Posted on by Chris Sarantopoulos · 4 Comments

Elements of Horror

I’m in the process of publishing my second short story, most likely in a month’s time. It’s a horror story, titled At Horizon’s End. Horror is a genre I feel more comfortable with, primarily, I think, because it allows me to play
with darker and grimmer settings and endings, which I love. Now, to be clear, I don’t write the gory, splatter type of horror. I’m happier writing the psychological type, the subtler one.

Which made me wonder, what does a horror story need to have to be effective? Of course what follows is my take on it, as I understand it and the way I write it. It doesn’t mean it’s the only way.

First of all an effective horror story needs a strong setting. Regardless if your story takes place in a room, a town, on another planet, on a dark spaceship, over frozen forests and mountain ranges, setting can be your best ally, because it creates mood and sets the tone. Take Stephen King’s IT for instance. It’s the simplest setting one can get; a town with a sewer system. But with something sinister in those sewers. When I was reading the story a few years ago, and I was at any point where the heroes were walking or cycling on the streets, I kept thinking that something may pop out of one of the sewers. Even where there was no mention of said sewers at a particular scene. Why? Because King’s descriptions of the sewer in that early scene (I’m trying to avoid any spoilers, which is why I’m being so vague) made me keep it at the back of my head, and made me expect something nasty to come out of there at any moment.

Depending on the story and a writer’s style, a horror story needs to play with some keywords that will draw the reader in. I can’t give you specific examples, since it depends on each writer’s style and how each story evolves.
But when the writer transports you to a dark room with dripping sounds all around, it adds a little something when said writer describes the sound of dragging feet or the sound of creaking floorboards as the house settles along
its beams. The choice of words (dragging and creaking in this example) have a greater impact than writing that someone walked upstairs and sounds came from the house. The choice of words in the latter example is poor.

One of my favourite things to use in horror stories include characters and situations who are contrasting the general idea of the story. For instance, if my story involves Death (personified) at some point , then I will most likely choose a child for a main character (as is the case of At Horizon’s End). Why? Because on one hand we have a child’s carefreeness, which also represents life, and on the other we have the grimness and the frailty of life.
In my mind, it can’t get more contrasting than that. When I was brainstorming for my first novel, The Darkening, the idea of pitting a survivor of an apocalyptic event against the shadow he could cast at any given moment (which is one of the most natural things to occur, since our world is full of light and we rely so much on our sight) was extremely intriguing. For the past year, I’ve been struggling with a horror short story (that keeps getting bigger and bigger, by the way) that takes a married couple, who at first glance love each other. As the story goes on, the events that unfold strip away their humanity and love, while at the same time exposing their secrets and their view of each other, by forcing each of the two to do something horrible in order to carry on living. Selfless love acts versus survival.

Of course all the above are pointless unless the writer uses a villain who is a million times stronger than the hero. That villain could be the world, a phenomenon, something out of this world, or, if you aim for the gory/slasher type of horror story, perhaps another human who is wicked (make sure to give them wants and fears – you want the villain to appear like a real person after all). And all this because the writer wants to evoke fear. No unbeatable villain, no fear. No fear, no horror.

When it comes to pacing, the writer needs to be crafty. In my understanding, there needs to be an exponential escalation of negative effects from beginning to climax. If your story deals with only one negative event, then
you need to build up to that moment, and when it comes, hit the reader as fast as possible, as hard as possible. For example, if your whole story revolves around a character’s choice about whether or not he/she should stand up to Death and challenge him to obtain something very important, then play with the anticipation your pacing can create. Build it up throughout the story, perhaps by having the hero questioning the effectiveness of such a choice, then when the moment comes, have your character make that choice. From there on, take your reader on a roller coaster unlike any other. If it’s a series of bad things happening, make sure each is worse or scarier than the previous, then hit the reader with the worst, the epitome of nastiness, in one swift go. Anticipation depends on pacing. Much like the roller coaster I mentioned earlier, you could start your story slowly, and leave the reader constantly wondering what will happen next, always hinting at the worst (foreshadowing). The writer can also allow the reader to get a glimpse of a positive outcome for the hero, but it has to be snatched away for the negative climax to have the greatest impact. Another way to do it is to hint on how terrible the outcome of the given choice will be, and at the same time, force the hero into a corner where that choice is a one-way road. The writer can also allow the reader to settle at a state of relative peace by having the hero overcoming minor negative effects, in order to amplify the negative outcome of the climax.

