Black and White vs Grey Part 3: Through Alien Eyes

In my past two articles I’ve written about two groups of readers I’ve seen debating one another:  the “black and white team”, who enjoy stories where noble heroes defeat loathsome villains in a world of clearly defined morality, and the “grey camp”, who want their fiction to challenge them to think about the world and see situations from different points of view.  As writers, we may enjoy both types of story or we may prefer one over the other.  I feel there’s a market for both types of tale, or there wouldn’t be so many debates over which type of story is “better”.  Just as it’s hardly fair to say that science fiction is “better” than fantasy or horror is “better” than romance because different genres attract different readers, what matters most is how well the writer succeeds in giving the reader what she is looking for in a story.

A successful “black and white team” story will fulfill the reader’s expectations of a grand battle between good  and evil.  Writing a “grey camp” story can be challenging for the writer because it pushes her outside the traditional heroic narrative.  If a “black and white team” story runs the risk of entering cliché territory, where a Perfect Hero faces off against a Cartoon Villain for an inevitable victory, a “grey camp” story can devolve into a situation where neither side seems preferable to the other, leaving the reader confused.  Or, the protagonist can be so unpleasant that readers don’t want to follow him on his adventures.

A “grey camp” story demands that the writer be able to see the world through his characters’ eyes-both the protagonists and the antagonists.  Both sides need to have a coherent worldview in which the behaviours that put them into conflict are logical extensions of their beliefs, goals, and historical experiences.  Both sides will have flaws, and both sides will have positive traits.  But in a world of such grey morality, how can the reader choose who to cheer for?

One way of making an anti-hero appealing is to make his enemies even worse; but this technique alone will not guarantee that readers will want to follow him through the story.  It’s best if the anti-hero has at least one admirable trait.  If he is a clever thief, the reader will enjoy watching him outsmart the police.  If he is a gangster who overthrows his abusive father for control of their criminal empire, the reader will admire his courage and tenacity.  If he is an enemy spy who falls in love with the woman he seduces, readers will hope that their love can survive the revelation of his true identity.  There is a certain appeal to some audiences to read about characters who do things that would be terrible in real life, but can entertain in fiction, taking the reader to an aspect of the world far different from her own.

In other examples, the creator has chosen a main character that has only a vague similarity with the reader:  for example, a human fighting aliens.  Only as the story progresses do readers come to see that the “enemy” has a legitimate point of view.  Some may choose to remain on the “side” of the protagonist, while others might find themselves cheering for the “antagonist”.  Reader’s loyalties may come to lie with certain characters, but not necessarily with their causes.  The ambiguous worldview-what is good?  What is evil?-lays open the possibility of characters doing unpredictable things, unfettered by many of the constraints of the traditional narrative.

Grey protagonists, done well, can be interesting and challenging because they do things that a traditional “hero” wouldn’t do.  They often find themselves in circumstances where they have to make a choice between two difficult options.  It is left to the reader to decide whether their behaviour is justified given the circumstances.  That decision in turn will be affected by the beliefs and life experiences of the reader.

Some readers will prefer the traditional heroic narrative, where it is easier to decide who to cheer for, where they may not be forced to examine their own beliefs and worldview.  Others will seek out a story that exposes them to alternative points of view and challenges them to think.  Both types of fiction have pitfalls for the writer:  how to keep the traditional narrative fresh and interesting?  How to guide readers through a world where morality is in flux?  Rather than debate which type of story is “better”, writers should challenge themselves to create a tale that will deliver a satisfying story for their reader.

That Warm and Fuzzy Feeling

So, I did it. 40,917 words. 113 pages. All in three days.

Now I have a novella to show for it – one that needs massive editing, mind, and one that I’ve been finding little narrative holes all through the more that I think about it – but nevermind. It’s done. I entered the Three-Day Novel Writing Contest and I made my goal. I got the e-mail from the contest organizer that proves it. In January I learn what they thought of it and whether it was enough to get on the shortlist (my oh-so-Canadian goal).

Now, of course, the writing has to take a back seat to work and life and all of those other things that I put off. There are lots of scientific papers to write and other duties at work to complete. There’s a house to clean before the in-laws get here for Thanksgiving. There won’t be time to sit down and write anything more for a while, but honestly? That can’t wipe out the sense of accomplishment that this gave me.

I wrote this. I sat down and wrote a story that I like and that I’m happy with, beginning to end. The three days bit was fun and outrageous, but that sense of completion? I would have that whether it had been three days or three years.

