Author: Scott Nagele

I probably don’t care about your superfluous nipple

/ Scott Nagele / 2 Comments

Do you care what color eyes the protagonist in a novel has? Is a character whose green eyes shine like emeralds more interesting than one whose blue eyes are mentioned in passing? What about the one whose eye color was never mentioned? What kind of loser must he be?

I don’t care what characters look like. When their physical traits are described, I quickly forget them and picture the character as if he had not been described at all. I paint him as an amorphous, generic human, without any detailed features.

In my mind, the character has no eye or hair color; he is a sort of human silhouette.

The only time I remembered a character’s hair color was when I read the movie tie-in edition of I am Legend, with a movie scene featuring Will Smith on the cover. Robert Neville, the character portrayed by Smith, is described as having blond hair. That would have made the movie more visually interesting.

movie tie-in

The Robert Neville in my mind didn’t look like Will Smith – not even a blond Will Smith.

older cover

He had the same eye color as this guy, but the hair color was more vague. He definitely didn’t have the huge left hand and/or extra-long left arm.

What the characters do is far more important to me than how they look, unless how they look is a big part of their character or influences their actions. If a character has a third eye, I’d like to know about it. But a third nipple is of less interest, unless a third nipple was clearly stated in the prophesies as the mark of the Chosen One, or three still-warm nipple rings were found at the scene of the murder.

I suppose physical appearance is more important in certain books. Romance novels might need to beef up their men and curve up their women to help sell the fantasy. Maybe that’s why I’ve never seen Pee Wee Herman on the cover of a romance novel.

Our reading preferences shape our writing. That’s why I can’t remember describing the physical traits of many main characters, except for that three-nippled messiah. My characters are like those Star Trek aliens who took whatever form Captain Kirk needed them to take to be able to relate to them. They can assume any appearance you want them to take.

What I must paint them with is a personality. I must make my characters have character, good or bad. I must make the central characters grow, or meaningfully not grow. This is the color on my brush.

Before one of the tens of people who have read my work becomes tempted to think me a liar, I should explain that I sometimes describe the physical traits of minor characters. I do this instead of giving them names. Names are superfluous for characters with walk-on parts (See: “Angry Man in Crowd” in your local movie credits). Referring to a bit player by a dominant physical characteristic makes them more noteworthy than throwing a temporary name label on them.

If I had to describe my central characters, they would all be medium build, medium height, with light brown hair and greenish, blueish, brownish eyes.

If any of characters show two or less dimensions, I’m truly sorry. That’s on me.

Is a main character’s physical appearance important to you as a reader? How about as a writer?

One man’s muse is the same man’s bully

/ Scott Nagele / 2 Comments

We’ve all heard people talk about how they are compelled to write. Compelled to write? Compelled to roll out of bed every morning and trudge off to work—that makes sense. A job brings in money. But compelled to write? Compelled to struggle with an arrangement of words that stands a snowball’s chance in Hell of ever economically justifying the energy put into it? What twisted mental force would compel a person to do that?

Whatever the force, it is certainly mental, and completely twisted. It’s been inside my head, demanding my lunch money and making me do its homework since I was 12, maybe longer. I wasn’t bullied by kids in school, but I’ve been menaced by the specter of wasted potential all my life. I expect to labor under its threats until I die, leaving the specter forever unsatisfied. My bully’s failure should give me the last laugh, except that I’m kind of rooting for my bully to win. I told you it was twisted.

Bully with wings

Look out, Whiskers! She’s about to put you in a headlock and steal your lunch money. (“The Tenth Muse” by John White Alexander.)

Lots of people search the dark corridors of their own minds for that hidden room, bursting with the light of genius (and associated cash and prizes). We’re sure it must be there, if only we could find the door and the key to unlock it. We toil in darkness, every so often glimpsing a fleeting flash that, if not a mini-stroke, must be a reflection of the sparkling key to that door.

We rush to the spot where the flash originated. We throw ourselves down on hands and knees. We grope for that elusive key to the room flowing with the milk and honey of inspiration. When I’m feeling around the dirty floor of my mind for that special key, I am writing. I have to do it. I can’t pass up the chance to unlock the door to my full potential. It means my masterpiece. But there are acres of linoleum inside my head, and some fool installed mirrors on the walls. So the flash could have come from anywhere.

It occurs to me, as I swipe my hands across the grimy floor of my mind, that I should do some mopping. But I always have grander schemes than common housework in front of me at the time. Besides, when I find that key and strike it rich, I’ll hire a cleaning lady. Maybe I’ll even have all the burnt-out light bulbs replaced. I plan to do it up right.

I’m not looking for that shiny, magic key every time I crawl around the floor of my mind. Sometimes I am groping for the rusted key to the room holding the memory of where I left my wallet.

It would be easier to find my wallet, and my hidden potential, if my mind weren’t so cluttered. I’m forever banging my head on other stuff, like bittersweet memories and bits of music or art that once touched my soul. Sometimes I hit my head so hard I see stars, and one of the those stars is always the reflection from the key to the hidden room of light. Bittersweet memories and beautiful art will pull stunts like that. They always get me on my hands and knees again, groping for that key, writing.

