The Writing Thread

[Ruin]

Can I get some advice? I'm planning on writing my first story that features first person perspective. My question is how do I let the main character describe his appearance without it breaking immersion or feeling stilted?

 

[plautistic]

Can I get some advice? I'm planning on writing my first story that features first person perspective. My question is how do I let the main character describe his appearance without it breaking immersion or feeling stilted?

I guess my question to you is: how important is the character's exact appearance, and how important is the character himself? First-person narration provides a special opportunity to characterize someone based on how willingly he describes himself. This includes physical appearance, of course.

Spoiler: a review of several methods

Take American Psycho as one example. Its narrator, Patrick Bateman, goes to great lengths to describe the clothing and accessories he wears, along with the expensive items that surround him (A/V equipment and so on). He does the same for other characters. Many women he describes in fairly generic terms: pretty, "like a model," and so on. With other men, as with himself, Bateman is generally even more vague. The earliest scene describing his physical person I can remember (for my copy is on loan to a friend) is near, but not at, the beginning. He is trying to entice his fiancée into having sex with him, moving her hand over his "rock-hard" abs (or something to that effect). This is clearly important to him. Also important are the judgments he perceives others making about his attractiveness. Clearly he is able to lure quite a few women into his apartment. Two gay men play important roles: one, whom he kills in their sole encounter, also describes him as though he were a model (again, no specifics). The other is apparently in love with him almost to the point of obsession. Although he despises dang homosetsuals, it is important to Bateman that even they flatter him in this manner. The closest thing, perhaps, to a real physical description is that he and a date could be mistaken at some point for a rich Jewish couple out of a Calvin Klein ad—but, as he notes, so could most of the patrons. Typically, their appearance comes through as a stereotype, and at best we can guess they probably have dark hair. Let's not forget that Bateman is constantly mistaken for other people, possibly up to and including incidents that prevent him from being a murder suspect; he and his friends constantly have trouble identifying their acquaintances. Bateman, of course, has many issues, and I think without even going into his depraved acts, we can see from his own representation that he has trouble with identity, losing it completely at one point, when the narration slips into third-person and returns to normal in the next chapter.

Another favorite of mine, Doctor Faustus (Mann's version, that is), is told by a narrator (Serenus Zeitblom) so unconcerned with himself that from my remembering he never even bothers. Perhaps an underlying assumption is that he, a German, fits Hitler's celebrated Aryan type. It's a safe bet: this story is partly allegory about the ruin of Germany through the World Wars. Rather than tell us about his appearance, he describes that of his friend Adrian, subject of this "biography," going so far as to tell us what his parents looked like, telling us in exactly what way the child's features are an amalgamation of theirs. He constantly refers to Adrian's eye color and does so especially when others with striking eyes are in Adrian's proximity. The narrator invokes small mannerisms of Adrian's, especially his laugh and the case of his face during migraines, without ever going into detail about himself. As the narrator tells us many times, he feels that his only true purpose is telling his friend's (and Germany's) story; anything about Serenus is trivial.

Take the other perspective. Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar is about Esther, a college-aged woman who is severely critical of herself, her appearance in particular. We know almost immediately that she's working for the summer on a women's magazine; she says that she and her colleagues appear in photographs. Esther tells us within a couple pages roughly what her complexion is like: "I still have the makeup kit they gave me, fitted out for a person with brown eyes and brown hair[...]". A few pages later we learn that she's tall:

He was the type of fellow I can't stand. I'm five feet ten in my stocking feet, and when I am with little men I stoop over a bit and slouch my hips, one up and one down, so I'll look shorter, and I feel gawky and morbid as somebody in a sideshow.

So while I don't think she ever does the classic "I looked in the mirror. My raven hair flowed down my head, past my alabaster face with its pointed chin and blue eyes, and onto my shoulders, which were silky-smooth and pale as porcelain blah blah blah blah," Esther does give us glimpses of her appearance, often in comparison with others. By the time the book is over, I think we know roughly how she looks, but that's not the most important part of her.

Finally, my previous novel has a narrator who never describes himself. A rough draft even had a line within the first page or two, when he encounters another man while walking home, that mocks the reader's inquisitiveness: "Like me, he was nondescript." This narrator flaunts his unknown appearance in small ways. In fact, I think the only other reference he makes to his appearance is an aside that someone else "was about [the narrator's] height." It's as though he assumes the reader already knows what he looks like, or doesn't care. Although the plot nominally involves him and seems at first centered around his misadventures, it's really about his friends. The two most important are women; women have the most space dedicated to their appearances and, except for maybe two men, women are the sole recipients of progressive descriptions (hair style, different sets of clothes, progressively growing more beautiful). Our dear narrator doesn't bother to reveal his name, either, which should hardly be a surprise given everything else. The most direct characterization (including a physical aspect) comes from a very unreliable source, and it's not something most people would see. I include it here in the hopes that it will be instructive and entertaining.

Christie went back into the kitchen, drained my beer, and tossed the bottle on the floor. Then she kicked the pieces of glass everywhere. “Here’s what I think of you. What are you gonna do if I don’t leave? Pussy.”

I ripped the bag from her shoulder. She watched me walk to the door, open it, and throw the purse into the street. When she ran at me, I took her by the shoulders. “Fuck off.” I shoved her outside without waiting to see if she would fall down the steps. I closed the door.

