If you signed up for the Structure Workshop, you should have received an email invitation to join the class loop.
One of you has a bouncing address. If you haven't received your invitation, this is you. Please email edittorrent at gmail dotcom with an alternate address or other instructions.
Thanks!
Theresa
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Interview about reviews
I have a masochistic appreciation of articles about the NYTimes Book Review. Anyway, here's an interview with two women bestsellers who throw down the gauntlet. :)
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Coherence in backstory
More about backstory--
We know we need it, so make it work. Part of the problem is that "layered-on" backstory (that which is meant to make the reader feel sorry for the character or understand some motivation) often ends up just being contrived-- the rivets are showing, and the reader can feel the extraneousness of it. "Right, right, she was orphaned and we're supposed to feel sorry for her. Got it."
One way to counteract this is to make the backstory congruent with something in the present time. This is probably pretty basic, but I'm going to say it anyway! The purpose of backstory is to show how the past affects this character in the present. That is, a child who was orphaned (parents died) is likely to have abandonment issues as she grows up, and this might mean that she is reluctant to fully give her heart to a lover-- she knows how cruel fate can be, ripping him from her just as fate ripped her parents from her.
But notice that her abandonment issues will be different from those experienced by a man whose parents -deserted- him in childhood. That boy-grown-man is likely to distrust PEOPLE, not FATE. So he's not worried that this loving person will be ripped from him; he assumes that this person doesn't really love him and will leave. (And maybe that there's something wrong with him that makes people leave him.)
This makes the character and backstory work together for coherence. But the coherence requires us as writers taking the backstory we invent seriously, and imagining what it would REALLY cause in this particular person. That is, stop thinking of it as "backstory" and start thinking of it as "her/his past".
Other examples? Hmm. In romance, often the heroine is recently divorced, and it seems to me the cause of divorce is as important as the fact of divorce. Too often, I think, the writer misses an opportunity here, presenting the cause as something generic (usually the husband cheats on her, often with someone close to her-- a best friend, her sister?). That double-betrayal OUGHT to cause a particular kind of trust issue, but usually the character is shown to end up with a sort of generalized aversion to men. (Actually, many real women in that circumstance would end up far more wary of getting close to another woman, as the betrayal by the friend/sister might seem the greater.) Anyway, I say this is a missed opportunity, because in settling for the generic backstory (and yes, take it from me, it's pretty generic), the author loses the chance for coherence, the sort of connectivity of past and present that make this character seem real to the reader.
For example, hmm. Let's say that you want your heroine to feel ambivalent about her brilliance or talent. This is especially true in the past. A woman with great artistic talent or scientific brilliance in, well, just about anytime before 1980 (and even now, alas) might worry that this would make a man feel inadequate, or spotlight her as "weird" in society. So if you set it up that she is divorced, don't go with a generic "can't trust men" sort of divorce-backstory. Make it particular to this story and this character. The husband couldn't deal with her greater talent or success or intelligence. She won some big prize or grant, and that was when he chose to leave, because he couldn't take her greater ability. That would make "success" a real danger to her, as it led directly to her loss of her husband.
But also notice that it would make her suspect that even someone who loves her is unlikely to accept her as she truly is (brilliant or artistic or obsessed with something), and in fact that what she might consider the best aspect of her is precisely what would scare men off.
Much more coherent than just a generic "can't trust men" backstory connection, because here, it's not just that she can't trust men-- she can't trust her self, her true self. And of course it sets up for the eventual resolution, that the one man who can accept and love her talent and brilliance is the hero. It also, notice, sets up events where the talent and brilliance come into play in the plot, which makes her active (using her skills) but also creates conflict (if she has learned to hide these skills and now has to show them, not knowing what the hero's reaction will be, but expecting the worst, because of the divorce-cause already established in backstory).
Other examples? We should just keep in mind: Backstory might be just a writing element to us, but to our characters, it's their PAST.
Alicia
We know we need it, so make it work. Part of the problem is that "layered-on" backstory (that which is meant to make the reader feel sorry for the character or understand some motivation) often ends up just being contrived-- the rivets are showing, and the reader can feel the extraneousness of it. "Right, right, she was orphaned and we're supposed to feel sorry for her. Got it."
