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Keeping your story focused is a lot like taking an eye exam

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image By Ned Hickson

Each week, Marcia graciously allows me to share some of the the writing wisdom gained from 16 years as a newspaper columnist — knowledge which, until now, was only available by reading the yellow Post-It on my desk. And while all of you are certainly welcome to visit my desk at any time, I think we know that isn’t very practical. Especially since most of you probably couldn’t read my handwriting. In fact, I have a hard time reading my own writing. For example, today’s tip was almost about how finding your story’s focus is a lot like taking a colorectal exam. How I got “colorectal” from “eye” tells you just how bad my handwriting truly is.

Because I’m sure none of us wants to delve any deeper into this than we already have, I suggest we get to this week’s writing tip. Agreed? Yep, just as I figured; everyone except for the proctologist in the back row.

As for the rest of us, let’s talk about how the same steps taken in an eye exam can also help bring your writing into focus.

Ummmm… You three? we’re over here.

After this blog post, I want the three of you of you to promise me you will go directly to the nearest optometrist for an actual eye exam. You know who you are. If you aren’t sure, reach straight ahead. Feel that? It’s a microwave, not a computer monitor. I only point this out because, aside from the fact that I care, trying to shove a microwavable burrito into your monitor could be frustrating and potentially dangerous.

At this point I think it’s safe to assume some of you have probably forgotten why you’re here. I know I have. Ironically, this is the same feeling a writer gets when they realize they have lost focus with their story — or in some cases even a blog post. That’s when it’s time to stop and regain focus by giving yourself a simple, three-step “eye exam” in order maintain your story’s true vision.

Step one: Test your visual acuity.
We’re all familiar with the Snellen chart, which is the chart you stand 20 feet from while trying to decipher a series of letters which, as they get smaller, begin to resemble the ingredients listed on a bag of Cheetos. The objective is to determine how far a person can get from a particular point before losing focus. The same goes for writers. In the same way a person may not realize how bad their vision has become until they are using a urinal that’s actually a display refrigerator on the main floor at Sears, writers can slowly lose their story’s focus until it has become blurred by extemporaneous passages of description, too many characters, sub plots or dialogue that doesn’t advance the story.

How can you test to make sure your story’s vision is still clear?

Stand 20 feet away from your monitor. If you can still read it without squinting so hard it appears you’re having a stroke, forget writing and become a sharpshooter. In leu of that, follow the “20/20” rule of writing: If after reading every 20th paragraph in your story (or in the case of a short story, every 20th sentence) you still have a clear idea of what’s happening, who the central characters are and the major plot points, you’re writing’s vision is “normal.” If after several of these 20/20 paragraphs you begin to lose focus, stop and go back to where you lost sight; chances are your story began to blur somewhere between the first line and those Cheetos ingredients.

Step two: Test your peripheral vision. This is the part of the exam where your optometrist tells you to keep looking ahead while he moves an object from behind you toward the front of your head, at which point you’re supposed to acknowledge when you see it in your peripheral vision. Keep in mind that this is also when your optometrist stands behind you and makes faces or plays air guitar without you knowing it. Regardless, having good peripheral vision is important for writers, too. Your “writing peripherals” are those things that run parallel to the main action and include expendable characters, foreshadowing and some unanticipated secondary themes that develop through character interaction and plot development. This is all good stuff because, if done well, can add a sense of immediacy, spontaneity and unpredictability that keep readers invested in the story.

However, just like that optometrist playing air guitar behind your back, it’s easy to lose sight of what’s going on if you don’t keep your peripherals in check. In optometry, the ideal measurement is at least 70 degrees of vision in the horizontal meridian. From a writing standpoint, this means the peripheral elements of your story shouldn’t account for more than about 30 percent of your story development. Put another way: If you’ve written 70 pages and more than 30 of them revolve around the actions of secondary characters, themes or developments not directly related to your main characters, they are just playing air guitar. It’s time to re-evaluate the focus of your story, and whether the secondary characters/themes are becoming blurred with the main plot and characters.

