A guest post by M. Scott Boone.

“The book is better.” We’ve all heard it; we’ve all said it.

But why do we make that judgment? And more importantly, how can we, as writers of said better books, use that reason to improve our writing? Harry and Ginny, Book and Movie

I’d like to explore the possibilities through the storytelling choices made in one subplot in the movie and book versions of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince – namely the romantic relationship between Harry and Ginny. That exploration should reveal two related pieces of guidance derived from where the book is better and one derived from what the movie did better.

I would give a spoiler warning, but if you haven’t yet read the books or seen the movies and were still planning to, I just want you to know that I am sorry Wilson fell off the raft and floated away. I am sure that was very traumatic for you.

Anyway, back to Harry and Ginny. Here’s how the book shows us Harry’s feelings for Ginny. Ron and Harry find Dean and Ginny kissing in a deserted hallway as they return from quidditch practice. Rowling reveals Harry’s feelings as he is experiencing them by taking us inside Harry:

It was as though something large and scaly erupted into life in Harry’s stomach, clawing at his insides: Hot blood seemed to flood into his brain, so that all thought was extinguished, replaced by a savage urge to jinx Dean into jelly. Wrestling with his sudden madness,…

Harry’s sudden realization is followed by an internal struggle over what to do about his feelings – how to keep them secret or how to act on them without incurring Ron’s wrath. Finally, Harry enters the Gryffindor common room and discovers that they have won the Quidditch Cup despite Harry’s detention and inability to play.

Harry looked around; there was Ginny running toward him; she had a hard, blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her.

After several long moments – or it might have been half an hour – or possibly several sunlit days – they broke apart.

In the movie version, Harry and Ginny’s romantic relationship is developed in a very different manner. Rather than these sudden changes, the movie is sprinkled with growing clues about Harry and Ginny’s feelings for each other.

When Harry arrives at the Burrow at the beginning of the film, it is Ginny he sees in the window. Their greeting hug is awkward in a way meaningful to the viewer. We glimpse Harry’s face showing interest in Ginny’s answers to Fred and George’s questions about her romantic life. Harry later describes Ginny’s qualities in response to Ron’s questions in a telling manner.

Harry, and Harry alone, stands as Ginny takes her seat for dessert at one of Professor Slughorn’s dinner parties, earning a knowing smirk from Hermione and a later quip of “although I think Harry enjoyed dessert.”

While Harry is trying to comfort Hermione, upset over the pairing of Ron and Lavender, Hermione states Harry’s feelings for us. “How does it feel Harry, when you see Dean with Ginny? I know. You’ re my best friend, I’ve seen the way you look at her.” And after an awfully-timed appearance by Ron and Lavender that is followed by an “angry birds’ attack on Ron, Harry admits to his feelings. “It feels like this.”

The visual communication of their feelings continues at the Christmas dinner at the Burrow. Ginny feeds him a pie before Ron interrupts. They almost kiss before the Burrow is attacked. Finally, they kiss in a drawn out scene in the Room of Requirement while hiding the Half-Blood Prince’s old potions book.

In other words, it is much more drawn out and entirely different from the book.

I am not trying to say that the storytellers who put the movie together did a poor job. Rather, those who tell stories in movie form have a different palette of tools, and that difference subtly changes how a particular story can be told. More importantly for my point here, paying attention to those differences allows a writer to jump on those advantages provided by the written storytelling form – namely (1) deep penetration into a character’s feelings and (2) believable surprise.

First, the ability to go inside a character is a tremendous advantage to the writer, to express the perfect feelings and create the perfect mood. Rowling does this, masterfully in my opinion, in quoted instances above.

Second, having the ability to go inside a character’s head allows an author to reveal information as a surprise. In the above quoted scene, in which Ron and Harry stumble upon Dean and Ginny kissing, Harry’s intense feelings are a shock to him and presumably a surprise to the reader. In the movie version, Harry’s feelings for Ginny are shown in many small snippets that build throughout the movie. The advantage is that the writer can create a greater emotional change within a single scene – making it a more powerful experience for the reader.