If the writer uses anticipation properly, then it creates the next important thing for a horror story: dread. The writer can allow a constant underlying question of “what’s going to happen to the hero next? What will the cost to
the hero’s soul be?” My understanding of dread is that it usually works best if the writer sprinkles a little mystery in the horror recipe. If it’s a given that the hero will die at the end of the story, and the reader knows this, dread is vital to make the story appealing. In the short story I’ve been struggling with for so long, it is an undisputed fact that the heroes will not come out at the end of the story the same way they walked into it. The reader knows this. The reader also knows that things will get better, if the heroes do one thing, which will be catastrophic for the other. So the question becomes, “who’s going to come out with the least damage and how will they do it? What will they have sacrificed in the process? What will the villain do to keep them from succeeding?” The reader knows something the characters don’t (or simply refuse to acknowledge) and that builds dread, which adds to the anticipation.

All the above (dread, anticipation, fear) are visceral emotions the writer needs to play with and ultimately, exploit and amplify. But the writer needs strong descriptions for this, which takes us back to setting.

Finally, the writer could also use tragedy to his/her advantage, and/or drama (but drama only in its modern Greek sense, which means unpleasant effect or unwanted situation, which is different from what ancient Greeks meant when they used the term, and vastly different from what nowadays passes for drama in the western world). If the writer aims for a sense of tragedy, then it’s important to bind it with character flaws and poor choices, and perhaps make use of strong contrasts, like I mentioned earlier. All this should add to the empathy the reader develops for the hero throughout the story, which also allows readers to “experience” what the heroes feel.

So, what are your favourite horror stories?

Posted on by Chris Sarantopoulos

Discoverability is directly related to readers

New and seasoned writers alike read all the time about the importance of promotion and marketing. The necessity for discoverability. Of how to tap the readers’ shoulder and politely (hopefully) let them know of their presence.

Since I decided I wanted to publicise my work and earn money from my words, I’ve bookmarked and read tens of articles and advice on the process, what is needed, what should not be done, about the hurdles a writer has to overcome. And still, until recently, I couldn’t picture me actually doing it. I couldn’t put my mind around what it would be like. I expected it would happen at some point, regardless of the path I’d choose – self published or traditional. I wanted it to happen, to have people read my work, but when it came to picturing it, it eluded me.

Discoverability is directly related to readers. Vague concepts. Readers. Plural. Impossible to see their faces, impossible to reach them, yet, they’re there. I guess it’s one of those things that no matter how much you expose yourself to the theory behind it, you can never fully grasp it until you get your hands dirty with it.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I self-published my first short story on Amazon and let me be honest with you; since I did it, most of the time I feel like a Lilliputian creature, hopping up and down, waving my arms like a drowning man begging for help, squeaking in my barely audible tiny voice, for the readers’ attention. Tap on their shoulder? I can’t even reach their toes to get their attention. And you know what’s worse? The more I read and try to implement the theory to practice, the theory, the less sense it all
makes, and the less everything seems to work. For me, at least, since others are doing fine.

Then again, it could be the reason behind my seeming ineptitude in making marketing work for me, is because I expect things to happen instantly, even though I keep reminding myself that the publishing process is a marathon (if not a super marathon), not a sprint. I recently added myself to two author promotion communities; iAuthor and Allauthor. My flawed mindset told me I should witness results of some sort within the first couple of days. My rational side said, “nah. Not the way it’s going to happen.”

Guess which one won?

I’m not sure if it’s my educational background to blame. Hard sciences (Geology is part of them, or so I was told) deal with experiments, observations, and results (yes, even though geologists can’t exactly experiment – when was the last time you moved a continent to see how it collided with another? – we do come up with observable results). You do the math, you apply the theory, et voilà! You get the answer, the result, the number within the little square of an Excel sheet, or a blown up lab (hello, chemistry folks!). To a certain extent, even Management and Economics (my postgrad education) made it sound as though all I had to do was to apply the theory to practice, and the results would be measurable immediately. Especially in the case of Economics (cut down salaries and pensions, see how fast people starve – it made sense).