One way to counteract this is to make the backstory congruent with something in the present time. This is probably pretty basic, but I'm going to say it anyway! The purpose of backstory is to show how the past affects this character in the present. That is, a child who was orphaned (parents died) is likely to have abandonment issues as she grows up, and this might mean that she is reluctant to fully give her heart to a lover-- she knows how cruel fate can be, ripping him from her just as fate ripped her parents from her.
But notice that her abandonment issues will be different from those experienced by a man whose parents -deserted- him in childhood. That boy-grown-man is likely to distrust PEOPLE, not FATE. So he's not worried that this loving person will be ripped from him; he assumes that this person doesn't really love him and will leave. (And maybe that there's something wrong with him that makes people leave him.)
This makes the character and backstory work together for coherence. But the coherence requires us as writers taking the backstory we invent seriously, and imagining what it would REALLY cause in this particular person. That is, stop thinking of it as "backstory" and start thinking of it as "her/his past".
Other examples? Hmm. In romance, often the heroine is recently divorced, and it seems to me the cause of divorce is as important as the fact of divorce. Too often, I think, the writer misses an opportunity here, presenting the cause as something generic (usually the husband cheats on her, often with someone close to her-- a best friend, her sister?). That double-betrayal OUGHT to cause a particular kind of trust issue, but usually the character is shown to end up with a sort of generalized aversion to men. (Actually, many real women in that circumstance would end up far more wary of getting close to another woman, as the betrayal by the friend/sister might seem the greater.) Anyway, I say this is a missed opportunity, because in settling for the generic backstory (and yes, take it from me, it's pretty generic), the author loses the chance for coherence, the sort of connectivity of past and present that make this character seem real to the reader.
For example, hmm. Let's say that you want your heroine to feel ambivalent about her brilliance or talent. This is especially true in the past. A woman with great artistic talent or scientific brilliance in, well, just about anytime before 1980 (and even now, alas) might worry that this would make a man feel inadequate, or spotlight her as "weird" in society. So if you set it up that she is divorced, don't go with a generic "can't trust men" sort of divorce-backstory. Make it particular to this story and this character. The husband couldn't deal with her greater talent or success or intelligence. She won some big prize or grant, and that was when he chose to leave, because he couldn't take her greater ability. That would make "success" a real danger to her, as it led directly to her loss of her husband.
But also notice that it would make her suspect that even someone who loves her is unlikely to accept her as she truly is (brilliant or artistic or obsessed with something), and in fact that what she might consider the best aspect of her is precisely what would scare men off.
Much more coherent than just a generic "can't trust men" backstory connection, because here, it's not just that she can't trust men-- she can't trust her self, her true self. And of course it sets up for the eventual resolution, that the one man who can accept and love her talent and brilliance is the hero. It also, notice, sets up events where the talent and brilliance come into play in the plot, which makes her active (using her skills) but also creates conflict (if she has learned to hide these skills and now has to show them, not knowing what the hero's reaction will be, but expecting the worst, because of the divorce-cause already established in backstory).
Other examples? We should just keep in mind: Backstory might be just a writing element to us, but to our characters, it's their PAST.
Alicia
Monday, August 23, 2010
Showing what you know about him/her in the opening
I'm running a class now on romance plotting, and we're exploring what strengths and goals and conflicts our main character has. And I confidently jotted down that my current hero is an all-powerful nobleman who can get and do anything he wants, and so the heroine kidnapping him is a reversal.
So I was pleased with myself until I realized I hadn't actually SHOWN that in the opening (pre-kidnap) scene. In fact, because I start in the hero's POV, I'm presenting more his insecurity and dread (he has to propose marriage to someone he doesn't love in the morning). He certainly doesn't FEEL all powerful, and that's all that's coming across. (This is actually a kind of good reason for a secondary POV, like that of the porter who guides him up to his theatre box, who is probably respectfully fearful of this powerful guy, not being privy to all his insecure thoughts. Not that I would start a book in secondary POV. I do have standards, however inconvenient.)
So I'm thinking now of how I can modify the opening slightly to show that, however uncertain he feels, as far as the society goes, he's powerful. I already have him interacting with his younger brother, who resents that power, so I might pump that up some, have bro mutter something about him being a bully. I could also have those he encounters in the theatre bow to him like he's really important. He doesn't have to feel that way, as long as others show it in their behavior (power is so much really a function of what others think).
