Who's your favorite character you've ever written?
Working on Multiple Stories, or What to do with a Shiny New Idea
How to Dump Info without Info-dumping-- Writing Lessons from Inception
Finding the Theme Song-- and I'm being interviewed!
The Tug of Two Stories
Strengthen your Story: The Art of Lingering
It Is Finished...and a Hint of Upcoming Awesomeness
Reading Til My Eyes Bleed
Lainey glared at him. "You’re better than this, Quinn."
"Maybe I am," he said. "But maybe, to make the world safe, I have to be worse than I am."
The Show Must Go On
How to Write Humor That's Actually Funny
3. Context is the most important thing to humor. Introduce the context of a joke early on, so the audience knows what to expect. Lucas's very first line makes the reader realize he's a goof, so they know what's coming every time they see him.
4. Point of view can change the type of humor you use. Something can be funnier depending on whose head you’re in. If you have multiple viewpoint characters, you may want to tell a certain scene from one point of view to change the humorous effect it has. In Devs, Lucas isn't a witty character, or a sarcastic one. He's just a goofball. Some of his quips are genuinely funny, and some are silly-- but they're made funny by his goofy personality. In setting up his character and point of view, I can make even stupid things funny through him.
So, my friends, any tips to share on how you write humor? Or any tips on what you find humorous when you read? What are some of your favorite books or movies-- comedy or not-- that have humorous moments you can learn from? Please share!
Conquering the Fear of the First Draft
Rewards
In the Home Stretch
Cliffhanger
So, I know I said I don't usually do blogfests...but a cliffhanger fest was too irresistible to pass up! Check out the other entries here, and here is the 500-words-or-less cliffhanger for Devolutionaries, chapter 1!
Grandad closed his eyes a minute, like he was listening for something. “They’ve come for me.”
“Who?” My throat tightened in panic, and my voice came out in a quiet screech. I already knew who. “What are we going to do?”
“Listen. They’re not going to kill me, okay?”
But there wasn’t another option. Unless… “They’re going to Disappear you? How do you know that?”
“I just know.”
What was that supposed to mean? Nobody knew exactly why the Government Disappeared anybody, just that somebody would suddenly be gone. None of their things missing, no hint about what had happened. No sign of a struggle.
“How can you—“
“Doesn’t matter,” Grandad said. “You just have to know they’re going to keep me alive. And you have to stay that way if you want to help. Now, I want you to stay here, behind the door. There’s only one of them. He’ll come for me, and when he does, run. Somewhere with lots of people. Go to the arcade. Then find Jay.”
I glared at him. “I’m not taking off on you like Wes. If there’s only one, I can attack him when he goes for you.”
“No!” His voice was sharp. “There’s only one because they only need one. He’ll kill you if you try that. You run. Find Jay.”
Suddenly, he stood up straighter. Then he strode across the room and stood over the boiling pot. “Do it, kiddo.”
He smiled at me, and I felt a sharp pain in my throat.
The door flew open and I threw my hand up to keep it from hitting my nose. Footsteps, then a clanging noise, a splash, a stranger’s yell. In my panic, a hysterical giggle rose up. There’d be signs of struggle after they Disappeared Grandad. Something crashed, and wood splintered. A sharp pfft echoed through the room, followed by a dull thump.
The room went silent, raising the hairs on my arm. Had he shot Grandad after all? I risked a peek around the door. The agent was kneeling next to Grandad, pulling the needle of a tranq bullet from a blue-stained spot on Grandad’s shoulder. He was alive. I started breathing again.
The agent’s back was still to me. It was now or never. I swung the door forward and dashed around it. My heart didn’t seem to beat to a normal rhythm, and I ran wildly through the night. I tripped over pavement cracks, darted into side streets, and skirted the corners where the military police clutched their guns. My feet pounded forward, and I grabbed at the pain growing in my side.
I stopped a few blocks from the arcade. Sucking in big gulps of air, I sank to the ground. I dropped my head between my knees. My mind buzzed, and thoughts didn’t stay long enough to register. Only two things made sense, and they pounded in my head with every gasping breath. Grandad. Disappeared.
Some people said Disappeared was worse than dead.
Devolutionaries-- First 250 Words Blogfest
Grandad lied to me a lot. I’d known that for a long time. But standing at the counter at the Distribution Center, I decided everybody lied.
“You only gave me four potatoes,” I said.