It’s been a while since I’ve felt that satisfied. Like many writers, I have a hard-drive full of unfinished drafts and false starts, and sometimes I go back in my weaker moments to try and recapture the creative energy that seemed to come from those beginnings. I’ve often felt a strange nostalgia in reading these – a sense of the possibility that the story held, and a moment of sadness that it didn’t seem to take off from the ground. There were always reasons why they didn’t work – a plot point too unbelievable, a character too unsympathetic – but there was always some spark there, and I sometimes wish I could take those fragments and keep going on them.
Maybe someday.

But there comes a point when you need to finish something, and when you do, even if it’s not as exciting as publication, it always feels like the biggest thing in the whole world. This is the first story I’ve finished in a long, long time, let alone something I’m happy with, and I’m looking forward to letting it stew for a while before tackling it with an even greater vigour, trying to craft it into something even more than it is now.

I’d love to hear how other people feel when they finish. Do you get pleased with yourself, like I do, or does it just spur you on to greater things? What’s been the most accomplished moment you’ve had lately with your writing?

Black and White…Gray and Gold

My day job exists in a strange state of flux. There is only black and white, no shades between. I deal in actual fact, method, motive, and circumstance.

But yet, everything is painted over with this strange gray haze. Good guys do bad things, sometimes bad guys do good things. Smart people make dumb decisions, and generally ignorant people end up doing things so off the wall bloody fricken’ genius that it would just make your head spin.

I exist in the here and now, the actual reality of fictional realism. Things that happen defy logic, exist without rhyme or reason. They’re just accepted as existing, simply because they are.

But even in the end of it, we’re all guided by black and white. Yet, while there is only one right way to do things, there’s an infinite number of wrong ways to do the right thing.

And so exist my characters. There is no defined archetype. They exist because they do. And the things they do, they do because they want to. Whether guided by logic, madness, revenge, or even lust. Heck, I’ve been known to find some strange demonic presence skulking about in the corner of a character’s bedroom, guiding their hand in all that is achieved.

I’ve heard the modern era of fiction’s gray bemoaned by the archetypical fiction writers. There’s nothing wrong stylistically.

But, we live in troubled times. And the greatest fiction often mimics society at the time of its writing.

Don’t be afraid to try something new.

Because even in the gray, you might find your gold.

You are an Evil Mastermind

Do you know the thing I love the most about being a writer? It’s not the creation of beautiful prose (though, that is a lovely outcome). It’s not the fact that, when I’m finally published and I gain super-author status I will be able to finally stay at home in my PJ’s for a living (hey, it could totally happen).

No, the reason I love writing is because I, with all my inadequacies and failures and social ineptitudes, get to be a villain.

Let’s face it people. From the moment we sit down to craft a story, we become devious creatures. We build human beings of our own devising just to put them through hell for the enjoyment of others. And we do it with a smile on our faces (inherently villainous). We spend days, weeks, and months picking the right words to manipulate the reader into thinking what we want them to (true super-villainy).

My fine friend, the craft of writing is a master class in being an evil mastermind.

Now, you might say that a character isn’t technically a person, so that doesn’t count.

My reply would be that you’ve obviously never been in a room full of Sherrilyn Kenyon fans. To the reader experiencing your story, the characters should always be people. Complex and issue-riddled, they have faults just like the frail flesh and blood variety. The reader has to see them as real people, or they won’t care what happens to them.

So, once the character is complete and real and human, it’s our job to knock them flat, destroy their lives, kill their friends and loved ones, maim them, torture them, and do pretty much whatever we can to make what’s left of their lives as difficult as possible. Then, we become really cruel. We make them figure a way out all by themselves. This paper person must be active, so no shortcuts, no divine providence. Providence, after all, is the realm of gods, and for your story, you are god-a villainous god. And don’t forget, like the arena of old, this is all for entertainment’s sake.

My, my. We are evil, aren’t we?

But the most dastardly part is what we do to the reader. Our entire craft is completely based on manipulation, obfuscation, and downright lying. From the reliance on descriptive word choice and using the active voice, to how characters walk and what’s in their refrigerators, we work to guide the reader’s subconscious perceptions. It’s kinda like when movie theaters used to splice subliminal advertising into their previews to get the audience to go buy things from the concession stand. Done right, the reader never knows they’re being manipulated. But make no mistake. What we’re doing is convincing the reader what to think, how to feel, and when to do both.

I’m feeling a little like Big Brother in an Orwellian kinda way, aren’t you?

Being able to manipulate the reader like this is, of course, a very difficult and delicate kind of manipulation that takes much hard work, years of on the job study, many maligning critiques (yet more proof of my point), and plotting (See? I just made a pun. I must be evil.). It’s not easy, but highly enjoyable when you see all the minions you create who will love you for being the black-hearted creature of darkness you really are.