The point of this is not to impress the reader with his ultimate coolness, but rather to set up "power" as something he must give up, something to sacrifice, something that becomes a conflict for him as he falls in love.
... So are there concrete ways in the opening you "set up" some of the character aspects you want to develop, that you've devised in exercises or thinking about this person?
Alicia
So I was pleased with myself until I realized I hadn't actually SHOWN that in the opening (pre-kidnap) scene. In fact, because I start in the hero's POV, I'm presenting more his insecurity and dread (he has to propose marriage to someone he doesn't love in the morning). He certainly doesn't FEEL all powerful, and that's all that's coming across. (This is actually a kind of good reason for a secondary POV, like that of the porter who guides him up to his theatre box, who is probably respectfully fearful of this powerful guy, not being privy to all his insecure thoughts. Not that I would start a book in secondary POV. I do have standards, however inconvenient.)
So I'm thinking now of how I can modify the opening slightly to show that, however uncertain he feels, as far as the society goes, he's powerful. I already have him interacting with his younger brother, who resents that power, so I might pump that up some, have bro mutter something about him being a bully. I could also have those he encounters in the theatre bow to him like he's really important. He doesn't have to feel that way, as long as others show it in their behavior (power is so much really a function of what others think).
The point of this is not to impress the reader with his ultimate coolness, but rather to set up "power" as something he must give up, something to sacrifice, something that becomes a conflict for him as he falls in love.
... So are there concrete ways in the opening you "set up" some of the character aspects you want to develop, that you've devised in exercises or thinking about this person?
Alicia
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Mulling character appeal-- always dangerous
Been mulling over this hero thing, and that made me think of how the character arc arcs and all that.
I really think that the characters have to change in the course of the book, so the way they are in the opening scenes is kind of a "before" picture-- how they are before they change because of the plot events. But the problem with that is... the character might not be instantly attractive if those opening scenes showcase the "opportunity for growth," those unevolved parts that must be changed. So how can we get the reader to hang on in those opening scenes-- make the character identifiable/sympathetic/interesting enough that the reader is willing to wait to see how he/she changes?
That is, how do we keep readers hanging on, if the "hero" isn't "heroic" in the first scenes?
Examples? I'm thinking of Darcy in Pride and Prejudice. He's dismissive, snobbish, unpleasant in his first scene. Why do we hang on and hope he wins Lizzie's heart? What did Austen put in there to get us interested in him?
"Ten thousand a year and a house in town." Well, wealth does appeal. :)
He also spars well with Lizzie, which is a useful ability in a hero-- he shows right away that he can get her humor and knows when she's zinged him.
He's a good friend to Bingley and shows that quickly, and that does indicate that he's able to love.
We're never in his POV, so we don't get all that backstory about him being orphaned early that might make for easy sympathy. (I don't think our sympathy ought to be engendered primarily by backstory anyway-- often miserable backstory is invented just to make this character more understandable, and that gets us quite away from the present of the story, and the organic development of characters. Remind me I want to write about "layering on" character and why that's bad.) We have to see him through Lizzie's eyes, and she doesn't like him... so do we? And if so, why?
Other examples? I think Rhett in Gone with the Wind is appealing in the first scene because he's irreverent-- he doesn't take the war or Scarlett too seriously. Also he is the only one who "knows" her, who knows that she's more than the debutante everyone else sees in her.
Okay, so look to your own work or favorite books. How -in the opening scenes- do we introduce a more problematic character and show the "room to change" without putting off the reader?
Alicia
I really think that the characters have to change in the course of the book, so the way they are in the opening scenes is kind of a "before" picture-- how they are before they change because of the plot events. But the problem with that is... the character might not be instantly attractive if those opening scenes showcase the "opportunity for growth," those unevolved parts that must be changed. So how can we get the reader to hang on in those opening scenes-- make the character identifiable/sympathetic/interesting enough that the reader is willing to wait to see how he/she changes?
That is, how do we keep readers hanging on, if the "hero" isn't "heroic" in the first scenes?
Examples? I'm thinking of Darcy in Pride and Prejudice. He's dismissive, snobbish, unpleasant in his first scene. Why do we hang on and hope he wins Lizzie's heart? What did Austen put in there to get us interested in him?
