What Improvement Actually Looks Like

One of my favorite games of all time and one of the hardest high-precision platformers I have ever played is Celeste. This game asks you to traverse a series of deadly rooms through a combination of jumps, dashes, and wall climbs. Most rooms can be traversed in a matter of seconds, though you will often die dozens of times before that happens.

Some rooms are much longer. A successful run through the final room, for example, can take more than two minutes. Here's a clip if you want to see it (SPOILER):

I spent hours of trial and error trying to traverse this room. My kids watched sometimes, and I found an interesting phenomenon: Every time I said, "I'm getting better! Look how far I can get," I would immediately die several times on the early, "easy" parts that I thought I had figured out.

It was frustrating (and embarrassing). I felt like I'd learned nothing, like my previous successes had been luck, and I was lying to myself that I was improving at all.

That's because, like most people, I believed this:

It makes sense, right? Put the time in, and you will get better (and you'll never go back down to a previous level, because you can't! You're better now!).

But what happened to me was this:

I would get consistently better and then suddenly get worse—a lot worse, in places that I thought I had already figured out. It led me to believe that I hadn't gotten better at all. I became disillusioned, frustrated, and discouraged.

I bet you're familiar with this feeling.

This pattern—trying to improve, getting better for a bit, then failing more than we think we should—can be seen over and over again in everything: playing piano, learning to snowboard, writing more words per day, lifting weights, breaking a bad habit, improving ourselves through therapy, and on and on.

It can be frustrating when we feel like we've slid backwards, like we're not improving at all and will maybe never improve.

But if you keep going, you find a strange, new truth:

Improvement doesn't happen in a straight line. It has peaks and dips and plateaus and more dips, but so long as you continue, it always, always goes up—even when it doesn't feel like it.

Failing repeatedly in Celeste (while telling my kids, "Look what I can do!") helped prove this to myself. I wanted to finish the room, and I got frustrated every time I died. To succeed, I had to change my goal from "finish the room" to "practice toward consistency."

I would celebrate the small victories: when I did an early bit of platforming well, when I became more consistent at a part that used to give me trouble, even when I died in a way I never had before. I wasn't reaching new lengths in the room, but I was slowly improving and, perhaps more importantly, enjoying every run even though I died hundreds(!) of times.

This applies to writing too. Maybe I don't hit 1,000 words every day, but I can celebrate that I am hitting 500 every day—or 200! Or 50! I can even celebrate that I just sat down to write multiple days in a row. I can celebrate writing a sentence or even simply opening my document without fear.

And when I fail at these things, I can remember that's part of the process too. Improvement doesn't happen in a straight line, and I'm going to fail sometimes. It's impossible not to! But forward is forward.

All of which is to say: don't give up. So long as you keep going, you are improving, even when it doesn't feel like it.

Trust the process.

Using Description to Convey Emotion

I have a confession. Historically, I have been very bad at description. I didn't like it. I skimmed it when I read it (do you know how much description there is in The Count of Monte Cristo or Les Miserables?), and I paid it little attention when I wrote it (I still do in my first drafts).

Over time, I recognized how description could be good, but I still thought that I wasn't good at it. I thought I wasn't "that kind of writer."

I have since learned that description is not only vital for grounding the reader, but it is also a useful—often critical—tool for conveying emotion.

And like every skill, it is something that can be learned.

A lack of description is one of the most common weaknesses I see when editing authors' fiction. I talked about grounding the reader before. Today, I want to talk about using that grounding to convey emotion.

The Con Artist and the Ninja

This example is adapted from an old WIP of mine. Domino is a young con artist, and Ko is basically a ninja. In this scene, they have just been arrested and are on their way to the governing authorities. Domino is worried that things aren't going as he planned.

Domino and Ko sat across from each other in the locked carriage on their way to see the Marshal. Sweat stained Domino's silk shirt. He'd hoped Ko would fight or at least try to escape. He didn't think the ninja would just turn himself in. The charges against them might have been trumped up, but there was enough real evidence available that Domino could be in serious trouble.

This short description is fine. Serviceable. We know who's here, where they are, and what they're doing, and the sweat on Domino's shirt even gives us a hint of his emotional state.

But we can do more. We might describe the carriage ride, for example, and use that to convey Domino's worries.

The wheels clattered across the cobblestones, jerking and jostling at every pothole. Domino felt every jolt in his chest.

