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Writing Powerful Emotion Beats in Fiction

Writing Powerful Emotion Beats in Fiction

An emotion beat is what makes the novel or short story distinctive—we can be inside a character, experiencing the emotion with her, and that makes the reading experience powerful. For it to work, the right emotion beats must be used in the right spots.

In Part 1 of my series 10 Keys to Writing Story Beats in Novels, I discussed the story beat, the beat sheet, and the pause or inaction beat. In Part 2 I discussed the action beat, the dialogue beat, and beat variation. In this post, with keys 7 through 10, I will discuss the emotion beat in depth.

Key 7: Use Emotion Beats to Connect Readers to the Characters

I heard someone say that we can’t really understand any of the people around us, and that is why we love reading. Only through reading can we can truly grasp the emotions, desires and perspective of someone other than ourselves. The emotion beat is what creates this connection between reader and character.

Writing Powerful Emotions in Fiction
Image by Kevin Conor Keller, Creative Commons License

There are four basic types of emotional beats:

1. Internal Physical Sensations

“I didn’t get the job,” said Russ.

Irene felt sick to her stomach. It was their last chance—they had needed that job desperately.

2. External Physical Sensations

“I didn’t get the job,” said Russ.

Suddenly, the warm air blowing from the heater felt too hot, stifling even. Irene opened the window, letting in the cold of winter.

3. Physical Actions (including hand gestures, facial expressions, and larger physical movements)

“I didn’t get the job,” said Russ.

Irene pressed her lips firmly together, trying not to say something she would regret later.

4. State the Emotion

“I didn’t get the job,” said Russ.

Irene was frustrated. He could’ve at least visited the company’s website before going into an interview. But as always, he insisted on doing it blind.

A great resource for physical sensations and actions that show emotions is the book The Emotion Thesaurus. You’ll notice that there is overlap between emotion beats and action beats; I’d categorize something as an emotional beat if conveying emotion is the most important function. Stating the character’s emotion should always be the last resort, though it can be used effectively.

Key 8: Use Emotion Beats that are Distinctive to your Story World or Character

The four basic types of emotional beats start to feel repetitive if that’s all you use in your story. Another type of emotional beat that’s extremely effective is using actions or thought patterns that are distinctive to your character or story world. A wizard in Harry Potter might reach for a wand or use magic in certain emotional states. A motorcycle rider may convey his emotions through how he rides his bike.

Motorcycles
Photo circa 1980s, via Seattle Municipal Archives, Creative Commons license

All sorts of things can become an emotional beat that is carried throughout your story: habits or tics or possessions. How you vary them will then create a powerful emotional reaction for you reader.

Dangerous by Shannon HaleThe superhero novel Dangerous by Shannon Hale is full of examples of emotional beats that are distinctive to the characters and the story world. The main character, Maisie, is half-Latina, and her cultural heritage impacts her emotional beats. Here Maisie is listening to her mother on the phone, and emotionally reacting to her words:

“Maisie, you haven’t been…contenta lately.” She used the Spanish word for content or happy, as if it were too stark, too uncomfortable to say it in English. I hadn’t realized that she’d noticed. “Are you now? How do you feel?”

This emotional beat is distinctive to Maisie, her relationship with her mother, and her cultural heritage.

One of the other characters in Dangerous, GT, often chews gum. The way he unwraps it or the way he chews it is a point of emotional control for GT, and so the description of his gum (or other taste metaphors) it is often used as an emotional beat in connection with his character.

At one point in the novel, GT is holding another Maisie’s father hostage. He has set demands for Maisie, and a time for when her father will be killed if she doesn’t agree. Maisie asks how she can know if GT will keep his word.

“You don’t know,” GT said, snapping on his gum as if we were chitchatting about the weather. “But you have no other choice. Two minutes, ten seconds.”

If at all possible, use emotional beats that are distinctive to your character and storyworld. It will make all the difference in your storytelling.

Key 9: Use Advanced Emotional Beats to Better Convey Your Character’s Feelings

In addition to beat distinctive to your character and story world, there are a handful of other advanced emotional beats that can powerfully convey feelings:

1. Setting: Use what your character notices about the setting to convey emotion.

Example of using a setting that parallels emotion:

“I didn’t get the job,” said Russ.

Irene forced her eyes away from him, out the window. The last leaf that had hung onto the tree all winter long fluttered to the ground.

2. Metaphor or Simile

Example of using a setting that contrasts emotion + a simile:

“I didn’t get the job,” said Russ.

Irene forced her eyes away from Russ, out the window. The green on the tree was oversaturated, like a poorly-made Technicolor film, mocking her with its cheeriness.

3. Mini Flashback

“I didn’t get the job,” said Russ.