Perhaps part of the blame lies with how our demands are met nowadays; we sit behind our screens, click a button, clickety clack, and boom! We just bought a book, just downloaded a movie, just bridged the gap between
Europe and America and talked to our friends. Click, click, click. Results, results, results. All before our eyes before we blink them.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, the tiny squeaky voice, this small part of me that flails his arms to draw my attention, reminds me that it’s a marathon (a super, duper, freaking long marathon), not a sprint. But the voice is faint and the clicks happen one after the other. So fast.

Posted on by Chris Sarantopoulos · 1 Comment

7 point story system

Today’s post deals with another way to structure a story and it’s called 7 Point Story System. According to writer Dan Wells, who made a presentation of it a while back, this particular structure system can be applied to almost any story. He doesn’t take credit for it (nor do I), instead he said he found this structure from the Star Trek RPG (trekkie fans, rejoice!). Without any further ado, here it is:

Hook
Plot Turn 1
Pinch 1
Midpoint
Pinch 2
Plot Turn 2
Resolution

The interesting thing about the above structure is that it works backwards (you’ll see that when you watch the video). For this structure to work, it is essential to know how your story or character arc ends, in other words you need to have a Resolution first. I should stress here that the Resolution isn’t the end of your book but rather the tidying up of your arcs (character and story) and in the case of a novel it may well span more than one chapters.

Once you have that, you then move to the Hook of the story. Mr Wells says that what the Hook and the Resolution show in terms of the story or the character are usually directly opposite to one another. For this example he uses the first Harry Potter book and compares Harry’s initial state (Hook) with what Harry has become (Resolution).

Once these two points are established, the writer then identifies the Midpoint. In my mind, the Midpoint acts as a transition between the character of a story being reactive (from Hook up to Midpoint), then changing to active (from Midpoint to Resolution). When I first saw that, I thought the Midpoint and the inciting moment are related but once I started working with this system a bit, I realised I was wrong. The Midpoint doesn’t also need to be in the middle of the story. The Midpoint is that one thing that connects to your Resolution and gives meaning to the story. It is the one thing your protagonist finds out about something and propels him/her into doing something about it, using everything he/she has picked up along the way (from Hook to Midpoint).

Once that’s done, Plot Turn 1 needs to be addressed. This is a another transition, one that exists between the beginning to Midpoint. This is the part where you have to introduce the conflict. It’s also the part where something happens that changes things around your main character. In the two short stories I’m writing at the moment, this is where my protagonist realises how important a waitress is for him (for the first story) and for second one it’s where the main character gets debriefed by his superiors and thus telling us what has happened.

Following that, Plot Turn 2 needs your attention. This is the point where everything leads to the Resolution. If your story is about your character having to do something, then this is the point where he/she will decide to do it. It’s what launches things towards the Resolution. In Poe’s short story Tell-Tale Heart I recently read, this is the point where the main character still hears his victim’s heart beating. That will propel him to the Resolution. If your Resolution is tragic and negative for the protagonist (as is the case with one of my short stories), this is the point that enables that tragic ending.

You then have to deal with the two Pinches. Pinch 1 is something that forces the character or the situation into action. It’s what leads to the Midpoint. Sometimes a villain is introduced or a problem inflicts the character that will push him/her forward. In the first Harry Potter book, that something is the appearance of the troll and that there’s no one around to deal with it, so the kids have to gain enough confidence in their abilities to deal with it.

Pinch 2 is all about applying even more pressure to the character. Either the problem will look impossible to solve or a supporting character will die or the character will realise he/she is left completely alone. Whatever you make it to be, it has to up the stakes significantly in order for your Resolution to have the maximum impact on the reader. It doesn’t matter if your story is going to be a sad one or a happy one (I prefer the first), as long as the stakes have gone so high that the Resolution is satisfying.

Naturally, there’s a lot more to a story than just this outline, things like well-developed characters, good environment set up, using all the senses for the reader to be fully immersed in your story and of course subplots (if you apply the system to longer works).

