The Seven Basic Plots: Why We Tell Stories, by Christopher Booker
From: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Seven_Basic_Plots
This information is based on the 2004 book, The Seven Basic Plots: Why We Tell Stories, by Christopher Booker. The Seven Basic Plots provides a Jungian-influenced analysis of stories and their psychological meaning. Booker worked on the book for 34 years. It’s 736 pages in length.
The Meta-Plot
The meta-plot begins with the anticipation stage, in which the hero is called to the adventure to come. This is followed by a dream stage, in which the adventure begins, the hero has some success, and has an illusion of invincibility. However, this is then followed by a frustration stage, in which the hero has his first confrontation with the enemy, and the illusion of invincibility is lost. This worsens in the nightmare stage, which is the climax of the plot, where hope is apparently lost. Finally, in the resolution, the hero overcomes his burden against the odds.
The key thesis of the book: “However many characters may appear in a story, its real concern is with just one: its hero or heroine. It is he with whose fate we identify, as we see him gradually developing towards that state of self-realization which marks the end of the story. Ultimately it is in relation to this central figure that all other characters in a story take on their significance. What each of the other characters represents is really only some aspect of the inner state of the hero or heroine themselves.”
The Seven Basic Plots are the basics of plot-writing.
Overcoming the Monster
The protagonist sets out to defeat an antagonistic force (often evil) which threatens the protagonist and/or protagonist’s homeland.
Examples: Perseus, Theseus, Beowulf, Dracula, War of the Worlds, Nicholas Nickleby, The Guns of Navarone, Seven Samurai and its Western-style remake The Magnificent Seven, the James Bond franchise , Star Wars: A New Hope, Halloween, The Hunger Games and Shrek.
Rags to Riches
The poor protagonist acquires things such as power, wealth, and a mate, before losing it all and gaining it back upon growing as a person.
Examples: Cinderella, Aladdin, Jane Eyre, A Little Princess, Great Expectations, David Copperfield, The Prince and the Pauper.
The Quest
The protagonist and some companions set out to acquire an important object or to get to a location, facing many obstacles and temptations along the way.
Examples: Iliad, The Pilgrim’s Progress, King Solomon’s Mines, Watership Down. The Wizard of Oz, The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, The Land Before Time, One Piece, Indiana Jones, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, “Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle”
Voyage and Return
The protagonist goes to a strange land and, after overcoming the threats it poses to him or her, returns with nothing but experience.
Examples: Odyssey, Ramayana, Alice in Wonderland, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Orpheus, The Time Machine, Peter Rabbit, The Hobbit, Brideshead Revisited, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Gone with the Wind, The Third Man, Chronicles of Narnia, Apollo 13, Labyrinth, Finding Nemo, Gulliver’s Travels, Spirited Away
Comedy
Light and humorous character with a happy or cheerful ending; a dramatic work in which the central motif is the triumph over adverse circumstance, resulting in a successful or happy conclusion.
Examples: A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Much Ado About Nothing, Twelfth Night, Bridget Jones Diary, Music and Lyrics, Sliding Doors, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Mr Bean
Tragedy
The protagonist is a villain who falls from grace and whose death is a happy ending (or s/he gets away with their deeds as with “Cask of Amontillado”).
Examples: Macbeth, The Picture of Dorian Gray, Carmen, Bonnie and Clyde, Jules et Jim, Anna Karenina, Madame Bovary, John Dillinger, Romeo and Juliet, Julius Caesar, Death Note, Breaking Bad, Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry
Rebirth
During the course of the story, an important event forces the main character to change their ways, often making them a better person.
Examples: The Frog Prince, Beauty and the Beast, The Snow Queen, A Christmas Carol, The Secret Garden, Peer Gynt, Life Is a Dream, Despicable Me, Machine Gun Preacher, Megamind,
Precursors to The Seven Basic Plots
- Arthur Quiller-Couch possibly originally formulated seven basic plots as a series of conflicts: Human vs. Human, Human vs. Nature, Human against God, Human vs. Society, Human in the Middle, Woman & Man, Human vs. Himself.
- William Foster-Harris’ The Basic Patterns of Plot sets out a theory of three basic patterns of plot.
- Ronald B. Tobias set out a twenty-plot theory in his 20 Master Plots.
- Georges Polti’s The Thirty-Six Dramatic Situations.
