Category Archives: Reader Investment & Empathy

Write Short Stories, Not Small Stories

As a dyed in the wool novelist, I’ve had to work hard to learn to write short stories. My early attempts always came off as… flat. To fix this problem, I experimented with character, with plot, with setting, and even dabbled some with poetic prose. However, nothing I tried made my stories come to life. I would eventually learn that my problem wasn’t with any of those aspects of writing, though all would improve over the years as I practiced my craft. The real issue was with my fundamental understanding of what actually makes a story powerful.

All stories, no matter their length, get their power from manipulating their readers’ emotions. As David Farland taught me, readers are seeking an emotional exercise when they pick up a book. It’s why we organize our bookstores based on the emotions we seek to satisfy. Characters, setting, plot, and prose are all vehicles for establishing reader empathy and then using that connection to twist the heart strings.

In longer works, we have the luxury of taking our time to build an emotional connection. That room to grow is what allows us to hit many different emotional beats over the course of a novel. However, when writing a short story, you need to go straight for the feels. By deciding early on what emotional impact you are aiming for, you are able to ensure that everything works towards those big emotional punches.

Just because we are writing a short story doesn’t mean that we are writing a simple story. We still need memorable characters, sexy settings, and plenty of conflict and change. There must be a beginning, a middle, a climax, and a denouement. We can’t sacrifice any of those elements in the name of saving word count. Nor are we writing small stories. Rather, the best short fiction tackles big emotions, big problems but in a shorter format. I like to think of it as a distillation of story rather than a reduction in word count. Like a good whiskey, a work of short fiction will retain all the elements of its precursor, but in a more potent form.

As is often true, the best way to learn how to write powerful short stories is to study the work of masters. In the case of short fiction, I can think of few better and more accessible than the writers at Pixar. They regularly turn out four or five minute animated features that are not only complete stories, but emotionally satisfying as well. In fact, this track record is one of the main reasons I’d go see just about any new Pixar movie. One of the most potent works of short fiction they’ve published is the first ten minutes of the full length movie, Up. While it was designed to be a prologue to Carl and Russell’s story, those ten minutes have been consistently rated as Pixar’s best short. Below, I’ve embedded the second half of that sequence. But be warned, it’s a tear jerker.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1G371JiLJ7A

Take a minute to grab a tissue and then we’ll break this sequence down. Pixar spends a little over the first minute showing us the story of a happy couple. They’re married, fix up an old house, and have a pleasantly domestic life. Their introduction as characters is extremely relatable because it resonates with many of the audiences’ own desires and/or experiences. Many of us want to find love, like they did, and live a happy life, like they clearly do. At time 1:07, the characters begin their first try/fail cycle in their pursuit of a “happily married life.” They want to have children. End of act 1.

Pixar spends the next 17 seconds building the baby anticipation before hitting us with the first emotional punch. Without resorting to a single word, the writers tell us that not only did these characters fail to have a child, but it isn’t going to happen. Then they do something critical. Instead of rushing on to the next try/fail cycle, the writers take the time to drive their point home. They show the characters in pain, and in so doing we experience their sense of grief alongside them. However, the story isn’t done.

At a 1:46, Ellie and Carl decide that their infertility won’t get in the way of their “happily married” life-goal. This builds empathy because people who suffer and then pick themselves back up are admirable. They decide to live out their childhood dream of going to Paradise Falls. This is their second try/fail cycle.

As Ellie and Carl work to save up the money they need to travel, life keeps getting in the way. Years pass and they eventually forget about their dream for a time. That is, until Carl rediscovers the goal one day and goes to the trouble to arrange everything as a surprise for his wife. Try/fail cycle #2 ends in success, right? Well, no. Too much time has passed and Ellie is now too sick to go. Act 2 ends at time 3:26.

The climax of this story is Ellie’s death at time 3:55. In the remaining 24 seconds, we experience Carl’s melancholy and sense of loss along with him in the denouement. We see his emotional state in the emptiness of the church and his return to a dark home. We as the audience know that the movie is just beginning, but it feels like an emotionally satisfying, bitter-sweet ending as well.

Pixar is able to tell a complete, romantic tragedy story arc in four minutes and twenty seconds of film because they didn’t try to tell a small story. They didn’t pull any emotional punches, nor did they leave any critical story elements out. Rather, their skill allowed them to know how to quickly establish audience empathy, and then play on that empathy with emotional highs and lows. They reached into our hearts and gave our heartstrings a good, firm tug. In so doing, they told a big story in a small space.