A stream of curses erupted out front. Christie’s shrillest cries broke against the door. I heard disparaging remarks about my penis, Tex’s penis, and all men’s penises. My sex was doomed. She, Christie, could and would live without male company for the rest of her life. And I would hear from the cops, I still had tons of her shit in my house, if I didn’t give it back soon I would get arrested. Oh yeah and good luck getting laid by my boss. It worked out for her that she was such an ice queen or she’d end up with my shriveled dick inside her.

The part about having some of her things in the apartment was true. I walked around each room while she droned on about the shortcomings of the entire world. There was a cheap handbag in my closet, a pair of panties under the couch, and a set of nude photos of her under my mattress. It turned out that Tex was a pretty good photographer. About fifty credit card bills addressed to her were behind the toilet. All of this I stuffed into the bag.

She was on the lawn. Fortuitously, she had turned away from my house and was instead proselytizing to passers-by. From time to time, she yanked her thumb over her shoulder to point at the son of a bitch she was talking about. I opened the door. Swinging the handbag and its payload a few times to aim, I sent it in an arc that brought it to the sidewalk in front of her. As planned, the items inside spilled into the gutter. Christie stared at her secrets. She was turning to me when I slammed the door and locked it. Almost too late, I realized that she had a key to the house. I slid the deadbolt home just as her key scratched at the lock. She screamed that I better hope to God she didn’t find some heavy shit to throw through the window. A patrol car pulled up with its lights on. Some blessed neighbor had had enough. The officer at the wheel let the siren woop twice in warning. Christie ran past the officer and into the street. A cab stopped for her and she left my life forever. I resolved to change my locks at my earliest convenience.

In short, there's not a single way a narrator "should" describe his or her appearance. I think if it's actually important in some way, the best model to follow is one similar to Plath's: little pieces given when they are relevant. But what kind of person is this narrator? How do others see him? Does physical appearance matter that much at all? Don't feel like you have to describe everything. Ensure that description isn't just padding.

 

[MW 002]

I basically broke down and decided to make up the story as I go- it's actually been a lot more fulfilling but with the next draft it will be a lot more structured.

So far it comes off as if Shin Megami Tensei, Gundam and Fushigi Yugi all did a fusion dance or something... It's just gotten so bizarre that I need to finish it.

 

[Cave]

I love poetry. Words, to me, are intensely powerful. How mere letters can promote such vivid and tangible reactions is fascinating, and it's always been a hobby to find new words and play around with them.

A poem is a lot like an island. It's great for experimentation and is a perfect breeding ground for diversity and evolution.

My favorite poet is E.E. Cummings. He's the man in my profile portrait. Many write off his work as pretentious and worthless, noting his unorthodox syntax and unusual phrasings. While this view isn't ignorant, I find it very close-minded. I understand completely while someone wouldn't enjoy his work. That's totally fine. I just feel there's a lot of depth in his work. If he was pretentious, then he'd ramble on and on. He does not. His poems would meander and look sloppy. They don't. They're most often short and always precisely executed. It's insane.

I write using a style that takes a lot of inspiration from him and also the greats James Joyce and Ezra Pound. These two had the ability to use very little to express a lot. Simplicity is essential. It has a rawness that reminds me of the philosophy of the punk movement of 1975.

I highly recommend anyone who hasn't read these few men to do so. Even if you don't like them, it's good to be exposed to more experimental writers.

I may post a few rough sketches of what I'm working on, but I want to make sure they're perfect first. I tinker a lot. Probably too much.

 

[Cave]

Spoiler: Greatest Friend

Over a ragged lake.
Her face is stone.

On one side: a flower.
On the other: a tree.

A sun-beat tulip.
A fragile oak.

Her mouth agap.
No words unfurl.
Only decisions.

Sitting under the tree.
Ripping at the flower.
Forgetting the time.
Lost in recollection.

A weary scent.
That tulip.
Soaked in oak.

A nullified friend.
Someone so great.

Over a ragged lake,
Her face is stone.

 

[Connor Bible]

Though outlining has its benefits, I prefer to figure out the story as I write it, a la Stephen King. I start with a basic, solid idea of a character and the predicament they wind up in, and elaborate upon that idea as I go along. That's not to say I'm pulling stuff out of my ass and seeing what sticks. I usually look over what I've written previously and continue building using what I already have available. I've said it many times, and I'll say it again: the problem with Eva was that I had no solid idea of the characters and the story, and as a result, the first draft that I wrote was a mess. Then again, aren't all first drafts?

The story of Redesigning Eva was really based on my high school experience and struggle with depression. I think I was too caught up in conducting self-therapy than actually weaving a coherent, meaningful tale. I don't think it's a bad idea at all to utilize personal struggles and demons in one's work. Stephen King openly admitted that a lot of his body of work came from whatever was bothering him at the time. Jim Thompson, the writer of such noir classics as The Killer Inside Me and After Dark, My Sweet, was a pretty severe alcoholic. Bret Easton Ellis said that American Psycho was born out of his own feelings of emptiness and disaffection, rather than deliberate social satire or the very concept of a yuppie serial killer working on Wall Street. The list of other examples I could give stretches to infinity. However, writers should not let those real world hang-ups completely take over the process. Case in point, Michael Crichton. I enjoyed his earlier work, but after Jurassic Park, success seemed to have gotten to his head, and he went the route of Oliver Stone, preaching to his readers instead of giving them a good read.

 

[Cave]

Though outlining has its benefits, I prefer to figure out the story as I write it, a la Stephen King. I start with a basic, solid idea of a character and the predicament they wind up in, and elaborate upon that idea as I go along. That's not to say I'm pulling stuff out of my ass and seeing what sticks. I usually look over what I've written previously and continue building using what I already have available. I've said it many times, and I'll say it again: the problem with Eva was that I had no solid idea of the characters and the story, and as a result, the first draft that I wrote was a mess. Then again, aren't all first drafts?

