Revision: How to Add a Whole New Character

So when Tricia asked me for revisions, one of the things she wanted (which I totally agreed with) required adding one or two new characters. I'd never actually done this before, and I was afraid the new characters would feel flat or tacked on. Here's what I did to avoid that:

1) Define the character. This is the novel that got me my agent, so the existing characters were pretty fleshed out. I wanted to make the new characters as deep as I could -- goals, motivations, even voice -- before I changed a word. (Yes, I planned. What a shock.)

2) Plan what needs to change. I skimmed through the entire novel, making a note of every scene where the character could appear, and maybe what that would do to the scene or the whole plot if they did. Sometimes this led me down some really interesting roads, though other times I realized it would mess things up too much if they were around.

3) Write the character. For each scene in my notes above, I had to decide whether or not they did appear. This was tricky. I didn't want them to appear only in the scenes where they mattered (no chance for development that way), but I also didn't want them to have a cameo in every single scene just because I could. In the end, I decided to keep them in most scenes rather than make excuses for why they weren't there.

Ah, but how to add them . . .

           3a) Dialog. Sometimes the new character had new things to say, but most of my story was already set. Honestly, about two-thirds of the time, the new character just said things that other characters had said. I just changed the tag and the flow of conversation to support it. You'd be surprised how often -- especially in group scenes -- you can swap lines of dialog around without affecting things.

           3b) Narrator descriptions and thoughts. Whoever's head we're in needs to notice the character. Not just notice them, but have feelings about them that affect things. Otherwise why have them there at all?

           3c) Let them shift the plot a little. I wasn't about to rework whole plot points for these characters, but their presence did change things a bit. Partly, this is what they were being added for (to add emotional weight to certain of the protagonist's decisions), but a couple of events took me by surprise. It's usually good to let these things happen.

           3d) Treat it like a first draft. It's so, so hard to add words to a novel that I know works (see the part where it got me an agent). I want the new words to fit seamlessly with the old ones and to be just as awesome. But it's better to accept that they won't be at first. You'll make them good in a second.

4) Read the whole novel again. Slow. Now that the characters are in there, you have to make sure everything still flows. It's not just about continuity and details, but you have to look at the emotions of the scenes. Do the character's words and actions fit what's going on around them? Is she being flippant when she should be scared, or crying in a relatively tame moment? (Mine was).

I also realized there were places where the protagonist could be thinking about the new characters, even though they weren't in the scene. The new characters were now part of the protagonist's life, and I think this helped make them even more real.

5) Send it to a beta reader who hasn't read it before. You can send it to betas who have read it too, but I wanted someone who knew nothing to tell me which character(s) they thought I had added, which felt the most tacked-on.

I was kind of excited when my beta reader named characters that had been in the novel from the beginning. It did make me wonder about those old characters a little, but the new characters felt like part of the story to her, which means I did it right. And honestly, now I can't imagine the story without them either.

Have you ever added a character in revision? How did you do it?

Because Batman is Awesome

(Reposted from Anthdrawlogy)

On the Ridiculous Idea that You Can Steal an Idea

Stop me when you know what famous book this is:

A young kid growing up in an oppressive family situation suddenly learns that he is one of a special class of children with special abilities, who are to be educated in a remote training facility where student life is dominated by an intense game played by teams flying in midair, at which this kid turns out to be exceptionally talented and a natural leader. He trains other kids in unauthorized extra sessions, which enrages his enemies, who attack him with the intention of killing him; but he is protected by his loyal, brilliant friends and gains strength from the love of some of his family members. He is given special guidance by an older man of legendary accomplishments who previously kept the enemy at bay. He goes on to become the crucial figure in a struggle against an unseen enemy who threatens the whole world.

If you said Harry Potter, you're right. But if you said Ender's Game . . . you're also right. This quote is from an article Orson Scott Card wrote, berating J.K. Rowling for this one time she got mad at someone for "stealing" her ideas.

Guys, you can't NOT steal ideas.

Don't believe me? Visit TV Tropes for like two seconds (if you dare). Such a site wouldn't even exist if the tropes listed there hadn't been done time and time again. Not because people are unoriginal, but because we are original, but that does not mean what you think it means.

Being original means we all take the same raw materials -- life -- and turn it into something unique. But it's because of those common raw materials that we all come up with chosen ones and special powers and wise old mentors and unlikely leaders. Because those are the things that move us.

Don't worry about someone stealing your idea, and don't worry about stealing someone else's. Ideas cannot be copyrighted and no one can win a lawsuit because you also made references to the Bible. If they could, the Tolkien estate would own Hasbro by now, and C.S. Lewis's benefactors would have a number of things to say to that guy who tried to sue Assassin's Creed.

Keep moving forward, taking people's ideas and letting people take yours. It's all good, and it'll come back around anyway. Because the goal is not originality or even money. The goal is to show people old things in a new way.

Your way.

An Open Love Letter to Joss Whedon

Dear Mr. Whedon,

Thank you, thank you for the Avengers movie. And thank you for doing everything right. There are so many ways this movie could've been screwed up, and you did none of them.

You could have unbalanced the cast. I mean, shoot, there were like seven heroes, five of whom have (or deserve) their own movies. By all normal screenplay calculations, the cast should have been unbalanced! Ironman should've stolen the show, or Thor should've been relegated to some kind of adviser role, or at the VERY LEAST Black Widow and Hawkeye should've been ignored entirely (I would even forgive you for that last one).

But they weren't! Everyone had their moments. Every character was believably, realistically involved. Thor and Loki had brother issues. Black Widow and Hawkeye had a freaking non-romantic relationship. Captain America was still dealing with the fallout from his last movie (heck, they all were). I love them all!