Step three: Check for depth perception. Optometrists often check for this by tossing something at the patient, such as a Nerf ball, to determine binocular (two-eye) vision, which allows us to see in three dimensions. As a kid, I thought I had monocular vision because of how horrible I was at dodgeball. After a visit to my optometrist I was relieved to find out I was just really uncoordinated. In terms of writing, a 3D world is also important, although not having it won’t lead to bruising. Unfortunately, unlike the previous steps, there is no real “formula” to determine if you have created a three-dimensional world in your writing; you either do or you don’t. What I can tell you as that, as writers, we tend to fill in the blanks ourselves and, as a result, it’s easy to envision more on the page than is actually there.

So how can you see if your writing vision has depth? Take a chapter and eliminate all the dialogue. Then read it or, better yet, read it to someone. The objective has nothing to do with plot or character, it’s about whether or not your descriptive vision has made it onto the page. When you’re done, have the person describe what they saw. If it resembles what you envisioned, chances are you’re writing in three dimensions. If they can’t describe things clearly, then throw something at them. Ha! Just kidding! Get your optometrist to do it.

Then go figure out how to make your vision clear…

imageNed Hickson is a syndicated columnist with News Media Corporation. His first book, Humor at the Speed of Life, is available from Port Hole Publications, Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble.

Writers who don’t talk to themselves scare me

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image By Ned Hickson

Whether you’re a novelist, columnist, poet or Subway sandwich artist, talking to yourself during the creative process is important. Admittedly, I can only speak with some authority on the first three; that last example is mostly an observation based on the two Subways in our area. Regardless, at the risk of sounding politically incorrect, I think every good writer needs a certain level of multiple personality disorder with a dash of schizophrenia. That’s because, as a writer, you need to have the ability to do more than simply observe and notate things about people and situations; you have to be able to inhabit them in the same way that, say… Justin Beiber inhabits his role as a skinny caucasian gangster.

Except unlike Justin Beiber, you must be believable.

To do this, you have to be willing — and able — to step outside yourself and literally experience things as someone else in order to formulate reactions and dialogue that ring true. Even as a columnist, I have a few individuals who make appearances from time to time because they allow me to approach a subject more effectively than through simple narrative.

One of these individuals is Ima Knowitall, the “self-proclaimed best selling author” behind the novel, Fifty Shades of Time-Traveling Vampire Love.

Confession time: I’m not actually a 30-something, pessimistic female writer who wants so much to believe in her own fame that she constantly projects a facade of celebrity to the point of ludicrousness.

If you need a moment to fully process this realization, I understand. My wife was pretty shaken by my big reveal as well, once we took the leap from Match.com to meeting for the first time seven years ago…

Welcome back! (Coincidentally, the same words I used at the beginning of our second date.)

As I was saying, Ima Knowitall is an individual I turn to when I feel that exploring an idea is better suited — and more engaging for readers — if they feel like an active participant in the conversation. That’s where multiple personality disorder comes into play. Even if what you’re writing is an over-the-top character or situation, readers will be willing to suspend their disbelief as long as there is an element of truth. Screenwriters for sci-fi, horror and action movies constantly rely on this element to convince viewers to go along for the ride.

And that element is the believability of your characters.

In order to make an individual like Ima Knowitall work, three things need to happen:

1) What she says and does must stay true to her character
2) My reactions and responses to her as the “interviewer” must embellish, not contradict her
3) Anyone else we “interact with” must do the same

To pull that off, you have to engage your MPD in order to shift your points of view convincingly from one individual to the next. For novelists, this is the first step in graduating from linear plot-driven writing to richer, character-driven stories.

Or in the case of a humor columnist, the first step toward a life of alcohol abuse.

Which brings me to the effectiveness of talking to yourself. First, let me clarify this shouldn’t occur in a room full of strangers or, for example, while making someone’s Cold Cut Combo at Subway. But when utilized as a tool in the privacy of your own home or office — or even during your morning commute if you pretend to have a Bluetooth — actually verbalizing dialogue is the best way to hear if it rings true. Not only will it identify phrasing that would be too difficult for someone to say (Note: This does not apply to characters written by Aaron Sorkin), it can also be an integral part of “inhabiting” that individual in the same way an actor verbally explores a script to understand delivery and motivation.

My fellow journalists in the newsroom have become accustomed to my mumblings on deadline days. Even if I’m in the break room making a sandwich…

image Ned Hickson is a syndicated columnist with News Media Corporation. His first book, Humor at the Speed of Life, is available from Port Hole Publications, Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble. Visit his blog at Ned’s Blog)