The story of Redesigning Eva was really based on my high school experience and struggle with depression. I think I was too caught up in conducting self-therapy than actually weaving a coherent, meaningful tale. I don't think it's a bad idea at all to utilize personal struggles and demons in one's work. Stephen King openly admitted that a lot of his body of work came from whatever was bothering him at the time. Jim Thompson, the writer of such noir classics as The Killer Inside Me and After Dark, My Sweet, was a pretty severe alcoholic. Bret Easton Ellis said that American Psycho was born out of his own feelings of emptiness and disaffection, rather than deliberate social satire or the very concept of a yuppie serial killer working on Wall Street. The list of other examples I could give stretches to infinity. However, writers should not let those real world hang-ups completely take over the process. Case in point, Michael Crichton. I enjoyed his earlier work, but after Jurassic Park, success seemed to have gotten to his head, and he went the route of Oliver Stone, preaching to his readers instead of giving them a good read.

I like using a basic outline. The best way to write a novel, in my view, is to start with an ending. Any ending. It doesn't matter. Vague or detailed: an ending is essential. It gives your book a goal and an end-point; and, of course, it can always change if you feel another would fit what you've written.

All horror stories are immensely personal. If one doesn't write what they're afraid of, then how will they know if it's truly scary?

 

[MW 002]

My story has a vague basic outline, but it is starting to turn out differently than initially planned, which is kind of a good thing for me so that when I get to editing I can make it a lot more structured.

 

[Dr.Research]

Publishing a successful novel has always been my second major life goals.
I have an idea for an original adventure story that takes place in a semi-Viking/ Scandinavian setting (original, I know). I toy with the idea of making it into a webcomic, but I honestly don't have the skill for that.

Anywho- I also write fanfiction. Here's a story I did last summer.

Spoiler: Pendergast Fanficion

June 21st was hot and hazy in The Big Apple. At 8:41 the clouds in the sky were just turning pink from the setting summer sun as high-rises and skyscrapers pushed up and shadowed streets and people below. The car horns still blared and people still briskly walked up and down the countless blocks as the evening rolled in. Everything was calming down from an uneventful Sunday.

In the penthouse apartment of the Dakota building, Special Agent A. X. L Pendergast was entertaining a guest; quite the rare occurrence. Pendergast and guest sat across each other in a particular room, a small tea table between them. The room itself was a full Zen garden with a single hardwood path leading to the table and neat sand artfully raked on all sides. Rocks places throughout and in the sand stood as symbols of land in the white, grainy sea. There was little plant life, but in a few place moss could be seen peeking out from behind a rock. Illumination was provided by wooden lanterns placed just apart enough that they lit the room without missing any spots or being overly bright in others. It was a meticulously maintained room. A deep green Japanese teapot and two matching cups of green tea on the table provided a gentle aroma for the guests to enjoy.

"I'm very happy you accepted my invitation tonight, Miss Swanson," said Pendergast as he brought his cup to his lips.
Across from him, Corrie sat somewhat uncomfortably on a mat. They left their shoes outside on a rack in the hallway, and Corrie tried to think of a time where Pendergast didn't have shoes on. She couldn't think of one.
"Thanks," she reached for her cup, "It's been a while since we got together and it wasn't when someone was dead."
Pendergast smiled ever so slightly. "Yes, it has been a while, and at last the circumstances are completely pleasant."
Corrie nodded and sipped her tea. It was very earthy.

"Not to your liking?" he asked, as if he already knew.
"I'm not much of a tea person."
"Green tea is very good for you, especially this kind. It's a very special form of the Camellia sinensis and is unique to a little known province in China."
The young woman looked in her cup and gently swirled the green liquid around. "I guess you're too good for Lipton."
There was a comfortable silence as Pendergast quietly finished his cup and poured himself another. Corrie declined to be topped off.
"You know I'm always happy to see you, Pendergast, but any real reason you called me over?" Corrie asked.
"Do I need a reason?"
"Of course not. You're Pendergast. But being Pendergast, you usually have a reason for everything."
"A very good deduction."
"I don't think at this point it's a deduction."
Silence once more.

The two sat in stillness and Pendergast slowly finished his second cup. Rather than pour himself another cup, he places his cup down so gently it barely made a sound. Corrie continued to sit quietly and sip at what she thought just tasted very faintly of dirt in water form. She thought about her sitting there with Pendergast in his New York digs, sitting in a Zen garden she didn't know existed until then but was completely unsurprised by, drinking this crappy hot water and that on Monday she'd have to do laundry. The bright purple hair coloring had been washed away since Pendergast sent her to that prep school so when Corrie lowered her head a bit to sip more, it was blonde hair that slipped slightly forward. The blond man sat with perfect posture and for a moment closed his eyes and seemed to relax just a bit more in the silence. Corrie allowed the hot liquid to touch her lips once more and then it hit her. She had no idea what made her realize but at that moment she did. She swallowed hard and loudly dropped the teacup back on the table.
"It's Father's Day."
Without opening his eyes, Pendergast nodded slowly, as if she just correctly answered a question.
Corrie turned her head away slightly and said, "So that's why you invited me over."
"It was also a very convenient time."
Corrie didn't know how to feel. She wanted to feel angry, but for some reason there was no anger. Her brain tried to rationalize getting angry by telling her Pendergast was just pitying her. Poor little girl with a drunk for a mother and no father on Father's Day. It surely wasn't anger she was feeling, but instead what filled her heart was sadness and embarrassment.