You could have revealed something lame that demeaned or flat out broke the original movies. You wouldn't have been the first. I mean, how do you explain why there are billionaires and WW2 super soldiers fighting alongside gods? To save the planet from alien invasion?

Dang, man, you actually made the prequels better at some points. The Thor movie didn't make me stand up and cheer, but you made Thor and Loki's characters deeper. You gave Captain America a reason for his ridiculously patriotic uniform. Thor quipped about how Asgardians always seem to beat each other up when they come to Earth (even though they're supposed to be more civilized).

You took the holes in the character's backstories and said, "Ha! Hey guys, look! A hole!" and then moved on. I love you for that.

You could have made Black Widow into an object. Every other screenwriter would've done it, and nobody would've blamed you. Heck, it's what they did with her character in Ironman 2.

And yet, in this movie, Natasha acted sexy or weak only twice, and both times she was totally messing with someone to get what she needed. So. Awesome.

You could have written cheesy, cliche dialog. I mean you couldn't have, Joss, because you're not like that. But Hollywood could've put someone in there who left the "This is just like Budapest" line as is, or who didn't understand how Tony Stark's ultra-clever Disregard for Everything works.

You could have made the Hulk into a dumb tank. It would've worked. I mean, that's what he is. And you did make him into a tank, but a super awesome one.

We didn't even see the big guy until halfway through the film, but two minutes into Mark Ruffalo's first scene (who, by the way, I might have to write another love letter to; he is now my favorite Bruce Banner of all time) you made sure we knew how scary the Hulk is. Not by telling us, not even with dialog, but by showing it on Black Widow's face when she was too afraid to put her gun down.

You could have done any of this. It's what's Hollywood has done with most superhero movies. And I forgive them, because the stories are fun and the heroes are awesome. But you? You made me fall in love with Thor and Hawkeye, characters I used to make fun of.

You have already had a significant influence over the novel that got me an agent. But now I'm going to watch everything of yours I can get my hands on. Thank you for influencing everything.

Sincerely,
Another Fan

Santa and the Siege of Barad-dûr

From Anthdrawlogy's Elves week. As far as I'm concerned there is only one kind of elf, though I'm more flexible with who their boss is.

Books I Read: The Alloy of Law

Title: The Alloy of Law
Author: Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Steampunk Fantasy
Published: 2011
Content Rating: R for action violence

Three hundred years after the events of the Mistborn trilogy, the world has been reborn and is in the midst of an industrial revolution, with trains and guns, skyscrapers and electricity -- and outlaws and the lawmen who bring them to justice.

Wax Ladrian is one such lawman, retired after his last job ended in the death of the girl he loved. He's just getting used to the noble life he had abandoned long ago, when his fiancee is kidnapped by a notorious band of criminals, led by a man whose Allomantic powers render him nigh immortal. As Wax gets more involved in the investigation, he learns that the city can be even more dangerous than the outskirts he used to protect.

You may recall I loved the original trilogy, and I love this. It's not as epic; Sanderson admits that he wrote it for fun, basically, and it totally is. It's a classic Western story wrapped up in a world where the kind of metal you wear (or eat) determines whether you launch yourself into the air, heal yourself, or stop time.

I have to admit the occasional character or plot event felt too . . . straightforward to me. But I love the mystery and detective work. I love the way Allomancy (and Feruchemy, which we didn't see as much of in the trilogy) interact with this new industrialized world. And I LOVED the banter between Wax and his deputy Wayne (who reminded me an awful lot of a certain pilot of a Firefly-class vessel).

Wax and Wayne. Heh, I just got that.

Differences Between Querying and Submissions

You may or may not know by now that Air Pirates is out there on submission. Meaning honest to God editors are reading it. Submitting to editors this way is very similar to querying, but there are some differences I've noticed.

Disclaimer: This is based on my limited submissions experience so far. Your mileage may vary.

DIFFERENCE #1: Responses. I get them.
For better or worse, "no response means no" seems to be more and more common among agents. But on submissions, so far I get answers. Even better, I get semi-personalized answers (or, to be more accurate, my agent gets them and disseminates them to me). They may not tell me exactly what's wrong with the story (see SIMILARITY #2), but they give me a lot more information than form rejections.

DIFFERENCE #2: My agent does all the work.
I'm sure you all remember the scads of data I kept on my querying journey. On submissions? I keep track of nothing. I don't have to write the pitch, keep track of where I sent it and when, or follow up when responses are slow. And I like it that way.

Though I admit, I kinda miss my chart.

DIFFERENCE #3: Thinking long term.
In the query trenches, I had one focus: get an agent. But on submission, I find myself thinking more long term. For example, before I found Tricia, I had a handful of agents say they'd be interested in seeing future queries from me. That's neat, but now that I have an agent, I don't need to remember that information.*

But when an editor says something like that, it matters even if I get a book deal on Air Pirates. Why? Because this is my career now (potentially). Air Pirates will run its course someday, and even now, I need to be thinking about what comes next and where it might go.

* Though you can be sure that if, in some twisted alternate universe, Tricia and I part ways, I will be scouring my Gmail archives in search of those agents.


So there are some differences, but whether you're querying agents or submitting to editors, some things never change.

SIMILARITY #1: The waiting.
Oh, God, the waiting.

SIMILARITY #2: The content of the responses.
Writing is subjective. One agent thought revising to YA was a mistake, another said it was the right way to go. And you know what? They're both right. Turns out editors have the same sorts of opinions.

SIMILARITY #3: My job.
I still write. Through all the waiting and all the responses and all the excitement and the let downs: I. Still. Write.