Irene had known this could happen, yet his words still shook her, the way the doctor’s words had shook her when IVF had failed for the third time. She knew what would happen now—the sinking despair, the gradual recovery, and all the while the knowledge that this had been the last chance.

4. Mini Flashforward

“I didn’t get the job,” said Russ.

Irene looked at the floor. One of these days she would leave him, take her terry coat and walk right out the front door.

5. Surreal Images

“I didn’t get the job,” said Russ.

She had expected this, but that did not stop the rush of despair. The couch swallowed Irene whole.

Couch
Image by James Tworow, Creative Commons license

Using these techniques well will create a distinctive style and voice, in addition to conveying emotion. Of course if you overuse any one of these types it will probably backfire.

Here’s a passage from Darkness at Noon by Arthur Koestler that uses almost of almost all of these emotional beats. The main character has spent his life working for a totalitarian regime. Now he is a political prisoner for that same regime. Here is his emotional reaction when he finds out that one of the other prisoners has been tortured by steambath:

He lit his last cigarette and with a clear head began to work out the line to take when he would be brought up for cross-examination. He was filled by the same quiet and serene self-confidence as he had felt as a student before a particularly difficult examination. He called to memory every particular he knew about the subject “steambath.” He imagined the situation in detail and tried to analyse the physical sensations to be expected, in order to rid them of their uncanniness. The important thing was not to let oneself be caught unprepared. He now knew for certain that they would not succeed in doing so, any more than had the others over there; he knew he would not say anything he did not want to say. He only wished they would start soon.

His dream came to his mind: Richard and the old taxi-driver pursuing him, because they felt themselves cheated and betrayed by him.

I will pay my fare, he thought with an awkward smile.

Note: credit for coming up with these categories of emotion beats needs to go to author Janci Patterson, whose new book Everything’s Fine is an excellent example of emotion beats.

Key 10: When Something Important or Shocking Happens, Use a Complex Reaction Beat to Show the POV Character’s Interpretation of Events

Most of the time you can follow an action beat with another action beat, or a line of dialogue with another line of dialogue. Yet that’s not always enough.

If there’s an action beat or a dialogue beat that is shocking to the viewpoint character, then to take advantage of the moment we have to follow this with a fleshed out reaction beat, that includes a feeling/thought, a physical action, and speech. Otherwise something like this happens:

“I quit my job,” said Russ.

“I’m sure it will all work out,” said Irene.

We have no idea how Russ or Irene feel about the situation. This could be devastating to them. This could be an everyday thing. This could be the breaking point for Irene, yet she’s trying to put on a hopeful face. We have no idea, and because there aren’t any emotional beats, we feel disconnected from the characters. And if the dialogue or the action is truly shocking or important to the characters, a one sentence emotion beat is probably not enough.

Shocking action or dialogue must be followed by a series of beats that create the reaction—a standard way to do this is use a physical reaction beat, an emotion/thought reaction beat, and then a dialogue reaction beat.

“I quit my job,” said Russ.

Irene coughed her coffee out of her mouth, sending flecks of brown liquid across the table. She sucked in a deep breath, stood, and wiped off the table. Worry gripped her. This could not have happened at a worse time. Finally she found the courage to speak.

“I’m sure it will all work out,” said Irene, putting on a brave face.

We now understand this dialogue and what it means to the characters because a fleshed-out, complex reaction beat has been used.

Authors Janci Patterson and Heather Clark provide this formula for complex reaction beats:

Formula for Reaction Beats

In describing what he calls “Motivation-Reaction Units” Dwight V. Swain thinks the order should be reversed, with the feeling or thought coming before the physical reaction. (Also see Heather Clark’s and Janci Patterson’s posts on the subject.) Regardless of the order, if it’s a key emotional reaction, you probably need thought/feeling, action, dialogue, and potentially another powerful emotion beat.

In the classic novel Howards End by E. M. Forster, a character named Helen becomes engaged to a man, Mr. Wilcox, that she has only known for a few days. Her Aunt Juley goes to try to break off the engagement. Unfortunately she broaches the subject with the wrong Mr. Wilcox.

Reaction Beats from Howards End

Writing Exercises

Complex Reaction Beats Exercise

Here’s a passage of dialogue without any emotional reactions to accompany some rather big statements:

“I’m having a baby,” said Tessa. “You should’ve told me earlier,” said Mark. “Would it have made a difference?” asked Tessa.

Now rewrite this dialogue from Mark’s POV, with physical reactions and internal reactions.

“I’m having a baby,” said Tessa. (non-POV character)

[Write Mark’s physical reaction] [Write Mark’s internal feeling/reaction]

“You should’ve told me earlier,” said Mark. (POV character)

[Write Tessa’s physical reaction] [Write Mark’s interpretation of her reaction]

“Would it have made a difference?” Tessa asked.