She looked back and saw Pendergast looking at her, completely blank. His pale grey eyes betrayed nothing. Corrie looked up at him and dead in his eyes. She couldn't read him, but he could read her.
Pendergast spoke softly, "I thought you'd appreciate company today."

"Why?" The words slipped out of Corrie's throat and came out a lot weaker than she had hoped, "Just a shitty Hallmark holiday."
At that moment she didn't want to be there anymore. She didn't want to be there in that garden or with Pendergast. At that moment she wanted to be anywhere that meant being alone. Mother's Day, Father's Day- all worthless to her. Abruptly, Corrie got up and began to walk down the path to the door to leave.

She didn't get far; Pendergast sprung up as nimbly as a cat and reached over and took her arm with as much care as he could while still holding her limb.
"Let go!"
Tears could be felt welling up in Corrie's eyes and she tried to wipe anything that came out away with her free arm. She tried to yank her other arm away and keep walking but Pendergast kept a firm hand.
"Let go! Let! Go!"

She continued to try and go forward but Pendergast was surprisingly solid for a man so lean. As the tears continued to swell and all the sadness and loneliness flooded her mind Corrie eventually just gave up and stopped pulling. She just stood there fighting back tears and made sure to keep her face away so Pendergast couldn't see. For the first time in her life she was successful. She had just graduated from a prestigious prep school and was about to enter John Jay in September. She wasn't goofing off or mindless driving around waiting for nothing. She was finally moving in the right direction and starting to be in charge of her true chance. And there was no one there to watch her or cheer her on. Other Father's Days came and went, but back then she had nothing to be proud of and nothing to share any love with.
Her sniffling had turned into crying and she gave up on trying to hide it. Corrie just stood there and no longer noticed the pressure of fingertips on her forearm.

"Miss Swanson," said Pendergast in a voice so low it was almost a whisper.
Corrie shook her head.
"Miss Swanson, look at me."
Pendergast could see she wasn't about to do so on her own, so easily he turned her towards him and lightly lifted her chin so her eyes met his.
He didn't speak immediately, but his eyes never left hers. Corrie was a bit surprised that he seemed to not know what to say. But eventually he did say something: "Miss Swanson- Corrie- I know that I am not your father and I could never hope to be your father. I cannot replace your blood, the memories you have missed, and I won't even start with my uncanny ability to get into extremely dangerous situations. But I can say that I am exceptionally proud of what you've accomplished and surely will accomplish in the future. Everything that will make it all work for you, you have."
As Corrie processed each word, as if in slow motion, she began to cry harder. She cried harder and allowed herself to collapse in his arms and hold him tight in a hug. Taken by some surprise, Pendergast steadied himself and wrapped one arm around the girl's waist and rested another on her head, stroking it gently. Corrie continued to cry on his shoulder and press into him tightly, and all the man holding her could do was allow her to continue. Afterwards he'd have a guest room made up. He'd escort her to bed and make sure that she had a plentiful breakfast in the morning and that he was awake and there for her. He could feel his shoulder become moist and the sounds of crying seemed to echo and bounce in the calm room. Eventually Corrie would stop and the sun would rise on Monday morning.

 

[Cave]

Spoiler: Poems

Shadowed trees sing together.
Over time, they all wither.

Flocking sounds unannounced.
Burning trees left unknown.

No remembrance for the man.
No remembrance for the woman.

Black trees dance all night.
Today, they all wither.

Every now and again.
They all sing again.
-----------------------------------------
Drive to never.
Drive it farther.
Drive it longer.
Until the last time.

Drive to help her.
Drive to know him.
Drive it farther.
Until it’s done.

Here and now.
Drive it home.
Here and now.
Until it’s fair.

Try to light up.
Dine with error.
Filled to try up.
Until the last time.

Swim in the sea.
Sell your coat now.
Win your body.
Swim to sea now.
Until it’s soon.

June 21st was hot and hazy in The Big Apple. At 8:41 the clouds in the sky were just turning pink from the setting summer sun as high-rises and skyscrapers pushed up and shadowed streets and people below. The car horns still blared and people still briskly walked up and down the countless blocks as the evening rolled in. Everything was calming down from an uneventful Sunday.

I would fix that first sentence. It's clumsy, unmemorable and has a--I believe--unintentional rhythm to it that isn't very pleasing. Work on making every line clean and nice to read. You're not a bad writer. Not at all. Just polish what you got. If I were to write that first line, I'd probably go:

"8:41 p.m. The sky was dotted with clouds and heat dripped from the hazy pink skyline. It was the 21st of June, an evening sun signaling the end of the first day. Shadowy figures melded together into one mass and pushed through the streets using a one-way trigger. Blah blah blah

I said the first day, btw, because you are picking this particular date--June 21st--for a reason. I'd highlight that by denoting it as the first day, thus establishing even further its importance. Then again, that's just my interpretation. I also wouldn't call it uneventful. If it's uneventful, then don't choose this day or specify that it had been an uneventful Sunday . . . until . . .

You know what I mean?

In the penthouse apartment of the Dakota building, Special Agent A. X. L Pendergast was entertaining a guest; quite the rare occurrence. Pendergast and guest sat across each other in a particular room, a small tea table between them. The room itself was a full Zen garden with a single hardwood path leading to the table and neat sand artfully raked on all sides. Rocks places throughout and in the sand stood as symbols of land in the white, grainy sea. There was little plant life, but in a few place moss could be seen peeking out from behind a rock. Illumination was provided by wooden lanterns placed just apart enough that they lit the room without missing any spots or being overly bright in others. It was a meticulously maintained room. A deep green Japanese teapot and two matching cups of green tea on the table provided a gentle aroma for the guests to enjoy.