I have only used it twice so far, both times for short stories, one of which I’m in the process of writing and appears very difficult even with this system. But I’ll make it work one way or another. For my longer works I prefer to work with the snowflake method BUT the 7 point system can help tremendously in identifying the key elements of a story and space them properly before using a more detailed structure system. I find it very handy and very helpful in arranging my thoughts in the right order and I like having a guideline when I write.

Next week I’ll either start giving writing prompts or, if I’m still stuck with my second short story, beg for your help. I’m really stuck 🙁

Posted on by Chris Sarantopoulos · 2 Comments

Dialogue

Dialogue has been one of the hardest things I have to tackle when I write. When I first started writing, I read somewhere that dialogue is the key to push a story forward. The article said (and that’s what has stayed with me since) that if the writer finds himself in a pickle as to how to proceed in a story, then have two characters talk about it and that should give a way out. Alas, having only days of writing experience back then, I failed to understand the deeper meaning of that. I followed it to the letter and earlier versions of my now-on-hold fantasy novel were plagued with dialogues that served nothing and were woody and lame.

Have I improved as a writer since? In many aspects, the answer is yes. Have I solved the problem with dialogue, improving the way I use it? I say this with the utmost sincerity; NO! It still gives me a very hard time BUT it’s not as bad as it was. Still, it’s my main problem when I write, so much so that sometimes I dread it.

The novel I’m about finish (2 1/2 scenes to go, yay!) takes place in a post-apocalyptic world. There are very few people left and those who have survived, are in hiding in as much dark places as possible (hence the title, The Darkening). Isolation (and its associated mental issues) are a key in the story. As a result, there’s very little dialogue involved, although there are times where that can’t be avoided, especially when the character is talking to the voices in his head. Later in the story, things change and when other characters appear, dialogue is unavoidable, along with my problems to write them convincingly.

So what does dialogue entail?

Virtually every book that is related to teaching us how to write fiction has at least one chapter devoted to dialogue and dialogue tags or non-dialogue tags (for the latter, I’m sure there’s a name but I’m afraid I don’t know it.) Dialogue tags are the little bits that follow (or sometimes precede) whatever a character says in the form of “he/she said.”
“Get off my property,” the old farmer said/ he said.
“Thanks,” she said.
Non-dialogue tags are somewhat longer sentences that are related to what a character says and they usually show to the reader something the character is doing while speaking or emphasize a character’s trait.
She put both hands on her hips and glared at him. “Well? What’s your excuse now?”
“Are you sure it’s safe?” He looked over her shoulder, biting his nail.
One of the main differences in these examples is that they tend to use different punctuation. Dialogue tags use a comma before the “he/she said” tag and “said” acts as a way of linking the two bits, whereas non-dialogue tags often use a full stop. Another difference is that in the case of non-dialogue tags, the sentence that follows or precedes whatever is in the quotation marks is a sentence of its own and is fully capable of standing on its own.

Both kinds are essential because they tell the reader who tells what and in what way.

My earlier writings were terrible because I thought that said was such a boring word, showing so little of each character’s emotional state, so I thought “let’s spice it up a bit, shall we?” So I used words like “replied,” “grated,” “reciprocated,” etc. The problem was (and still is) that English is not my native language. As a result language barrier would soon kick in, leaving me repeating the same words. So I’d run to my bookcase, get my dictionaries, go online to as many online thesauri as possible and find new words. But they were words I had never seen or used before. Which after a while made me think “If I don’t know that word, then there’s bound to be someone else out there who also hasn’t seen or heard this word as well.”

I think most of us have gone through a similar stage, when we started writing. It happens naturally, in our attempt to be original and to show that we have some potential with this whole thing. Instead of that, we end up making things worse for us. At least I did.