Got all the gaps worked out of your story? What about the gaps in your text?

/ Scott Nagele / 2 Comments

I’m justifying this post. By that I mean I’m aligning it to both right and left margins, as opposed to proclaiming a valid reason for its existence. Whether its existence has a valid reason I leave to its readers to decide.

I don’t usually justify posts. It’s an extra button to click, and what blogger has time for that? More to the point, justifying makes the edges of the text look nice, but it can leave the interiors of lines looking like they’ve withstood an artillery barrage. Look closely at the lines of this text and you will probably see some in which there appears to be extra space between words. If it’s just a little extra space, it shouldn’t be a big deal, but congregations of longer, inflexible words do create distracting instances of overabundant space.

Justification?

Incautious justifying can make text feel as cozy as this attractive, war-zone home.

I’m justifying this text to illustrate one of the more tedious parts of self-publishing. For those who have never formatted the layout of a book, it may be enlightening. For those planning to dip their feet into self-publishing, it may be something to consider.

Publishing is not all about telling a great story with proper grammar. Those things will get you off to a good start, but you also want an aesthetically pleasing product. No doubt, the cover should be attractive, but the interior’s visual appeal can’t be ignored.

I’ve never opened a book and thought, “Wow, this interior layout is gorgeous!” But I have seen books where the layout’s ugliness is a distraction. One common distraction is large gaps between words.

I know of three ways to avoid gaps. The first is to not justify the text. I would never do this; blog posts are one thing, but in books I think it looks disorganized. The second is to allow your writing program to auto-hyphenate. This breaks up big words so everything fits better. Some experts suggest this, but I don’t do it. One thing I stunk at in grade school was hyphenating. I don’t trust Word to do it for me, mostly because I doubt my ability to double-check it. It’s merely opening up another Pandora’s box of grammar issues.

The third way, my way, is to endure a round of tedium beyond normal editing. Editing is not fun, and this, if possible, is even less fun. I scan the proof copy for unacceptable gaps. Then I play a little puzzle game with that line and the adjacent ones, rearranging, cutting, or substituting words until the gaps are squeezed out.

It takes time, but it makes me take a closer look at the words I use. It helps me eliminate unnecessary words and say things in a clearer way. The key is to avoid ruining sentences to make them fit better. It wouldn’t be such a vexing game if this were allowed.

This should only be done once all the major editing is completed. New editing could create new gaps.

Gaps in some lines will still be greater than gaps in others, but if the gaps don’t resemble bomb craters it will be easier for the reader to focus on the words instead of the holes.

Ending obsession

/ Scott Nagele / 4 Comments

Here we go again. It’s phase three of the A Housefly in Autumn remodel. As I predicted, between rewriting the middle and obsessing over the beginning, I’ve come to that time when I feel compelled to tweak the ending.

The good news is that it’s only the last couple of paragraphs I want to redo. The bad news is that those last two paragraphs contain a mother lode of tone. That’s not bad news in itself; it’s only bad news when you want to change them. It’s like changing whole pages at the beginning or whole chapters in the middle.

For the beginning, the concern is drawing readers in. At the middle, the worry is keeping them. The finale needs to hit just the right note. I think my previous note was a little flat and I’m trying to sharpen it up a bit.

When they are the last two paragraphs, two paragraphs can seem like a mountainous rewrite. It certainly has taken me more time than any two other paragraphs ever have. I’m still not completely satisfied, but at least I’m moving in the right direction.

On the bright side, I don’t have to count this late alteration as a self-induced delay to publication. This time I got smart and started obsessing about something while I was still waiting for my expert proofers to finish reviewing their copies. By the time they are done, this behemoth, two-paragraph rewrite should be complete.

At that point, I can feel good that I’ve given beginning, middle, and end their fair shares of obsessing and overthinking. The book will be as good as I can make it, lacking another 20 years’ worth of wisdom, for which I am not willing to wait.

What I'd look like after 20 more years of wisdom. Looks like I'd have a great story to tell doesn't it? Should we just wait?

What I’d look like after 20 more years of wisdom. Looks like I’d have a great story to tell, doesn’t it? Should we just wait?

It may seem like I’ve been talking about this book for 20 years already, but that’s just not true. I’ve been working on this book for 20 years (probably a mere 18, but who’s counting?). I’ve only been talking about it publicly for, well, far shorter than that.

Even so, I realize it may seem like I’ve been posting about this book for a long time without actually producing something like a book. No one feels this incongruity more keenly than I do. But no one sees the light at the end of the tunnel more clearly than I do. I am two short paragraphs away from concluding that it is what it is. Then all who are so inclined may judge for themselves whether I should have waited for 20 years more wisdom.

At that point, I can turn all my worries toward marketing. Marketing has been known to make me whine like a first grader with liverwurst on pumpernickel in his lunch box. Now that’s something to look forward to. Stay tuned.