I would, before anything else, describe the scene. Use imagery to highlight key and important aspects about the area in which the scene is taking place in and the characters. Why? It adds flair to your piece, gives it character and personality and also allows you to establish a style. That style will be, in a way, your calling card. People will know who you are based on how you write characters, use dialogue and describe your scenes. Who is Pendergast? What's he look like? He's entertaining the guest, but don't say that. Use dialogue or detailed descriptions. Now, you have done some imagery and description, but I feel it's lacking. The point is not to highlight any old thing, but to highlight key aspects of the room that will give it character. What separates a living room in one home from another? Even more general, what separates a bakery from a fire department?

"I'm very happy you accepted my invitation tonight, Miss Swanson," said Pendergast as he brought his cup to his lips.
Across from him, Corrie sat somewhat uncomfortably on a mat. They left their shoes outside on a rack in the hallway, and Corrie tried to think of a time where Pendergast didn't have shoes on. She couldn't think of one.
"Thanks," she reached for her cup, "It's been a while since we got together and it wasn't when someone was dead."
Pendergast smiled ever so slightly. "Yes, it has been a while, and at last the circumstances are completely pleasant."
Corrie nodded and sipped her tea. It was very earthy.

Good use of description during dialogue. Never a bad idea to add more, though. What else are these people doing? What's their posture like? What's the expression on their face? Be detailed. Eyebrows, noses, lips, etc. Anything that can clue us into how they're feeling and/or reacting to the situation.

This is especially important in dialogue. When speaking, make sure to tell us at least one thing about the character, internal or external, that will clue us in on their tone, motives or otherwise.

The only time you wouldn't include things like this are when it's done for a good reason. Hiding motivations from the reader may be important for a later plot point, but it's always possible to add subtle hints in place of more blunt description.

"Not to your liking?" he asked, as if he already knew.
"I'm not much of a tea person."
"Green tea is very good for you, especially this kind. It's a very special form of the Camellia sinensis and is unique to a little known province in China."
The young woman looked in her cup and gently swirled the green liquid around. "I guess you're too good for Lipton."
There was a comfortable silence as Pendergast quietly finished his cup and poured himself another. Corrie declined to be topped off.
"You know I'm always happy to see you, Pendergast, but any real reason you called me over?" Corrie asked.
"Do I need a reason?"
"Of course not. You're Pendergast. But being Pendergast, you usually have a reason for everything."
"A very good deduction."
"I don't think at this point it's a deduction."
Silence once more.

I like the rapport between the two characters. However, I would say that your dialogue is a little flat at some points. The Lipton line is good and establishes a decent sense of personality, but this can be expanded upon. Think about writing in a character's voice. Think up a voice in your head and then make generalizations about how you think they'd speak and what words they'd use. If that's too hard, then look to real life for inspiration. If you happen to hear someone talking on the train, listen to their voice and, if you like it, try and remember what kinds of words they used, their mannerisms, tone of voice, pitch, etc. These can help when building a character's dialogue and personality later on.

It is essential to build the personality, at least superficially, quickly. That way, it'll be easier to make variations, show change and exhibit transformations in your characters. As we get to know them more, we see more of their personality. Is their initial personality a front? Are they putting on an act to please others? If so, it'll be good contrast if we have an initial superficial understanding of their personality that we can later juxtapose with their personality when they're at their lowest, highest, etc. It is also good for, like I said, showcasing transformations. Is your character the same at the end as they were at the start? If so, it better be intentional.

The two sat in stillness and Pendergast slowly finished his second cup. Rather than pour himself another cup, he places his cup down so gently it barely made a sound. Corrie continued to sit quietly and sip at what she thought just tasted very faintly of dirt in water form. She thought about her sitting there with Pendergast in his New York digs, sitting in a Zen garden she didn't know existed until then but was completely unsurprised by, drinking this crappy hot water and that on Monday she'd have to do laundry. The bright purple hair coloring had been washed away since Pendergast sent her to that prep school so when Corrie lowered her head a bit to sip more, it was blonde hair that slipped slightly forward. The blond man sat with perfect posture and for a moment closed his eyes and seemed to relax just a bit more in the silence. Corrie allowed the hot liquid to touch her lips once more and then it hit her. She had no idea what made her realize but at that moment she did. She swallowed hard and loudly dropped the teacup back on the table.
"It's Father's Day."
Without opening his eyes, Pendergast nodded slowly, as if she just correctly answered a question.
Corrie turned her head away slightly and said, "So that's why you invited me over."
"It was also a very convenient time."
Corrie didn't know how to feel. She wanted to feel angry, but for some reason there was no anger. Her brain tried to rationalize getting angry by telling her Pendergast was just pitying her. Poor little girl with a drunk for a mother and no father on Father's Day. It surely wasn't anger she was feeling, but instead what filled her heart was sadness and embarrassment.

I like this section a lot, but that final paragraph needs expansion. Is there anything about her that can cue us to think she's upset? Body language? Tone of voice? Is her voice shaky; is it cracking; is she trying to keep up a poker face? Let us know these details.

She looked back and saw Pendergast looking at her, completely blank. His pale grey eyes betrayed nothing. Corrie looked up at him and dead in his eyes. She couldn't read him, but he could read her.
Pendergast spoke softly, "I thought you'd appreciate company today."

