Tag Archives: Fiction

DEMYSTIFYING SHOW VS. TELL IN FICTION WRITING

Friend and fellow crime-writer, Sue Coletta, gives this insightful cameo on the show vs. tell struggle in storytelling.

Sue15We’ve all heard it many times. Show vs. Tell, the advice that haunts many new writers. It can be very confusing. All telling can be just as bad as all showing. More experienced writers know that it is that perfect mix of both that creates a dynamic, well-rounded story.

Sue7The best advice I can give is to read, read, then read some more. Study how the best-sellers spin a good yarn. Basically it comes down to this: We need to show our stories as they unfold, but we need to do it in a way that evokes a visceral response in our reader. In a way that allows the reader to fill in the blanks with their imagination. But we also need to tell parts of that story so our characters don’t sound melodramatic and our books don’t end up being six hundred pages long.

If you think back to your favorite books undoubtedly they’ll be the ones that you pictured in your mind as you were reading them. Those are the novels that stay with you. Why? Because those authors used a perfect mix of telling, showing, and really showing.

Sue10It’s no secret that I’m a huge Karin Slaughter fan. Anyone who knows me can attest to that. So, awhile back I found her on Facebook and I was reading some of the comments she was getting from her fans. For those not familiar with her work in addition to stand-alones she has two series: Grant Pass series and Will Trent series. One of her fans wrote in and asked what Will Trent looked like.

Her response: “He looks exactly how you pictured him.”

Because the fan was a reader and not a writer she didn’t fully understand why she meant by that or why she wouldn’t expound. But the truth is she couldn’t. If she did she’d ruin the image her other readers had created in their mind of Will Trent.

We writers can help that image along by showing a specific characteristic without giving a laundry list of features. For instance:

Sue16Telling: “He had bright blue eyes and was six feet tall.” Showing: “His piercing blue eyes looked straight into my soul, and I knew he’d soon uncover all my lies.”

In the latter we’ve given a specific characteristic by showing our character’s emotional response to that feature. This becomes more important with main and secondary characters than with walk-ons– a minor character in one or two scenes. And here’s where telling comes into play. If it’s necessary for the reader to know that a nurse, say, is a blonde, then just tell them. No need to waste extra words on non-essential characters.

Telling: “That guy’s an ass.”

Sue18To show your reader that the guy’s an ass you’d have him crunch someone’s glasses under his foot, or beat up an old man. Really showing is when that same man is in a bar fight with your MC and he smells the guy’s sweat, watches his facial ticks, hears someone from the crowd shout “Kill him!”, tastes blood in the back of his throat.

During short interludes– when not a lot happens over a period of time– we tell the reader what happened. This could be a couple of sentences or a paragraph in length. It could even be three words. “Two days later.”

Sue9Basically, we use telling when we need to transition from point A to point B, or when we are divulging the character’s backstory– in tiny bits peppered throughout the novel.

Let’s say for instance nothing happens on the ride over to a crime scene. The reader does not need the play-by-play. They don’t need to be inside the MC’s head the whole time. Tell them what happened. Tell them that “the detectives arrived thirty minutes later.” When it’s a plot point we want to show the reader what happened. Showing can be a sentence or a paragraph in length. Really showing can go on for several paragraphs or even pages.

The following example of “showing” is from Karin Slaughter’s Beyond Reach.

Sue12The lighter dropped onto her lap, the flame igniting the liquid, the liquid burning her clothes. There was a horrible keening– it was coming from her own throat as she sat helplessly watching the flames lick up her body. Her arms jerked up. Her toes and feet curled in like a baby’s. She thought again of that long-ago trip to Florida, the exhausting heat, the sharp, unbearable rip of pain as her flesh cooked to the seat.

The following example of “really showing” is from Karin Slaughter’s Fractured.

Sue14Automatically, her hands wrapped around his thick neck. She could feel the cartilage in his throat move, the rings that lined the esophagus bending like soft plastic. His grip went tighter around her wrists, but her elbows were locked now, her shoulders in line with her hands as she pressed all of her weight into the man’s neck. Lightening bolts of pain shot through her shaking arms and shoulders. Her hands cramped as if thousands of tiny needles stabbed into her nerves. She could feel vibrations through her palms as he tried to speak. Her vision tunneled again. She saw starbursts of red dotting his eyes, his wet lips opening, tongue protruding. She was sitting on him, straddling him, and she became aware of the fact that she could feel the man’s hip bones pressing into the meat of her thighs as he arched up trying to buck her off.

And it goes on for a few more paragraphs. As you can see, the difference between showing and really showing is length and detail. With really showing the writer gets into the finer details of the scene. “Lightening bolts of pain shot through her shaking arms…”

By really showing a scene the writer makes use of most or all of the senses– sight, touch, hearing, taste, smell– instead of just using one or two.

