Dave's Anatomy: My History As a Writer #18: "Jergen Kouhat's Blues," Creating Characters

 Last time, I talked about the story "Jergen Kouhaut's Blues," which challenged me with its length. Sustaining a story through almost 30,000 words is test of skill. But the story kept going along—kept "working"—and the complexity of the characters, their inner conflicts, the unfolding of their personalities, demanded something more than the usual 5000-7500-word limit that delineates most short stories published online or in print. It also crossed some boundaries into what is accepted and not so much accepted in the modern writing scene

There are two basic approaches to writing a story. One is plot-driven. The story centers around the plot, is fast-moving and has lots of action and incidents that "move the story along." Writers are told to catch the reader's interest and keep it. All action must "advance the plot" (how many times have I read that in an editor's comments?). The plot is the center of the text.

On the other hand there are stories that are character driven. The most important thing in the story is how the characters develop, their inner lives, the emotions they feel as they walk through the story's conflict, and how they change (or, sometimes, do not change) as characters. The plot in a story like this must be strong, but it is not the primary focus. The characters and how the conflict in the story affects them is the focus.

Plot-driven stories are much more important today. In the writer's group I have gone to for about fifteen years, many people want plot-driven stories with lots of action. They complain my stories are "boring" and, sometimes, are "not providing entertainment value." One member, whom I dearly love, tells me my stories are boring and pedantic. The reason those friends of mine say this is because I spend a lot of time talking about what is going on in the characters' minds and hearts. I write about their feelings and reactions and, as a result, my stories 

might be a little short on high-speed chases.

Traditionally, what marks off "literary fiction" from genre fiction (i.e., mysteries, horror, action-adventure, fantasy) is the focus on character rather than plot. Much of genre fiction centers on what happens and on keeping the plot moving. In literary fiction, psychomachia, the battle of inner feelings, motivations, and ethical choices gets more attention. In a James Bond novel you will get in shoot-outs, chases, and cliff-hanger escapes. In high-fantasy there will be battles, attacks by fantastical creatures, and daring missions into dark woods or haunted castles. This difference divides literature into its major divisions.

"Jergen Kohaut's Blues" is about how self-serving choices get a character the thing he has always dreamed off but also deprives him what he loves most. Jergen abandons Hannah, his live-in girlfriend, whom he plans to marry, in order to engage in an affair with rock star Sossity Chandler. He is finally able to play in Sossity's band, and she keeps him in the band even when their fling ends. But Jergen's treatment of Hannah haunts him. He asks if they might reconcile, but Hannah has been too badly shaken by their split and sinks into depression and drug abuse. Jergen resents that Sossity took him up and threw him off so easily, though he realizes the decision to pursue her was his choice. Outwardly, everything goes his way; inwardly, he suffers from what he has done.

The denouement, the final unraveling of the story, occurs when he runs into Hannah at a restaurant. He hardly recognizes her, not because she is disheveled but because she is neatly dressed, groomed in a business-woman style, and looks very socially proper—not at all like the quirky, cute, playful woman he loved. She agrees to talk with him. This exchange follows:

"I don’t think," she said, "you have any idea how much I loved you and how much that relationship meant to me. We construct our lives around the people we love. I made my world around our relationship—around you, Jergen—and when you threw me over for Sossity Chandler, my world dissolved—and so did I."

She paused. He decided not to speak. She went on.

"For a while I did dope to ease the pain—dope and bad relationships. Then I realized that if I

wanted to survive and stay sane I would have to leave the old world and the old life I had made. Reality had changed for me, Jergen. I knew things would never be the same and could never be the same. I saw three options: suicide, mental illness, or become a new person—not the old Hannah who loved you and had centered her being in a world with you, but a new woman with a whole new world. But it’s all over, Jergen. I’m a new me. I’m happy, I’ve found a man I love, and I have children and a fulfilling career. But I’m a different person. Too bad. I really liked the way I was. But I can never be that Hannah again—not for you and not for me."

