Advanced Brilliant Writing: Make Your Plots Wider and Your Characters Deeper (Go! Write Something Brilliant) (10 page)

Rule #3 Thou shalt not have another Flashback, or excessive Backstory, within a Flashback.

Oh, you know what I mean. You’re in a Flashback, and suddenly you remember something that your reader needs to know—so you just go ahead and stick it into that Flashback. Wrong. You are confusing your reader.

I know. I did it. Here’s a passage from
Tying the Knot
—my second published book (so cut me some slack) where I insert Backstory into a Flashback. In this scene, my hero, Noah, is remembering the initiation into the gang, and how his life started to derail. Just a note: Today, this scene would
not
pass my Flashback Litmus Test, but I was a young writer back then.

What an idiot he’d been—over a bag of tortillas chips.

Shorty Mac had shoved a 9mm Glock into his hand as they crouched in the shadows. Cold and heavy the weapon send a thrill of fear though him as they watch the Tom Thumb convenience store, waiting for L’il Lee’s sister to emerge. “She’s unlocking the back door,” Shorty Mac said, a devious glint in his eye.

Noah hadn’t seen the deceit even then.

Shorty Mac, childhood friend turned homeboy had learned well in a month’s time how to lie with the best. But Noah had believed him and inched toward the back door. The October wind whistling under his Chicago Bulls jacket. He counted it a triumph when he’d five finger discounted it from a local mall, despite the fact that he’d yet to wear it home. Mother Peters would have skinned him alive if she suspected gang colors in her foster home. Noah’s heart panged thinking of the Native American woman who’d given him over a decade of 110% mothering complete with anguished prayer and tough love.

This section highlighted is Backstory. Now, in my defense, I cut it way back from what it was—a mini-scene of him actually stealing the coat! But we don’t need to know where he got the coat, or even about Mother Peters, who we meet later. It slows the Flashback and confuses the reader.

Flashbacks should be a clean scene, free of commentary by the POV character. The reader should simply see it as a frame of reference to understand later.

Rule #4: Thou shalt show a Flashback, not tell it.

A Flashback is a mini scene—with the five senses and dialogue and action – it’s not unlike time-travel where the reader is allowed to “flash back” with the character to relive their past. Because of the very nature of a Flashback, it is easy to show instead of tell. However, just to be clear, narrative summary does not a Flashback make.

What do I mean?

Here’s an example of narrative summary trying to masquerade as a Flashback:

PJ had felt royal as she stepped from Boone’s father’s Cadillac, floating into prom on his tuxedoed arm. Roger Buckam showed his displeasure in his eyes, even though Boone had ignored them, ushering her into the dance. Music played and all her friends had been there, greeting her. But she only thought of Boone and what she’d promised him that night. How was she to know that her promises would turn to ash?

She had something to drink. And later on, she stumbled out to the back of the country club where he was with his friends. She heard them saying some nasty things about her, but told herself that Boone loved her. Over and over she said it, even though she would regret it later.

Which is why she went out and met him on the tenth tee. And that was where his father found them an hour later.

That is pure narration. Yes, it happens in the past, but there is no dialogue, no real time action, no emotional layering into the story. We are not present in the scene with PJ, we’re simply remembering it through her telling of it. She is layering in her interpretation of the event, not letting us relive it with her.

Now, here’s the scene (again) in flashback form:

PJ settled into the dream, feeling royal as she stepped from Boone’s father’s Cadillac, floating into prom on his tuxedoed arm. Roger Buckam stood near the door and nodded toward them. His eyes tight, he shook Boone’s hand, his gold pinky ring glinting under the light of the torches that lined the walkway.

Couples strolled the golf course just outside the halo of light pushing through the club windows. Boone winked at her, then ushered her into the dance.

She hadn’t been much of a drinker, even then, but when Trudi slipped her a taste of the liquid she’d poured into a medicine bottle in her purse, well, she hadn’t been able to eat strawberries since without thinking of schnapps. She laughed too loud, even in her dream, danced hard, flirted well, and by midnight, Boone pulled her tight and offered an invitation that, even in her mood-heightened state, made her blush.

She’d agreed to meet him on the fourth tee, and he disappeared.
“Boone? Boone?”
She heard her voice, wondered if she spoke aloud, but then found herself at the pond, high heels swinging from her fingers. Overhead, the night sky played along with Boone’s plans, stars winking at her, a slight breeze sullying a nearby willow, a golden near-full moon stealing her breath as well as any last remorse.

He loved her. Boone loved her.

And tonight, she’d love him back. A swirl of anticipation tightened inside her.

We are just moving into the Flashback here, but already we are outside with her, hearing her voice as she hunts for Boone. We are experiencing the scene—and later the disappointment—with her.

Move back in time in the skin of your character, don’t just let her tell the reader what happened. Show . . . don’t tell.

Finally,
Rule #5: Thou shalt not create entire chapters of Flashbacks.

Keep the Flashback fairly short. You want it long enough to build the scene, showing the who, what, where, when, and why of the scene, and employing all the scene elements, from the five senses to dialogue to active verbs and nouns. However, if it is longer than three pages, then the reader may be pulled too far in and unable to remember what is happening in the present time. You’re just giving them a glimpse of the past, not trying to resettle them there. Get into the Flashback, get to the point of the Flashback, and get out.

Otherwise, you may leave your reader behind.

Flashbacks can be a very effective way of building plot, or creating emotional conflict for your character’s journey, if they pass the Flashback Litmus Test of Complexity and Relevance.

And if you remember the Five Rules for Flashbacks, you won’t get lost in the wilds of storytelling, and you’ll be able to keep your reader paddling ahead.

Bring your Character Deeper:

Number your chapters and your scenes. Now . . . what does your hero have to accomplish in the scene, and what is the least amount of information your reader needs to know to embrace or understand his actions?