Conversely, while books can do some things better than movies, the reverse can also be true. It is possible for a movie to do something better than the book, and in turn, we as writers can learn from that.

This example may be a controversial point for many fans, but I believe the movies do a stronger job both at developing Ginny as a character and at showing that she is a worthy romantic interest for Harry.

And the Half-Blood Prince movie did this with only one scene. When the Burrow is attacked during the Christmas holidays (perhaps one of the scenes most hated by fans of the books), Harry chases Bellatrix into the fields in an attempt to gain vengeance for Sirius’s murder. Remus and Tonks do not follow Harry because of a ring of fire around the Burrow; Ginny on the other hand leaps through the smallest of gaps in the fire without even a pause or thought. And with that brief action, in a scene that probably only takes a couple of seconds, Ginny is worthy. Remus, a former professor and long time member of the Order of the Phoenix, and Tonks, an experienced auror, hesitate, but young Ginny does not.

The portrayal of that single action, to my mind at least, says more about who she is and why she is worthy than pretty much everything said about Ginny in all seven books.

We could just say that it was a masterful bit of storytelling by the makers of the movie, but we should go further and ask if it can teach us anything as writers.

I think it can – it can teach us about the limitations of strict points of view. I’m not by any stretch saying that writers should abandon strict points of view with their ability to create deeper penetration inside characters’ heads and greater reader immersion. Rather, I’m suggesting that we should recognize how it may limit us and work creatively around that limitation.

In the books, we see Ginny primarily through Harry’s eyes. We see her throughout the books, but only in the background until he realizes his feelings. At that point her worth as a romantic interest is demonstrated primarily by Harry being attracted to her.

In the movies, particularly the scene I identified above, we are outside Harry’s head. We can see Ginny acting, not as Harry viewing her actions, but as herself. While the cinematic viewpoint does not allow us deeply inside her head, we are drawn to identify with her more than we are in the books that are so focused on Harry’s viewpoint.

How might we capture that sort of power in writing, if we are not going to switch viewpoints or step back from a strict viewpoint? It will have to be creative, but the key, I think, is to make the character see and think about the action, or have another character relate the action to the viewpoint character and have them think about what it means. By having the viewpoint character trying to put themselves in the head of a non-viewpoint character, the reader is invited to do likewise.

Take away: To write that book that is better than the movie, take the best advantage possible of a writer’s ability to take readers inside a character’s head while being creative about solving problems created by strict points of view.

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M. Scott Boone lives in Atlanta, Georgia, where he works as a law professor in order to support a clowder of cats. He writes about legal issues affecting writers at writerinlaw.com. When not writing or teaching, he is a self-proclaimed soccervangelist.

Promises, Promises, Promises

July 19, 2013

Leigh Galbreath

Sure, the Avengers has its faults, but the weaker aspects of the film are more than made up for by aspects that worked unbelievably well. Pacing, the juggling of an ensemble cast, great dialogue, the list goes on and on.

The Writing Excuses podcast recently covered what the Avengers did right, which everyone should give a listen to, if you haven’t already.

One of the things I think this movie handles very well is the making of promises. Of course, this post is far too short to cover the subject exhaustively, so we’ll stick to just a few scenes.

The film starts out with an obvious promise. The Other’s voice-over promises an impending invasion, sets up the stakes a bit and asks “…and the humans, what can they do but burn?”

If that isn’t a loaded question, I don’t know what is.

That scene is followed by Loki’s arrival, which gives us all kinds of promises. It tells us what to expect from the film: lots of nifty effects (doorways to the other end of space are so pretty), quick pacing (things turn from bad [the Tesseract misbehaving] to worse [Loki running off with said Tesseract] in no time at all), snappy repartee (Whedon’s specialty that you have to hear to believe), and possible global annihilation (Agent Hill’s admonition that “there may not be a minimum safe distance”).