If you need to, you can switch the order of the beats, sub out an emotional beat, or add additional emotional beats. My writing group did this exercise and came up with a wide variety of reactions for the characters.

Beat Mania Exercise

Take the line of dialogue “It won’t be ready in time.” (Or you can choose a sentence from one of your stories.)

Now write ten different possible emotional beats, using each type of emotion beat discussed in this post:

  1. Internal Physical Sensations
  2. External Physical Sensations
  3. Physical Action
  4. State the Emotion
  5. Emotion Beat Particular to Character/Story World
  6. Setting-related Emotion Beat
  7. Metaphor or Simile
  8. Mini-Flashback
  9. Mini-Flashforward
  10. Surreal Imagery

(This should turn out like the “I didn’t get the job” example used throughout this blog post.)

Of your results, which emotion beat do you like best and why?

Revision

Print out several pages from your novel. Highlight and label each of your beats (physical sensation, setting, flashback, stating the emotion, internal sensation, physical action, etc). Are you doing all one type? Ignoring one type altogether? Skipping places that need beats? Now that you’ve analyzed, revise!

Check out my new novel!

If you enjoyed this post, please consider learning about my new spy novel, The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet, coming in April 2021 from Tule Publishing.

The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet: Coming Spring 2021

Read More:

10 Keys to Writing Story Beats in Novels

Action Beats Dialogue Beats & Beat Variation

10 Keys to Writing Dialogue in Fiction

Original drumming at the beach image by Jason Turgeon, Creative Commons license

Action Beats, Dialogue Beats and Beat Variation

Action Beats Dialogue Beats & Beat Variation

In Part 1 of my series 10 Keys to Writing Story Beats in Novels, I discussed the story beat, the beat sheet, and the pause or inaction beat. In this post I will go in depth on action beats, integrating dialogue and action beats, and the importance of beat variation.

Key 4: Use Action Beats to Forward the Story

Action is movement, the process of doing something, often with a goal or aim in mind. Action is core to having a plot or building a novel. Action beats are born from character desires. (For a great article on character desires and roles, read The Prism of Roles by Sarah Blake Johnson.)

Here is a list of 10 major types of action beats or, to extend the metaphor from my first post, action molecules. This list is not meant to be comprehensive, but rather provides a way to start thinking about how action beats work. Examples of each action beat are taken from the first scene of Brandon Sanderson’s epic fantasy novel, The Way of Kings. Following the list is an example of multiple types of action beats from a short story with a contemporary, realistic setting.

  1. The Summary Action Beat: while everyone says “show don’t tell,” there are times when it is appropriate to tell or summarize. We don’t need to see every moment of breakfast, unless it’s essential to the plot or to character development.
    “He rounded the creature, picking his way more carefully across the battlefield.”
  2. The Habitual or Recurring Action Beat: similar to the summary action beat, the description of an action that occurs multiple times.
    “Taln had a tendency to choose seemingly hopeless fights and win them. He also had a tendency to die in the process. He would be back now, in the place where they went between desolations. The place of nightmares.”
  3. The Long Shot or Extreme Long Shot Action Beat: borrowing a term from cinematography, this is the big picture view of the overall action. This can overlap with a setting beat but action should be occurring.
    “Many of the bodies around him were human; many were not.”
  4. The Medium Shot Action Beat: the standard view on action, focusing on the action of one or two characters.
    “The figure in white and blue glanced toward him.”
  5. The Close-Up or Extreme Close-Up Action Beat: a very close shot of a character’s action, such as a tear rolling down a cheek.
    “Kalak frowned as he stepped up to the base of the spire.”
    Basic Cinematography Shots
    This is a chart of basic cinematography shots. Any of these shots could be used as a metaphor for different types of action beats.
  6. The Flashback Action Beat: this refers to an action that is not physically present, but that occurred in the past.
    “As always, the ten of them had decided upon it before the battle.”
  7. The Future Action Beat: an action that will happen in the future.
    “The survivors would make their way here.”
  8. The Sensory Action Beat: action that focuses on the senses, or the lens through which the character is noticing the action (seeing, feeling, hearing, tasting, smelling). Thus, the focus of this action beat is on the POV character’s body and experience as a lens for the outside action.
    “Though none of the bodies around him stirred, an indistinct haze of sounds hung in the air. Moans of pain, cries of grief. They did not seem like the sounds of victory.”
  9. The Internal Action Beat: an action beat of something that occurs within the main character’s body (i.e. teeth chattering, stomach clenching).
    “Even after all these centuries, seeing a thunderclast up close made Kalak shiver.”
  10. The Mental Action Beat: A decision or the process of thinking can be an action itself, We’re most likely to see this action if it’s the point of view character doing the thinking.
    “What if he just decided…not to go? Perilous thoughts, perhaps traitorous thoughts. He hastened on his way.”

