Bullet Journal: Becoming Intentional

I do something called Bullet Journaling. I’ve done it for several years as a way to stay organized. If you look this up and you’ve never heard of it before, you’ll probably be overwhelmed by how complicated it is.

But it only looks that way. Once you do it for a few months, you start to see how simple and beautiful the system is.

The word “journal” is a bit confusing. It’s not a place where I write my feelings or whatever. A bullet journal should be thought of more like a highly efficient planner designed to help you achieve large, unmanageable goals by breaking them into simple tasks.

I couldn’t imagine writing a novel without this method anymore.

What does this have to do with intention?

Intention is one of those concepts that got a bad reputation from New Age gurus of the 90’s. I can almost hear Deepak Chopra saying something like: “Set an intention for the day and it will be manifested.”

That’s not quite what I’m referring to. One of my favorite writers, Anne Dillard, wrote in The Writing Life:

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim.

The concept is so obvious that it’s easy to forget. We often think that as long as we have long-term plans and goals, the meaningless tasks of the everyday don’t really get in the way. But, without intention, your days will fill with these tasks and activities, and then, all of a sudden, you’ve spent a whole life that can’t be gotten back doing essentially nothing you consider valuable.

Okay, so we can answer the question now. Intention, to me, is simply taking stock of the way in which you spend your day, so that you end up spending your life the way you intend.

This is why I opened with talking about the Bullet Journal method. The design of that system forces you to rethink what’s important on a day-to-day, month-to-month, and year-to-year basis.

It has you “migrate” tasks. When you do this, you ask yourself: is this vital? Is this important? Why?

If the answers are: no, no, I don’t know, then you remove it from your life. Don’t overthink it. As soon as you start making excuses, you start filling your life with stuff that doesn’t matter to you. This means you’re committing to living a life that isn’t meaningful to you.

Make sure you’re intentional about how you fill your day.

Let’s take a simple example. Maybe you’ve always wanted to learn to play the piano, but you’re too busy. Somehow the day just gets away from you. In your daily log, start tracking an hourly log to find out if you’re doing things that aren’t intentional.

You have some Twitter feeds that focus your news articles. This was meant to save time in the beginning. But now you realize a bad habit has formed where you go down the comments rabbit hole and the trending topics and on and on. The first hour of your day is shot, you’re filled with rage, and you haven’t even read any actual news articles yet.

You relax with some Netflix at night. But you started that one series that everyone loves. You just don’t get it. It adds no value to your life. But you keep going, because you might as well finish it now that you’ve started it.

And there was that time you wanted to know how hard it would be to make French Onion Soup from scratch, so you looked up a Youtube video on it. The sidebar recommended Binging with Babish and Alex French Guy Cooking and French Cooking Academy (all excellent, by the way).

All of a sudden, you’re subscribed to a dozen great cooking channels giving you hours of video every week. You feel compelled to at least watch a few, because, hey, you subscribed. There’s like, some sort of obligation there, right?

Maybe that last one wasn’t you (hint: it was me).

But you get the point.

Little things become habits really fast. Habits expand to fill those gaps in your day. If you were to ever stop and take stock of this, you’d find several hours a day you could have been learning piano. That Netflix series alone commits you to 60 meaningless hours of your life: gone forever. Sixty hours can get you through the beginner stage—easily.

Ask yourself, was that worth it? In twenty years, will you think it was worth it when you still haven’t even sat down at the piano, and now it feels too late? (It’s not too late; this is just another excuse.)

And maybe you’re thinking: but turning my brain off after a stressful day, watching something I don’t care about is exactly what I need to sleep better. Getting frustrated learning the fingering of a B-flat scale is the opposite of relaxing (seriously, that’s a messed up scale compared to literally all the others).

Great! You’ve answered the why. The Netflix series has value to you. You’re doing it with intention. Don’t cross that off your list. Maybe it’s that Twitter hour in the morning you can cut back on. Maybe right now isn’t the time to learn an instrument, and that’s okay, too.

Intention is what matters.

I’m not advocating everyone use this method.

This was actually just an extremely long-winded introduction to say I’m getting intentional about a few things I haven’t questioned for a while.

Every year, I put up a Goodreads tracker on the blog to show my progress on reading 52 books a year. For something like five years, I’ve read 60+ books a year. As a young, immature writer, this was hugely important.

As I learned about prose style, genre conventions, story structure, characterization, dialogue, etc, I was constantly testing it against a huge variety of books. I saw people who followed convention, people who didn’t, if it worked, and why.

In other words, when I started this practice, it was extremely useful. It had value to me. I did it with intention.

Recently, I’ve re-evaluated this practice. I’m getting rid of it. At this point, I find myself stressing about reading books I don’t enjoy just to check off an arbitrary counter. I’m obviously going to still read, but it will be more intentionally chosen and at whatever pace fits that book.

And let’s face it. I’ll probably still get through 40+ books a year. I’m just not going to have the stress associated with it anymore.