The book was dismissed by a number of journalistic reviewers, such as Adam Mars-Jones, who objected to Booker employing his generalizations about conventional plot structures prescriptively: “He sets up criteria for art, and ends up condemning Rigoletto, The Cherry Orchard, Wagner, Proust, Joyce, Kafka and Lawrence – the list goes on – while praising Crocodile Dundee, E.T. and Terminator 2”. Similarly, Michiko Kakutani in The New York Times writes, “Mr. Booker evaluates works of art on the basis of how closely they adhere to the archetypes he has so laboriously described; the ones that deviate from those classic patterns are dismissed as flawed or perverse – symptoms of what has gone wrong with modern art and the modern world.”
However, it was lauded by a number of novelists, playwrights, and academics, including Fay Weldon, who wrote the following (which is quoted on the front cover of the book): “This is the most extraordinary, exhilarating book. It always seemed to me that ‘the story’ was God’s way of giving meaning to crude creation. Booker now interprets the mind of God, and analyses not just the novel – which will never to me be quite the same again – but puts the narrative of contemporary human affairs into a new perspective. If it took its author a lifetime to write, one can only feel gratitude that he did it.” Beryl Bainbridge, Richard Adams, Ronald Harwood, and John Bayley also spoke positively of the work, while philosopher Roger Scruton described it as a “brilliant summary of story-telling”.
The Internal Conflict Formula That Generates Plot Points and Strengthens Theme, by Lynn Johnston
From: http://savvyauthors.com/blog/index.php/the-internal-conflict-formula-that-generates-plot-points-and-strengthens-theme-by-lynn-johnston; March 10, 2015.
Internal conflict is what happens when a character wants two things that are mutually exclusive. Sometimes the conflict will be something big: perhaps your heroine is in love with George but also lusts after Fred, and she’s unable to choose which man she wants to be with.
Or maybe she’s a homicide detective, and she wants to build a case on the evidence, but she also wants to prove that her BFF—who the evidence points toward—isn’t the killer.
Real people have lots of small internal conflicts too, and giving your character a couple of little ones can make her more real to the reader. “I want an ice cream sundae but my jeans are already too tight. Should I drive straight home or stop at Baskin-Robbins on the way?”
Will every character have internal conflict? No. It’s possible to have a character whose conflicts are entirely external. Take the recent Conan the Barbarian remake (starring Jason Momoa): at the beginning of the film, when his father is killed, the young Conan has already demonstrated that he has the warrior spirit needed to avenge his father, but he’s too physically weak to defeat his father’s murderer. During the movie, Conan doesn’t learn any life lessons or change his philosophy or fall in love. He just learns to fight and grows more muscles so that he can defeat his nemesis. No internal conflict, no character arc.
But…internal conflict is one of your primary tools for getting the reader to engage with your characters emotionally. It can be used to create both sympathy and empathy for your characters. So please don’t discard it unless you’re sure your readers are going to find your characters compelling without it.
The Internal Conflict Sentence Pattern
Internal conflict can be articulated by filling in the following sentence pattern:
I want ________, but I also want ________, and I can’t have both because ________.
Here are some examples of internal conflicts:
- I want to make partner at my law firm, but I also want to stop ruthlessly competing with my colleagues, and I can’t have both because if I stop being ruthless, I’ll stop winning cases and my rival will get the partner position.
- I want to give in to my attraction for Rex, but I also want to be emotionally safe, and I can’t have both because when my father abandoned my mother, I learned that men can’t be trusted.
- I want to make peace with my father, but I also want to punish him for leaving my mother, and I can’t have both because anger and forgiveness are mutually exclusive.
Notice that the reason for the conflict (“I can’t have both because…”) often arises from the character’s backstory, but not always—sometimes the reason a character can’t have both desires is that reality doesn’t work that way.
A three-dimensional character might have multiple internal conflicts other than the one associated with the growth arc.
Internal Conflict as a Vehicle for Theme
If the character’s story involves wrestling with a touchy social or psychological issue, like poverty or abortion or mental illness or child abuse, she’ll have an internal conflict related to the issue—because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be wrestling with it.
Let’s say we’re writing about a heroine who believes wholeheartedly that the mentally ill should be locked away in asylums and drugged into docility. (Why she believes this, we won’t worry about for now, except perhaps to assume that she’s got a history with someone whose mental illness caused them to hurt her.)
Let’s say that our heroine is a medical student doing her residency, and she’s been assigned to a psych ward for eight weeks. At first, she sees the patients’ disturbed behavior as evidence that her belief is correct—by drugging the patients until they’re barely present mentally, they’re easier to deal with and their docility causes her to conclude that they’re happier that way.
