Happy Friday, everyone! Pardon the infrequency of my posts lately. Between contests, financial pursuits, my portfolio, and my end-of-year essay, I’ve been rather busy and having a hard time focusing. However, that won’t stop me from providing you with some new contest information from The Writer for Fun-Day Friday.
If you don’t have a subscription to The Writer, I highly recommend it. I’ve learned a lot about writing, publishing, and the writing market since I started reading it. Today, though, I want to point out a free feature from The Writer‘s website: their summer guide to writing contests.
The guide is a PDF with an alphabetical list of writing contests with deadlines this summer. Listings include a brief description of the contest, the contest’s website, contact information, deadlines, etc. The contests come from around the world, albeit most–if not all–are from English-speaking countries.
The Writer will send you the PDF for free, just click on the link I provided above for more information. While you’re there, sign up for their newsletter and look at some of their articles and writing prompts. It never hurts for a writer to read more!
Have a happy and productive writing weekend.
Do you have any contests to recommend? Drop a line in the comments or email me at thewritersscrapbin@gmail.com.
Here are the six most common emotional arcs in storytelling, according to this article:
Rags to Riches (rise)
Riches to Rags (fall)
Man in a Hole (fall then rise)
Icarus (rise then fall)
Cinderella (rise then fall then rise)
Oedipus (fall then rise then fall)
I’m not going to go into how they compiled this list; the article explains that well enough. I want to explore the implications for writers.
An illustration used to explain Freytag’s Pyramid, retrieved from the Wikipedia entry on Dramatic StructureNo doubt you’re familiar with Freytag’s Pyramid. Teachers drilled it into me in elementary and middle school. If you aren’t familiar with it, Freytag’s Pyramid is a visual representation of what is considered to be the typical plot arc: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and denouement, in that order. (I have placed a generic example above.)
Needless to say, this structure is overly-simplified. Plots are made of mini-rises and falls, minor climaxes, sometimes an ending for a beginning. Plots are often more like mountain ranges than pyramids and some stories, particularly flash fiction and other short works, don’t have clearly-defined plots that match this model. That’s how I view the six emotional arcs.
On the one hand, it’s amusing and insightful to study the emotional arcs of your favorite stories in this light. If you determine that they fall under one or multiple of these arcs, you can try and apply that arc(s) to your own works. You can even turn this lens on your better-received works and try to pinpoint what made them successful emotionally.
Of course, such research would take the magic out of the process and play down the emotional arc of your work and the stories you love to read.
Emotional arcs are only this simple in things like fairy tales, which are purposefully simple in order to aid oral storytelling. In fact, Cinderella most caught the attention of Kurt Vonnegut, whose experiment inspired this computer-generated study. If you have anything more complicated and sophisticated than the original fairy tales, these “six most common emotional arcs” won’t fit your story exactly.
When discussing this issue with the longer and more-complicated Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the researchers claim that “the emotional arc associated with each sub-narrative is clearly visible.” In that case, they separate the sub-narratives from the larger narrative, treating them as their own stories, and so one must wonder if these emotional arcs are truly the most common overall or just the most common for certain lengths of stories.
The opposite may also be true: very short fictional works don’t fit these arcs neatly, either. The study only concerns works between 10,000 and 200,000 words long. What, then, can we say about the relation between these common emotional arcs and flash fictions? Or even the traditional short story? Some may fit these arcs but the intricate weaving of narration, plot, character, structure, and form will make it harder to see which stories fit which arcs.
My personal issues with the results aside, the study raises an intriguing–and perhaps disturbing–topic for writers. Namely, can a machine/computer create original writings? The lead author of this study, Andy Reagan, Ph.D. candidate (as of the article’s July 2016 publication), indicates that there are still many problems to resolve before this idea can come to fruition. Nevertheless, many act as though this possibility is very strong. Competitions for writing bots have already started.
Should writers worry? Are we going to be replaced by writing bots that will produce more entertainment more quickly for less cost? No.
In Jorge Luis Borges’s “The Library of Babel”, one could go mad wandering through the library looking for a desired book. You may find the book you want or you may find something similar but not quite same, entirely unrelated, or nonsensical. Just like this library, a writing bot may produce something profound or it may spew something original but ultimately boring. The difference is that a properly-programmed writing bot probably won’t generate any of the nonsensical tomes.