We also get all kinds of character promises. Fury’s willingness to be buried shows how far he’s willing to go. Hawkeye’s competence in this scene sets him up as a valid threat when he’s turned to the dark side and lets us easily accept him into the team when he gets his own personality back. Similarly, Dr. Selwig’s knowledge of the Teseract promises the capacity to create a stable door for Loki’s army to use, and his ability to sneak in a “kill switch” to turn it off again. Also, his mention of Thor, and Loki’s subsequent reaction, promises equal danger to Selwig himself somewhere down the line. And am I the only one who, upon seeing Loki’s first close up when he arrives, thought he was pulling a fantastic impersonation of the Joker’s signature grin? This immediately sets this Loki apart from the one we met in Thor, taking him in a darker direction while still promising some fun when he makes all hell break loose.

A little later, Fury states that he believes the Avengers just need the right push to do what they need them to do. That push turns out to be Agent Coulson’s death, and while we weep over the loss of such an entertaining and likable character, the death is not at all as meaningless as it would have otherwise been without the promise it helps fulfill.

But not all the promises are made at the beginning of the film. Almost halfway through the film, there’s a promise that, when fulfilled, is probably one of the most memorable moments in recent cinema. While at work in the lab, Stark says in an offhand way that Loki is “playing with Acme dynamite” and that he’s going to be there when it explodes in Loki’s face. Now, he says this to Bruce Banner, who we soon learn is the “Acme dynamite” in question. He’s the explosion Loki’s banking on using to get the Avengers out of the way. Anyone who’s seen the movie knows how that turns out, and while Stark isn’t there to see the Hulk toss Loki around like a rag doll, it’s still incredibly satisfying to watch. That unforgettable moment is also promised repeatedly with Whedon’s proclivity to knock Asgardians out of frame in the middle of saying something.

Now, I’ll admit that this film is cheating a bit. As part of a series of movies taking place within the Marvel universe, Whedon is able to lean on promises made in previous films to create a more fulfilling experience for the audience. He also has to make promises meant to be carried over to subsequent films.

Taking from this experience can be difficult depending on one’s style. People who heavily outline their books will have an easier time of planning these promises, as they know what’s going to happen. As a discovery writer, I have to go back to put these in after the fact, but I’m learning that my promises don’t have to be clustered in the first part of the story, nor do they call attention to themselves. Yet, if nothing else is learned from a close observation of Whedon’s use of making and fulfilling promises, it’s that taking the time to pay attention to the promises you make can allow easier handling of other aspects, like juggling a large cast of characters, and can make the story far more powerful and effective.

Got another favorite, or a movie you think does it better? Leave a comment and let us know.

Grounding Your Story in Reality

July 18, 2013

fictorians

Guest Posts 3 Comments

A guest post by James Orrin.

Saving Private Ryan is one of the most acclaimed World War Two films ever made, and also one of my personal favorites. It’s a heart-wrenching story that brings me to the verge of tears every time I watch it.

I love this movie for many reasons, but especially for what it taught me about fiction – that so long as the story is compelling, the differences between genres are not as severe as we tend to think.

Saving Private Ryan takes place during the Allied invasion of France and centers around a small group of Army Rangers who have been tasked to find Private James Francis Ryan (Matt Damon), whose three older brothers were recently killed in the war. As the sole surviving son of a single mother, Ryan has been given a ticket home. The problem for the Rangers, led by Captain Miller (Tom Hanks), is that Ryan is missing in action somewhere in the chaos of war-torn Normandy. The Rangers will have to sacrifice themselves and their friends in order to send one stranger home to his bereaved mother.

Writer Robert Rodat and director Stephen Spielberg did many things right with Saving Private Ryan. The first was to create a compelling story. It has well-formed characters struggling to maintain their humanity in the midst of war and death. It depicts warfare in its most visceral form: dirty and bloody and filled with moral quandaries. It forces us to ponder tough moral questions, particularly the value of human life and sacrifice.

The first time I saw Saving Private Ryan I was excited simply because it was a big movie about the Second World War. Growing up, I loved to study that period in history and even today I’ll read a book about it from time to time. I find it fascinating because it’s the war most associated with good versus evil – I shudder to think of a world in which Hitler and his allies won the war. But even so, there are examples of greatness and nobility of character on both sides, as well as atrocities. It was a brutal war, fought by humans, each with their own virtues and vices.