You can see Pulitzer-prize winning author Jhumpa Lahiri seamlessly mix different types of action beats in her short story, “Unaccustomed Earth”:

Action Beats in Jhumpa Lahiri

Key 5: Integrate Dialogue and Action Beats Together

Dialogue beats and action beats go hand in hand. Often characters use their bodies while speaking. Sometimes physical actions aren’t essential to the words characters are speaking, or can be left implied. At other times it’s useful to weave dialogue and action beats together, which allows them to build on each other.

An easy way to integrate dialogue and action beats is to use an action beat instead of a dialogue tag. For example,

“I didn’t want to,” said Lil. “It just happened.”

becomes

“I didn’t want to.” Lil dropped her cigarette on the pavement. “It just happened.”

4 - Descriptive Dialogue Beats
If I were to turn this photo into a scene, the small, physical actions of the characters would be just as important as their dialogue. (Photo by Pedro Ribeiro Simões, Creative Commons license.)

A great example of integrating dialogue beats with both action beats and pause beats comes from Ray Bradbury, in Fahrenheit 451:

Montag stopped at the door, with his back turned. “Millie?”

A silence. “What?”

“Millie? Does the White Clown love you?”

No answer.

“Millie, does—” He licked his lips. “Does your ‘family’ love you, love you very much, love you with all their heart and soul, Millie?”

The writing here is so brilliant – the licking of the lips sends a shiver down my spine, and I know exactly how the character is saying his lines.

Side note before we move on: I’ve written more about dialogue beats in my post 10 Keys to Writing Dialogue in Fiction.

Key 6: Vary Your Beats

If you have too many of one type of beat in a row, you risk boring your reader. This is especially true of setting beats and dialogue beats. Variation (while maintaining your writing style) is key to keeping your reader hooked.

Variation
Image by Lynn (Gracie’s Mom), Creative Common license

Using setting beats requires description, and description automatically halts the forward pace of the novel. Older novels like Lord of the Rings could get away with pages of description with no character action, but for the most part that won’t sell today. It’s better to choose a few key setting descriptions and intersperse them throughout action or dialogue. You can also describe setting without slowing the pace by having a character take action within the setting, talk while observing the setting, or have an emotional reaction to the setting.

Too many lines of dialogue from one character can also cause problems. Cynthia Whitcomb and Anne Warren Smith advocate the Three Beat Rule of Dialogue, arguing that you should at most have three sentences of dialogue before you interrupt that with an action beat or an emotion beat. They also recommend pruning down your dialogue to get it to three beats—often your characters can say something more powerfully in three sentences than they can in six.

Here’s an example from The Great Greene Heist of breaking up five beats of dialogue into smaller groupings with action beats in between:

jkt_9780545525527.indd“Look on the bright side—you can always join the Gamer Club.” Keith checked the time on his phone. “I have to go. Got a lot of planning to do between now and the election. Have to get my acceptance speech—I mean, my campaign speech—ready.” He slipped his phone into his pocket. “I would tell you to call my cell if you wanted to discuss this more, but I almost forgot—you aren’t allowed to carry one.” (50)

Of course, the Three Beat Rule has been broken a lot. Take this passage of dialogue by the character Clarisse, in Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451:

Fahrenheit 451“Sometimes I’m ancient. I’m afraid of children my own age. They kill each other. Did it always use to be that way? My uncle says no. Six of my friends have been shot in the last year alone. Ten of them died in car wrecks. I’m afraid of them and they don’t like me because I’m afraid. My uncle says his grandfather remembered when children didn’t kill each other. But that was a long time ago when they had things differently. They believed in responsibility, my uncle says. Do you know, I’m responsible. I was spanked when I needed it, years ago. And I do all the shopping and housecleaning by hand.”

This paragraph is just one portion of several pages during which Clarisse speaks, almost uninterrupted by any other sorts of beats. As Bradbury shows, you can break the three-beat rule of dialogue as long as the writing is good.

When it comes to action beats or emotion beats you don’t have to worry quite as much about overkill with too many beats in a row. Novels will often contain page after page of action beats, though you’ll notice that emotion beats will need to be inserted regularly, or the reader stops caring about the action. Conversely, you can have a number of emotion beats following each other—taking the reader in depth into your character’s psyche—but ultimately you’re going to need action beats to carry your reader forward.

See the third post in this series for an in-depth look at emotion beats.