"Ten thousand a year and a house in town." Well, wealth does appeal. :)
He also spars well with Lizzie, which is a useful ability in a hero-- he shows right away that he can get her humor and knows when she's zinged him.
He's a good friend to Bingley and shows that quickly, and that does indicate that he's able to love.
We're never in his POV, so we don't get all that backstory about him being orphaned early that might make for easy sympathy. (I don't think our sympathy ought to be engendered primarily by backstory anyway-- often miserable backstory is invented just to make this character more understandable, and that gets us quite away from the present of the story, and the organic development of characters. Remind me I want to write about "layering on" character and why that's bad.) We have to see him through Lizzie's eyes, and she doesn't like him... so do we? And if so, why?
Other examples? I think Rhett in Gone with the Wind is appealing in the first scene because he's irreverent-- he doesn't take the war or Scarlett too seriously. Also he is the only one who "knows" her, who knows that she's more than the debutante everyone else sees in her.
Okay, so look to your own work or favorite books. How -in the opening scenes- do we introduce a more problematic character and show the "room to change" without putting off the reader?
Alicia
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Em and En
Thomas keeps asking about dashes, one of my guilty pleasures. I use way too many dashes! Anyway, he asked about en-dashes and em-dashes.
First, understand that this is a house style thing. That is, no matter what you do, the copy editor is going to "fix" it to fit the publishing house style or what the typesetting software interprets correctly. So that's a good thing to ask your editor about, just so you can put the correct one in to make sure that the copy editor "reads" it right, as a dash and not a hyphen.
But en vs. em isn't something that will earn you a rejection.
Just in case, though, here's the customary usage:
Hyphen
A hyphen isn't actually a punctuation mark as it's used within a word or term to join. A hyphen is a very short line (in typing it, you'd type - just once) which is generally used within a word or term to make two parts into one unit, like "half-soused." (There are, of course, other uses of the hyphen, but that's the most important.)
That means that the first part (before hyphen) and second part (after hyphen) go together and are to be regarded as one term. These combinations are usually called "coined terms" because the writer has "coined" the term by putting together two other words. The first modifies the second, and together they might modify another word.
The half-soused writer stumbled home to his blank pages.
I've been free-lancing my real estate articles.
The longer a term has been in the language, and the more common it is, the more likely you are just to make it a word and not a hyphenated "coined" term. So "halftime" and "lifestyle," which were once hyphenated terms, are now just words.
Hyphens and dashes are physically similar, and they both "join" things. But hyphens are used within words, and dashes within sentences and phrases.
En-dashes
En-dashes are longer than hyphens and shorter than em-dashes. (The "en" and "em" refer to the length of the line-- the "en" is as long as an "n" relatively, and the "em" is as long as an "m" character.) En-dashes are usually used for from-to ranges:
The open house is from 2–4 pm.
The Atchison–Topeka–Santa Fe railroad linked three major western towns.
Joan Parker, RIP. 1934–2010.
En-dashes are NOT two hyphens. Most word processors use "insert symbol" to put in the dash of sufficient length.
Em-dashes
Em-dashes are longer than either the hyphen or the en-dash. In the days before word processors, we used to type the hyphen twice to make this. Some of us still do. :) It's usually possible in a word processor "auto-correct" to have an automatic substitution-- you type in the two hyphens, Mr. Word supplies a em-dash. Doesn't work in Blogger, however!
Em-dashes are used within a sentence to create a parenthetical (but without parentheses) to show an interruptive thought or aside.
Maybe -- alas, fond hope!-- she would call him back with news.
Douglas-- my first boss-- was exactly a year younger.
Notice that the first is truly interruptive, but the second is me being lazy-- I could use commas instead. But as you can see, I overuse dashes.
Also, an em-dash signifies when you're ending a sentence abruptly before the end. ("Fading out" is signified by an ellipsis-- ...)
She should call him back and-- No! She wouldn't humiliate herself that way!
On Donder and-- Donder? Are you there? Blitzen? Where are you guys?