The jolts don't directly tell us what Domino's feeling, but they imply it. If he were calm or happy, he wouldn't feel "every jolt in his chest." Instead, he might "sway with the rhythmic rocking of the carriage" or notice "the music of the wheels against the cobblestones." All of these accurately describe sound and feel of the carriage, but each one evokes different emotions.

We could also describe Ko a bit more, conveying not only how the ninja appears but how Domino feels about him.

Meanwhile, Ko sat perfectly still, eyes shut. He didn't even seem to be breathing—just sat there, irritatingly calm and measured.

Here, we get the contrast between Domino's and Ko's emotional states, and the word "irritatingly" tells us how Domino feels about it. In doing so, the reader can feel what Domino is feeling—not just worried about seeing the Marshal but frustrated that Ko doesn't feel the same.

That's probably enough description to paint the scene. (It might even be too much, but that's what editors are for.) Let's put it together and see:

Domino and Ko sat across from each other in the locked carriage on their way to see the Marshal. The wheels clattered across the cobblestones, jerking and jostling at every pothole. Domino felt every jolt in his chest. He'd hoped Ko would fight or at least try to escape. He didn't think the ninja would just turn himself in. Meanwhile, Ko sat perfectly still, eyes shut. He didn't even seem to be breathing—just sat there, irritatingly calm and measured.

Sweat stained Domino's silk shirt. The charges against them might have been trumped up, but there was enough real evidence available that Domino might be in serious trouble.

It doesn't take much, just an extra line here and there to paint more of the scene while also showing the emotions you want the reader to share.

Think about what's happening in the scene—what can be seen, heard, felt, smelled, or even tasted. Then, think about what the characters are feeling and use that to color what is described and how.

It'll take practice, and that's okay! The original passage I started with had been through several edits and beta reads, and I still found ways to improve it just now. (Kinda makes me wanna go back to this WIP, to be honest.)

Just keep writing, keep learning, and trust that you are improving, even when it doesn't feel like it.

Should You Keep Writing?

Like I said last week, publishing is a difficult business. And there will always come a time when you wonder whether you're wasting your time—whether you should even be writing at all.

How do you know when to keep going and when it's time to quit? Ultimately, only you can decide, but personally, I would first ask...

Do you enjoy it?

If you have time to write and you enjoy it—not getting published but the act of writing itself—then don't quit! Why would you? We only have a limited number of days on this Earth. You might as well spend them doing something you love.

But nothing is fun forever, so...

What if you don't enjoy it?

This is a harder question. If writing pays your bills, that's fantastic and maybe a good reason to do it. (MAYBE.) If it's not and you're just hoping to get rich, well... that's a bad idea, statistically speaking.

So, if writing doesn't bring you joy, and it's not sustaining your existence, then that begs a more difficult question....

Why are you writing?

Truth-telling time. I've been writing seriously for decades, but the last few years, I found an increasing fear every time I sat down to write. I enjoyed being done with something, but I only got that feeling once a year or something. I wasn't making money with my novels, and I had very low prospects of doing so.

All of that's par for the course, but I was also dreading the act of writing itself. The thought that I "had to" write every day was stressing me out.

It took me a lot of therapy and inner work to figure out that a large part of why I was writing was for external validation. I wanted people to read what I wrote and think I was cool—that I had worth. Turns out, that's not a great reason to write.

But I do love writing. My mind is spinning worlds and stories all the time, and I want them to go somewhere. I've done game design, D&D, novels, short stories, and I love them all! But novels are such a great medium for the stories I want to tell that I haven't been able to give them up yet. As I'm learning to let go of the need for validation (NOT! EASY!), my self-inflicted pressure to write has eased, and I've found myself enjoying the act of writing again.*

* Not always. It's still hard, but I'm motivated to work through it. Everything's a process.

Figure out why you're writing.

Your own motivation might be a mix of things, healthy and otherwise. And that's fine! Virtually all of our motivations are like that. But when writing or trying to get published becomes hard—and it will get hard!—understanding yourself is the only way you'll know whether it's worth it to you.

And fun fact! Even if you give up writing for a time, you can always come back to it. It's not like it's going anywhere, and you might learn a lot about yourself in the process.

Control What You Can... Let Go of What You Can't

Publishing is a difficult business. Millions of new books are published each year, yet the average book sells only 1,000 copies in its lifetime and fewer than 500 become NYT bestsellers. Traditional publishers account for maybe one million of those books, and still, that's only 1–2% of the projects submitted to them.