But what if she were to become fond of one of her patients? Friends, even? And what if her new friend tells our heroine that he’d rather hang from the edge of reality by his fingernails than be drugged into numb oblivion?
Then our heroine would start to wrestle with the question of whether the drugs she’s administering to her patients are doing more harm than good. Her internal conflict statement would be:
I want to make life easier for myself and for my patients by following the doctor’s orders, but I also want to help my new friend on his journey back to mental health, and I can’t have both because I’m starting to believe that the drugs the doctor is prescribing for my friend are hindering his healing.
When the issue that the character wrestles with is framed as an internal conflict, it suggests scenes, doesn’t it?
You can imagine the heroine’s friend pleading with her not to administer the medications.
You can imagine the resident questioning the doctor’s judgment (and perhaps getting thrown out of her residency, or tarnishing her own record via disciplinary action).
You can imagine the heroine catching her friend spitting his pills out and struggling with the dilemma of whether or not to report it.
You can imagine the heroine contacting a social worker on her friend’s behalf, in hopes of finding a treatment program that doesn’t involve those medications and that will be covered by the friend’s insurance.
You can see the heroine organizing a protest among the other residents or talking to a journalist in the hopes of raising awareness of the issue, and getting fired from her job.
You can see the heroine enlisting the help of another resident (the love interest, perhaps?) in researching other treatment options that might help her friend.
In other words, a properly-structured internal conflict generates plot.
Do You Need to Resolve All Your Protagonist’s Internal Conflicts?
The internal conflict associated with the growth arc must be resolved—if it isn’t, the character hasn’t grown. If you’re writing a series, you might have the character make progress toward this in each book, resolving the conflict in the final book. Or you might give the character multiple internal conflicts, and resolve on conflict per book.
If there’s a romance subplot, the associated internal arc will be completed when the two lovers either get together or decide to part forever. Is there ever a time where you’d leave the romantic internal conflict unresolved at the end of a story? Yes—if you’re writing a series where you want the readers to wonder until the last book if the lovers are going to get together.
For all other types of internal conflict, it’s up to you. An unresolved internal conflict might be exactly what you need to illuminate a character’s contradictory nature or to hint that he’s a troubled soul. Unresolved internal conflicts can offer potential for humor. They can be used to create an air of mystery about a character.
When in doubt, ask yourself how the internal conflict is going to make the reader feel while it’s unresolved and once it’s resolved. Will those feelings make your reader’s experience of the story better or worse?
I challenge you to look at the protagonist in your work-in-progress: can you write out his or her internal conflicts using this sentence pattern?
I want _____, but I also want _____, and I can’t have both because _____.
Writing mentor Lynn Johnston blogs at Write Smarter, Not Harder, where you can download her free ebook, Editing for Story. She’s the author of The Writer’s Guide to Getting Organized, The 30 Day Novel Success Journal, and The 30 Day Novel Success Journal for Romance. Her self-study workshops include Dynamic Characterization, Editing for Emotion, What Romance Readers Want, and Plotting the Perfect Romance.
12 Fundamentals Of Writing “The Other” (And The Self), by D. J. Older
This is an excellent article to review when writing characters outside of ourselves. “12 Fundamentals Of Writing ‘The Other’ (And The Self)” by D. J. Older, author of the YA novel, Shadowshaper, among others.
Chasing Glory
Click to buy now.
DeeAnn Galbraith has released her newest book, Chasing Glory!
Tal Kingston, an R&D genius who’s built a successful gourmet food company, wants to get married. He’s got a spreadsheet that covers all his requirements, but needs help executing his plan. Tal hires executive assistant Glory Danvers to help him put his best foot forward. His spreadsheet goes out the window. His company’s reputation is threatened when he learns his products are being counterfeited and sold at posh resorts in Antigua. He talks Glory into posing as his wife at a couples resort and together they succeed in overcoming the counterfeiters’ scheme.
Glory Danver’s life has had some serious downturns recently. Under financial stress, she agrees to help an R&D lab geek attract a company VP he’s got his eye on. In helping Tal, Glory sees what the VP can’t, and gets way more than she hired on for.
A Peculiar Giveaway!
Wordherder Maureen McQuerry is committed to changing the narrative about how we treat others who are different from us. She has purchased 200 copies of The Peculiars to give away to deserving libraries. Check out her webpage for more information about this Peculiar Giveaway, and spread the word!
