Part 2.2 Observation and Imagination
45 mins
- Listen to novelists talking about their own rituals
- Read novel extracts for how characters appear
- Learn about heightening powers of observation
Observation and Imagination
We go on to talk about detail in work. Michèle Roberts discusses slowing down to write better; when she writes quickly and instinctively, she doesn’t like her style. She imagines herself as a camera, locating us in the scene, and slowing the pace.
Tim Pears says something that I don’t understand; about making the abstract concrete, and stringing the moments together with sentences.
One of the commenters talks about the tension between character and plot; when you have a pacy plot, it’s tempting to gallop through it; when you have a well-realised character, it’s tempting to spend a lot of time in their perception.
I agree that the balance between these two things is key, and my favourite work to read achieves it. If it’s all plot and no character, if feels artificial and I don’t care. If it’s all character then I wonder why I’m spending my time with someone fictional when I could be seeing my friends; I want the fictional characters I read to take me places we probably wouldn’t go ourselves.
Exercise
Go back to the character sketch and think in more detail about the person and setting. Are any of these details pertinent or suggestive of a story?
I added something which hints at a vulnerability; previously my character seemed pretty cool and in control. This vulnerability was unexpected.
Reading
We are exhorted to read as much as possible, with attention to how other writers reveal their characters.
Currently I am reading Sherlock Holmes, and noticing the difference between modern and Victorian descriptions of physicality and personalities. I think a character description can date the work; not just the language used, but also what the narrator is looking for in someone (which characteristics confer status or intrigue).
Learning from other writers
We look at two new character sketches, this time from Graham Greene and Kate Atkinson. I’ve not read any Greene, though I know he is well-respected. Kate Atkinson I love.
The Greene piece was more challenging because he moves between first and third person perspective. Atkinson’s has the assurance and fluency of an omniscient narrator who knows her world inside-out, and can move between timeframes with ease.
Third person can compress and stretch time like this. I find that first person narratives tend to be more immediate, and we are often invited to “work things out” alongside the character.
Exercise
We are going back to our character sketch again, this time adding to their thoughts and giving them context and backstory.
By developing my character’s perspective, I am taking the story into his point of view. This is interesting, because he is supposed to be someone whose motives we do not understand. So while this is a good exercise for me to do, I do not think it will appear in the finished piece.
How can I be original?
This section rejoices in the heading “How can I be original?”.
The advice is that trying to be original in character-creation or description might result in something laboured and false, whereas noticing particulars and describing them clearly will convey a unique perspective.
I’m not convinced by this advice. Surely there are lots of genres where the game is to be original — I think of sci fi and crime fiction — where authors are rewarded for creating characters or worlds never seen before? Conversely, these genres often have tropes that are not original, but are part of the usual set-up and logic, and readers don’t mind.
There is also a type originality which comes from the juxtaposition of two familiar things: take a trope from one genre (a savage cannibal) and splice it to a previously-unrelated trope (a gentleman aesthete) and let the contradictions do the work. Put that unique character in a procedural crime thriller, and the originality stands out even more. But at some point, what was once original, becomes familiar. So do we need go round and round the mulberry bush, constantly forgetting and rediscovering?
I am also not sure that we all have unique perspectives. We grow up in cultural clumps and are exposed to the same language and idioms through generational and artistic norms. Even the desire to be original — rather than conform beautifully to a culturally prized norm — is a generational norm. We are more interested in “standing out” in modern liberal capitalism than artists were in previous ages (reference needed!).
Just my two pence.
I suppose I’m interested in whether originality is actually a universal measure of quality nowadays. I think it depends on the genre and intention of the author. In some genres, originality is prized; in others, it is the execution of the formula which matters.
I am glad that I don’t much care about being “original”, as I tend to feel (cliche alert) that “there’s nothing new under the sun”. However, I do care about being “good”, meaning that I am telling this particular story effectively. This may incidentally lead to originality . . . but only if the reader hasn’t read something like that before. So originality is often in the eye of the beholder, and not something, I think, to worry about.
The key, in this section’s view, is to use ordinary words in new or unexpected ways.
Word use
We are invited to keep a record of the words we hear ordinarily, and the words we learn from dictionaries and research.
We are warned against using elaborate words or cliched phrases “gratuitously”. This is key for me. Every word has a purpose; whether a word selection is wrong or right depends on the purpose. Sometimes, more sophisticated ideas require simpler expression — but those ideas might already have a word to encapsulate them. It depends on who is using it and what the reader is invited to feel. Are we supposed to understand a word, or to feel shut out? Are we even supposed to notice word use? If a story wants to be fully involving, choosing words which are familiar enough to “disappear” while reading are the best choice. If a story wants us to pull up and think about what has been said, then a difficult or “wrong” word might be just the thing.
We’ve just got to be aware of our choices.
My third pence:
For those who struggle with writing dialogue, I think that keeping a notebook is a great way of encouraging the brain to listen for and analyse conversational language.
What do course-members struggle with?
I’ve read some of the comments below to share a sense of what other course contributors (anonymous) struggle with in language use:
| Their problem | Their solution |
| finding the right word to encapsulate the idea | using a theasaurus |
| feeling pressured into using “sophisticated” language | letting this fallacy go, understanding that it is status-anxiety on the part of others |
| digesting densely-worded books | giving up on the writing! |
| using technical terms appropriate to the work | defining them (or getting a character to ask!) |
| wanting to use unusual words which challenge the reader | appreciate that some readers like to be introduced to new things |
| wanting to use unfamiliar words that the reader is unlikely to know | keep it appropriate to context, for example regional speech for a character |
Exercise
Try describing something familiar with one or two ordinary words that you wouldn’t normally use in that context. Share your example in the comments.
The contributors came up with some excellent examples!
Mine, à la Sherlock Holmes:
The influence of the centrifugal motion upon the bolus, wrung the aqueous solution from the vestments. (The washing machine was on spin cycle.)
I like mixing technical, scientific language with everyday, domestic activities. I think that mode-mixing is a source of comedy.
Give the course a spin yourself!
www.futurelearn.com/courses/start-writing-fiction