I get that I’m being a bit hypocritical or even egotistical with this, because I will continue to recommend other writers do the high volume method. I think most writers greatly undervalue the process of critical reading for the improvement of their writing. Quantity trumps quality until you reach a certain threshold.

Another intentional practice was mentioned in this post. I’m cutting out forced blog posts and only doing ones that I think add true value to the blog: no more stressing about “Examining Pro’s Prose” or “Found Clunkers.” All of my most read and liked posts were one-off things I was inspired to write anyway.

I’ll also use this time to announce next year’s reading series. I’m still getting value from the “Year of…” series, because I’m focusing on and learning about a very specific thing when doing it.

Ironically, in honor of intentional reading, I’m going to do the “Year of Required Reading.” I want to revisit some books I was required to read in high school and see what I think of them now. I also want to read some books required of students that I didn’t read to see if these modern additions are good ones.

I think it will be a fun series, though it might cause some comments from concerned parents if I think a required book just doesn’t live up to the hype.

So far I’ve only decided on To Kill a Mockingbird and something by Steinbeck (leaning toward Of Mice and Men but could be convinced to do The Grapes of Wrath with argument).

I’ve gotten intentional about a few other personal things that don’t need to be discussed here. But I thought I’d give a bit more explanation about some of the changes.

For those curious, here’s an overview of the Bullet Journal Method:

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Year of Mysteries, Part 9: The Name of the Rose

I’m honestly a bit shocked at how resistant I’ve been to this book the whole year. I knew it would be “hard,” so I kept putting it off. But I love Infinite Jest and Gravity’s Rainbow and a bunch of hard books.

This book has a reputation it doesn’t deserve. I didn’t think it was hard at all in the same way those other ones are. It’s actually written in a very similar way to the way I write. There are so many interesting layers to this book that it will be hard to discuss the “mystery novel” aspect, because that was only one piece (and kind of the least interesting).

Early on, we get one of my favorite characters. He can’t speak any known language, but he’s lived in so many places that he’s developed his own. It takes from all the common languages and merges into a strange thing anyone can understand.

Eco doesn’t do this in the abstract, either. The speech is written out fully. This character is a synechdoche for the book itself. The Name of the Rose isn’t a historical work or pure fiction or a mystery novel or postmodernist metafiction or theology. It draws on a bunch of sources and amalgamates them to a strange hybrid a reader from any of these backgrounds could appreciate on a different level.

Eco doesn’t hide the pieces. They are all in plain sight through the characters. We have Jorge de Burgos representing Jorge Luis Borges. We get William of Baskerville representing Sherlock Holmes. And the title itself is obviously a reference to Romeo and Juliet.

…Or is it? Eco actually tells us the true inspiration is a Latin verse by a Benedictine monk named Bernard of Cluny. Since Eco was a semiotician, I have to believe he also had Wittgenstein in the back of his head, too.

What is the mystery?

The narrator travels to a monastery, and upon arrival there is a mysterious death of one of the monks. He appears to have thrown himself from the window of a library. Over the next few days, many more deaths occur.

This occupies the main narrative momentum, but I basically want to not discuss this further. Anyone who reads this book for the mystery is in for a shock. Let’s get back to the references.

Everyone sees some of the obvious Borges references here from his famous stories. But if you’ve read Labyrinths, you might start to think every single story in the collection gets referenced.

Much of the early part of The Name of the Rose has to do with navigating a complicated labyrinth (Labyrinths, The Garden of Forking Paths) to get to the library (The Library of Babel). They must crack a code (Death and the Compass, The God’s Script). They speak theology to each other (The Theologeans, The Three Versions of Judas). Issues of authorship with the narrator (Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote). Strange language spoken by the characters (Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius).

I think I’ve made my point. It’s not just “The Library of Babel,” like many people believe. It’s almost a transformation of the themes of the full collection of stories into a novel.

Another fascinating, easy to overlook aspect of the book is the chapter summary at the start of each chapter. At first, I thought they were mere summaries. But they got long and weird and pretty humorous as they went on.

Most people probably skip them thinking they offer nothing but a summary. Here’s one:

In which, though the chapter is short, old Alinardo says very interesting things about the labyrinth and about the way to enter it.

It doesn’t say much, but it teaches you something important: these summaries will provide commentary in addition to the summary. Here’s another:

In which the labyrinth is finally broached, and the intruders have strange visions and, as happens in labyrinths, lose their way.

If these were just summaries it shouldn’t provide commentary on the length of the chapter or how “interesting” a certain conversation is or remark “as happens in labyrinths.” I grew to love these summaries as much as the chapters themselves.

I’m not sure what else to say. I’m excited to re-read this. I think it will be as exciting as the first time through as I catch more and more references and understand the themes better.

I must caution that this is absolutely not for everyone, but if you find any of this post interesting, I can’t recommend this book enough. It is brilliant and well-deserved of the praise it has received over the years.

Let’s Get Experimental

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Photo by Steve Johnson on Pexels.com

I’ve been thinking a lot about what to do on this blog. I’m not thrilled about “book reviews,” not that I do those often, because there are a million reviews out there for every single book. No matter how good mine are, they won’t add much to that noise.