Writing Exercises

Woman Stretching
Image by Glen Scott, Creative Commons license

Action Beats Exercise

Write one paragraph in which a character takes a trip to the grocery store. Use just ONE type of action beat (for example, only long-shot action beats, only extreme close-up action beats, or only future action beats).

Then write a new paragraph in which a character takes a trip to the grocery store. This time use as many different types of action beats as possible.

Dialogue Revision Exercise

Take a passage of your writing and try to apply the three beat rule, either by cutting lines or breaking up the dialogue with action or emotion beats.

Check out my new novel!

If you enjoyed this post, please consider learning about my new spy novel, The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet, coming in April 2021 from Tule Publishing.

The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet: Coming Spring 2021

Read More:

Part 1: Intro to Story Beats

10 Keys to Writing Story Beats in Novels

Part 3: Writing Powerful Emotion Beats

Writing Powerful Emotion Beats in Fiction

10 Keys to Writing Dialogue in Fiction

10 Keys to Writing Dialogue in Fiction

Original soccer image by Steven Damron, Creative Commons license

10 Keys to Writing Story Beats in Novels (with Exercises)

10 Keys to Writing Story Beats in NovelsKey 1: A Story Beat is the Smallest Unit in Fiction

The definition: A beat is the smallest story unit in fiction. Individual words are like atoms. Story beats are the molecules, the real building blocks of the story world. There are different categories or types of story beats including a line of dialogue, a moment of action, a moment of reaction, a moment of inaction, a visual image, an emotion, a setting, a theme, or an instance of meta-storytelling.

A beat is often a sentence long, though sometimes it will be half a sentence or two to three sentences.

A group of beats together builds a scene; a group of scenes builds a chapter; a group of chapters builds a novel. But if the beats aren’t working right, the novel will crumble.

moleculesA metaphorical depiction of molecules, from The Golden Book Encyclopedia, 1959. Image Credit: cori kindred, Creative Commons license

We use story beats naturally, but when we analyze them consciously it allows us to improve them. For example, dialogue beats often follow each other, and if we just have a series of dialogue beats it speeds up the pace of the scene. It’s also useful to interrupt a series of dialogue beats with an emotion beat or an action beat, and sometimes doing so isn’t optional, or we will lose or frustrate our readers.

I’ve tried to create a comprehensive, yet in-depth look at beats in this three-part blog post series. Each blog post includes several writing exercises.

Part 1: Intro to Story Beats (this post)

  • Key 1: defining a story beat
  • Key 2: the beat sheet.
  • Key 3: the pause or inaction beat.
  • 2 Writing Exercises

Part 2: Action Beats, Dialogue Beats, and Beat Variation

Action Beats Dialogue Beats & Beat Variation

  • Key 4: in-depth on action beats.
  • Key 5: integrating dialogue and action beats.
  • Key 6: varying your beats (and the three beat rule).
  • 2 Writing Exercises

Part 3: Emotion Story Beats

Writing Powerful Emotion Beats in Fiction

  • Key 7: using emotion beats to connect your reader to the character.
  • Key 8: using emotion beats that are distinctive to your story world or character.
  • Key 9: advanced emotion beats.
  • Key 10: complex reaction beats.
  • 3 Writing Exercises

Key 2: Use a Beat Sheet to Outline your Story

What is a Beat Sheet? A beat sheet is a sort of outline or sequencing of your story, using a list or bullet points. The term is used primarily in screenwriting that has been borrowed by novelists.

Save the CatYou can think about a beat sheet as your story skeleton. The beats referred to in the beat sheet are actually bigger-picture than the beats I’m discussing in this blog post. If you’re interested in creating a beat sheet, I strongly recommend the Save the Cat. The book focuses on screenwriting, but it works great for novel structure as well. Another useful resource is novelist Dan Wells’ seven point plot structure, which you can view in a series of youtube videos.

Key 3: Incorporate the Pause or Inaction Beat to Imitate Life, Build Tension, and Give Reaction Space to your Reader

As writers, we want our characters to always be doing things. Yet sometimes a pause can be powerful, or is the natural reaction of a character.

There’s a great example in The Life of Pi by Yann Martel. The main character, a young Indian boy named Piscine (nicknamed Pi), decides that he wants to be Christian, Muslim, and Hindu. As luck would have it, all three of his religious leaders run into Pi and his parents at the same time.

