D. Hart St. Martin

I make female heroes badass AND believable

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Dancing with the Denouement

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(Originally published November 12, 2015)

This article is a favorite of mine, so I decided to repost it. I hope you enjoy it.

The best piece of writing I’ve ever experienced was not a book or a short story. It was a movie—The Terminator. I found myself thinking about this movie and its brilliant screenplay by James Cameron last night as I was considering how to approach an explanation to a writing friend of what I call the punch-line denouement. (According to Writers Digest, “the denouement is the final outcome of the story, generally occurring after the climax of the plot. Often it’s where all the secrets (if there are any) are revealed and loose ends are tied up.”)

For those who’ve never seen it, The Terminator tells the story of Sarah Connor, a 1980s college student working as a waitress. Sarah’s life is irreparably changed when two travelers arrive from the future. One—a cyborg—has come to kill her to keep her from conceiving the savior of humankind. The other—Kyle Reese—intends to stop the cyborg and keep Sarah alive.

Warning: There be spoilers ahead.

From a feminist standpoint, this movie is perhaps the first I ever saw with a female hero at the helm of an action film. Yes, Sarah is the hero. It is she who must change in order to make the future possible. She begins as a fun-loving young woman who by the end has gathered together all the strength she possesses in order to face that future straight on.

Back to my point. Storytelling. The amazing screenplay by James Cameron blows me away every time I watch the movie or even think about it. I recommend it to anyone who wants to taste the joy of how to tell a very complicated story in a couple of hours. Cameron hands us each piece of information required at the very moment we require it.

Two men are after Sarah. Who are they? Are they both bad guys? Or, if one of them is good, which one is it? Boom. It’s Kyle Reese, the young man who looks totally out-gunned by Arnold and who came back in time because he’d fallen in love with Sarah from a Polaroid picture. Why is Arnold after her? What does he intend to do with or to her? Boom. She’s the future mother of the man who sent Kyle back in time to save her. How can you tell these cyborgs from humans? Dogs can sniff them out. And it goes on.

If you haven’t seen The Terminator and you’re a writer of any kind of fiction, I highly recommend it as the next movie you stream. Don’t accept watching it on commercial television; they cut out the stupidest stuff, including any time a blow from Arnold connects, even when he punches through a windshield. Brilliantly concocted and shot on a budget that apparently precluded getting permits from the city of Los Angeles for all those street racing night scenes (they filmed them on the sly then slipped away into the night without getting caught), it is, in many ways, an indie film.

But, the most important aspect of this film is the way Cameron sets up his final scene. The movie reaches its climactic ending right after Sarah and Kyle have consummated their blooming love for one another. The terminator kills Kyle and then Sarah terminates the terminator. Glorious.

Cut to the final scene. Sarah in a Jeep driving through the desert, dictating into a tape recorder saying, “Do I tell you about your father?” Then, she rubs her very pregnant belly and continues on briefly about Kyle. A dog sits with her in the Jeep.

She pulls up to a little gas station out in the middle of nowhere. A boy runs up to the Jeep and exchanges a couple of lines with Sarah. He has a Spanish accent. He takes her picture with his Polaroid and then asks for payment which she gives him. It’s the picture Kyle had fallen in love with. The boy’s grandfather says something in Spanish, and Sarah asks the boy what he said. “A storm is coming.” Sarah looks off in the direction she’s headed and agrees when she sees the cloud. Then she drives off, and the credits begin with the Jeep heading away from the camera. Fade to black.

Now that all took far more time to describe than it takes on the screen. It’s a simple little scene, and every single aspect of it requires no explanation to the viewer because Cameron set it all up earlier in the movie. And that, my friends, is how to deliver the punch line to a story. Set-up is everything. You shouldn’t have to rely on explanations in the denouement. It should stand on its own.

Interview – J. Conrad

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J. Conrad

J. Conrad, a fiction author who was born in St. Louis, and I have been following each other for years on Facebook and now Twitter. About ten years ago, when she started writing her first fantasy series, she only knew she wanted to write. After finishing a lot more books and doing a little soul searching, she realized a subconscious desire to teach lessons about human nature was what dragged her to the keyboard every day. That’s where her primary inspiration comes from, and she’s found putting it to use is the best feeling in the world.

J. and her brilliant husband currently live in Louisiana, but she dreams of moving back to Texas where they’ll live forever in a cute house amidst a field of bluebonnets.

J. loves connecting with readers and other authors. Feel free to contact her in the following ways on Facebook, Twitter, and, in particular her great website.

Hart: You write in several genres. Tell us a bit about how that works for you and what attracted you to those genres.