Donelle Knudsen’s Author Event at Rosy’s Diner
Donelle Knudsen will host a book signing for her novel, “Between Heartbeats” and her memoir, “Through the Tunnel of Love, A Mother’s and Daughter’s Journey with Anorexia” at Rosy’s ’50s Diner, 404 Bradley, Suite 106, Richland. Time: Saturday, December 19 from 9-11 AM & 5-7 PM. Visit her table and enter the drawing for a $20 Rosy’s gift card.
Looking for a Tri-Cities’ Writers’ Critique Group?
Our Friday Critique Group, formerly known as the Thursday Critique Group, has room for a couple more members. Currently, we meet every other Friday at 1 PM at New York Richies’ Pizza on Clearwater Ave. We can change the time to a Thursday evening to accommodate those not available in the early afternoon. Contact us through the Wordherders’ website and we’ll connect.
The Current, by Donald Maass
From: http://writerunboxed.com/2015/12/02/the-current
What about a novel sweeps us up into its world? What carries us along even when the imperatives of plot are on hold or absent? What makes us ache for something without knowing what it is? What makes us impatient for a story’s resolution at the same time that we want the tale to go on forever? What is it that causes us to feel that a story has touched our souls?
It’s not plot, scene dynamics or micro-tension. It’s not the inner journey. It’s not setting, voice or theme, although those things undeniably affect us. What I’m talking about is a deeper, seemingly mystical force that engages readers in a way they can’t explain and holds them rapt. It’s nothing overtly stated in your pages.
That irresistible, invisible current is a feeling. It’s a feeling that springs from what you wrote (how could it be otherwise) but which readers can only sense. It’s a feeling to which readers do not assign a name. What causes them to feel this feeling is not so much anything that you put into your story as the spirit that underlies it.
That spirit is hope.
Hope is not something easily contained in one story moment. It’s a difficult feeling to deliberately stir in readers, and one that does not lead characters into action. In fact, it’s not really part of the story at all. Rather it’s a longing, an ache, for something unnamed and unobtainable which you, somehow, cause readers to believe is both real and possible.
Hope is anticipation in readers, but it is often mistaken for something else. For example, consider a classic low-grade horror movie scene. You know the one. It’s the scene in which a teenaged boy and girl are walking up to a derelict cabin in the woods at night. The boy is saying, “Come on, Susie, let’s go inside!” Susie says, “Oh, I don’t know, Johnny. That place looks creepy. Can’t we go back to town?”
Johnny talks Susie into going inside, at which point we know these two are too stupid to live and richly deserve what will be done to them by the monster in the leather mask. It’s the expectation of the gore to come that causes us anxiety, right? Well, maybe. But there’s another emotional force at work on us, one which is as strong, or stronger, than our fear.
What’s triggering our feelings isn’t only Johnny saying, “Let’s go inside!” It’s Susie saying, “Can’t we go back to town?” Susie is the voice of hope. We hope, just for a second, that Johnny is not as stupid as he looks, that he’ll make a good decision, and that he’ll save Susie from a horrible torture and evisceration. Our feeling is, “Look out, you’re going to die!”, that’s true enough, yet it is also, “Please, please don’t die!” (Unless the movie is really bad.)
An absence of hope explains some puzzles about fiction; for instance, why thriller writers can sometimes pile on more and more danger, raise the stakes higher and higher, yet give us barely an ounce more thrill. It explains why beautifully rendered literary fiction can feel ice cold, even when its endings are redemptive. It’s why certain dark mysteries depress us while others nearly identical in plot have us cheering.
Hope is the current running through fiction that we love. So, as we read a novel what do we hope for? Happy endings? Certainly, but that wish is temporary and limited. Characters who find happiness will not remain happy forever. How can they when they’re human? Perhaps we wish to learn something about ourselves and grow? That’s a noble intention and may happen, but is it a pleasure profound enough to explain why we turn to fiction over and over again, searching for the great reads?
I don’t think so.
Hope can be found in every dimension of stories that we love. Take a story’s world. Hope is found in settings not when they threaten but when they present characters with a destiny. A story world that gives us hope is a place where peace is not a last minute outcome but a possibility always. In such a place we find ourselves not weary with waiting but energized by expectation.
When hope brims in novels it’s found in characters who look inward with interest and regard others with curiosity. It’s experienced through a need not to avoid what’s bad but to seek what’s good. It’s felt not in a series of setbacks but in a rising curve of yearning. It’s evident in characters we love not because they’re like us but because their hearts are more generous than ours can ever be.