Pause beats are used masterfully throughout the passage:

The Life of Pi

        After the “Hellos” and the “Good days”, there was an awkward silence. The priest broke it when he said, with pride in his voice, “Piscine is a good Christian boy. I hope to see him join our choir soon.”
        My parents, the pandit and the imam looked surprised.
       “You must be mistaken. He’s a good Muslim boy. He comes without fail to Friday prayer, and his knowledge of the Holy Qur’an is coming along nicely.” So said the imam.
       My parents, the priest and the pandit looked incredulous.
       The pandit spoke. “You’re both wrong. He’s a good Hindu boy. I see him all the time at the temple coming for darshan and performing puja.”
       My parents, the imam and the priest looked astounded.
       “There is no mistake,” said the priest. “I know this boy. He is Piscine Molitor Patel and he’s a Christian.”
       “I know him too, and I tell you he’s a Muslim,” asserted the imam.
       “Nonsense!” cried the pandit. “Piscine was born a Hindu, lives a Hindu and will die a Hindu!”
       The three wise men stared at each other, breathless and disbelieving.
       Lord, avert their eyes from me, I whispered in my soul.
       All eyes fell upon me.
 

The intensity increases throughout the passage with each pause. Sometimes conflict in dialogue occurs at a machine gun pace, but often it’s in little spurts, with pauses in between.

The most common type of pause is actually the use of a dialogue tag. Now admittedly, a lot of dialogue tags aren’t actual pauses—they’re just orienting the reader, telling us who is speaking. Yet sometimes dialogue tags are used to create a short pause, a short beat for either the characters or the reader, simply by where they are placed.

For example, take The Great Greene Heist by Varian Johnson. It’s an awesome heist/political intrigue novel set in middle school:

“Maybe I should talk to Carmen,” Keith said. “Persuade her to change her mind.”
“Or maybe you should just let it go,” Wilton said. “With Kelsey on your side, there’s no way Gaby can win.”

Here the dialogue tags are performing their basic function: letting us know the speaker. Yet both tags also create a pause. In part this imitates the natural pauses in human speech. By adding a dialogue tag, it implies a longer pause than a period would create. In the above example, both pauses show a progression of thought, and add emphasis to key parts of the dialogue.

Exercises

Exercises
Image by Tommy Wong, Creative Commons license

Exercise 1: Pauses

Write a dialogue between two characters (your own or someone else’s) where the pauses are as important as what is said.

Exercise 2: Analyze a Scene

Choose a scene from one of your favorite books and analyze how the author uses beats. Does she use lots of action beats? Do they always follow dialogue with emotion beats? When are setting beats used and to what effect? Etc.

Check out my new novel!

If you enjoyed this post, please consider learning about my new spy novel, The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet, coming in April 2021 from Tule Publishing.

The Secret Life of Miss Mary Bennet: Coming Spring 2021

Read More:

Part 2: Action Beats, Dialogue Beats, and Beat Variation (Keys 4-6)

Action Beats Dialogue Beats & Beat Variation

Part 3: Emotion Story Beats (Keys 7-10)

Writing Powerful Emotion Beats in Fiction

10 Keys to Writing Dialogue in Fiction

10 Keys to Writing Dialogue in Fiction

Original paragliding image by Dorin Paslaru, Creative Commons license
 
 

I Am Not a Writer

I Am Not a Writer essayThis essay received second place in the BYU Studies 2013 Essay Contest. Original image of typewriter by Bernard Walker via flickr, Creative Commons license. 

I Am Not a Writer

“For when you become a writer!” read the note on the most expensive pen I had ever touched, a pen I would never consider buying for myself. The pen was a gift that I received on my seventeenth birthday.

A year and a half later, I decided that if I wanted to be a writer, I needed to write. I found a pretty notebook. I removed the pen from its soft, velvety case. I took off the cap. And I began to write, using the conveniently simple subject predicate structure I have so masterfully demonstrated in this paragraph.

Several hundred wretched words about a frozen woman later, the pen exploded like a piece of dynamite placed on the track of an enemy train—Lawrence of Arabia or The Bridge on the River Kwai, you take your pick.

This was figuratively, mind you. Explode might be the wrong verb.

What actually happened is the ink coming out of the nib began to congeal. Picture curdled milk, the kind you get at a cheese factory. At the same time, ink began seeping through every crevice in the pen and spurting out the back of the pen onto my hands (which were dyed blue for a week) and my shirt (which was fated, as the cliché says, to never again see the light of day).

I considered it a sign. Not, of course, that it might be a bad thing to take a pen on multiple international flights with varying air pressure. Not, of course, that it might be a bad thing to expose a pen to extremes in temperature (from 12 to 105 degrees Fahrenheit, thank you very much). And not, of course, that the best way to maintain a pen is to use it. No, this was a sign that I am not a writer—I merely touch the writer’s pen and it explodes.

*****

A doctor doctors. An accountant counts. A cook cooks. A plumber plumbs. A teacher teaches. A seller sells. A detective detects. A joker jokes. A driver drives. An owner owns.