"Why?" The words slipped out of Corrie's throat and came out a lot weaker than she had hoped, "Just a shitty Hallmark holiday."
At that moment she didn't want to be there anymore. She didn't want to be there in that garden or with Pendergast. At that moment she wanted to be anywhere that meant being alone. Mother's Day, Father's Day- all worthless to her. Abruptly, Corrie got up and began to walk down the path to the door to leave.

That is good that you mentioned her voice is shaky. It would be better, I feel, to have included this in previous section and then build upon it with this beginning line. It can become more apparent that she's upset or you can explain how she's trying to hide her anger or sadness.

She didn't get far; Pendergast sprung up as nimbly as a cat and reached over and took her arm with as much care as he could while still holding her limb.
"Let go!"
Tears could be felt welling up in Corrie's eyes and she tried to wipe anything that came out away with her free arm. She tried to yank her other arm away and keep walking but Pendergast kept a firm hand.
"Let go! Let! Go!"

She continued to try and go forward but Pendergast was surprisingly solid for a man so lean. As the tears continued to swell and all the sadness and loneliness flooded her mind Corrie eventually just gave up and stopped pulling. She just stood there fighting back tears and made sure to keep her face away so Pendergast couldn't see. For the first time in her life she was successful. She had just graduated from a prestigious prep school and was about to enter John Jay in September. She wasn't goofing off or mindless driving around waiting for nothing. She was finally moving in the right direction and starting to be in charge of her true chance. And there was no one there to watch her or cheer her on. Other Father's Days came and went, but back then she had nothing to be proud of and nothing to share any love with.
Her sniffling had turned into crying and she gave up on trying to hide it. Corrie just stood there and no longer noticed the pressure of fingertips on her forearm.

This is too quick a transition. She should, I think, get up in silence, try to go toward the door and have Pendergast stop her as before; but instead of crying, she is only angry. She is angry and she yells. As Pendergast continues to hold on, she eventually breaks free and leaves. She doesn't get very far, though, and breaks down when she feels she is alone. When she composes herself, she may turn and see Pendergast standing over her.

"Miss Swanson," said Pendergast in a voice so low it was almost a whisper.
Corrie shook her head.
"Miss Swanson, look at me."
Pendergast could see she wasn't about to do so on her own, so easily he turned her towards him and lightly lifted her chin so her eyes met his.
He didn't speak immediately, but his eyes never left hers. Corrie was a bit surprised that he seemed to not know what to say. But eventually he did say something: "Miss Swanson- Corrie- I know that I am not your father and I could never hope to be your father. I cannot replace your blood, the memories you have missed, and I won't even start with my uncanny ability to get into extremely dangerous situations. But I can say that I am exceptionally proud of what you've accomplished and surely will accomplish in the future. Everything that will make it all work for you, you have."
As Corrie processed each word, as if in slow motion, she began to cry harder. She cried harder and allowed herself to collapse in his arms and hold him tight in a hug. Taken by some surprise, Pendergast steadied himself and wrapped one arm around the girl's waist and rested another on her head, stroking it gently. Corrie continued to cry on his shoulder and press into him tightly, and all the man holding her could do was allow her to continue. Afterwards he'd have a guest room made up. He'd escort her to bed and make sure that she had a plentiful breakfast in the morning and that he was awake and there for her. He could feel his shoulder become moist and the sounds of crying seemed to echo and bounce in the calm room. Eventually Corrie would stop and the sun would rise on Monday morning.

Good ending, though I feel it could be changed if you were to integrate my alternate course of events.

Totally up to you, though!

A good read, really. I am enjoying it. All I would like is more detail, less say and more show and that's about it. The detailed descriptions and indicators should help with the whole show more and say less bit, but your framework and foundation is VERY solid.

Keep it up, man!

Feel free to disregard any of my advice. It's only my opinion.

 

[Dr.Research]

Feel free to disregard any of my advice. It's only my opinion.

Thanks for reading and I'm glad you enjoyed it. It's been a long while since I've gotten any critique, so I really appreciate you taking the time to review it.

 

[Cave]

Thanks for reading and I'm glad you enjoyed it. It's been a long while since I've gotten any critique, so I really appreciate you taking the time to review it.

Hey, no problem, dude. Everyone needs a little boost or advice from time to time. It's what makes us better writers!

 

[DeadwastePrime]

So I was going to write a story about a teen who wanted to be the next Eric Harris/ Dylan Klebold and make the next columbine happen at his school, but fails it by bringing an airsoft gun to school instead, then tries committing suicide with it and failing by only breaking his jaw instead. The problem is the school he attends is real in real life, I did not know this until I looked it up to make sure, and the school is called granite falls high school. The weird part is it also that the story takes place in Washington, which is where the real school is. Well that idea is scraped until I can think of something new.

 

[Lorento]

My current project is a prequel to another project I started last year. Unfortunately, I just couldn't restrain myself, the backstory to the original was so vast that I wanted to do a full project on it. So far it's going well, my personal style is very minimalist so I don't tend to describe very much. It always irritates me that everyone else has these long paragraphs about describing a room and I have like, two lines. Ah well.

 

[plautistic]

So far it's going well, my personal style is very minimalist so I don't tend to describe very much. It always irritates me that everyone else has these long paragraphs about describing a room and I have like, two lines. Ah well.

Minimalism is just fine by me. Rooms are just rooms sometimes. So are people. Know what I mean? Anyway, best of luck!