J.: Writing in several genres actually came about as an experiment. I consider myself a young adult fantasy author, but young adult is a much smaller market than some others, such as mystery, thriller, and romance. Thriller was the larger genre in which I could tolerate writing, so in 2017 I wrote Blood Red Winter. Interestingly, because I didn’t love it as much as fantasy, it was easier to be more objective about my own writing. My experiment was a success and that book outsold every other book combined I’ve written to date. I learned so much about writing and marketing from the experience it was worth the effort. I might even do a new thriller series, but I’ll always come back to fantasy.

H: My favorite genre (she says with a smile). Do you schedule time for your writing? Or do you just grab the odd minute or hour when it makes itself available to you?

J: For the most part I try to stick to a schedule. Currently I’m writing in the afternoon, and I have a minimum daily word count quota of two thousand words. If I stick to this routine, I can have a rough draft in about two months. This has been workable for staying productive while not getting burned out, but I’m trying to develop an even better schedule which will allow me to write in the morning as well, with a break in between. I’d love to become proficient at writing great books faster over the next couple years.

H: What research do you find absolutely necessary to keeping your story authentic?

J: It depends on the story, but with my fantasy novels I think one of the biggest points is researching the time period in which the story is set and making sure I don’t accidentally add anachronisms. Especially in the dialogue, it’s incredibly easy to do and sometimes tricky to spot, because we don’t always realize how relatively new some of the phrases we use in everyday speech are.

For example, my Cinderella retelling series, The Joining, is set in an imaginary place, but the time period roughly corresponds to what we might think of as the late 18th century—but without firearms. They don’t have guns in Edim. I have to be mindful not to use common idioms which have derived from the use of firearms (there are more than one might think!). Also, the main character has telepathic ability with animals and Fae, but the word “telepathy” didn’t come about until the late 19th century. So, I use the term “thought-speak” instead. Since Edim isn’t a real place, I have some liberty, but it wouldn’t feel the same to readers without the right language.

H: I totally get that. Things like the verb “trigger” are out in my books as well. Tell me, how do you see the role of women in fiction these days?

J: I see the role of women in fiction as one which teaches that because women are insightful and observant, they often find their own unique solutions to complex problems. Might isn’t always right, and sometimes actually giving a damn about the opposing party wins the day. Exhibiting emotional depth and looking beyond the surface manifestations of life isn’t a sign of weakness, but humanity. Women often exemplify the most human quality of being able to emphasize with others. Yes, there are differences between women and men, but different doesn’t mean better or worse. I believe our female fictional characters help to show that.

H: So true. In depicting battles and wars in my books, I’ve endeavored to give them the “feminine” edge, showing a battle, but then opening up negotiations. That sort of thing. And how do you promote women in your work?

J: With the exception of one thriller novel, all my books center around women and their relationships with one another. I think in some ways, women bond more deeply with other women than they do with men. Think of that best friend you’ve had since high school, a sister you’re close to, or a mother and daughter. Those bonds are unbreakable. Growing up, I loved reading stories such as The Mists of Avalon, a story of King Arthur but told only from the viewpoint of the women. Now in my own writing, I love to teach lessons through the interaction of female characters and the strength of their spirit.

H: Yes, The Mists of Avalon was a real eye-opener for me as well. Do you have a current release to share with us?

J: Yes, Cinders and Fae is the second book of the current series I’m working on. It’s a Cinderella retelling with fairies, shifters, witches, animals, and lots of magic. The main character Elin Kendrick is part Fae, and her prince Trystan is a wolf. Elin is telepathic, but only with animals and Fae. Trystan is a shifter who hides this fact from most humans, including his own father King Odswin. He was raised in secret by his mother, the queen of the wolves. In book 2, Elin and Trystan plan on marrying, but the Fae Queen is challenging Elin’s lineage since she’s only one-quarter Fae—she must prove herself by manifesting her inborn Fae abilities which thus far have eluded her. This is a clean fairy tale telling and not a steamy shifter book, suitable for just about anyone who likes fantasy. Cinders and Fae is currently up for preorder and will release on July 11th. Here’s the blurb:

What really happened after the ball?

My bloodline is in question, my marriage to my wolf fiancé forbidden by the Fae Queen unless I pull off near-impossible feats of magic to prove myself. Can I truly change my stepmother into a human… and turn her evil heart to good?

As time slips away toward my deadline of the spring equinox, I’m losing hope. But after the castle is attacked, I meet with Trystan secretly and make wedding plans against the queen’s orders. All I have to do is show up at the appointed time.

But I still need a way to escape my assignment, and I’m terrified what our decision means. If I marry Trystan now, I might be imprisoned—or worse. But if I play by the rules and fail the Fae queen’s test, she swears she’ll marry my fiancé to a more suitable bride—my own mother! How can I make a choice that won’t end in losing the two people I care about most?”

Thank you so much for interviewing me on your blog, Hart! I absolutely loved your  Lisen of Solsta series and I’m looking forward to reading more of your books in the future!