Dashes are very seductive, as they can substitute for other punctuation marks (commas and periods, mostly). And so some of us-- not all of us!-- use them so we don't have to think about whether this is a restrictive modifier (no commas) or a non-restrictive (commas) or if this is more a statement or a question or an exclamation. I for one always have to go through everything I write and replace half the dashes with non-dash punctuation. (Here are some examples from a grammar book writer.) My first drafts look like Emily Dickinson verses, only without the profound thought and rhymes:
"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
(Emily D probably didn't mean for her "end-line" marker to be set in type, but many editions of her work have all those dashes.)
So-- well. Use the symbol when you can (as when you're typing in the word processor), and understand in a submission, your purpose is to let the eventual copy editor know what she/he should put in right there. That is, you don't have to know the house style, but you do have to type this in a way that conveys your meaning to the copy editor who does know the house style.
Oh, and what about spaces before and after? Again, the copy editor will do that if the copy is going to typesetting. But in something like this-- a blog, I mean-- I usually put a space AFTER but not before the dash. That's because the "before" is being interrupted, so no pause (space), but "after" is resuming in a more deliberate way. I don't like the look of it all smushed together without spaces--like this--so I put the space in after the dash to separate the dashed-phrase from the real sentence.
HOWEVER, when you use a dash at the end of dialogue to signify an interruption, you probably don't want a space between the dash and the close quote, so:
"You have never respected my right to spe--"
"Yes, I have!" he protested.
And now back to our regularly schedule mullings. :)
Alicia
First, understand that this is a house style thing. That is, no matter what you do, the copy editor is going to "fix" it to fit the publishing house style or what the typesetting software interprets correctly. So that's a good thing to ask your editor about, just so you can put the correct one in to make sure that the copy editor "reads" it right, as a dash and not a hyphen.
But en vs. em isn't something that will earn you a rejection.
Just in case, though, here's the customary usage:
Hyphen
A hyphen isn't actually a punctuation mark as it's used within a word or term to join. A hyphen is a very short line (in typing it, you'd type - just once) which is generally used within a word or term to make two parts into one unit, like "half-soused." (There are, of course, other uses of the hyphen, but that's the most important.)
That means that the first part (before hyphen) and second part (after hyphen) go together and are to be regarded as one term. These combinations are usually called "coined terms" because the writer has "coined" the term by putting together two other words. The first modifies the second, and together they might modify another word.
The half-soused writer stumbled home to his blank pages.
I've been free-lancing my real estate articles.
The longer a term has been in the language, and the more common it is, the more likely you are just to make it a word and not a hyphenated "coined" term. So "halftime" and "lifestyle," which were once hyphenated terms, are now just words.
Hyphens and dashes are physically similar, and they both "join" things. But hyphens are used within words, and dashes within sentences and phrases.
En-dashes
En-dashes are longer than hyphens and shorter than em-dashes. (The "en" and "em" refer to the length of the line-- the "en" is as long as an "n" relatively, and the "em" is as long as an "m" character.) En-dashes are usually used for from-to ranges:
The open house is from 2–4 pm.
The Atchison–Topeka–Santa Fe railroad linked three major western towns.
Joan Parker, RIP. 1934–2010.
En-dashes are NOT two hyphens. Most word processors use "insert symbol" to put in the dash of sufficient length.
Em-dashes
Em-dashes are longer than either the hyphen or the en-dash. In the days before word processors, we used to type the hyphen twice to make this. Some of us still do. :) It's usually possible in a word processor "auto-correct" to have an automatic substitution-- you type in the two hyphens, Mr. Word supplies a em-dash. Doesn't work in Blogger, however!
Em-dashes are used within a sentence to create a parenthetical (but without parentheses) to show an interruptive thought or aside.
Maybe -- alas, fond hope!-- she would call him back with news.
Douglas-- my first boss-- was exactly a year younger.
Notice that the first is truly interruptive, but the second is me being lazy-- I could use commas instead. But as you can see, I overuse dashes.
Also, an em-dash signifies when you're ending a sentence abruptly before the end. ("Fading out" is signified by an ellipsis-- ...)
She should call him back and-- No! She wouldn't humiliate herself that way!
On Donder and-- Donder? Are you there? Blitzen? Where are you guys?
Dashes are very seductive, as they can substitute for other punctuation marks (commas and periods, mostly). And so some of us-- not all of us!-- use them so we don't have to think about whether this is a restrictive modifier (no commas) or a non-restrictive (commas) or if this is more a statement or a question or an exclamation. I for one always have to go through everything I write and replace half the dashes with non-dash punctuation. (Here are some examples from a grammar book writer.) My first drafts look like Emily Dickinson verses, only without the profound thought and rhymes:
"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
(Emily D probably didn't mean for her "end-line" marker to be set in type, but many editions of her work have all those dashes.)