Two Great Genres That Read Great Together

Science Fiction and Horror – Two Great Genres That Read Great Together

If you’re of a certain age, you’ll get this.

Imagine a kid, tousled hair and freckles staring in horror at a book in his hand walking down the aisle of a library.  From the other directions another kid, this one a girl with thick dark curls held up in two ponytails, as they peruse the aisles of their local library. They comically run into each other. The first boy recoils. “You got your science fiction in my horror!”

The girl looks equally aghast. “You got your horror in my science fiction!”

As an aspiring writer, I tried to write what I thought was purely science fiction while I wrote my first short stories. I knew that the novels developing in my head were more military science fiction and I was completely comfortable with that subject matter. I wanted to keep my learning curve within the bounds of “traditional” science fiction. In hindsight, I’m very glad for the opportunity to have had my mind changed for me.

In 2012, I joined the Colorado Springs Fiction Writers Group and became a regular member. While submitting short fiction for critique, analysis, and help, we had a contest to write a flash fiction story combining two dissimilar genres. To this day, I’m glad I did not draw Lovecraftian horror and “chick-lit.”  Instead, I drew science fiction…and horror.

Horror was something I never expected to write. I’ve never been a huge fan of horror movies, and I very rarely watch them. Walking Dead? Nope. It’s just not my thing. So, faced with writing a 1,000-word story I panicked and wrote nothing until the weekend before it was due. I was hung up on two things. First, to paraphrase Ray Bradbury’s definition of science fiction – it is the art of the possible. Horror, to me, seemed like the art of the impossible. Granted, I’ve experienced a few crazy, unexplained things in my life, but horror seemed to be all about fear. How could fear and (at least to me) optimistic visions of the future be related?

The second thing standing in my way was failing to understand why we read horror. I am a dedicated Stephen King fan and I realized while I was trying to get past the blinking cursor of doom that I was not connecting the science fiction scenery to the emotional response from the reader. When that finally happened, I wrote the story in one sitting while waiting for a flight at the Salt Lake City airport. I submitted the story “Poultry” for critique and was told I should find a place for it. Eventually, I did find a magazine for it, but without pay. In the last six months, I sold it again to Digital Science Fiction, where it recently appeared in their Quickfic Anthology.

Writing a miniature space opera with a horror element (and admittedly, a dark humor, too) was easier than I thought because I realized I wanted to elicit a response from the audience. I wanted there to be a moment of revulsion and a head-shaking chuckle at the end of the story. I’m hopeful I achieved that because that was the lesson I learned while writing the story.

We tend to think of prose as painting a picture for the reader. That’s part of the equation. We need to visualize the reader’s response. Can we do that for every reader? No. But, if we have that “target” in mind, we can deliver an emotional punch to the reader’s gut. That’s what makes stories memorable.

And, for the record, science fiction and horror are two great genres that work great together. (Insert head-shaking chuckle here)

Science Fact and Science Fiction (Part 2)

Yesterday, we talked about what sort of people become scientists and how they think. If you missed Part 1 of Science Fact and Science Fiction, be sure to go read that first.

And now, back to the list of 4 things writers get wrong about science and scientists.

3. As Always, You Need to Follow the Money…

Many senior scientists don’t get much lab time. In fact, most of the professors I studied under or worked with in college spent most of their time raising funds to keep the lights on and the experiments rolling. Lab space, lab equipment, experimental materials, and graduate student salaries don’t come cheap. So, whenever you read or write about a scientific study, it behooves you to think about where the money comes from. Figure out the funding and you’ll often have a good idea of the sorts of biases and politics you’re going to have to deal with. Additionally, each of the four major types of scientists — academic, corporate, government, and amateur/startup — have their own quirks, habits, and means of incentive.

Academic scientists are driven by the stricture of “publish or perish.” Their goal is to secure funding from governments, special interest groups, or businesses to allow them to study what interests them. They are often pure scientists (remember from yesterday: those who value knowledge for its own sake). However, the modern system is set up such that academic scientists are under a great deal of pressure to perform “ground breaking” work and publish those results with regularity.