Now that you understand the Character’s Emotional Journey, how to layer and unlayer your character and drop Backstory Breadcrumbs for deeper emotion, let’s get to the specifics.

Writing Character Emotions

I do a lot of traveling. Not long ago, I was sitting in O’Hare Airport when a woman walked into the gate area. She was in her early twenties and carried a backpack, which she held with a whitened fist. She sat down and began to fidget in her seat, checking her watch, looking at the gate, pawing through her bag. She pulled out a book and clutched it to her chest a moment before opening it, and pulling out a highlighter.

The book’s title said, in large black ominous letters—
How to Get Over Your Fear of Flying.

Periodically, she wiped her hands on her jeans and blew out a long breath, as if she’d been holding it.

I decided I would call her Darla.

About five minutes before we began to board, Darla called home. I know because she spoke into her cell phone loud enough to be heard all the way over in Detroit. “Dad, I’m getting on the flight now. I’ll see you soon. Yeah, I’m so nervous, I can barely breathe, but I’ll be okay.”

I could almost hear the pleading voice behind her words saying, “I hope, I hope!”

I said a little prayer for her and got on the plane. I had a window seat.

Of course Darla appeared not ten minutes later, checking out the row numbers, and stopped at my row.

Darla had the aisle seat.

She unpacked her backpack, shoving her
How to Get Over Your Fear of Flying
book and the highlighter into her seat pocket for easy access, and then shoved her backpack under the seat. She buckled her seatbelt, pulling it down tight. She gripped the armrests and did what I considered early-labor breathing. Sweat dribbled down her brow.

She was starting to freak me out.

Then she looked over at me, opened one eye and said, “I’m a little nervous.”

You think?

The short version of the story is that I ended up holding her hand during the takeoff of the flight. More importantly, watching her made me realize that she was a classic example of the four layers of character emotions.

A reader doesn’t want to be told what to think and feel.
They want to discover the story along with the characters—embrace the lessons, experience the pain, and rejoice with the victories. The best stories are the ones that invite the reader into the emotional life of the characters, and make a reader invest so much that they can’t put the story down.

But how does an author write emotions that draw the reader in and allows them to experience the story?

As we begin to apply the character’s emotional journey to the page, slowing unlayering them, we need to understand the four layers of writing emotions and when to use each layer. We also need to understand the colors of emotions—meaning the different hues that go into big emotions and how to enhance one hue for greatest emotional impact. Finally, we’ll work on a step by step approach to building the right emotion so as to connect with your reader in a way that resonates, and touches the heart and soul.

The Four Layers of Writing Emotions

The first layer of writing emotions is simply that surface emotion
—The name of the emotion.
Darla turned me and said:
I’m a little nervous
. She stated her emotion.

If I were to write this, it might look like:

• She stood at the entrance to the gateway and her heart filled with fear.
  
• She could not watch the children on the playground without feeling sorrow.
  
• Never had she known such happiness as when she saw her son walk off the airplane.
  

Naming the emotion is a common technique—probably the most common and easy to write. Most people can connect with these feelings and generally can relate to the character. But does it prompt a visceral response? Probably
not
. The author is just accessing that information level of the brain. The reader is agreeing with that emotion, but not necessarily feeling it.

We use this technique a lot for quick emotions, for emotions that are part of creating the emotional components of the scene. We might also use them as an introductory statement to a paragraph about that emotion or another. Finally, characters might use this technique when they are describing other characters (e.g., Fear flickered across her face.)

Naming the emotion is a tool to set a tone or for general description of a scene or character. It is the not the main emotion of the scene. It does not work to draw our readers into the heart of your character.

So, let’s go to the next layer:

Poor Darla said, “I’m so nervous I can barely breathe.” Yeah, that made everyone in the gate area feel better. But through that admission, she connected a little more deeply with us.

This layer is called:
Just Under the Skin Layer.
This layer names the emotion and pairs it with a physical response.

• Fear clogged her throat.
  
• Dread prickled her skin.
  
• Her heart twisted with sorrow.
  

We, as readers, understand what it might mean for fear to clog our throats. We understand dread prickling our skin. Putting a physical response to the name of the emotion helps a reader apply their own physical response to the situation. Yes, I’ve been so afraid that I can barely speak, so I understand the visceral feeling of fear the author is trying to convey. The author is now connecting the reader to the character on an informational and physical level.

This technique is used for those deeper emotional moments, something significant that the author wants to use to draw the reader deeper into the emotional experience of the character. It’s used to accentuate the actions around the emotion.

Fear clogged her throat as she watched the policemen step onto the doorstep.

The door locks clicked. Dread prickled her skin.

She watched the woman gather her son into her arms, and her heart twisted with sorrow.

This technique is useful for helping the reader understand the state of mind of the character, putting them in a place of sympathy with the character. The reader can relate, even remember when they have been in a similar place, but it doesn’t cause their own physical response.

Let’s go deeper:

Sweat dribbled down her brow. Darla gripped the seats with whitened hands. She practiced early labor breathing.

Even if I hadn’t heard her on the phone, just by her actions I would have understood what was happening. I don’t need to know the emotion to know she was afraid.

The next layer is simply the physical response only. I call it the
Touching the Heart
La
yer.
It’s where the reader says, “I have
so
been there.” The reader sees the behavior, or physical action, and the physicality of it reminds them of when they were in the character’s exact place.

Here’s some phrases an author might use that are simply physical:

• Her pulse ratcheted to high. (fear)
  
• Her breath caught. (surprise)
  
• She swallowed hard, her throat parched. (dread)
  
• Her skin prickled at his touch. (creeped out)
  
• Fire streaked through her, right to her toes. (desire)