So-- well. Use the symbol when you can (as when you're typing in the word processor), and understand in a submission, your purpose is to let the eventual copy editor know what she/he should put in right there. That is, you don't have to know the house style, but you do have to type this in a way that conveys your meaning to the copy editor who does know the house style.
Oh, and what about spaces before and after? Again, the copy editor will do that if the copy is going to typesetting. But in something like this-- a blog, I mean-- I usually put a space AFTER but not before the dash. That's because the "before" is being interrupted, so no pause (space), but "after" is resuming in a more deliberate way. I don't like the look of it all smushed together without spaces--like this--so I put the space in after the dash to separate the dashed-phrase from the real sentence.
HOWEVER, when you use a dash at the end of dialogue to signify an interruption, you probably don't want a space between the dash and the close quote, so:
"You have never respected my right to spe--"
"Yes, I have!" he protested.
And now back to our regularly schedule mullings. :)
Alicia
Friday, August 20, 2010
Dangerous love
Well, all this talk of protective heroes makes me want to talk about danger.
The edge in romance, the edge that makes it erotic, I think is danger-- not necessarily danger from the outside, but danger from the romantic character. That is, falling in love should be like playing with fire somehow. It's not just a nice peaceful benevolent experience, but somehow dangerous to the self. It can END up being all supportive, but if it's that way all the way through the book, if love is always safe, it's likely to be boring because there's no conflict.
What is the danger of love? Well, the first is always-- you must give up yourself or part of yourself to love someone. No arguments, please. It's true. Sure, you gain too, etc. But when you are standing on that cliff, looking at love, jumping is scary. Why? Because you might lose yourself.
You can't know, when you start to fall in love, that this is going to be wonderful. Maybe it won't. Maybe it'll lead to murder. Maybe you'll give up your desire to become a singer so that you can follow him on his mission trip to Rwanda. Maybe you'll be swallowed up by her intrusive family. Maybe his hazardous lifestyle will keep you in a constant state of terror. Maybe your values are opposed and it means you give up what you really want-- children, adventure, ambition, a job, your closeness with friends, I don't know-- in order to be with him.
Love is scary. And it's scary even if this is going to turn out to be The One. In fact, it might be more scary then, because there's no turning back. You're probably going to end up caring for this person more than you care for yourself... and that's really scary.
Anyway, while love can be supportive and might end up enhancing your life, if it seems that way all the way through the book (all together now), there won't be much romantic conflict. Love really is dangerous-- this isn't something made up by romance writers-- and (this is really important), it is dangerous even when or especially when it's the Right Love. "Loving is giving hostage to fortune," remember? When your happiness is dependent on another, you can be unhappy a whole lot.
So... how can a potential lover be dangerous? If you have a romantic relationship in your story, what would you say is the danger posed by one to the other?
Denny and I were talking about this, and I said I thought her hero's danger to the heroine was specifically that he held the key to the past she doesn't want to remember. If they become intimate, he might inexorably lead her to discoveries about that past-- bad stuff.
Buffy and Spike-- well, her danger to him is that she makes him want to be good, and that makes him feel bad. (Well, he IS bad, but he's never felt bad about it before. :) She is dangerous to him because she tempts him into giving up what he thinks is fun, great, all that.
His danger to her is more subtle. He loves all of her and doesn't see The Slayer as separate from the woman. She wants to believe that this killing machine part of her isn't really PART of her, that she -- the real her-- is still innocent within her, and will still be there when she's done being the slayer, that slaying is just a job. From the very start, Spike sees her as the slayer, and loves her as the woman who is the slayer. To accept his love would mean she has to love the part of her that she secretly hates.
Darcy and Elizabeth, since Theresa brought them up. Darcy is dangerous to Elizabeth because he disapproves of her family and is a constant reminder that she can leave her family. She wants to love her family in a pretty uncomplicated way and not see their faults. Darcy is partly wrong about the family-- he IS a snob-- but he's partly right too, and she really doesn't want to see the family plainly.