After a long silence he said, "I guess not."

"I’d say we could be friends but we can’t. I don’t hate you, Jergen, but you hurt me more than anyone else in my life has hurt me. And, as I said, I had to stop being me to get over you. So I think it would just be better if we didn’t talk. Do you see what I mean?"

Jergen leaves and goes to the home of his best friend, where he weeps. Ironically, he, a blues player, has learned what the blues really means:  losing everything you held dear and having nothing left it all. The group Everlast sang: "But God forbid you'd ever walk a mile in his shoes—'cause then you really might know what it's like to sing the blues." Jergen learns this, at last, and can do nothing but face what he has done and who he has become.

 Who he is, the person he becomes, is the focus of the story. It has a plot, the story moves, but plot is not the main thing; or, to put it another way, the plot involves more inward issues than things that happen in the outward world. It is a character-driven story rather than a story driven by plot.

Some of the people in my writer's group think this is "boring and pedantic." But the story was published, along with 177 others to date and seven novellas and novels. Character-driven story is not such a liability and some may think.

Character-driven sci-fi appears in my novella, Mother Hulda. Lakshm Parvati struggles with her past and her identity. But it has a lot of good plot elements as well.

For more titles check out my Writer's Page. 

Sorcery, witchcraft, and the conflict of good and evil. Read The Sorceress of the Northern Seas.

 

 Comments always welcome!

Dave's Anatomy: My History As a Writer, #17: Flash Fiction and Jergen Kohaut's Blues

The story, "Jergen Kohaut's Blues," begins with a break-up. That's typical for blues, of course—"Since my baby left me." This story, however, broke some new ground for me. First off, it was a long story, finishing at a little over 27,000 words—a novelette, I guess. These days, longer stories are more difficult to market. The combination of short attention spans and employment of sound-bite theory to everything from news reporting to politics has reinforced this tendency toward shortness. One of the things it has spawned is flash fiction.

I don't write flash fiction and I don't like it either. Just as an experiment and to see if I could do it, I've written and published a couple of flash stories, stories under 1000 words. Now, though, I see calls for stories under 500 words and even under 100 words. And I see word count restrictions creeping downward.

It seems impossible to me to write a story in that short a space. Stories are made up of plot, character, narrative, setting, symbol and theme (the formalist set of elements). I don't see how one could construct a plot, engage in character development, describe a setting so it creates a proper psychological environment, develop incisive narration, possibly include symbolism, and develop a theme using so few words. There is a technique to it, and I can see the challenge there. But it seems to me that such writing is more a verbal construct than a story.

Verbal construct is a term I have come up with for a lot of what I see now, especially in journals that print literary fiction. The old notion of a story with a beginning, middle and end; a plot that has conflict, rising action, climax, falling action, and denouement has been replaced in part with the idea that a work of literature is a creation using language—a sharp, brilliant creation that startles us and perhaps gets our attention but is not a story in the traditional sense.

In The Paris Review a while back I came across a story called "Imperatives." The whole thing consisted of imperative sentences:  "Keep off the grass. Do what I say. Obey the rules and don't drive over 55. Use the rear door for deliveries." This went on for ten pages! There was no story, only a collection of sentences in the imperative mood, the mood of command. I marveled that someone could write something like this, coming up with so many imperative sentences; so did the editor of The Paris Review, I guess, because he or she published it. But it was not a story, really, it was a verbal construct. Many of the things I encounter in journals are like this, though they are not often as extreme as "Imperatives." But they usually focus on a character with an obsession, a quirk, impulsive tendencies, or some weirdness. Nothing much happens in the story. They are well-written and the language dazzles. But the elements of story, listed above, are absent.