Sue1In short, we use telling for transition or traveling or telling what we’ve already shown so we aren’t being repetitive, and showing for plot points, actions, reactions, responses, to crank up the tension, etc. It takes more words to show a scene than to tell it.

By mixing them, we keep our reader engaged and keep them flipping pages. And that is what makes our stories come alive on the page.

*   *   *

Sue3Sue Coletta is a crime fiction writer who’s authored four novels– soon to hit the shelves, so keep watch! She’s a member of Sisters In Crime and Crime Space and blogs with twenty-four traditionally published authors at: www.auniqueandportablemagic.blogspot.com.

Visit her Murder Blog, where she discusses writing tips, musings, and crime fiction at: www.crimewriterblog.com or follow Sue on Twitter @SueColetta1

Sue2

 

THE MYSTERY NOVEL AND THE HUMAN FASCINATION WITH DEATH

Many thanks to my internet friend, fellow crime-writer, and accomplished stage actor Adam Croft for this insightful look at why murder mysteries will always be popular.

Croft2Human beings are fascinated by death. As morbid and unsavoury as that sounds, it’s a good job they are as otherwise I wouldn’t be here writing this article and you wouldn’t be reading it. 

If we did not have a fascination with death, one of the world’s most popular and enduring fiction genres would not exist and I’d be out of a job. So I’m pretty pleased that we do. But what has caused us to be hardwired to think in this way? What makes death and murder in particular so fascinating to us? 

Fascination goes hand in hand with intrigue, and it is to intrigue that we must turn first. Naturally, human beings are intrigued by why someone would want to kill a human being. To most of us, committing a murder is unthinkable. 

Croft6Of course, we’ve all known people that we’d love to kill, but actually contemplating doing it is something entirely different. This intrigue surrounding those who do, then, is entirely natural. It’s one of society’s final taboos and we are naturally intrigued by the ways in which people murder each other. 

There’s also a sense of needing to understand, which is what compels our sense of intrigue. Naturally and evolutionarily, we feel the need to understand the situation of murder in order to protect our species and prevent or predict future occurrences. It would be fair to say that this is an in-built, animalistic sense, which puts our fascination at a level much deeper than sheer intrigue. 

Croft9However, this would be a little too simplistic. Why, then, do real-life murders not fascinate us as much as they did in Victorian times, when newspaper circulation figures would regularly treble off the back of a good murder? 

Nowadays we’re far more satisfied to get our dose of death through fiction. We know fiction isn’t real, so the purely evolutionary theories go out of the window at this point. In my opinion, it’s the complexity and make-up of the murder mystery or crime novel which provides the fascination here. 

Croft4The truth is that most real-life murder is actually incredibly pedestrian. There’s a fight and someone dies. A jealous husband murders his ex-wife. There’s a gangland killing. No particular element of mystery comes into play with any of these situations, which leads me to posit that our fascination with murder is no longer rooted in our desire to protect our species but instead with the logic of the puzzle and the mystery surrounding a well-constructed mystery novel. 

The longevity of the mystery novel is rooted in its complexity and infinitely changing forms. The number of ways in which a crime is committed and the reasons for someone wanting to commit it is what keeps mystery novelists like me in a job. 

Croft10A clever and sophisticated plot is what readers crave and it’s the reason why Agatha Christie is the best-selling author of all time. Her proficiency for developing the twists and turns and ingenious plots for which she was most famed is the reason why people keep going back to her time after time. 

The most us modern-day mystery writers can hope for, following far behind in her wake, is that we might be able to side-step the reader somewhere along the way and leave you guessing to the last. 

Croft8It would be far too simplistic, though, to say that we’re now purely interested in the type of brain-teasing mystery akin to a crossword puzzle. There’s certainly still a psychological element involved, which is why psychological thrillers are huge business. As a species, we pay attention to these sorts of plots because we have an animalistic need to know we are safe. We need to understand the mind of the killer. 

This understanding is the reason why psychology courses and degrees are so popular in the western world, and particularly in Britain, where the murder mystery is particularly venerated. 

Human beings have an innate desire to understand ourselves and other human beings.

If you’ll forgive me adopting a purely political point of view for a moment, this is a very heart-warming realization from a progressive perspective, as our need to understand each other as human beings is something which we’ve been sadly lacking for most of our existence as a species. 

Croft5We can be sure that crime fiction will last, and there are a number of reasons for this. Crime’s bedfellow in terms of sheer popularity is undoubtedly the romance genre; a type of book which offers resolution and has well-rooted and respected forms and conventions. 

Naturally, it has had to adapt and recent years have seen the rise of rom-coms and even the sub-genre of erotica (although many, including myself, would either put erotica into a sub-genre of thrillers or a genre all of its own). 