Image of the English language cover, retrieved from The Library of Babel Wikipedia EntryReagan mentions that, among other obstacles, the computer would need to create compelling and meaningful characters and dialogue. This area, more than plot or emotional arc, is where human writers will always dominate writing bots. In fact, I would like to add one more aspect to that list: structure.
You can analyze all the stories in the English-speaking world–all the stories in any language–and compile a database of the most successful emotional arcs, plots, character types, etc. That doesn’t mean that you can then spin this data into a unique creation that people will want to read. Instead, the result will be cookie-cutter plots, stock characters, and predictable emotions. The structure will, more likely than not, be the run-of-the-mill linear structure as well.
How do human writers have the potential to avoid such problems? I phrase the question this way because even the best writers don’t avoid all of these faults in everything they write. To err is to human, after all. But how are we able to navigate these obstacles when we do?
The truth is, no one really knows. One story can keep readers’ attention while a similar story loses it. There’s something, however small and indistinguishable, that the writer puts into the story that helps it succeed. I think the advantage to human writers can be traced back to consciousness.
Consciousness makes us aware of the world around us. We’re able to think in ways that machines can’t, gain insights from seemingly nowhere, and feel a connection with fellow living beings that transcends animalistic instinct. It’s my belief that consciousness is also the result of the writer’s instinct. Whenever we have epiphanies, answers to problems with existing works or inspiration for new ones, whose source we cannot identify, we are experiencing something which machines cannot. We suddenly know what’s wrong with a story even though we can’t explain it. A plot, emotional arc, or scene appears fully-formed in our heads and even though we can’t rationalize it, we know it’s right. These instances demonstrate an awareness that far exceeds observation and analysis; it’s consciousness. Until someone can determine what consciousness is and bottle it, writing bots will never be able to do what human writers do.
In answering “why we write”, Robert Coover said that it is “because there is nothing new under the sun except its expression”. (Here’s a link to a video of his entire answer.) Coover’s words act as a double-edged sword: they support writing and other art because the only way to make things new is to express them in a new way but, at the same time, they imply that no idea is original. I agree with Coover in that every idea (for stories and poems) has already been said. What’s unique is our way of expressing these ideas. That is why no “writing bot” could ever truly replace a human writer. It’s not just what we say, it’s how we say it. And if a scientist does construct a computer which captures that inexplicable essence, the reproduction of consciousness won’t be far behind.
I adore Mark Twain. Everyone needs humor in their lives and I find his writing refreshing. I’ve never read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer or The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I have, however, read several of his other works: “Advice to Little Girls”, “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County”, The Prince and the Pauper, Pudd’nhead Wilson, and more. My favorite is A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. Time travel, the Knights of the Round Table, and satire that pokes at the romanticized image of the Middle Ages? What’s not to love?
Today I’m going to discuss one of Twain’s quotes on writing that has been very encouraging for me during the editing process:
The time to begin writing an article is when you have finished it to your satisfaction. By that time you begin to clearly and logically perceive what it is that you really want to say.
~Mark Twain, Mark Twain’s Notebook
It sounds paradoxical but also makes sense. The meatiest, most taxing part of writing is not the writing itself but the rewriting. We don’t know what we’re trying to say until after that first draft.
I know what a lot of you might say: I meticulously plan my (novel, short story, poem, whatever) before I pick up the pen; I know exactly what I want to say before the first draft.
Let me ask you this: how often is the first draft also your final draft? How many revisions do you go through before you and your beta readers decide that the work is finished (well, publishable)? How drastically does the piece change before you’re done?
We know generally what we want to say in the first draft but specifics are blurry. Sometimes even that “big picture” takes a turn in later drafts. It’s the nature of writing. We spew everything in our heads onto the page during the first draft and then we figure out the direction in which we really want to go.
The good news? This process means that it doesn’t matter if the first draft is crud. It’s supposed to be. All that matters is that you revise the work until you realize what you want to say and accomplish that message, even if you have to write it all over again. I’m learning this lesson slowly but surely as I edit stories for my end-of-year portfolio.
This photograph of an older Mark Twain was taken by A.F. Bradley for the purpose of helping poet laureate Ina Coolbrith, who lost her home in the San Francisco Earthquake.
The other good news? Mark Twain, the writer of the “Great American Novel”, didn’t always know what he wanted to write until after he started writing. He knew not to stop if the first batch was rotten. And you shouldn’t give up during or after finishing your first draft. You’re just getting started.