H: Thank you for taking the time to talk to me today. And thanks for the kind words.

Extending the Proper Invitation to the Story

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Beginnings are delicate things. First line, first paragraph, first chapter all require meticulous attention on the writer’s part. They serve as layers of an invitation to the reader to join the writer on a journey, and if the invitation fails to ignite the reader’s passion, they will get up and walk away, leaving the writer behind. No matter how amazing that journey may be, if an author can’t draw a reader in, they’re gone. So where middles and even endings can survive the sin of losing their bearings now and then, beginnings must be perfect.

I am about to slash my first chapter to shreds. I generally don’t go back and read something from earlier in a book while I’m in the process of writing or editing—I am, by nature, a linear writer—but in this case I took a look at chapters 1 and 2 last night because I’ve sent those chapters to a friend. I finished up chapter 1 with “meh” and “it’s too long,” while chapter 2 garnered my thumbs up. Why? Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?

I didn’t want to dwell too heavily on it, not while I’m neck deep in a complicated rewrite of changing both the point of view (from limited 3rd to 1st) and the verb tense (from past to present). (I wrote about this a few weeks ago.) I am immersed in this and pushing to get it done, so I didn’t want to get myself hung up in perfecting chapter 1, not now, not while I’m making good progress.

But I couldn’t help it. I went to bed, sat on the mattress edge and thought about it. It was then it occurred to me. I may (or may not—the jury’s out) safely eliminate reference to a particular entity throughout that first chapter and give it its due in chapter 2. Will I be able to make it work? I don’t know. And I won’t know until I return to chapter 1 on my next rewrite. I’ve placed a large Post-it® on the cover page with some brief notes of what I want to do, and that’s going to have to be it before I get back to it.

Sometimes we have to kill our children. It’s a writer’s adage. Editing sucks, and what sucks more than anything is when amazing phrases or metaphors must be sacrificed for the sake of better storytelling and better prose. But we do it. And I’ll do it when the time comes to rip that chapter apart, throw away chunks, saving them for use in chapter 2 but knowing I’ll likely use very few of them, if any at all.

Why do we put ourselves through this torture? It ain’t the money, that’s for sure.

Fantasy Memoir?

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Lisen of Solsta

Like most writers, I find my characters within my soul, and I distribute my personal attributes and flaws freely but not fairly to characters far and wide. Molding the magic that makes for an intriguing character can be a complicated process, but once I know them, they become companions in the greater quest of creating and telling a story.

Lisen, my first protagonist, made her debut in the process by introducing herself to me as “Ann.” “It’s the shortened version of my full name, Ariannas.” “Okay,” I replied and proceeded to produce a story and define a character around that declaration.

The problem was Ann was boring. She’d been raised in a co-ed monastery where the hermits taught her to be obedient and passive. But after many years of working the story, I finally discovered her name was Lisen, not Ann, and she’d spent time on earth before ending up in Garla. She was 17 years old and sassy. And I realized I hadn’t liked her much before, but I really liked her now.

Writing from the point of view of a 17-year-old was relatively safe. Seventeen-year-olds sometimes think like adults, and they can certainly talk like adults. They may make unreasonable demands, but you can, at the least, talk to them. And despite what some people think, not all main characters represent the author. In Lisen’s case, she was the woman I’d always wished to be.

I finished Lisen’s story about a year ago and found myself faced with a dilemma. What next? As I cleaned up the text and formatted the final book for publication, I pondered the possibilities and made notes. I’d always hoped to write a memoir. But I’m a very linear thinker, and memoir generally requires a willingness to write on topics as they occur to you and worry about the organization later. So, how about a fictional memoir? A YA fantasy fictional memoir? What could possibly go wrong?

Well, not much has actually gone wrong. I’m approaching the end of book 1, and Mari, my protagonist, is a 15-year-old me. Of course, the fantasy situations confronting her are not what I went through at that age, but her home life, her mother and the way she relates to others is ALL me. That’s scary. But equally as scary was her age.

Hart at 15

You may not realize this, but 15-year-olds live in a whole different world. Everything is more important than everything else, and they can be a little narcissistic without it being an actual psychological diagnosis other than “she’s 15 years old—come on.” On top of that, unlike in the Lisen of Solsta series where I switched POVs between nine or ten characters with every scene, the entire book is told through her eyes.

So, I have chosen to plunge myself into mid adolescence. Again. It was hard enough the first time. But a truth burns within me that must be told, and if I can’t do it as a memoir, I will, by god, reveal it in fiction. I’ve promised Mari I’ll make it work.

Dancing with the Denouement

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T2_sarah_polaroid

The best piece of writing I’ve ever experienced was not a book or a short story. It was a movie—The Terminator. I found myself thinking about this movie and its brilliant screenplay by James Cameron last night as I was considering how to approach an explanation to a writing friend of what I call the punch-line denouement[1].