However, it took me a while to understand why I like the movie so much. It isn’t based on a true story. There was never a Private Ryan in these circumstances. There was no harrowing mission to rescue one woman’s last surviving son. Even the film’s climactic battle – the battle for control of a bridge in the town of Ramelle – never happened. In fact, Ramelle itself is a fictional town created for the film, and the 2^nd SS Panzer Division (the German forces portrayed in the sequence) didn’t join the fighting in France for another month.

You could accuse me of being demanding for noticing these things, but we’re all pretty picky about our likes and dislikes. So how did Spielberg trick me into suspending my disbelief? How did he get me to pretend for nearly three hours that this film really happened?

The key was in the details.

The film opens with a spot-on portrayal of the D-Day landings at Omaha Beach, filled with little details that made me nod my head in approval. From the seasickness that many soldiers experienced on the landing craft as they made their way toward Fortress Europe, to the plastic bags wrapped around the Allies’ weapons to keep them dry during transit, to the types and positions of the German defenses. That first scene was so in-tune with the historical accounts that I found myself in awe of the amount of research it required. But that’s to be expected, right? After all, Army Rangers really did land on Omaha Beach that day… but what about the sections of the movie that never actually happened?

As the movie moved further from historical accuracy, they dropped in little anchor points to ground me to reality, to keep me believing the validity of the events portrayed. None of these anchor points were as large as the D-Day landings. In fact, most of them were small things. One that has always stuck with me is a small comment made during a conversation between Captain Miller and Sergeant Horvath. Captain Miller says about Ryan “He better be worth it. He better go home and cure a disease, or invent a longer-lasting light bulb.” This is a line that’s designed to make the audience feel the main characters’ reluctance to sacrifice their own lives for a faceless stranger, but it’s also more than that.

During WWII, light bulbs were still a pretty big deal, one of those inventions that had changed the world, and it was still a new enough technology that not every home in the United States had them. The light bulbs of the time were also relatively delicate things that didn’t last long. This line served as an anchor to reality in two ways: it showed an historical fact of the time (world building) and it made Captain John H. Miller feel real. The right details, sprinkled seamlessly throughout the movie, are what make this movie feel real for me, despite its historical inaccuracies. And this is true of any story.

These details usually deal with creating believable characters or vivid settings, and can be as simple as an offhand comment or as large as an entire battle. They are things that not everyone will notice. In fact, it’s better if they don’t draw too much attention to themselves – the details should never overshadow the story unless you’re only writing for the enthusiasts. They are there to trick the reader’s mind into believing, if only for a short time, that the events of the story are real.

Choosing the right details may seem daunting, especially if you’re creating your own worlds. But it’s simply a matter of doing the right kind of research. The world has seen a lot of history. Use it as a tool to allow your reader – both the casual observer and the enthusiast – to pretend that your characters and your settings actually exist.

Is your story set in a fantasy culture similar to feudal Japan that’s emerging into its own industrial revolution while religious figures call for a crusade? Research those three time periods, and then choose details that will give your story the flavor of reality you’re looking for. If you’ve done it right, and coupled it with relatable characters, even the exacting enthusiasts of feudal Japanese history (or the Crusades, or the Industrial Revolution) will suspend their disbelief to enjoy your story. In fact, those same enthusiasts will connect to your story on a deep level and become free mobile advertisements for your work.

That’s not so very different from writing a story set in the real world, when you stop to think about it. Are you writing a mystery set in 1930’s Saint Louis? Research that time period. Jot down names of significant people alive at the time, major historical events, popular bars, the local jargon of the time period, methods of 1930’s police investigation, etc. A simple, passing comment (such as a wish for a longer-lasting light bulb) may be all you need to strengthen your setting or make a character feel relatable.

So give your reader a compelling story, and then pay attention to the little details that will make that story feel real. With enough of the right details, your reader will follow you down impossible rabbit holes, or to the surface of a far away planet, or into the very midst of the Normandy invasion.

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James Orrin lives in Northern Arizona, surrounded by the Rocky Mountains and the largest Ponderosa Pine stand in the world. He writes science fiction, fantasy, and a blend of both. His personal website is www.jamesorrin.com.

Always Bet On Black!