This is all very clear to me. Change an occupation noun into a verb, and you not only have alliteration, but you have direction, meaning, purpose for those seconds that turn into minutes that turn into hours that turn into days.

So it should be clear to me that a writer writes. But it is not.

Saying a writer writes is like saying a lady-in-waiting waits. A pianist pians. A surgeon surges. A cobbler cobbs (or cobbles?). A physicist physics. A psychic psyches. A pastor pastes.

If I happen to paste one thing to another, I am not a pastor. If I happen to write a word, a phrase, a sentence, I am not a writer.

After all, an accountant takes a test. A certification. He gets paid for what he does. Others entrust him with money—before he has even performed a task. He goes to work for eight hours—or perhaps for ten or twelve, if he is young and inexperienced or seeks a promotion or is unattached to his wife or finds a thrill in the long hours.

There are no promotions for writers. No movement from assistant writer to writer to special writer to official and true writer. Yes, traditionally poet laureates and others received patronage—a place in the royal household, money, food, and wine—as long as they turned out the proper poems for the proper occasions, they could write as they liked. Universities provide a similar patronage today: teach our students, publish in these journals, fulfill other commitments to the university, and you’ll probably have time to write at least a little of what you want. At least you won’t have to take a second day job.

But having a bit of time and energy to devote to writing just never feels like enough.

To say, “I am a writer,” is to invite the gnawing worm of self doubt. I picture the squirming creature from Star Trek’s The Wrath of Khan: placed in the ear, the eel drills into the skull, controlling and feeding off of the brain, ultimately leading to the death of the individual. This parasitic invertebrate whispers, you are not a writer. That’s a bad idea. You don’t have anything worth saying. No one cares what you have to say—no one even read what you wrote. You don’t have a divine Muse tucked in your pocket or sitting on your shawl, and if you ever did see one of those nine Greek goddesses you probably wouldn’t recognize her.

While having a self doubt parasite nest in your brain is bad enough, perhaps the most trying part is the sense that you have not arrived. You are not truly a writer until you can quit your day job. Until you finish or publish or find an agent or sell that next novel. Until that revision squeezes every last bit of pulp out of your ideas and makes it palpable in words. Until you master the sonnet, the villanelle, the essay, the memoir, the revolutionary war fiction, the picture book, and, of course, the paranormal romance. Until you write that work of creative nonfiction that not only makes the New York Times bestseller list but can make your readers laugh and cry at your profound themes and clever sentences. Until you, like Walt Whitman, revise Leaves of Grass “just one more time”—for surely this publication you will get it right.

To win $200 in a contest is not enough. To write and revise a hundred page honors thesis—and then to fruitlessly check, every six months, to see if someone, anyone, has checked it out from the university library—is clearly not enough. To tell the 60 college students who signed up for my writing classes that they were writers and to teach them rhetoric and MLA and structure and transitions and style was not enough. I always believed that my students were writers—that they could write with power and purpose and make a difference in the world. But for some reason, I can never believe that for myself.

Yet surely it is sitting in an ivory tower to say, “I have not written everything I want to write, or had my writing do everything I would like it to do. Thus, I am not a writer.”

After all, it would be strange to hear a chef exclaim, “I am not a cook! I have not yet cooked a Turkducken.” (I have never seen a Turkducken, so I am assuming—perhaps fallaciously—that most chefs have never attempted stuffing a chicken into a duck and then stuffing that duck into a turkey.) Or perhaps our chef has cooked a Turkducken, but something went wrong. Perhaps she ended up with turkey skin, duck wings, chicken breasts, and stuffing splattered, unceremoniously, all over the wall. Perhaps she will not admit that she has cooked—using the concept liberally—a Turkducken. But she is still a chef. I would not take that title from her.

I am now able to say that I am a mother, something my running, talking daughters can attest to. Whether I’m terrible or great, as soon as my first child emerged from my womb, I officially donned that title. I want to be a great mother. I want to be always loving and always caring and always cheerful and always giving good advice. Whether or not I always succeed—as long as I don’t fail miserably, to the despair of local social workers—I will still deserve the title of mother.

So perhaps I am a writer. I have good intentions. I give birth to ideas. I try to nurture them, help them grow and develop. And then I dress them and send them out the door and into the world. Is that not what writing is?

*****

When a doctor errs, a patient dies, takes a while to heal, or goes to a different doctor to get the prescription she really wants. A pianist misses a crucial chord at her concerto or doesn’t sell enough CDs and has to teach rich, uninterested children to play. The cobbler misplaces an important stitch on a shoe or loses a button, realizing later that night he has not truly sold the service his customer paid for. Or his profession slowly disappears because no one in their right mind would pay to repair cheap, mass-produced, 12-sizes-fit-all Payless shoes. The detective leaves yet another murder unsolved, knowing her adventures will never be featured on a TV crime show.