The odds of making it rich or even just making a living by writing novels are... not great.

I don't say this to be a downer. I say it because I love data and find it very useful for making plans and managing expectations. I say it because I'm also a writer who wants to be one of those statistics (the good ones, at least), and data helps me understand what I'm getting into.

Here's some slightly more encouraging data:

• More than 95% of books that publishers reject are "poorly written, have a bad or unoriginal premise, or are irrelevant."

They call it the slush pile, but it's entirely avoidable. As you improve your writing, you'll easily rise up above the slush. This is a thing you can control.

• Nearly 67% of sales are in authors' backlists.

The odds of good sales might be bad for one book, but they increase with each book you publish. As you write more, you sell more. This is also a thing you can control.*

* With self-publishing, at least.

In every area of life, there are aspects you can control and aspects you can't. You can't control whether somebody makes you angry, but you can control what you do with that anger. You can't control whether somebody likes you, but you can control whether you like yourself.

In publishing, you cannot control the publishers, the readers, the market, or virality. You cannot control whether people will buy or enjoy your book. You cannot control how much money you make or what people say about you. But there are things you can control.

You control your writing.

You decide what words go on the page and whether there are words at all. You can improve your skill through practice. You alone decide what and how many stories you tell.

You control your schedule.

You decide how many days you write, for how long, how many words. You decide whether you're going to write a ton in one sitting or a little at a time—and both are fine! You alone decide how to balance writing with the rest of your life in a way that brings you joy.

You control whether you keep going.

You decide if you will keep writing, take a break, or stop altogether—again, all are fine decisions so long as they are your decisions designed to fit your life!

If you want to keep writing no matter what, nobody can stop you. The more you do so, the better you'll get. If writing is something you want, then the only way to fail is to give up on it.

It's important to let go of what we can't control so that we can focus our energy on what we can. I'm not saying it's easy—I know from experience it's not!—but it's possible, and it's the only way to find joy in what we do.

Control what you can. Let go of what you can't.

How to Start a Novel

There are lots of great tips out there for how to start a novel. You've probably heard some of these:

• Start in the middle of the plot (in medias res)
• Start with exciting action
• Start with a compelling mystery
• Start with an intriguing first line

These are all great ideas. They're not even mutually exclusive! But I bet you can think of stories that started with these things and were still... kinda dull? Or maybe you can't, because you stopped reading them. I know I have. And some of my favorite stories don't do any of these things!

Here's the thing about writing: There are no rules. You can start the novel however you damn well want—even with fifteen pages of world-building about Hobbits. If the reader is still enjoying themselves, nothing else matters.

The tips above come from stories that did these things and worked, or else stories that didn't do these things and that people felt were boring, but...

They're good ideas, but they can fail you if you don't understand why they work. For example...

Starting in medias res is cool because it skips boring exposition, but it can fail if the reader doesn't understand the current action or why it's happening. They'll feel lost and confused.

Starting with action is fun and exciting! But that excitement can feel bland if the reader doesn't understand the reasons for any of it. They'll get bored quickly.

Starting with a mystery is cool and intriguing. ("Where am I? Who am I?") But it can fall flat if the mystery feels forced ("Oh right, I slept over at my friend's house last night.") or if the mystery is only maintained because details are deliberately held from the reader (like a novel that refuses to name the protagonist for several pages just to be clever). The reader may feel tricked or patronized.

Intriguing first lines are basically always cool but only if you pay out on them. It could feel pretty disappointing to read "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times... and then the murders began." only to find out that the "murders" are just gathering crows or something.

But if you'll look carefully, each of the above tips can fail in the same way: An opening doesn't work if the reader doesn't understand what's going on.

It's not enough to start a novel with the protagonist running for her life through a dark forest. We need to know why they're running? From whom? What happens if they get caught?

Within a page or two, the reader can ideally answer these questions:

• Who is there?
• What do they want?
• Why do they want it?
• What happens if they don't get it?

If an opening has those things, it won't matter whether the novel starts with a literal explosion or inside a quiet coffee house. Either way, you'll have an invested reader.

Characters We Care About: Goals and Motivation

Probably the most important thing a story can do is make the reader care about its characters. There are a number of factors in what makes us care about someone, but today we're going to talk about one of the most important ones: your protagonist's goals and motivations.

1. What does the character want?
2. Why does the character want it?

Readers want to root for your characters, but to do so, they have to know what they're rooting for and why. If you give them that, they'll love your characters forever.