Do you have any thoughts on Twain’s advice? Do you have a writer whom you want me to write about in a future “Writers on Writing”? Drop a line in the comments or contact me at thewritersscrapbin@gmail.com.
And watch for the next “Writers on Writing” in which I’ll turn to Latin American writer Sandra Cisneros.
TGI Friday, fellow readers and writers. Today I want to bring your attention to a contest which I discovered quite a few years ago (sophomore or junior year of high school, I believe). It’s called the L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Contest. It’s for new writers and illustrators of the fantasy and science fiction genres.
Before I get into the specifics of the contest itself, I wish to address its founder. Yes, it was started by that L. Ron Hubbard, renowned science fiction writer and founder of Scientology. As far as my research has turned up, that is where the connection between this contest and the controversial religion ends. Please do not let any negative conceptions you have of Scientology keep you from this contest. I have rather…mixed feelings about Scientology and L. Ron Hubbard myself but I still think the contest is a great opportunity for budding writers and illustrators who favor these genres.
Now, on to the contest. There are more details than I wish to cover here, so please follow this link for complete information on entering, prizes, etc. But here are some highlights:
Science fiction, fantasy, and dark fantasy stories of up to 17,000 words in length may be submitted.
Contestants retain all publication rights.
NO ENTRY FEE
The contest is quarterly with three winners each quarter.
The first place winners for each quarter have a chance to win the grand prize at the end of the contest year.
There’s also a branch of the contest for artists called the Illustrators of the Future Contest.
Cash prizes and publication in the annual Writers and Illustrators of the Future anthology
There’s a formal reception for the winners.
Contestants CANNOT have professionally published a novel or short novel, more than one novelette, or more than three short stories in any medium. More information on what is considered “professional publication” is available on the site.
I entered the contest once (and lost) but have not returned to it due to other paths calling my name. However, if you’ve a hand for writing in these genres, I highly recommend submitting to Writers of the Future.
Writing is a balancing act between the new and the conventional. We want to branch out but we’re afraid that it won’t settle well with our readers. We often wonder, should we experiment in our writing or should we stick with the tried and true? The question seems simple but the answer is not.
This is me when I think about including my flash fiction experiments in my end-of-year portfolio.
I often struggle with this matter. Most recently I’ve decided to try my hand at flash fiction. Honestly, I’m still baffled by it. The genre is powerful and complete in a way that’s inexplicable. Unfortunately, I’m not sure if I have written anything salvageable.
The uncertainty makes me dread experimentation. I may want to try something but I’m so petrified by the thought of failing that I question myself constantly. Is there a plot beneath the new form? Are the characters well-developed? Am I conveying my thoughts well enough? The most persistent and dreaded question: am I “doing” this right?
I know that there is no “right” way to write. Some forms, such as flash fiction, are so different from the others that I keep wondering what makes some stories work and others not. The best solution, of course, is to ask other writers to review the stories and give feedback. Should be no different than any other story.
This conversation is always going on in a writer’s head, just more loudly when they’re experimenting with a new form.
The problem: I am still petrified by the thought of failure. In this case, the failure would manifest as embarrassment in the company of my peers. I can’t get myself to ask for feedback because I’m too worried that they will think less of me if the work is a mess.
You see the conundrum? I’m going to get nowhere if I continue like this. I could decide to avoid experimentation period. At least I’ll know that I will please some readers, right?
There’s a problem with that approach, too.
Beyond the external factor of people criticizing writers for repeating themselves, there’s always a reason why they want to experiment. Often, as in my case, it’s because they aren’t inspired. They’re having a problem with the same-old, same-old. They have writer’s block and have to shake off the cobwebs. If they don’t break from the rut, all of their future work will be stale–if they produce more work at all.
What’s a writer to do?
Simply put: JUST DO IT.
We never know if something will succeed if we don’t try. Yes, we might fail. We’ll more than likely fail over and over. Will we embarrass ourselves? Possibly. It depends on how we react and the thickness of our skin. Without failure and possible embarrassment, we’ll never reach our full potential. We’ll never learn if we don’t make mistakes and we’ll never stumble across our greatest works if we don’t cast our nets wide.
I know, easier said than done. I definitely know that. I’m partly using this post to convince myself that it’s OK for me to experiment and that I won’t humiliate myself if I ask someone to look these pieces over. Sometimes you have to fight back the inhibitions and do something without knowing how it will turn out.
Besides, you may find your next favorite way to write when you experiment. Isn’t that worth the risk?
