The 38 Most Common Fiction Writing Mistakes Read Online Free PDF Page B

them going? First you change your assumptions about what makes a good fiction character. Then you present them with a pressing problem. Then you decide what they are going to do about it— now . And finally you keep them moving, continuing to struggle; you never allow them to give up or retire from the story action. They move and they press and they keep on, always questing after their goal, whether it's a date to the high school prom or the Holy Grail.
    Same thing, ultimately. Because whatever it is, it's essential to your character's happiness, and that character will not give up . He's determined; he's going to try and try again. He's going to fight to maintain control of his life—and determine his own destiny.
    I like him, don't you?
    I care about him already, don't you?

9. Don't Duck Trouble
    In fiction, the best times for the writer—and reader—are when the story's main character is in the worst trouble. Let your character relax, feel happy and content, and be worried about nothing, and your story dies. Pour on all sorts of woes so your poor character is thoroughly miserable and in the deepest kind of trouble, and your story perks right up—along with your reader's interest.
    The moral: Although most of us do everything we can to avoid trouble in real life, we must do just the opposite as writers of fiction. We must seek out ways to add trouble to our characters' lives, putting just as much pressure on them as we can. For it's from plot trouble that reader interest comes.
    There are many kinds of fiction trouble, but the most effective kind is conflict .
    You know what conflict is. It's active give-and-take, a struggle between story people with opposing goals.
    It is not, please note, bad luck or adversity. It isn't fate. It's a fight of some kind between people with opposing goals.
    Fate, bad luck or whatever you choose to call it may play a part in your fiction too. Adversity—that snowstorm that keeps your character from having an easy drive to the mountain cabin, for example, or the suspicious nature of the townspeople that complicates your detective's investigation—is nice, too. But these problems are blind; they are forces of some kind that operate willy-nilly, without much reason—and so are things that your character can't confront and grapple with.
    In other words, it's all well and good to have your character leave his house in the morning and slip and fall on a banana peel, thus making him feel bad all day. But such an event comes out of nowhere for no good reason; like real-life events, it makes no sense. It is caused by nothing much and leads to nothing special.
    Adversity in all its forms may create some sympathy for your character. But your character can't reasonably try to understand it, plot against it, or even confront it in a dramatic way.
    Conflict, on the other hand, is a fight with another person. It's dramatic, onstage now, with the kind of seesaw give-and-take that makes most sporting events—many courtroom trials—exciting stuff. When in conflict, your character knows who the opponent is and has a chance to struggle against him. In conflict, your character has a chance to change the course of events. In taking the challenge and entering the fray, your character proves himself to be worthy as a story hero: he's trying to take charge of his life... determine the outcome... win .
    Thus, if you're a wise writer of fiction, you spend a good deal of your plotting hours devising ways to set up more fights. In real life you might walk around the block to avoid meeting Maryanne, the neighbor who always wants to start an argument with you. In your fiction, you may walk your hero a mile just to get him into position so he can have a fight with the person who most irritates him.
    The calmer and more peaceful your real life, the better, in all likelihood. Your story person's life is just the opposite. You the author must never duck trouble—conflict—in the story. You seek it out, because