"Jergen Kohaut's Blues," is long, which means it has the time to develop the elements of a story. The plot unfolds with a conflict and then complications. Jergen's relationship with his live-in girlfriend is on the rocks. Hannah is using drugs, thinking he doesn't know. She has become clingy and obnoxious. Jergen loves her and they have been thinking about marriage, but her behavior is complicating things. 

 In the midst of this, Jergen has a chance to back up Sossity

Chander, whose marriage has broken up, and who is on the make to psychologically retaliate against her unfaithful husband. She and Jergen end up having a short affair. Hannah's behavior enables Jergen to justify his affair and the two of them split. He becomes Sossity's boyfriend, though, he soon finds out, boy-toy would be the more accurate description. Still, there are perks. She pays him for backing her up. He stands in with her band a couple of times and ends up playing for her, first as a back-up musician, then as a full-fledged member. As time goes along, he starts to realize that his relationship with Sossity will not last and begins to remember Hannah. A chance meeting with her, however, convinces him that their relationship cannot be salvaged.

This is the plot of "Jergen Kohaut's Blues." The conflict is between Jergen and Hannah, but also between Jergen's love for her and his ambition to be a rock star. When Sossity Chandler hires him, the door to success opens, but he must do it without Hannah, whom he really loves. He must turn his back on her in order to achieve success as a musician. He also soon realizes that Sossity's love will be short-lived and that she is only interested in him because she is angry at her ex-husband and is having affairs because of this. He will eventually be dropped. Still, he wants to make it big in the musical world so he allows himself to play the role of willing lover.

You could never develop a plot like this in 1000, 500, or 100 words. The difference would be between a painting and an artist's preliminary sketches—the difference between a full-length drama and a two-minute skit.

I admire people who can write flash. And a lot of people seem to enjoy it. Still, it is sui generis, one of a kind, unique, a thing unto itself. Flash fiction is not a story in the traditional sense of the word. There is plenty of room in the literary world for variety. My concern, however, is that the tendency flash fiction represents—the tendency toward brevity—will restrict stories that take time and 

space to develop.

 More on "Jergen Kohaut's Blues" in my next blog.

If you like reading about blues, you'll love my novella, Strange Brew. 

A new anthology, Arthur: King of Ages, about the many incarnations of Arthur, features my story, "Arturia," which takes place in the future, Arthur is female and leading an alliance of twelve planets against a powerful intergalactic army. If you like high fantasy with a twist, this text is for you.

For more titles, check out my Writer's Page.  

Comments welcome!

Narrative in W. Somerset Maughm's "Mr. Know-All"

Writing a short story is tricky. It is a juggling act. In five to seven pages, the author has to develop the characters, set out the plot, throw in some setting for mood and atmosphere, perhaps work in a symbol, create a theme for a story—and work in a narrative voice that will convey all of these things. One writing instructor I studied under said it’s like riding on a horse, blowing a trumpet, and juggling all at the same time. How can a person do it? I can’t exactly say, but I can suggest that it is narrative voice that accomplishes this, and a look at narrative voice and how to use it may help writers pull off the complexities of producing a successful short story.

Last time, my blog talked about "Fat," by Raymond Carver. This time I would like to look about a story that is tied with "Fat" for my favorite. It is a story I read in a Reader’s Digest book of short stories (it was not condensed, though) when I was visiting relatives and was bored. I thought the story was amazing and saw from the beginning that narrative voice stood out as the most remarkable feature of a remarkable tale.

The story of which I speak is "Mr. Know-All" by W. Somerset Maugham. It is the tale of a British traveler who has to share a room on a ship with a loud, obnoxious, "know-it-all" type.  The narrative  character is a stereotypical Brit:  quiet, reserved, slightly snobby, very private; his berth-mate, whom he thinks is an American but who turns out to be a British colonial, is just the opposite of these things. The stage is set for a conflict. Two opposite personalities are trapped on a passenger ship for a couple of weeks. The narrator’s antipathy is apparent from the onset. Here is the opening of the story:

I was prepared to dislike Max Kelada even before I knew him. The war had just finished and the passenger traffic in the ocean-going liners was heavy. Accommodation was very hard to get and you had to put up with whatever the agents chose to offer you. You could not hope for a cabin to yourself and I was thankful to be given one in which there were only two berths. But when I was told the name of my companion my heart sank. It suggested closed portholes and the night air rigidly excluded. It was bad enough to share a cabin for fourteen days with anyone (I was going from San Francisco to Yokohama), but I should have looked upon it with less dismay if my fellow passenger`s name had been Smith or Brown.

