend Perks. Do pick it up. See if you felt satisfied or thwarted. I felt some of both.

Writing Prompts:

-- If an internal conflict is the essential drama of man versus self, what types of feelings and beliefs cause these struggles? What aspects of self do humans struggle with?
-- Have you ever experienced one of these internal conflicts: self versus love or lust you don't want to feel? Self versus physical pain and suffering? Self versus addiction? Self versus grace or forgiveness?
-- Of all the types of internal conflict a character faces, which is most interesting to you?
-- How clearly does a character in a story you're writing manifest his or her internal conflicts?
-- How do you manifest your internal conflicts?
-- What topics are taboo for your writing? Aren't taboo? Can your characters explore anything?

Big Girls Don't Pride

Big girls don't cry, they don't whine, and they sure don't pride. I need a new verb to reform those of us with active egos (and who happen to be overhauling novels).

Image retrieved at Pride & Prejudice Blogspot


Active Ego says, "Your novel is fine as is! It's character driven, it's full of good scenes, it's got that slow, realistic climb to the crisis." Ego thinks I can argue this because I was raised by Harper Lee, who according to author of Mockingbird, Charles J. Shields, handed her editor a massive mess of anecdotes, not a story. When I say, "raised by Harper Lee," I mean it: not only did this book become my instant favorite at age 14 but I read and re-read it many, many times to teach it to students over the years. So it's a bit of a Bible to me. You can tell looking at the finished novel that Lee loves character and a thoughtful unraveling of plot. She loves every tiny moment that every secondary or tertiary member of Maycomb offers. How about Walter Cunningham; how about Calpurnia? Mrs. Dubose? Aunt Alexandra? How about townsfolk who serve up local flavor full of incisive themes, such as Mr. Dolphus Raymond: a man "guilty" of miscegenation and pretending drunkenness because "it helps folks if they can latch on to a reason" why a white man would marry a black woman.

I adore those languourous passages of character development, slowly unfolding like a humid summer day. She has many a side trail to show us Scout and Jem's little world, rich with love and hate and courage and racism. Active ego says, "Lee's your literary hero; it's okay to follow her lead!"

But I'm not writing an adult novel with a child protagonist. I'm writing YA. So what do the people want? Big girls must ask.

What the YA reader wants is story, glorious story, moving quickly, and not one you have to hunt or wait for. Quests and missions must move at a good pace--not necessarily breakneck--then head somewhere satisfying. Even if my protagonist plows along in some general direction with lots of interesting side trails, most of us aren't going to stick around to see the end of that journey. What with our limited time and attention spans, the average reader is more likely to prefer speed, high drama, and compelling action. Plus, I haven't heard rumors of a Slow Read Movement just yet.

Big girls must face this fact and follow good advice. I've called upon the talents of several excellent, critical readers--friends, family, writing group members--many of whom are quite well-read in a variety of genres. I had my economics and history and nonfiction reading crew; those who prefer thrillers and sci fi; those who like more amorphous, character-driven narrative. Literary readers. Whatever they're calling chick lit now readers. I heard from a few that the throughline needed clarity; that the story didn't really take off till a certain point, while hearing from others that the quirky band of characters and its ringleader, Wendy, kept them occupied. Then a new reader took up my manuscript with fresh eyes and said two key words: external conflict. And I went back to my story and saw that there were various clashes that surged like sparklers and soon burnt out.

If you commit to an E.C., there must be a significant clash. It must motivate the character and direct the narrative. stream through the narrative, keeping readers there to find out what happens next.
YA demands a clear narrative that clings to the big E.C. and doesn't let go.

Now I'm mapping internal and external conflicts of the protagonist in every scene using index cards I can revise and shuffle. I pose the conflicts as questions Wendy must answer with her actions. I color code the E.C. and the I.C. inside my manuscript as Wendy faces both throughout the narrative. I've moved key scenes from the middle or last third to the front. I've written new scenes. And through it all, Wendy's making a commitment to her goals with more intensity and follow through so that readers will want to follow her.

Some authors would have outlined from the start, but that's not how my mind works. I tend to write and think in concrete, random ways: specific scenes and reams of dialogue inundate me, and they all connect to one another in one beauteous, tangled web. So if I start all webby, I must end sequential. And Ego may say, "That's just not my style to outline," but guess what? I'm using the concrete, fluid method of index cards, which feels more tangible and full of possibilities, which is how I like to write my scenes. Now there is method in my concrete random madness. Now there's an outline, slowly growing on my terms.

Ripping a manuscript limb from limb is, to say the least, humbling. Ain't no room for ego in that mess. First I cut the 40,000 words, and for that, I patted myself on the back. But that wasn't enough. What I'm doing now is what big girls must do if they want to finish strong.