For those who’ve never seen it, The Terminator tells the story of Sarah Connor, a 1980s college student working as a waitress. Sarah’s life is irreparably changed when two travelers arrive from the future. One—a cyborg—has come to kill her to keep her from conceiving the savior of humankind. The other—Kyle Reese—intends to stop the cyborg and keep Sarah alive.

From a feminist standpoint, this movie is perhaps the first I ever saw with a female hero at the helm of an action film. Yes, Sarah is the hero. It is she who must change in order to make the future possible.  She begins as a fun-loving young woman who by the end has gathered together all the strength she possesses in order to face that future straight on.

Back to my point. Storytelling. The amazing screenplay by James Cameron blows me away every time I watch the movie or even think about it. I recommend it to anyone who wants to taste the joy of how to tell a very complicated story in a couple of hours. Cameron hands us each piece of information required at the very moment we require it.

Two men are after Sarah. Who are they? Are they both bad guys? Or, if one of them is good, which one is it? Boom. It’s Kyle Reese, the young man who looks totally out-gunned by Arnold and who came back in time because he’d fallen in love with Sarah from a Polaroid picture. Why is Arnold after her? What does he intend to do with or to her? Boom. She’s the future mother of the man who sent Kyle back in time to save her. How can you tell these cyborgs from humans? Dogs can sniff them out. And it goes on.

If you haven’t seen The Terminator and you’re a writer of any kind of fiction, I highly recommend it as the next movie you stream. Don’t accept watching it on commercial television; they cut out the stupidest stuff, including any time a blow from Arnold connects, even when he punches through a windshield. Brilliantly concocted and shot on a budget that apparently precluded getting permits from the city of Los Angeles for all those street racing night scenes (they filmed them on the sly then slipped away into the night without getting caught), it is, in many ways, an indie film.

But, the most important aspect of this film is the way Cameron sets up his final scene. The movie reaches its climactic ending right after Sarah and Kyle have consummated their blooming love for one another. The terminator kills Kyle and then Sarah terminates the terminator. Glorious.

Cut to the final scene. Sarah in a Jeep driving through the desert, dictating into a tape recorder saying, “Do I tell you about your father?” Then, she rubs her very pregnant belly and continues on briefly about Kyle.  A dog sits with her in the Jeep.

terminator-1984-sarah-connor

She pulls up to a little gas station out in the middle of nowhere. A boy runs up to the Jeep and exchanges a couple of lines with Sarah. He has a Spanish accent. He takes her picture with his Polaroid and then asks for payment which she gives him. It’s the picture Kyle had fallen in love with. The boy’s grandfather says something in Spanish, and Sarah asks the boy what he said. “A storm is coming.” Sarah looks off in the direction she’s headed and agrees when she sees the cloud. Then she drives off, and the credits begin with the Jeep heading away from the camera. Fade to black.

Now that all took far more time to describe than it takes on the screen. It’s a simple little scene, and every single aspect of it requires no explanation to the viewer because Cameron set it all up earlier in the movie. And that, my friends, is how to deliver the punch line to a story. Set-up is everything. You shouldn’t have to rely on explanations in the denouement. It should stand on its own.

[1] The denouement is the final outcome of the story, generally occurring after the climax of the plot. Often it’s where all the secrets (if there are any) are revealed and loose ends are tied up. http://www.writersdigest.com/online-editor/what-is-a-denouement

The Build–Writing a Worthy Ending

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I am not a Led Zeppelin fan. In the 70s and 80s, whenever a radio station would present the top 300 or 500 of the entire history of rock-and-roll on Memorial Day or Labor Day weekend, I’d cringe as they approached #1. It was always, inexorably, inexplicably, inevitably “Stairway to Heaven.” I hate “Stairway to Heaven.” I do, however, have a Led Zeppelin guilty pleasure. “Kashmir.” I crank it up on my car radio when it comes on. I’ve even downloaded it from iTunes and am listening to it right now as loud as my Walkman will allow me.

What, you may ask, intrigues me about this song? The build. The slow build of drums  and bass into brass and other orchestral wonders. And that relentless beat. My body moves with no conscious participation on my part.  And then the lyrical pauses with the taste of Eastern  delights.

As writers, we can learn from “Kashmir.” At the moment, I am in the middle of what could be a powerful ending to my latest novel, but that power, I realized last night, lies in the build. Don’t go too fast. I’m tempted to just rush in and then leave myself with nowhere to go because I’ve already crescendoed to the peak. I know where we’re going, and I want so badly to get there because it’s going to blow the reader’s mind. But I must slow down, allow fate to tickle at the reader’s heart but leave as little trace as possible until the fullness is revealed. This is a delicate balance which must be respected. Nuance is everything. I’ll let you know how it turns out.