From settings to relationships to emotions, women’s fiction taps my heart and imagination because it takes what I know and puts it through a strainer so I’m left with just the juicy bits. Because real life has boring parts and boring parts don’t belong in novels.
When I read or write something that makes me pause, I hit my “believe” button. For me, this happens a lot with male characters in novels — my own and those of others. Fictional men seem to be always handsome. Not that I mind, but all men in real life are not conventionally handsome so sometimes I wonder about it.
But, anything is possible in women’s fiction, because like it or not, we do not know what happens behind the curtains of other people’s lives. And that’s who I’m writing and reading about. Other people and their lives. The fact is, that if the author makes it so, then behind that particular curtain, all men are handsome. And of course this is just an example. (Mainly because it’s a pretty one.)
I hold real life in high regard and mine my own truth (and the truth of others) for the stories it holds — and then I turn those truths inside out and upside down to write my novels. Then I shake it out and turn it on its side. That’s what makes fiction interesting. It’s pretend. But in women’s fiction it’s still about real lives. (Stay with me) Fictional people leading real lives doing extraordinary things with terrific insight, palpable emotion and eventual closure of some sort, even if it’s the pretty bow sort. (I know you understand the convoluted, rambling oxymoron.)
Entrenched in hefty rearranging and revising of my novel, where I’m upping the ante, identifying boring parts (it’s true, I thought they were brilliant parts – both b-words – I guess I got confused) and writing a few new scenes that surprise even me — I thought of the familiar saying that truth is always stranger (and therefore better) than fiction.
To whomever is that author of that passage, I respectfully disagree.
Truth is not stranger than fiction.
At least not when it’s done right.
Love this! I couldn’t agree more.
Hi Kate,
Glad we’re in sync about strangeness! 😉
Amy
yes!
You know, sometimes the handsome-ness is in the eye of the beholder (the narrator) – like, maybe a daughter always sees her father as tall, handsome; while, we may see that same man and think him adverage in height and looks. Or a woman sees a man has good-looking and wonderful, while others (including the reader!) is going “don’t do it! run away!” *laughing*
Love your blog!
Maybe you’re right, Kat. Maybe it’s just ME who sees the men as handsome! Wishful thinking, perhaps? 😉
Amy
“Entrenched in hefty rearranging and revising of my novel, where I’m upping the ante, identifying boring parts (it’s true, I thought they were brilliant parts – both b-words – I guess I got confused)”
How I related to these words. I too am waking up to the difference of the two b’s in my own revision. Thank goodness writing is a process. A process which allows us to break the barriers that hold us back from revealing who our characters truly are. Great post. Thanks.
Glad it struck a chord, Jocosa!
🙂
Amy
I really like your metaphor about how women’s fiction takes what you know and puts it through a strainer so you’re left with just the juicy bits. As you so aptly observe, “real life has boring parts and boring parts don’t belong in novels.” Amen!
But I’ve seen inexperienced writers defend their boring parts vehemently. “But it really happened – I’m basing this on an actual event,” they’ll say. Fine, but that part of the event was boring. Leave it out. “But I need to get my protagonist from her house to the bank,” they’ll protest, defending a lengthy passage where their protagonist sits in a car, signals left, occasionally taps her brake pedal, and frequently checks her rear-view mirror. Leave it out. Jump to where she’s already at the bank. Trust us – we’ll manage to intuit that she drove, walked, took the bus, or beamed herself there, depending on the setting of your story.
Similarly, we can probably assume without any authorial help that your characters bathe, eat, use the bathroom and occasionally scratch themselves in unseemly ways, just like we all do in real life. Unless it moves the story forward, leave it out.
You’ve got some great advice here. We all need to keep that strainer handy, and just give the reader the juicy bits!
Keith,
First and foremost, I do NOT scratch myself. 😉
And yes, yes, yes to all your points. I think there’s a learning curve to understanding and getting over “and then and then and then…” syndrome in writing. I know that I went through it – and I still go through it.
Like so many things, admitting there’s a problem is the first step. And sometimes that’s the biggest problem of all!
Amy
Oh yeah, I definitely fall into the “and then and then and then…” trap. I’m a linear thinker, and tend to want to cover every minute of my character’s day in writing, until I remind myself how unnecessary it is.
Speaking of admitting problems, I marvel over authors who can seamlessly jump back and forth in time in their books – that’s a non-linear technique where I need a LOT of work to get up to speed.
In my opinion, no matter what the guy looks like, he is handsome to someone!! 🙂 And a typically handsome man might not be good looking to someone else! 🙂
But I don’t believe that statement either….truth inspires fiction, but we need to take that truth and intensify it….make it the extreme.
I keep the word “extreme” on a paper next to my computer. Reminds me to always go bigger. Can always pare back if need be!
🙂
Amy
Hi Amy! Great post! I tend to write the boring stuff, too, but I do think there’s a benefit to getting this stuff out in my first drafts. Sometimes those pauses help me get inside the character’s head, and there’s often important information buried in an otherwise superfluous scene. The key (for me) is recognizing that tidbit, extracting it and moving it to a sensible place, and getting rid of the rest! Chop, chop!
I agree, Stephanie, my first draft is also the place for all the dreck! For me, getting it out is the first step to getting rid of it.
Welcome to WFW! 🙂 (hopefully no boring parts here!)
Amy
It’s funny that you’d write this because I was having a similar conversation with my husband a couple of days ago! We were walking our dog, talking about books, writing, and an interview he’d heard on NPR, and it got me thinking about dialogue–how good dialogue sounds real, but it’s not written the same way people talk. Because in real life, we go on tangents, and we ramble, and sometimes we take too long to get to the point. And while that’s fine for us, because we’re in the conversation and we stay engaged in it, if a reader had to listen in verbatim they’d probably be bored.
I think that applies to all aspects of fiction. You put it perfectly that we need a strainer to get the juicy bits! Love that!