Croft11Mystery, too, has had to adapt. Writers such as P.D. James have prided themselves in breaching the (admittedly small) gap between crime and literary fiction, combining a well-written book with a tight and intricate plot. 

It would be worth me noting here that the concept of ‘literary fiction’ does not exist to me. The only great literature is a book that you enjoy. Crime novels, generally speaking, have the added benefit of being stripped of pretension and putting the reader first, not setting the writer on an undeserved pedestal. The enduring popularity of the genre is testament to its superiority. 

It would be fair to say, then, that the crime and mystery genre can be expected to live on.

Croft7As our fascination with death and our need for logical complexity continue to be fused together beautifully by fiction, we can be assured of even more great books to come.

 *   *   *

Croft12Adam Croft is a highly successful British author, playwright, and accomplished stage actor.

Adam tells me that by day, he’s a writer and actor. By night, he’s asleep. He enjoys sunshine, Hobnobs, and talking about himself in the third person.

Croft14In terms of his books, Adam principally writes crime fiction and is best known for the Kempston Hardwick mysteries and Knight & Culverhouse thrillers.

His plays are somewhat (read: very) different, focusing on the subtext behind personal relationships as well as exploring themes of world politics and human ethics.

As an actor, he takes whatever he can get.

Croft13Adam’s work has won him critical acclaim as well as three Amazon bestsellers, with his Kempston Hardwick mystery books being adapted as audio plays starring some of the biggest names in British TV.

His books have been bought and enjoyed all over the world, and have topped a number of booksellers’ sales charts.

I’m thrilled to death to have met Adam and look forward to a lengthy friendship and working relationship.

Check out his website   http://adamcroft.net/ 

Friend him on Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/adamcroftbooks

Follow Adam on Twitter  https://twitter.com/adamcroft

NO LIFE UNTIL DEATH

garrythumb2Here’s a preview of No Life Until Death, the sequel to the Amazon #5 BestSelling novel No Witnesses To Nothing.

Chapter 1

 

Thursday, November 1st  

9:40 am

SeaSpan Dockyard

Surrey – a suburb of Vancouver, British Columbia

Inspector Sharlene Bate of I-HIT, the Integrated Homicide Investigation Team, swung her unmarked car into a pot-holed lot on the south bank of the muddy Fraser River and slammed it in park. She jumped out, ducking yellow barrier tape and dashing through cold, pissing-down rain to the passenger side of a grey Chevy Impala – oblivious to desperate people doing desperate things.

“Jesus!” Corporal Jill Prunty looked at Bate’s forehead from behind the wheel. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Mixed it up with an asshole at Walmart.” Bate palmed her long, nasty gash. “Tell you later. What have you got?”

“Ah, call came at daybreak.” Prunty’s eyes stayed on Bate’s wound. “A dumpster-diver is gettin’ early dibs on the bins and sees a van back up to the jetty’s end. Driver gets out, opens his rear doors, and pulls out a package that’s like six feet long, floppy, and wrapped in white plastic. He’s got it strapped to an appliance dolly. Wheels it over and cuts it loose to the water. Guy puts his dolly back in the van and drives off.”

“Go on.” Bate pulled a notebook from her lusty-red trenchcoat.

“So buddy in the dumpster… some homeless dude named Dave… thinks it’s wrong so he checks it out. Well, the package snagged on a deadhead. You know them semi-submerged logs? Dave guesses it’s a body in the bag, so he runs for help.”

Bate put on glasses. “Good ol’ Dave.”

“Local PD responds. Between them and a tugboat crew, they fish it out. Sure enough.” Prunty pushed back unruly red hair. “A homicide file.”

“Like we need another.” Bate started scribbling. “Body is where?”

“In the recovery boat. Still shrink wrapped. Don’t know if male or female. We’re waitin’ for the coroner to get here.”

“Did Dumpster Dave get a decent look at our guy?”

“Yup. From probably ten feet away. He’s peeking outa the trash can like Oscar the freakin’ Grouch as the bad guy drives by.”

“Description?”

“Asian male. Approximately 40. Little shit around 5-3 or 5-4. Maybe 120-130 pounds. Short black hair. Clean shaven. Wearin’ dark clothes.”

“Asian. As in…?”

“Well, Rick Portman… Saargeant Portman, I gotta call him now since he got promoted, has Dave back at the shop going through photos and maybe get in front of the artist. Doesn’t sound like our guy is Chinese or Viet. More like Malaysian or Indonesian. Says he’ll have no problem IDing him.”

“Sounds like Dave is our star witness. How wrecked was he?”

“Seemed fine, but I figgered there’d be a credibility issue so I had him blow and give blood. Came back at .03 alcohol, but I’ll send for tox. Especially for crack and meth. Also his vision seems okay. I’ll get him to an optometrist just to make sure.”