Elizabeth is dangerous to him because she continually taunts him into a loss of control. He is quite controlled and thinks he has to be as a young nobleman of good intent. He can't give into his anger and passion, so he has always taken refuge in his hyperresponsibility and his class-oriented repression. As a not-quite-respectable miss, she taunts him into realizing what he has given up for the repression-- and teases him into uncontrolled displays of emotion. She makes him FEEL, and feeling is dangerous to him as it is uncontrolled.
Other examples? Your own?
Alicia
The edge in romance, the edge that makes it erotic, I think is danger-- not necessarily danger from the outside, but danger from the romantic character. That is, falling in love should be like playing with fire somehow. It's not just a nice peaceful benevolent experience, but somehow dangerous to the self. It can END up being all supportive, but if it's that way all the way through the book, if love is always safe, it's likely to be boring because there's no conflict.
What is the danger of love? Well, the first is always-- you must give up yourself or part of yourself to love someone. No arguments, please. It's true. Sure, you gain too, etc. But when you are standing on that cliff, looking at love, jumping is scary. Why? Because you might lose yourself.
You can't know, when you start to fall in love, that this is going to be wonderful. Maybe it won't. Maybe it'll lead to murder. Maybe you'll give up your desire to become a singer so that you can follow him on his mission trip to Rwanda. Maybe you'll be swallowed up by her intrusive family. Maybe his hazardous lifestyle will keep you in a constant state of terror. Maybe your values are opposed and it means you give up what you really want-- children, adventure, ambition, a job, your closeness with friends, I don't know-- in order to be with him.
Love is scary. And it's scary even if this is going to turn out to be The One. In fact, it might be more scary then, because there's no turning back. You're probably going to end up caring for this person more than you care for yourself... and that's really scary.
Anyway, while love can be supportive and might end up enhancing your life, if it seems that way all the way through the book (all together now), there won't be much romantic conflict. Love really is dangerous-- this isn't something made up by romance writers-- and (this is really important), it is dangerous even when or especially when it's the Right Love. "Loving is giving hostage to fortune," remember? When your happiness is dependent on another, you can be unhappy a whole lot.
So... how can a potential lover be dangerous? If you have a romantic relationship in your story, what would you say is the danger posed by one to the other?
Denny and I were talking about this, and I said I thought her hero's danger to the heroine was specifically that he held the key to the past she doesn't want to remember. If they become intimate, he might inexorably lead her to discoveries about that past-- bad stuff.
Buffy and Spike-- well, her danger to him is that she makes him want to be good, and that makes him feel bad. (Well, he IS bad, but he's never felt bad about it before. :) She is dangerous to him because she tempts him into giving up what he thinks is fun, great, all that.
His danger to her is more subtle. He loves all of her and doesn't see The Slayer as separate from the woman. She wants to believe that this killing machine part of her isn't really PART of her, that she -- the real her-- is still innocent within her, and will still be there when she's done being the slayer, that slaying is just a job. From the very start, Spike sees her as the slayer, and loves her as the woman who is the slayer. To accept his love would mean she has to love the part of her that she secretly hates.
Darcy and Elizabeth, since Theresa brought them up. Darcy is dangerous to Elizabeth because he disapproves of her family and is a constant reminder that she can leave her family. She wants to love her family in a pretty uncomplicated way and not see their faults. Darcy is partly wrong about the family-- he IS a snob-- but he's partly right too, and she really doesn't want to see the family plainly.
Elizabeth is dangerous to him because she continually taunts him into a loss of control. He is quite controlled and thinks he has to be as a young nobleman of good intent. He can't give into his anger and passion, so he has always taken refuge in his hyperresponsibility and his class-oriented repression. As a not-quite-respectable miss, she taunts him into realizing what he has given up for the repression-- and teases him into uncontrolled displays of emotion. She makes him FEEL, and feeling is dangerous to him as it is uncontrolled.
Other examples? Your own?
Alicia
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Today's agenda:
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Leave a comment.
And you might win a spot in the September Structure Workshop.
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Theresa
Go to RU.
Leave a comment.
And you might win a spot in the September Structure Workshop.
You might not, however, get a quick response to your comment. I'm on the road for the next few days and will have only sporadic internet access. But I will answer comments when I can.
Good luck! Go win!
Theresa
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