I don’t think dialogue needs anything more than “he/she said” at most cases. I hardly ever use anything other than that nowadays. I had read once an article that said there was no need to write “Fired? What do yo mean?” he/she grated. Instead of the word “grated” it was better to have the same character sitting at the edge of their chair, perhaps holding something on their lap or having them tapping their foot lightly, then having them stand up with such intensity, their chair would fall back, later banging the office door as they left the room. The dialogue mentioned above can be broken down to increase intensity and show the reader all the feelings and emotions within the word “grated.” Here’s an example:
Alan sat on the edge of his seat, his foot tapping slightly with a mind of its own. He had his eyes fixed on Mr. Boss, studying every move he made, while the man read through his file.
“Alan, I’m afraid we’re going to have to lay you off,” Mr Boss said and closed the file slowly. “You see, the company -”
“Fired?” Alan stood up so fast that he sent the chair flying back. “What do you mean? After all these years?”

It’s not the best description of a scene but you get the meaning, right? The first example tells us about the character’s emotions and reactions (grated is a rather descriptive word), whereas the second one (though a miserable attempt at it, I admit) SHOWS us all these things. And you can see both dialogue tags and non-dialogue tags in action.

I hope this helps a bit 🙂

Posted on by Chris Sarantopoulos · 3 Comments

How to blow some steam off

Ever since I said to myself “you’re about to finish the draft, Chris” the process has slowed to a near stop. Well, not really to a stop but words come to me a lot harder and I fail to meet my daily writing quota. Which, for a near-perfectionist on selective issues (yes, I know it sounds weird but I’m not a perfectionist in everything in my life) like me, it’s annoying. Mind you, I’m not as much a perfectionist as Patrick Rothfuss is, so no, I don’t go as far as making 80 drafts for one story (11 is the highest I’ve ever done for a short story and my average seems to be around 8-9). It reaches the point where I feel guilty for not meeting my daily word limit, which in turn makes things worse ’cause I push myself harder and that only leads to even fewer words. So, I thought, it must be the fact that too much pressure has accumulated inside. Which isn’t productive.

So, I decided to try (and I stress the word try because it won’t be easy and chances are I’ll fail at it miserably) to do as many of the following things as possible.

1. I will try to stop being so caught up into how much better other people’s work is than mine.

Ever since I started I always, ALWAYS compared my work to professional writers’ work. Yes, it’s good to have their skill and their work as a guide but perhaps a perfectionist in writing (like me) goes beyond that, thus making writing a living hell for him/her.

2. I will try to share my work with more people in my old critique group over at Scribophile or get me a beta reader (people willing to help, please comment bellow, thank you 🙂 )

I haven’t uploaded anything or written anything new since June, which is when I wrote the first line of draft for the novel I’m working on. I’ve put on hold all other short stories I had in my mind and dedicated myself to finishing the novel. It paid off, since I’m about to finish BUT at the expense of getting a pat on the back by getting a positive critique or comment about my work every now and then. All I had to go with was my inner critic and, being a perfectionist when it comes to writing, that critic may be a little bit too harsh. Probably. Not sure yet.

3. I must try to get in touch with “free writing” by using creativity prompts, usually visual stimuli like fantasy/scifi/horror images (in my case that’s what I like the most).

This used to be an exercise for me, before I started working on The Darkening. To help me write on a daily basis, I usually scoured tumblr and deviantart hoping to find an image that would stir something in me (btw, I love the word “stir”. I should make a mental note to pay attention on the number of times I have used it in my novel). Then I would sit down and write a small story, usually no bigger than 1000 words. I used to love doing that but it’s been ages since the last time I did it.

4. I must try not to worry about me having gone way over my original word limit for my novel.

There’s very little I can do about this but I have to somehow convince myself that when I start revising The Darkening, I will be able to cut the story down between 100k – 105k words. Right now I’ve reached 130k and I’m still not done. 5 more scenes… God help me, if I make it and an agent asks me to trim it by 10%-20%. I’ll probably cry if I see such a request or just throw my pc out of the window.

5. I must try not to think of the pressure the unavoidable rejections will put on me, when I’ll be querying agents.

I don’t think I have much to say about this. It’s just something I have to learn to live with. All the rejections in the world when it comes to submitting short stories are probably not enough to toughen me up when agent hunting comes. *Chris gulped nervously and made a horrified face.*

Have you got any other ideas about the issue? Some miracle technique that allows you to blow some steam off when you need it? If, so please let the rest of us know and comment below.