When we want stories to go on forever they’re not grinding us down but lifting our eyes up. Plots that stir hope make us care not what happens to characters’ circumstances but to their souls. To infuse a story with hope requires that its author be overcome with love.
If hope is tangible as we read but nowhere in the words, how does it get across? When there’s no technique to apply, what tools do you use? Luckily, the tool you need is one you already have: you, since you are the embodiment of hope.
Here are some practical ways to tap the hope that dwells in you and spread that spirit in your story:
Is your story meant to evoke fear? In addition to making circumstances worse, find three ways to raise the hope that the worst won’t happen, then an addition three ways to make survival matter more. Make those reasons personal.
Is your story meant to be romantic? In addition to erecting obstacles to keep two people apart, find three ways to make it matter even more that they join together. Make those reasons personal.
Is your story meant to uphold a principle such as justice? What does your protagonist hope for that cannot be obtained by any means available to him or her? Find three ways to elevate that hope over the plot goal.
Is your story one of journey, healing or seeking wholeness? Find three new ways to manifest the warmth that remains in a wounded heart.
Whatever your type of story, find people in your story who can: deliver a gift, have insight into someone else, turn a corner, forgive the unforgivable, humble themselves, see ahead, know the exact right thing to say, back off, be overjoyed, do a favor, change a life, alter a destiny, find the humor, see the irony, grasp the greater meaning, or die with grace. Whatever you find, add it.
When fiction feels effortless it is in part because tremendous talent and skill have been brought to bear. It is perhaps also because of multiple drafts, beta readers and editorial assistance. It might be that a certain security comes with writing a series, or with experience. Word craft may make a novel sing but none of that is the same thing as giving it heart.
Heart is a quality inherent not in a manuscript but in its author. It is not a skill but a spirit. Spirit may seem mystical but it’s not an accident. It can be cultivated and practiced. Every writing day it can seep into the story choices you make. The spirit you bring is the spirit we’ll feel as we read, and of all the feelings you can excite in your readers the most gripping and beautiful is the spirit of hope.
Congratulations for a third time, Deidre Havrelock!
Deidre’s script, “Robyn Hood: Galaxy of Thieves”, was selected as a finalist in the StoryPros Professional Script Analysis contest. Congratulations!
The Worst Ways to Begin Your Novel: Advice from Literary Agents, by Chuck Sambuchino
From: http://thewritelife.com/the-worst-ways-to-begin-your-novel-advice-from-literary-agents/#.dbdmj3:ip0
August 6, 2013
This column is excerpted from Guide to Literary Agents, from Writer’s Digest Books.
No one reads more prospective novel beginnings than literary agents. They’re the ones on the front lines, sifting through inboxes and slush piles. And they can tell us which Chapter One approaches are overused and cliché, as well as which writing techniques just plain don’t work when you’re writing a book.
Below, find a smattering of feedback from experienced literary agents on what they hate to see in the first pages of a writer’s submission. Consider it a guide on how to start a novel. Avoid these problems and tighten your submission!
False beginnings
“I don’t like it when the main character dies at the end of Chapter One. Why did I just spend all this time with this character? I feel cheated.”
– Cricket Freeman, The August Agency
“I dislike opening scenes that you think are real, then the protagonist wakes up. It makes me feel cheated.”
– Laurie McLean, Foreword Literary
In science fiction
“A sci-fi novel that spends the first two pages describing the strange landscape.”
– Chip MacGregor, MacGregor Literary
Prologues
“I’m not a fan of prologues, preferring to find myself in the midst of a moving plot on page one rather than being kept outside of it, or eased into it.”
– Michelle Andelman, Regal Literary
“Most agents hate prologues. Just make the first chapter relevant and well written.”
– Andrea Brown, Andrea Brown Literary Agency
“Prologues are usually a lazy way to give back-story chunks to the reader and can be handled with more finesse throughout the story. Damn the prologue, full speed ahead!”
– Laurie McLean, Foreword Literary
Exposition and description
“Perhaps my biggest pet peeve with an opening chapter is when an author features too much exposition – when they go beyond what is necessary for simply ‘setting the scene.’ I want to feel as if I’m in the hands of a master storyteller, and starting a story with long, flowery, overly-descriptive sentences (kind of like this one) makes the writer seem amateurish and the story contrived. Of course, an equally jarring beginning can be nearly as off-putting, and I hesitate to read on if I’m feeling disoriented by the fifth page. I enjoy when writers can find a good balance between exposition and mystery. Too much accounting always ruins the mystery of a novel, and the unknown is what propels us to read further.”
