“I’m adding a new character to the first chapter, and moving the last scene to the fourth chapter and ratcheting up my main character’s angst another notch or two and shifting the focus more solidly onto her throughout the story.”

My friend said she’d never realized what a fluid medium fiction writing is. I’ve never thought of it that way, but realized that, as usual, she’d hit the nail on the head. Writing a story is all about flow, which is probably why my little Piscean soul has such a passion for fiction writing, and particularly fiction writing for children.

Nobody goes with the flow as thoroughly and naturally as kids. They don’t care if your syntax is correct or your similes scintillating. All they care about is that you tell a good enough story to sweep them up and take them along for an exciting ride.

So, now, I tend to think of plotting in terms of river rafting, which is something I enjoyed doing once-upon-a-time. (Nowdays I get too seasick to enjoy it.) Here’s a list of “river writing” suggestions:

• Start at the right place. Begin your story when the boat goes into the water, so to speak, not the day before when the characters are packing their wet sacks.
• Vary your scenes. No river ride is fun if it’s all placid water, but it’s equally a bummer if it’s all rapids. Both rafters and readers need a chance to catch their breath every so often and go “Wow, that was really something!”
• Avoid whirlpools. Learn to recognize those points in a story where your characters are going around in frantic circles, yet the plot is not advancing.
• Get out at the right place. For both raft trips and stories, this is either when there’s obviously nothing but smooth sailing ahead or in the nick of time before a waterfall–which is an especially good place to stop if you plan to write a sequel.

So there it is, my latest take on plotting. If you follow these suggestions, your readers will thank you for a memorable ride and come back for more.

Happy rafting!

There is a weird kind of alchemy which makes characters come alive on a page. It has to do with what I think of as the “five dimensions of character.”

In geometry, the four dimensions are . . .

• breadth,
• depth,
• height and
• time.

In writing, this translates into the following:

• Physical setting–does the story take place in one location, all over the globe, in some alternate universe or “in a galaxy far, far away?” The breadth of a story is determined by the breadth of the setting.
• Personal history–Is the character old or young, part of a large family or an only child, well loved and parented or an orphan? No matter what happens in the story, if questions of personal history aren’t answered, the character has no depth and becomes a mere chess piece moving around a board.
• Relationships–Who are friends and who are foee? Why? Will these relationships stay the same or change over the course of the story? How does this impact the character? This can only be seen by gaining some height and distance from our characters. No matter what voice we choose to tell the story in, our view as the author needs to be overarching.
• Timelessness–To have a character who is both true to  her era and universal enough to be interesting to readers over time requires attention to detail and a delicate touch.  The best stories are grounded in their particular time without being too dated to appeal to an ever-evolving audience.

If you have done these four things thoroughly, you have laid a good foundation for well-rounded characters. However, it’s not enough.

WHy?  Because there is a fifth dimension that is the final key to creating a memorable character. I call it the “human dimension” which must be present, even–or maybe especially–in characters who are not, in fact, human; for example, Wilbur of Charlotte’s Web.

The most memorable characters are aware of the gains in their losses and the losses in their gains and make peace with both.  Wilbur comes to terms with Charlotte’s death by caring for her eggs.  Frodo in The Lord of the Rings saves Middle Earth but is so changed that he chooses to depart with the elves. Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden lets go of her delicious secret and the walls–both inner and outer–that keep her safe when she shares her garden with Dickon and Collin.

It is this fifth dimension–this balancing act of light and dark, advance and retreat, joy and sorrow–that gives characters soul, that elusive quality without out which they never comes fully alive for the reader.

Make sure your characters have all five dimensions–but especially the fifth–and they will be utterly unforgettable.  I promise.

Good writing!