July 17, 2013

Kristin Luna

Craft & Skills Kristin Luna The Writing Life 1 Comment

The first movie I saw in a movie theater was Terminator 2. Because my dad was a preacher and we lived in a small town in Kansas, the theater owner decided that all the ministers in town and their families could come and see movies for free. We took full advantage of this generous opportunity, and while my dad allowed me to see all of the best action movies from the early 90’s, he forbade me to see Ace Ventura. As you may have already suspected, my dad is pretty awesome.

One of my all-time favorite action movies is still, to this day, Passenger 57 with Wesley Snipes. It includes some iconic action elements like a hijacking, an evil hijacking terrorist with poofy hair, poofy-haired henchmen, Tom Sizemore, and an awesome catch phrase: “Always bet on black!”

As it turns out, Wesley Snipes and Passenger 57 inspired me to write my very first story. Here were the elements, written by yours truly on my dad’s Smith Corona Personal Word Processor at 7 years of age.

1. Wesley Snipes. All good action films somehow incorporate Wesley Snipes. Thusly, I made him my main character, staring opposite Whitney Houston (The Bodyguard had a very special place in my heart and CD player at the time). Also, I needed a foil to Wesley Snipes’ seriousness and overall attractiveness, so I chose Mel Gibson as his witty sidekick.

2. The Marijuanas. I knew – at 7 – that drugs had to somehow be in the story. Either the Bad Guy had to be on them, smuggling them, or giving them to minors. I chose the latter. My Bad Guy, married to Whitney Houston, was the most infamous marijuana dealer in all of Los Angeles. One day, Whitney goes into their closet to look for a hat on the top shelf and, lo and behold, all of the drugs are there. (I asked my dad if I could put in a cuss word when she finds the drugs. He suggested “shoot” or “darn” instead. We reached a compromise with “Oh crap!”) She calls the police right away, because it’s the right thing to do.

3. A secret place to hide. Wesley and Mel are FBI agents tasked with keeping Whitney safe and hidden from her drug-pushing husband. I thought up an exotic place where most of my movie-story would be filmed – a place where no one would even think to look for them: Hawaii.

4. A blossoming romance. Oh c’mon, you knew it was coming. Wesley and Whitney fall for each other.

5. The twist! Drug husband has a dirty agent in the FBI who tells him Whitney is hiding out in Hawaii. Drug husband is happy to hear this, as he already has a drug ring in Hawaii and he needed to work on his tan anyway.

6. Cue huge action sequence with GUNS! A shootout ensues on the beach. The drug peddling husband’s henchmen get picked off one by one by Mel and Wesley. Mel gets shot in the shoulder, “Go find him! I’ll hold them off!” Mel says, and off Wesley goes to find that drug husband guy.

7. Like all good action movies, Wesley and drug man have a long fight that leaves them both exhausted. Wesley somehow wrangles his gun back, then says something moral and/or funny like: “Smoke this!” and shoots Bad Guy/drug husband.

8. The kiss. Wesley and Whitney make out at the end, Mel says something snide but funnier than: “Get a room!” The camera zooms out, showing an aerial view of the scene and the beautiful beaches of Hawaii.

And there you have it.

Whatever inspires you, pursue it. Movies are a fantastic medium to shape our ideas into a more realistic presentation. If you need to cast movie stars as your characters so that you can see them clearly in your mind, do so. If one of your favorite movies taught you a little something about story structure, use it.

And if you learn one thing from action movies from the 80’s and 90’s, it’s that you probably shouldn’t do drugs. Or Wesley Snipes will find you.

Wesley Snipes in Demolition Man, and also what he looks like going after drug dealers.

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Kristin Luna is a Marketing Consultant by day and writer by break of dawn. She goes to bed at 9:00 PM. Kristin, a descendant of the infamous Dread Pirate Roberts, is currently working on a Young Adult fantasy trilogy. When she isn’t contemplating marketing campaigns or writing, she’s crocheting, watching action movies, figuring out yoga, teaching her cats sign language, reading, or rounding out her handmade Jadzia Dax figurine collection. She is kidding about only two of those hobbies.