– Peter Miller, PMA Literary and Film Management
“The [adjective] [adjective] sun rose in the [adjective] [adjective] sky, shedding its [adjective] light across the [adjective] [adjective] [adjective] land.”
– Chip MacGregor, MacGregor Literary
“I dislike endless ‘laundry list’ character descriptions. For example: ‘She had eyes the color of a summer sky and long blonde hair that fell in ringlets past her shoulders. Her petite nose was the perfect size for her heart-shaped face. Her azure dress — with the empire waist and long, tight sleeves — sported tiny pearl buttons down the bodice. Ivory lace peeked out of the hem in front, blah, blah.’ Who cares! Work it into the story.”
– Laurie McLean, Foreword Literary
Starting too slowly
“Characters that are moving around doing little things, but essentially nothing. Washing dishes & thinking, staring out the window & thinking, tying shoes, thinking.”
– Dan Lazar, Writers House
“I don’t really like ‘first day of school’ beginnings, ‘from the beginning of time,’ or ‘once upon a time.’ Specifically, I dislike a Chapter One in which nothing happens.”
– Jessica Regel, Foundry Literary + Media
In crime fiction
“Someone squinting into the sunlight with a hangover in a crime novel. Good grief — been done a million times.”
– Chip MacGregor, MacGregor Literary
In fantasy
“Cliché openings in fantasy can include an opening scene set in a battle (and my peeve is that I don’t know any of the characters yet so why should I care about this battle) or with a pastoral scene where the protagonist is gathering herbs (I didn’t realize how common this is).”
– Kristin Nelson, Nelson Literary
Voice
“I know this may sound obvious, but too much ‘telling’ vs. ‘showing’ in the first chapter is a definite warning sign for me. The first chapter should present a compelling scene, not a road map for the rest of the book. The goal is to make the reader curious about your characters, fill their heads with questions that must be answered, not fill them in on exactly where, when, who and how.”
– Emily Sylvan Kim, Prospect Agency
“I hate reading purple prose – describing something so beautifully that has nothing to do with the actual story.”
– Cherry Weiner, Cherry Weiner Literary
“A cheesy hook drives me nuts. They say ‘Open with a hook!’ to grab the reader. That’s true, but there’s a fine line between an intriguing hook and one that’s just silly. An example of a silly hook would be opening with a line of overtly sexual dialogue.”
– Daniel Lazar, Writers House
“I don’t like an opening line that’s ‘My name is…,’ introducing the narrator to the reader so blatantly. There are far better ways in Chapter One to establish an instant connection between narrator and reader.”
– Michelle Andelman, Regal Literary
“Sometimes a reasonably good writer will create an interesting character and describe him in a compelling way, but then he’ll turn out to be some unimportant bit player.”
– Ellen Pepus, Signature Literary Agency
In romance
“In romance, I can’t stand this scenario: A woman is awakened to find a strange man in her bedroom — and then automatically finds him attractive. I’m sorry, but if I awoke to a strange man in my bedroom, I’d be reaching for a weapon — not admiring the view.”
– Kristin Nelson, Nelson Literary Agency
In a Christian novel
“A rape scene in a Christian novel in the first chapter.”
– Chip MacGregor, MacGregor Literary
Characters and backstory
“I don’t like descriptions of the characters where writers make them too perfect. Heroines (and heroes) who are described physically as being virtually unflawed come across as unrelatable and boring. No ‘flowing, wind-swept golden locks’; no ‘eyes as blue as the sky’; no ‘willowy, perfect figures.’ ”
– Laura Bradford, Bradford Literary Agency
“Many writers express the character’s backstory before they get to the plot. Good writers will go back and cut that stuff out and get right to the plot. The character’s backstory stays with them — it’s in their DNA.”
– Adam Chromy, Movable Type Management
“I’m turned off when a writer feels the need to fill in all the backstory before starting the story; a story that opens on the protagonist’s mental reflection of their situation is a red flag.”
– Stephany Evans, FinePrint Literary Management
“One of the biggest problems is the ‘information dump’ in the first few pages, where the author is trying to tell us everything we supposedly need to know to understand the story. Getting to know characters in a story is like getting to know people in real life. You find out their personality and details of their life over time.”
– Rachelle Gardner, Books & Such Literary
Chuck Sambuchino is a staffer at Writer’s Digest Books, best-selling humor book author, and freelance query/synopsis editor. He is the editor of the Guide to Literary Agents and the author of Create Your Writer Platform.