 

[caffeinated_wench]

Okay, so I have a question for anyone who might be kind enough to answer.

As I'm writing a fantasy, I've reached the dilemma of whether or not to use real-world languages as "translations" or to create languages from scratch. I've decided that the other countries would have their own languages (as in, I'm making them from scratch) but as for the main characters' country I'm debating on whether or not I should use something like Esperanto or Welsh, since they're the ones the readers are supposed to be identifying with and following. Basically, giving them a real-world language/"translation" so that they can be understood in a sense, since as they get further and further away from home they pepper their speech with words from "their" language to remember their homeland.

Any thoughts or suggestions?

 

[plautistic]

As I'm writing a fantasy, I've reached the dilemma of whether or not to use real-world languages as "translations" or to create languages from scratch. I've decided that the other countries would have their own languages (as in, I'm making them from scratch) but as for the main characters' country I'm debating on whether or not I should use something like Esperanto or Welsh, since they're the ones the readers are supposed to be identifying with and following. Basically, giving them a real-world language/"translation" so that they can be understood in a sense, since as they get further and further away from home they pepper their speech with words from "their" language to remember their homeland.

Any thoughts or suggestions?

I've avoided replying because I thought others here might give an answer with a keener understanding of fantasy standards. However, since no one's said anything, here we go.

Both options are lose-lose in my eyes, although I understand your ultimate aim (which, let's face it, is more noble than most of fantasy's use of foreign languages). If you're going to create a language from scratch, you'd better know a lot about language. And I mean a lot. I think many people, fantasy authors included, are under the impression that one language is essentially the same as another.

The method of choice for these is basically a substitution cipher: "I rode my horse" becomes "Kìwḯ fąrmß ļȯļ cœw" with a one-to-one correspondence of words, in the same order. The most egregious example of this I recall is in Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth series (maybe The Stone of Tears?). I remember that the main character, Richard, comes across a prophecy written in some ancient language that another character translates for him. I happen to remember it, more or less: "Fuer grissa ost drauka"—"The bringer of death." And yes, it lines up perfectly with the English. This is supposed to be a subtle and ambiguous phrase but really the only difficult part for Richard and the others is the vocabulary, not, obviously, the grammar. For a language (and culture) that I suspect was based on German, I'd expect a little more in the way of the Germanic tradition of elision, contraction, maybe even a non-English case somewhere in there. But no. I think this is a light slap in the face of any reader who wants more than swords and dragons from his fantasy literature.

So you're a philologist? Tolkien was, too. I suspect he's the reason why a lot of fantasy authors feel obligated to include fictional languages in their works. Here's my experience during The Lord of the Rings: "Oh, look, an Elvish song. I'll skip the page." "An Elvish name. Can't pronounce it. Don't care." You get the idea. This is my problem, but that's how I went about it. Not that Tolkien wrote for me specifically, or even for an audience—but for the author pondering such questions, consider how you'd feel if you saw a lout like me skipping a page whose language it took you months or years to formulate. The same goes for pronunciation. Names especially I tend to gloss over, since I'm reading to myself and don't actually need a pronunciation; or to confuse with other, similar names so that I don't really know what's going on. I understand that your use case is different, but keep in mind how things like that can affect a lazy reader like me.

Maybe the best way I've seen this done, and the closest to the use is the faux(?)-Latin words in the Harry Potter books. Because that series tends towards the whimsical, these words don't seem out of place. It also helps that Rowling assembles gibberish from words (or parts thereof) that make perfect sense in English. She doesn't seem to have a whole language worked out, just the spells. If something like this works for you, consider it. But be careful; as you invent words, ask yourself if your they seem like a reading of "Jabberwocky."

Your other option, while perhaps easier, might end up as I just described. Looking at Welsh: "How do I even say this?" Or, for the person who understands the language you choose, it might be a massive distraction. Of course I think any reader worth a paperback understands at some level that the English (in the case of this reader) on the page is probably not supposed to represent characters literally speaking English. But something in another language that I understand? This in my opinion breaks the immersion. And give yourself some credit: what will happen if your fantasy ends up with a Welsh translation? No one will even know you used two separate languages.

I'll offer a third choice, not necessarily better than the ones you've put forward. Italicize the foreign words and choose combinations that imply some idiomatic quality that English doesn't quite transmit.

"Remember our filthy groundhole at home?" said Arthur. "Much cleaner than the privies around here."

Lancelot laughed. "Yes," he said, "but they're all filthy groundholes when you're finished with them. How's Guinevere, by the way?"

You be the judge. It'll be hard to tell if italics indicate speech in another language or just emphasis, but that's life. Let me know your thoughts.

 

[caffeinated_wench]

I've avoided replying because I thought others here might give an answer with a keener understanding of fantasy standards. However, since no one's said anything, here we go.

Both options are lose-lose in my eyes, although I understand your ultimate aim (which, let's face it, is more noble than most of fantasy's use of foreign languages). If you're going to create a language from scratch, you'd better know a lot about language. And I mean a lot. I think many people, fantasy authors included, are under the impression that one language is essentially the same as another.

The method of choice for these is basically a substitution cipher: "I rode my horse" becomes "Kìwḯ fąrmß ļȯļ cœw" with a one-to-one correspondence of words, in the same order. The most egregious example of this I recall is in Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth series (maybe The Stone of Tears?). I remember that the main character, Richard, comes across a prophecy written in some ancient language that another character translates for him. I happen to remember it, more or less: "Fuer grissa ost drauka"—"The bringer of death." And yes, it lines up perfectly with the English. This is supposed to be a subtle and ambiguous phrase but really the only difficult part for Richard and the others is the vocabulary, not, obviously, the grammar. For a language (and culture) that I suspect was based on German, I'd expect a little more in the way of the Germanic tradition of elision, contraction, maybe even a non-English case somewhere in there. But no. I think this is a light slap in the face of any reader who wants more than swords and dragons from his fantasy literature.