What Does the Character Want?

If the reader doesn't know what a character wants, then very little that character does matters. They're just walking around doing stuff. Think of the beginning of A New Hope. There's a bunch of action, a bunch of people getting shot and dying, a big scary dude in a cape and mask walking onto the ship. The opening crawl covers some basic info, but it's difficult to care* until C-3P0 says, "We'll be destroyed for sure" and "There'll be no escape for the princess this time."

He cares about someone. She's in danger.

So we start to care.

The reader doesn't need this information right away, but the sooner the better. You've only got a few pages to grab most readers, and the first step in doing that is giving the reader something to root for.

*Because infodumps rarely work.

Why Does the Character Want It?

Watch any reality competition or any sports on TV. One of the main things they ask the competitors is, "Why is this win important to you?"

The competitors we care most about are those with the most compelling reasons: "I'm doing it for the folks back home." "This is my chance at a better life." "Everyone said I couldn't do it. I have to prove to myself that I can."

Compelling motivation makes for good television and great storytelling. For example:

• Harry Potter wants to succeed at Hogwarts. If he doesn't, he goes back to his awful life with the Dursley's.
• Luke Skywalker wants to find out what R2-D2's hidden message means. If he does, he'll be able to answer questions he's long held about his father and Ben Kenobi and ultimately himself.
• Katniss Everdeen doesn't just want to win the Hunger Games so she can survive. She wants to get back to her family so they can survive as well.
• Zuko wants to find the avatar, not just to restore his honor but to be allowed to return home and to prove he's worthy to be his father's son.*

*Think about it. When did you start caring about Zuko? For me, it was the episode "The Storm" when his uncle told his men why Zuko was so driven that he hurt the people around him.

It was when we learned his motivation. 

Motivations are sometimes framed as stakes, but the idea is the same. Your protagonist wants to achieve something, and they need a compelling reason to achieve it—one that the reader can stand up and cheer for.

It's one of those things that's not hard and it is at the same time. For those of us who tend to focus on world-building and plot, we can get lost in "what needs to happen" and forget about why it needs to happen. But that "why" is paramount.

Because if you can get the reader to root for your characters, then you will have found something every writer hopes to find: a fan.

On the Importance of Democracy

One of my kids told me they didn't really think they were gonna vote when they turned 18, and I felt like I failed as a father. I know that's a common feeling (am I right, fathers?), but it drove me to action. I don't want to fail them, and I don't want to fail you, so you get to be my temporary children for the next few minutes.

You gotta vote.

I don't mean that in a burdensome obligation kind of way, but in a "Hey, it's actually pretty cool we live in a time and place where our opinion has meaning!" kind of way.

It's a safe bet that you have lived your whole life in a democracy. I know I have. Because of that, it's easy to take it for granted that (1) we can always vote (that's what all countries do, right?) and (2) our vote doesn't feel like it does anything.

But here's the thing. If you live in a country without a democracy (or with a fake/failed democracy, like say Russia), your opinion is worthless—sometimes even dangerous. The people in charge of your country/state/city/school are chosen by other people for reasons you don't even get to know about. The law is whatever those leaders say it is. And there's nothing you can do to change it short of some sort of rebellion, which are notoriously difficult to organize and bad for the health of everyone involved (historically speaking).

Voting's easy though. Among other things, the organizing has been done for you, and most laws ensure a minimum of bloodshed. Most importantly, your voice matters.

Yeah, your voice doesn't make change alone—it's the collective voice of thousands or millions of people—but your voice is part of those millions. Change happens when we speak together.

Despite popular opinion, there are electable representatives who care about people and who will fight for change that serves all people. These candidates aren't always available at the highest levels of government, but guess what! The highest levels of government are not the ones that matter the most!

Sure, it'd be nice if the federal government finally ended Daylight Savings Time, raised the minimum wage, or did literally anything about 70% of the world's mass shootings. But state and local governments can and do make those kinds of changes all the time, and your vote carries orders of magnitude more weight in those elections. And when enough cities and states make a successful change, the federal government eventually just goes along with it.

And while you're there, vote for the highest levels of government too. It's just one extra dot.

Voting isn't the end-all fix to the world—nothing is. But so long as we live in a place where it's an option, voting is one of the easiest, most important ways to help.

I know there's a lot going on in the world right now. Hope is a hard thing to maintain, but hope is absolutely vital to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Voting itself is a kind of hope, and you know what they say....