“Well, you only gave me four Produce coupons.” The clerk tossed her braid behind her shoulder. She smiled, making her pox scars wrinkle across her face. Was she flirting with me while she cheated me?
I ignored the smile. My eyes went to the shelves that stretched behind the counter, piled high with tin cans and semi-fresh produce. Including two more potatoes that should be mine.
“I gave you six coupons.” I glared at her through the damp brown hair hanging in my eyes. The ceiling fans circled above me, totally useless.
Her smile faded. “Maybe you dropped some. I only counted four.”
“Look, my boss doesn’t give me enough—“ I clamped my mouth shut.
Working in Kessler’s bike repair shop should have given me more coupons than it did, but Scavengers had an unspoken rule. We didn’t rat each other out to the Government. I didn’t want Kessler’s death on my head.
I glanced toward one of the military policemen in his blue uniform. He scanned the silent line of people that trailed out the door and bounced the butt of his automatic rifle in his pox-scarred hands like he was bored. Nobody made a sound under his watch. Most of them stared at the scuffed tile floor.
I turned back to the girl, who'd gone pale.
Today
How a Minor Character can Make or Break your Plot
Vacationing from Writing
It's good to take a vacation from it.
I got virtually no writing done on the vacation. (Duh, 'cause I was on VACATION!) I barely even thought about my wip. And then something amazing happened. When I started revving up my writing gears again, everything seemed so clear. I could see how my pacing was off. I realized where my character development was lacking. I knew which scenes I needed to tweak to bring in things that were missing.
In other words, I got perspective. After a week of zero writing-related thoughts, I came back to my story seeing it as a whole. Not only did that give me a better idea of what things to fix in a future rewrite, but it helped me better understand where to go next.
I always knew it was good to take a break from your work once you're done with it. Who knew a mid-wip break could be just as helpful?
When to Ignore Writing Advice
I've gotten a lot of "advice" over the years, in the forms of classes, critiques, conferences, and blogs. My head overflows with the shoulds and shouldn'ts, the dos and do nots. And much of it, I'd even say most of it, has been very good advice. If it isn't, it usually doesn't take too long to figure that out.
There's a problem though-- it's just too MUCH.
I had another panic moment with Devolutionaries the other day in which I was sure my first chapter sucked. It didn't do this, and it didn't do that, and therefore, it failed! Except, I really liked my first chapter... Again, it was my wonderful hubby who reminded me that I am the writer of this story. I'd become so entrenched in a few of those "rules" I forgot that this story is mine. It doesn't have to follow anyone's rules. If it works, it works.
I once heard someone say that writing classes are turning all writers into the SAME writer. Now, I don't necessarily think that's true either. But I think it's important to remember that, despite any advice you've ever received, you are the writer. It's your story. Listen to the advice, but listen to yourself.
Sometimes, you can come up with your own best advice.
Hey, it could happen
Just remembering it gives me a buzz.
I've always dreamed of being an author, starting from about age 5. So to be introduced as one, to be declared "legit," as it were, was a dream come true.
Dreams are part of who we are as writers (authors!). I have dreams of my book being used in high school English classes, or of a person at a book signing telling me how my book changed their life. I want my books to mean something to other people. I want to write something that touches someone's life the way so many books have touched mine.
Some of my dreams are silly, even vain. (Is it okay to be a little vain about my writing dreams? I do spend an awful lot of time being humbled as a writer, so I'm going to say yes.) You know how big-time authors claim they hate getting the "Where do you get your ideas" question? I've always wanted to get that one.
"Mrs. McArthur," an adoring fan will ask, "how do you get your ideas?"
I'll smile, and answer: "Ideas come from all around me. Sometimes in the quiet moments, like when I'm in the shower, or in noisy ones, like when I give my son a bath. I got the idea from Devolutionaries from watching an episode of Fringe.* It's important to remember, though, that ideas are common. What really matters is turning your ideas into a kick-butt story."
Of course, this assumes I'll have adoring fans, but it could happen! It's something to cheer me up when I get another rejection for the short story I've been shopping around, at least. (Numero dos for rejections on that one.)
Now, I want to know: what are your writing dreams? Whether they be serious, silly, or vain, let's hear them!
*In Fringe 2:21 (Over There part 1), Walter says: "We all had these abilities, until there was a moment in history when something was done to us and it was shut down. I suspect aliens." I'm willing to bet that a dozen people could hear that quote and all come up with different ideas and stories!
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Shallee McArthur
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