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!

Setting: Psychological Environment

Given the preponderance of plot in much writing done today, setting often gets shortchanged. It’s not number one on many people’s list of features in a work of fiction. Plot, of course comes first. Many are aware of the need for character development and for good dialogue, but setting often gets little attention. Yet it is an important element, one that must not be neglected, and one that skillful writers exploit to their advantage.

Setting is the background to a story, where the story takes places. It is both the locale—the place where the action transpires, as in London, Paris, Bakersfield, New York City, New Haven; it is also the location:  a bar, a golf course, a haunted house, a suburban house that is anything but haunted, the countryside. But it is much more. Setting creates effect. It gives the mood and atmosphere to a story.

Mood and atmosphere is vital, and it’s a good idea to determine it early on. One of my all-time favorite passages that sets the mood is the beginning of Edgar Alan Poe’s classic story, “The Fall of the House of Usher.” I will quote the opening section here in full:  During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country; and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher.

Is this going to be a happy story? I don’t think so. Poe sets the mood up right away. It is going to be a gloomy story, an oppressive story, and a story of melancholy. And if you’ve read the tale of a mad brother who buries his sister alive, you know that Poe did what he wanted to do. He produced a narrative that equals his opening sentence, and then some.

Poe gives the story a psychological environment, which is another term literary critics use for setting. I like it. The setting creates this kind of feeling. It puts us in a certain mental and emotional disposition. Skillful writers know how to create this psychological environment and set it in such a way that it contributes to the story.

Another example is one of my very favorite stories, “Janus,” by Ann Beattie. It is the story of a realtor. The story is filled with empty houses, empty rooms, and the quiet of someone preparing a home for viewing by potential purchasers. This sets the mood of distant loneliness in Andrea, the realtor’s, life. She is married but not entirely happy. She had an affair some time ago that faded away. She is still married but seems alienated from her husband. And she is obsessed with a bowl.

The bowl was something her old lover bought for her at an antique sale, and Andrea always uses it when she shows a home. It is one of the “devices” she uses to make a home look more attractive when it is being shown. People sometimes want to buy the bowl. Once or twice she leaves it in a house and panics until she can recover it. Somehow it is symbolic—perhaps the empty bowl represents her empty life. It sits in the vacant, unlived-in houses that are the setting of much of the story.

Janus is the Roman god of the New Year, and he has two faces, one looking back and one looking forward. But he is also the god of doorways, of entrances, of passages. Going through doors is important in a home tour. Bettie uses setting—in this case, empty houses, numerous rooms, doors to pass through, quiet, vacancy—to set the psychological atmosphere of this story about a woman who lives in an emptiness she does not understand.

These are two examples of skillful use of setting. Many writers today seem to think that setting is a distraction, that we can simply say a person is in a house, on a spaceship, or in an airplane and this will suffice. Failing to exploit the element of setting, however—failing to create mood and atmosphere, to establish a psychological environment—will impoverish a story and cause it to tend toward superficiality. Set the mood. Create the atmosphere. This will take the story into full expressiveness.