So you're a philologist? Tolkien was, too. I suspect he's the reason why a lot of fantasy authors feel obligated to include fictional languages in their works. Here's my experience during The Lord of the Rings: "Oh, look, an Elvish song. I'll skip the page." "An Elvish name. Can't pronounce it. Don't care." You get the idea. This is my problem, but that's how I went about it. Not that Tolkien wrote for me specifically, or even for an audience—but for the author pondering such questions, consider how you'd feel if you saw a lout like me skipping a page whose language it took you months or years to formulate. The same goes for pronunciation. Names especially I tend to gloss over, since I'm reading to myself and don't actually need a pronunciation; or to confuse with other, similar names so that I don't really know what's going on. I understand that your use case is different, but keep in mind how things like that can affect a lazy reader like me.

Maybe the best way I've seen this done, and the closest to the use is the faux(?)-Latin words in the Harry Potter books. Because that series tends towards the whimsical, these words don't seem out of place. It also helps that Rowling assembles gibberish from words (or parts thereof) that make perfect sense in English. She doesn't seem to have a whole language worked out, just the spells. If something like this works for you, consider it. But be careful; as you invent words, ask yourself if your they seem like a reading of "Jabberwocky."

Your other option, while perhaps easier, might end up as I just described. Looking at Welsh: "How do I even say this?" Or, for the person who understands the language you choose, it might be a massive distraction. Of course I think any reader worth a paperback understands at some level that the English (in the case of this reader) on the page is probably not supposed to represent characters literally speaking English. But something in another language that I understand? This in my opinion breaks the immersion. And give yourself some credit: what will happen if your fantasy ends up with a Welsh translation? No one will even know you used two separate languages.

I'll offer a third choice, not necessarily better than the ones you've put forward. Italicize the foreign words and choose combinations that imply some idiomatic quality that English doesn't quite transmit.

You be the judge. It'll be hard to tell if italics indicate speech in another language or just emphasis, but that's life. Let me know your thoughts.

First off, I'd like to thank you for taking the time to give advice on this. I've been looking everywhere for something more in-depth on the subject but it's all been conflicting and a simple "yes"/"no".

I'm definitely no Tolkien, although I have been studying and writing down notes on the different grammar rules and sentence structures to, hopefully, create something feasible/not an eyesore. I don't want something like your first example, definitely, especially when it wouldn't fit at all. While I did consider using a "common" language all throughout, that also felt like it wouldn't fare much better since there very well might be people that wouldn't know it (or know it very well) and given how I have set things up thus far it seems unlikely that everyone would give up their native language completely since, as I more or less implied in the other post, it's a part of their identity. Not that a common one doesn't exist; it just didn't seem very likely that everyone they run across understands "Common" or speaks it very well.

I do get your points, though, and it's something that even now I'm debating because, as you said, it can very well prove to be lose-lose. Either the person skips over it, or it might be enough to break immersion. That's part of why the decision of whether or not to do something like this is difficult. I might not even use the main protags' "language" all that much, but there's always the possibility and I don't want my work to come to a screeching halt when it turns out I'm going to be using their language more than I thought.

I've read about some suggestions like writing foreign (real or fake) languages as "Character X said something to Character Y in an angry tone, but Character A couldn't understand a word of it" but I don't really feel all that partial to that route. It feels a little too lazy and, to me, doesn't really capture how incomprehensible it is to the main characters. I felt that actually having a language would make it seem more real to the reader, so that they can empathize with the protags a little more since it's just as difficult for the reader to understand as it is for them.

 

[plautistic]

I think you've probably chosen the best course. As long as you don't need to have large swaths of text in your invented language, what you describe should be more than enough. I suppose it's superfluous to add that I'm averse to the most common transcriptions of such languages: copious accents, copious consonants/vowels, and copious apostrophes. The fact that you've thought about it at all is a good sign. Best of luck! Let us know how things develop.

 

[caffeinated_wench]

I think you've probably chosen the best course. As long as you don't need to have large swaths of text in your invented language, what you describe should be more than enough. I suppose it's superfluous to add that I'm averse to the most common transcriptions of such languages: copious accents, copious consonants/vowels, and copious apostrophes. The fact that you've thought about it at all is a good sign. Best of luck! Let us know how things develop.

Thank you! I'll definitely keep these in mind.

Right now I'm just glad I got all the characters done before hitting this issue or it'd be taking much longer. So far, I've finally found a start I actually like after scrapping it at least five times. The language issue hasn't come up yet, but it's not really important right now and there's no point in tossing words around just yet as the mains are in an environment where they can understand everyone perfectly. I have a lot of the background and everything set. Got the good ol' foreshadowing even. It's really more just a matter of getting the language set up and incorporating it into the dialogue when necessary for later on.

I did think, for when they're trying to communicate in a language they know but aren't fluent in, that the mains' dialogue is intentionally stilted or awkwardly phrased or even oddly worded (like saying "I'm visits my friends" instead of "I'm visiting my friends"; basically, getting tenses and the like wrong) to get across that they're struggling to communicate to this other person. I don't know how effective it would be or if it would get annoying, but the main idea is just to kinda get the reader in their shoes or to convey the difficulty they're having.