The problem is that getting a break-through every couple months is unlikely. A scientific investigation, if done properly, may take years or even a life time to bear fruit. There are many researchers whose discoveries weren’t recognized as important until well after they had died. However, that isn’t an excuse in a publish or perish culture. You still need to make regular “progress” or you can lose you funding and your job. This pressure has led some to distort or even outright fabricate data in order to keep the money flowing. Pro tip: Want to be despised by a bunch of scientists? Falsify data. Not only is it dishonest and often illegal, even minor transgressions will destroy your reputation and career if discovered.

Corporate scientists, on the other hand, don’t have as much trouble with the issue of funding. However, they also don’t really get to choose what they study. Their job is to invent, improve a product, or make a discovery that can then be commercialized to make a boatload of money. Preferably, they’ll do this quickly and cheaply. Ultimately, they get their funding from the company’s consumer base.

Naturally, applied scientists (remember: those who find value in using knowledge) tend to migrate to the private sector. This is the sort of work that I do, and I really enjoy it. I can take the time and energy that I’d otherwise have to focus on finding funding and do the work. Plus, I genuinely enjoy what I do, so it’s a win-win.

Next are the government scientists, who can be further split into two major groups. First are the administrations with government mandated missions, such as NASA or the handful of government research labs. The reason they exist is because the government thinks that either a) no one would invest in that kind of work and it’s essential to public wellbeing, or b) they don’t want that sort of work in the hands of private entities. In fact, there’s a line in the United States Constitution (Section 8) that mandates that the Federal Government is to “promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts.” And they do. Government grants and contracts are responsible for many of the major discoveries and technological advances we take for granted.

The second group of government scientists are those who are employed to act as regulators and advisers. Their job is to double check the rest of us to ensure that our work complies to local, state, and federal laws, as well as ensure that new products won’t cause harm to the public. They are also often expert witnesses for various branches of the government. However, it is still a government job, fraught with all the same sort of bureaucracy, problems, and politics that are characteristic of any government endeavor.

The last group is the amateurs and startups. Though they are often the most underrated group, they are also often the pioneers with the unique vision needed to change the world. These folks aren’t limited by corporate goals or academic systems. They are the sorts of people who passionately follow their interests and therefore can be either pure or applied scientists. Amateurs often don’t end up making a lot of progress, largely because of lack of formal training or funding. Most startup companies fail because they can’t compete in the market or their “big idea” isn’t so ground breaking after all. However, sometimes these people invent or discover things that change the world. After all, the Jet Propulsion Laboratories owes their origins to four “amateurs” who were students at Caltech. Even today, many successful technology companies are founded on the basis of a great idea and a lot of effort put in by people working in a basement.

4. Science is Imperfect – That’s the Point!

Everyone tends to look to science for answers when really they should be looking for questions. Fundamentally, the point of science is both understanding and predictive power. Observations of the past should be used to predict the future. If they fail to do so, they aren’t necessarily useless. Rather the model is simply incomplete. As hypotheses are repeatedly tested and challenged, they gain weight and become theories. As theories age and stand up to the efforts of hundreds and thousands of observations and experiments, they become taken as “fact.”

Though scientists have earned a reputation for arrogance, what they really need is a profound sense of humility. Scientists are human. Our understanding can be wrong or incomplete. We must NEVER reject a new piece of evidence because it clashes with our world view. Hypotheses that were once viewed as ridiculous are now widely accepted as fact. Need an example? If you had stood up fifty years ago and asserted that black holes are real, you would’ve been laughed out of the room. Black holes were the stuff of science fiction. However, we now know that not only do black holes exist, but they are fairly common (if hard to see). In fact, our very own Milky Way galaxy, like most others, actively orbits around a single supermassive black hole at the galactic center! (Want to know more? Look up Sagittarious A*.)

In conclusion, the really important question is this: What kind of story are you telling? How important is scientific reality to your audience? Can you get away with hand waving and mutterings of “sufficiently advanced technology,” or do you need to research every single tiny detail? I can’t tell you for sure. It depends on your audience and your own tastes. Getting science “right” in fiction is less about factual accuracy than it is about being consistent. Writers don’t really need to be experts, however. We can find plenty of authorities who are happy to share their knowledge.