When I went on board I found Mr. Kelada`s luggage already below. I did not like the look of it; there were too many labels on the suit-cases, and the wardrobe trunk was too big. He had unpacked his toilet things, and I observed that he was a patron of the excellent Monsieur Coty; for I saw on the washing-stand his scent, his hair-wash, and his brilliantine. Mr. Kelada`s brushes, ebony with his monogram in gold, would have been all the better for a scrub. I did not at all like Mr. Kelada.

This long quotation is a brilliant set-up. Maugham punctuates the opening with negative phrases:  dislike, put up with, bad enough, did not like the look of it, did not at all like. He also indicates the snobbery of the narrator. He judges Kelada on his name. He sneers at the fact that he uses toiletries bought from the shelf (Coty products). He thinks his brush and comb look dirty. Maugham uses narrative voice to set up the conflict and let the reader know what a character is like. He is snobby. He is judgmental.

The story progresses. Mr. Kelada is a loud-mouth and a know-it-all. He talks incessantly. He thinks he can discourse on any subject whatsoever. You can’t avoid him. He dominates all conversations. People detest him and insult him by calling him "Mr. Know-All." He takes this title as a compliment.

During the course of the tale, the narrator encounters a lovely woman and her husband. He comments on how delicate and beautiful the woman is and also notes her modesty. Modesty, he says, shines her person and manner. And she is wearing a string of pearls. Kelada, we find out, is a pearl merchant and comments on how good the necklace looks because it is real. Mrs. Ramsey demurs and her husband says the pearls are culture (fake) pearls. An argument ensues. Kelada looks at the pearls through his jeweler’s glass, smiles, and is about to declare, on his authority as a gem merchant, that they are real.

Then he sees Mrs. Ramsey staring at him, wide-eyed, helpless, her fact so white the narrator says she looks as if she might faint. Realization strikes Kelada and he, the flaming egotist, says he was wrong. The pearls are not real. Everyone taunts and teases him for this. Mrs. Ramsey retires to her room with a headache.

  

                                                                                                        

from a film adaptation of "Mr. Know-All"

What we realize in the story is that Kelada is not Mr. Know-All; the narrator is. He thinks he knows everything but learns that Kelada is knowledgeable when he needs to be. Mrs. Ramsey is not modest—she has a boyfriend who has bought her a real pearl necklace. And the unnamed narrator is not such a good judge of character as he thinks he is. He changes. At the end of the story he asks the chastened Kelada (whose loud-mouth boasting almost ruined Mrs. Ramsey) if the pearls were real. He simply replies, "'If I had a pretty little wife I should not let her stay a year in New York while I went to Kobe.'" The narrator says, "At that moment, I did not entirely dislike Mr. Kelada." His English reserve provides some minor humor but he has learned his lesson, as has Kelada.

The story would not have succeeded so well without skillful narrative technique. In a mere six pages Maugham does the complicated juggling act and pulls it off magnificently. The key element in doing this is his brilliant manipulation of narrative.

We’ve looked at two first-person narrated stories. Can the same be done with third-person narration? Next time we will explore this in another of my favorite stories.

If you want to read "Mr. Know-All," the story is online here.

For your reading pleasure, and for some unique use of narrative text, read my novel, The Sorceress of the Northern Seas.

For more titles that make for good reading and great gifts, see my Writer's Page. You might like The Gallery, Strange Brew, or The Prophetess.