Writing Prompts:

-- Who is your literary hero, and how has s/he influenced your writing? Find a passage that still rings in your head when you're talking or writing. The quotable passage may well be speaking to your writing. How?
-- How do the characters of your favorite novel both express personality and "local flavor" while also pursuing a compelling goal? Find a moment in the story when characters are expressing these three elements of story (characterization, setting, plot) simultaneously.
-- Flip through To Kill a Mockingbird or another favorite classic novel and land on a scene. List the external conflict, the internal conflict, and the two answers that the scene gives.
-- Do you outline or do you free write? Do you web, draw, color code, or use cards? How do you structure a large piece of writing? Why do you think this method works for you?
-- What is Scout's internal and external conflict throughout the novel? Atticus' and Jem's?

Foiled at Every Turn

"We are what we are." Felix Ungar to Oscar Madison, The Odd Couple

Sick with stuffy nose and post-Thanksgiving collapse, I flipped the channel to Turner Classic Movies so I could zone out with some soft lighting, calm music, and old-school story. I got that plus a great lesson in characterization. If you aspire to write great characters, see the 1968 film or read the frequently reprised play, The Odd Couple by Neil Simon.

Watch Felix move through a scene without saying more than twenty words--how he throws out his back in the midst of a suicide attempt or clears his sinuses with OCD flair in the middle of a diner. You'll see how Simon paints character through wonderfully excessive physicality.

Observe the poker game in Oscar Madison's disgusting home full of ancient pizza slices and dust bunnies the size of cats, and see how a group of secondary characters (at first just sweaty, surly, unimpressive men) become a gaggle of high-drama hysterics at the prospect of Felix being suicidal. Simon understands how to sweep broad strokes with his brush, then come back and fill in the shadows, the light, the muscles, the heart and soul. Each man is unique with every word, twitch, grunt. We end up caring about all of them. Not one character is needless background, merely warming a seat. Everyone matters.

But the main reason The Odd Couple should be subject of study for all writers is how it serves metaphorically for a golden rule of characterization, every time a conversation erupts in your story. Oscar and Felix are drawn together, magnetically, for a reason, so this story can be told: they push and pull upon each other, yanking the blinders off, hot lamping and shadowing, lifting up and squashing down. These guys go from friendship to enemies in the course of a conflict that peaks in silent stand-off (yet another instance of Simon's slapstick, purely physical comedy that says more than any words). These guys foil one another in mere movement--even in every breath Felix takes. Who can't relate to that? There has been at least one person in our lives whose neck we wanted to wring.

Watch Oscar and Felix at work. They are what they are in perfect contrast to each other, and in their short stint as each other's "wives" they learn how they each need to grow a little bit more each other's direction. Then go write your next dialogue between any two characters. What's at stake? Who's wanting what, and how are each in the way of these wants?

Foil, foil, foil each other, all you characters in our fiction. Let that fresh conflict ensue in every scene. Even two best friends in a story should enhance each other's differences; how?

A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry is another fantastic read for studying just this skill. Beneatha, Ruth, Walter, and Mama are masters of foiling another, and like Oscar and Felix, their entrapment in a small space escalates the conflicts. Even if you're not much into writing dialogue, remember that when your characters do speak and when scenes do unfold, foil is the operative word. Someone must be stopped in the achievement of his goal; someone must be prevented from getting exactly what she wants. Otherwise, we won't stick around till the end.

If you just can't pick up another book this holiday rush, make a New Year's resolution to support your local community theater. Consider seeing a play like taking a class in characterization. Playwrights get the complete urgency of foiled characters with the restless audience waiting to be entertained. I personally can't wait to see Amadeus from PlayMakers along with the NC Symphony this weekend. I know I won't only get fabulous theater and incredible music; I'll get another example of character foiled again: Mozart, full of mania and graceless humor, but so genius the world itself could not bear him. Talk about obstacles. Man versus self, man versus world. Foils everywhere you look.

Watch a play, see a film, and take note. See what these characters are and make that black and white in the places where you can. You are already doing this in your writing, or you wouldn't feel the momentum, and no doubt, you need to do it more.

Writing Prompts: Please note that writing prompts should always be pursued in emotionally-safe environments with the supervision of someone who is interested in encouraging good writing, self-awareness, and reflection. A wonderful resource is Pat Schneider’s Writing Alone and With Others.

© Lyn Hawks. Writing prompts for one-time classroom use only and not for publication in any form elsewhere without permission of this author.


1. Who or what in your life is your biggest foil? Why? How?
2. Think of a favorite character in your book and write about who foils him or her the most. Write a letter to the character about how to handle this foil, or, write a letter of complaint ot the foil.
3. Start a story with this line, "Curses! (Insert your own expletive) Foiled again!"
4. Make a list of how your protagonist is a hero to some and a villain to others. Every character has a beef with someone. Then make a list of how your protagonist is a foil to every person s/he meets. Write a scene exploring at least of these items on the list.
5. The Day from Hell happens to everyone. What's one day where you were foiled at every turn? Write that story.
6. Write an acrostic poem using FOILED AGAIN as the phrase to generate one sentence about every character in your story (as many characters as you can address). Each sentence must address how the character foils or is foiled.