What happens when a writer errs? A manuscript collects dust. An idea fails. Or perhaps your writing hurts someone or has unforeseen repercussions, sending a reader into depression or straining a relationship with a family member. Perhaps you sell out on yourself or your masterpiece of words becomes the propaganda tool of a future political tyrant. Or you die lonely and alone. The consequences seem dire. Yet still doctors doctor, pianists pian, cobblers cobble, and detectives detect. Writers write. We all dream, we all live, we all die, and perhaps our dreams aren’t fully realized. But they’re still worth dreaming.

In a sense, no matter what we do or how we define ourselves, we are essayists. For an essayist assays—attempts. Attempts to make meaning, attempts to find answers. Attempts to lift up a stone and look at it anew.

In third grade I learned a game from my red-haired teacher Mrs. Spritzer (who reminded me of Ms. Frizzle from The Magic School Bus).  Mrs. Spritzer had a bucket of random items—often broken parts of toys or scraps of things, perhaps recognizable for their origins, but not always. We would sit in a large circle, and some lucky person (I’m sure I would remember if it had ever been me) would get to pull an item from the bucket. Then, the item would be passed around the circle, and each person would be required to transform it. You could make it bigger or smaller, change the color, add something to it. You could also piggyback off of someone else’s idea, as long as the result was not exactly the same.

A pen cap might be enlarged into a giant rolling pipe for the playground, or be stretched into a powerful telescope that can see across the galaxy. A paper clip becomes a fishhook, a nose-picker, a modern metallic picture frame. A fuzzy piece of fabric transforms and we discover an Eskimo’s blanket, a pouch for mama’s wedding ring, soft padding for an old-fashioned, jingle-bell sleigh ride. There was no final answer, no final conclusion: simply a sharing of the journey your mind took from object A to object B.

It seems to me that this is the attitude of the writer. To read the world, as Roland Barthes would say, in a writerly way, as a text that is not complete, requiring my contributions, my interpretation, my meaning-making, my pen to be made whole. A writerly person gets up in the morning ready and willing to act: she isn’t simply acted upon.

In kindergarten I was disturbed by the story of Icarus. A little boy dies, after all—and simply for doing something that seems so wonderful: flying freely through the air. Perhaps the lesson is a good one for a child. Taken to an extreme, any action or desire can be a bad thing. Fly too high, and you will die. Ride your bicycle too fast, and you will fall and scrape your knee. Get too close to the stove, and you’ll get burnt. Eat too loudly, play too wildly, act too freely, and there will be consequences. These might, as was the case for our mechanically-feathered friend, be irreversible.

While from a logical perspective the Icarus myth is rather true to life, it continued to nag at my mind. Months later, without intentionally creating a palimpsest, a rewriting, I wrote my own story, “The Turtle That Got Too Close to the Sun.” Meet turtle, a standard green ectotherm. One day, he’s walking through the trees, and sees a pink balloon. He jumps (yes, jumps) on the pink balloon, and it carries him away. He floats upward, past trees, upward, past mountains. And then the unthinkable happens—he gets too close to the sun. The pink balloon pops, and the turtle falls, falls, falls into the ocean. Luckily, like most turtles, our turtle friend can swim. He has not encountered the sun unchanged though; with the profound wisdom of a 5 year old I wrote, “Then the turtle was yellow. Then the turtle felt different.”

I want to be like turtle, because feeling different is a good thing. If anyone feels different because of my words, even if it’s just me, then my writing is doing something right. I want to experience the world in a writerly way, as something unfixed and still open to meaning-making, because if I do then my assays, my attempts, can create transformation. I can rescue Icarus and paint him yellow.

 

Kathy’s Rules for Writing, #17: On Angry Emails

Angry Face

Step 1

If you are angry, frustrated, or upset, write a nasty email. Let all your angst come out. Cry a little on the keyboard in frustration. Go beat up a pillow but don’t actually break things. Save your draft in which you tell everyone exactly what you think.

Step 1b (provided by my friend Jessica Brown):

Do not, under any circumstances, write in the recipient’s address on the angry email, lest the “send” button be accidentally pushed.

Step 2

Wait at least 30 minutes.

Step 3

Delete your email draft. Write a new email in which you considerately, objectively raise issues and an awareness of a problem. Reread to make sure no anger or frustration leaked through. Ask yourself: does this get out my anger, or will it help accomplish my real objectives? If it will help accomplish your real objectives, click send.

Not that I’ve been writing any angry emails lately…

 

Image Credit: Jared Wong with Creative Commons license