“Jill.” Bate looked up and smiled. “You’re always thinking.”

Prunty blushed. Nice compliment. Especially from Sharlene Bate.

“What about the van?” Bate put pen back to paper.

“It’s a white panel thing with only driver windows. For sure a Dodge. Long wheel-base. And definitely propane fired, not gas or diesel. Dave says when you’re in bins all day long, you develop a keen sense of smell.”

“Classy,” Bate said. “Like a Surrey sommelier.”

Prunty read from her notes. “Says it’s an old carpet cleaner with a slider door on the passenger side. Company name’s painted over. Exhaust leaks and it runs rough at the idle. Also, there’s a crease down the bottom of the passenger side and a big crack across the windscreen starting from the left.” Prunty cranked up the defogger and raised her voice. “Knows there’s local plates, but can’t remember the number. Inside it’s got a bunch of welded brackets to tie things down and there’s a big, mottled paint-stain on the floor which dripped out to the back bumper. It’s kind of a sky-blue.”

“Hang on.” Bate stopped writing. “How’d he know what’s inside?”

Prunty grinned. “Dave knows this van. He stole it once to do B&Es.”

Bate rolled her eyes as her Blackberry toned. She checked call display. “Just a minute, Jill. It’s Emma. I have to get this.”

*   *   *

 

Hey Ems.

Hi Mom. Red Cross called. They need me Monday.

Okay, Sweetie. I’ve got a new case starting, but if I can’t go with you then Graham will take you or maybe Carolyn or Brian.

Just wanted to give you heads-up.

Thanks Em&Ems. Love you!

Loves you too, Mew.

*   *   *

             “Couldn’t help hearing,” Prunty touched Bate’s arm. “Your daughter’s pretty rare, eh?”

“Yeah, a one in thirty-five million blood-type.” Bate was back writing.

“You guys are on standby with the blood bank to donate?”

Bate straightened up. “Yes. It’s tied to databases and cell-phone alerts. We’ve been expecting this one. It’s a planned procedure where they’ve identified a compatible recipient and need backup blood. But you never know when an emergency comes in and we have to go right now.”

“She must be a lifeline for someone like her.”

“You bet.”

“Quite a load for a thirteen year-old kid to take on.”

Bate breathed deep. “But I’d hope someone else would do the same for Emma if she needed a transfusion.”

“Yeah.” Prunty shuffled her hips that filled the seat. “What goes around, comes around.”

*   *   *

             Tap. Tap. Tap.

Prunty hit the locks and thumbed the back seat.

Coroner Barbara McCormick wrestled through the driver’s rear door. “Goood morning, Jill and Inspector. What have you got for me on this crappy fall morning.”

“Got a floater for ya.” Prunty puffed her cheeks, winking at the coroner.

“Lovely.” McCormick pulled her clipboard from her scene bag. “Need its name, rank, and serial number.”

“Sorry, Barb,” Bate said, fingering long, wet, black hair. “Just a Jane or John Doe at this point. It’s zip-locked, like in a body bag, and we haven’t checked it over.”

McCormick’s brow raised. “You bagged it without me having a boo first?”

“No. It was fished from the river in some kind of a shrink-wrapped bag. We held it like that for you.”

“Most efficient. Are forensics clear for us having a little look?”

“It’s your show.” Bate looked over her specs and flashed a big, toothy smile.

*   *   *

           Bate and Prunty shivered under a protesting umbrella on a tugboat’s greasy, wood deck as they hovered the mummy-like mass.

McCormick finished snaps with her digital Pentax. “This is a hospital shroud, not a body bag. Unusual.” She bent down, picking at the dripping-wet plastic. “Hmm. Bound by clear packing-wrap on the neck, waist, and ankles. Most unusual.”

Bate and Prunty watched. Their backs faced a leaf-splattering wind.

“I’ll open it for a peek at the face.” McCormick slit the wrapping with her box cutter. A dark, bearded mess stared from eyeless sockets framed in a white, plastic pool.

“More unusual all the time.” McCormick said. “Should be a most interesting post-mortem.”

She sliced down the shroud, leaving the neck wrap intact. Bare, brown skin shined from the neck and shoulders. McCormick exposed more. Surgical incisions showed, starting at the tip of each scapula, connecting at the sternum, and heading down the center of the chest. They’d been stitched with brown, butcher twine.

“Oh dear.” McCormick stood up. “Somebody’s already autopsied him.”

Get the #5 BestSeller No Witnesses To Nothing on Amazon at 

http://www.amazon.com/No-Witnesses-To-Nothing-ebook/dp/B00AJZR28Y/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1355431451&sr=1-1&keywords=no+witnesses+to+nothing