Fortunately for us, Science Fiction is speculative. The most important thing about getting science right is to ensure that you are internally consistent and your characters behave like scientists would. I’ll say this again because it is essential. What you can’t afford to do is get the human element wrong. Though science is a body of knowledge and a set of skills, it is also a point of view. If we write the characters with truth and consistency, we can sell the rest.

Misconceptions about the Military

VFWCoversmA large number of fantasy and sci-fi stories feature military characters.  Sometimes it’s because a knight or space marine seems like a more exciting protagonist than a peasant or waiter at the Star Diner.  Or, sometimes the peasant or waiter finds herself leading a revolt against the Empire of Evil, and now all those uniformed troops are out to get her.

At certain points in history, many people in a country will have had at least one family member or friend who’s served in the armed forces, or will have served themselves.  At others, some people might not have any close associates who’ve served.  This is a ground ripe for misconceptions to creep in.  Sometimes these misconceptions imply that military personnel are capable of incredible feats—and then imply personal fault when reality fails to live up to the mythology.  And sometimes these misconceptions feed ugly falsehoods.

  • “Lone wolves” do not make the ideal soldiers.

Being in the military is, to a large part, about learning to work as a team.  Success or failure—and sometimes, even survival—depends on everyone doing their best and working together.  “Lone wolves” might make dramatic protagonists in video games (in which the player gets to defeat all the enemies her/himself) but in real life, nobody wants to be on a team with the guy who can’t get along with anyone else, or whose tendency to ignore orders and “do his own thing” puts the rest of the team in danger.

  • Militaries do not have unlimited equipment/personnel.

“We needed to evacuate the island.  Why didn’t the army send more helicopters?”

The army didn’t have more helicopters to send.

“Why not??”

Well, some were stationed too far away to get there in time.

“How come?”

In case they were needed in those other places.  We can’t psychically guess where helicopters might be needed at any given time.

“Why don’t we just get more helicopters then??”

Helicopters have to come from somewhere.  It takes time to build them.  It also takes money.

(And the same goes for pilots.  You might have ten helicopters and only five available pilots who can fly them.  No, you cannot swap out for a jet pilot.)

“Then why didn’t we put more people in the helicopters we did have?”

Because aircraft have weight limits, beyond which it is dangerous to fly.

The truth is that most military operations are about learning to do the most with the equipment and people you’ve got.  It is never as much or as many as you would want.

If your main character is a soldier, she will have spent much of her career solving problems, often based around “we’re out of this, we’re short of those, and we can’t get you these, so what can you use instead?”

  • It is not always possible to avoid casualties.  Or to say no to missions that might cause casualties.

“Misconceptions About Combat” is a whole other article, but in brief:  not even the best crack shot in the world can reliably “shoot the gun out of the enemy’s hand,” or otherwise render the enemy unable to harm anyone while refraining from killing them.  Commanders often have difficult decisions to make when going back in search of the missing soldier means putting their entire units at risk:  is it fair to ask ten people to gamble their lives for one?  And what if doing so makes the unit unable to carry out their mission?  If someone gets injured, do you evacuate them first, or do you carry out the mission and hope they can hold on?  Leaders are regularly faced with hard choices:  to presume that these choices are “easy” or imply a “lack of caring” do real-life servicepeople a true disservice.

  • Most people don’t join the military “to kill people.”

I’ve been shocked and disgusted to read scenarios which were summed up, in effect, as “well, only soldiers died, so it’s okay.”  The implication is that anyone who “signed up to kill” deserved to be on the receiving end.  After all, why else would anyone join the military?

Patriotism is a potential reason, certainly, but a more common motiviation is opportunity.  “I couldn’t find a job in my area.”  “I wanted to travel/get an education/experience life and I couldn’t afford to do it on my current wages.”  Or, simply, “there’s no other way to learn to fly a fighter jet.”

The military personnel I know are not looking for a legally sanctioned way to commit murder.  Some of them are people who strongly believe in their country and its principles.  Many of them are people who found service to be the best way (sometimes the only way) to improve their lives.  Writing them as though they were criminals does a disservice to the many fine men and women in uniform across the world.

Even though fiction is make-believe, fictional portrayal of groups of people can reinforce real-world thinking.  The power of fiction is that it can get readers to think about different points of view, including ideas they’d never considered before, and all while having “fun”.  But cheap stereotypes can reinforce ideas borne of misinformation and ignorance.  Do real-life military personnel the courtesy of reflecting their experiences in an honest way.