I’m also not thrilled with the “writing advice” type of posts. Again, there’s a million articles saying exactly the same types of things I say.

Back in July, I wrote something called Maybe Infinite Jest is About Addiction. It was an experimental piece of writing. It was part essay, part narrative, part literary criticism, part fiction, part nonfiction, part writing exercise in imitating DFW’s style, part philosophy, etc.

It’s not very easy to describe. The point was to have each piece reinforce the other bits.

It took everything I had to bite my tongue when people seemed to think it was just an essay trying to make the straightforward argument that Infinite Jest is about addiction. I still don’t want to overly describe it, but I think it’s fair to say, pretty much everyone missed the point.

(Like, did people really think I was consuming Infinite Jest everyday just like an addict and obsessing over its meaning just like the characters did with The Entertainment, and even waking up with withdrawal symptoms in an increasingly frantic narrative voice despite it being a written essay?)

Anyway, that was partly my own fault. I haven’t really done stuff like that on this blog. It’s also the type of thing I like doing more than the other stuff. It feels valuable and creative in a way the other stuff doesn’t. It adds something to the blogosphere you can’t find in a million other places.

It also feels somewhat particular to this medium in the sense that book reviews and writing advice is so much easier to digest through a Youtube video or podcast. Video and audio have cornered the book review/writing advice market.

Experimental essays that dive into social commentary and philosophy and literary criticism are better suited to the written word, in my opinion. Being, you know, essays.

What I’m trying to say is that I want to cut back on writing a post every X days by riffing on a poorly constructed sentence just because that’s all I could come up with. Instead, I want to focus more on these harder to produce, more creative posts that are unique to me.

I will keep doing the “Year of …” series, because I’m pretty excited for the one I have planned next year (and The Name of the Rose is pretty great). I also expect to keep doing some book reviews and writing advice things and random things that pop up. I’m just not going to force it.

Good luck!

Are the Self-Publishing Gurus Out of Touch?

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Let me start by saying that I appreciate all the free content people in the self-publishing world put out. It’s quite generous and high quality. There must be ten or more hours of podcasts each week that come to my phone, not to mention blog posts and youtube and e-mails. That’s just me, meaning it’s only a small fraction of what’s actually produced.

If you wanted to be a student of this stuff, you’d have more class time than a full-time college student with no breaks for summer or winter. And there’s so much to learn that it could probably fill an entire major for a college student.

So, thank you to all those content providers.

That being said, I have two theories I’d like to present.

I’m going to call these people “gurus.” You either know who they are or don’t, but I don’t want to name names (google “podcasts for writers” or something if you really don’t know).

Every person I have in mind left their job at some point to be a full-time self-published writer. I think each of them makes at least six figures. This happened years ago for each of them.

Also, each of them has a “thing” they attribute it to: cover design that perfectly fits the genre, great copywriting on the product description, Amazon keywords and categories, Amazon marketing, Facebook marketing, writing to market, price surging, box sets, e-mail auto-responders, mailing list magnets, promotion services, etc.

Note, I’m not saying they push a well-rounded approach to improving each of the above; I’m saying their entire shtick is that once you get that one thing right, you will take off and have huge success.

This seems weird and crazy, so why would they, at least nominally, believe this? The cynical theory would be that they wanted to corner a niche in the market, so they figured this one thing out and pushed it hard as the expert.

I don’t believe this. I think there’s a much more obvious explanation. Like almost all successful authors, they started to gain traction, little by little. They were experimenting with all the above techniques to see if anything could get them a little edge.

As Gladwell explains in The Tipping Point, they just hit a critical mass of followers and readers at some point. This caused them to shoot from obscurity into prominence.

Human brains being what they are, these writers then attributed their success to the most recent major change they made rather than a natural progression to a tipping point. This is how we get people who are convinced you only need to get that one thing right to get success.

And this is fine as long as you don’t take that claim seriously when listening to them. The advice they give on that one thing is going to be pretty solid and useful. It will help keep you crawling upward toward your own tipping point.

I do think some people get frustrated when they work really hard at that one thing, and they only see marginal gains despite doing everything right.

Here’s my second theory based on the first theory. The gurus out there with the biggest platform have been wildly successful for years, and this actually makes them a bit out of touch with how things really are.

My theory is that they could launch a book to number one in their category by doing none of the advice they give: no ads, no pre-release, no notification of the mailing list, a sloppy and vague product description, a less-than-stellar cover, etc.

They have so many followers that news would spread of their release, and it would make thousands of dollars in the first month and be an Amazon bestseller.

If I’m correct about this, that means they actually have no idea if the advice they’re giving is correct. Don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not saying their advice is incorrect (quite the opposite)—but it’s just a fact of their prominence that they can’t know how much of an effect their advice has anymore.

I’m not sure if there’s much of a point to this post. I guess it’s that you shouldn’t put too much stock in any one thing you hear about self-publishing. Success is going to be a slow growth attributed to hundreds of things.

Writing a better product description might get you five more sales. Improving the cover: five more. An experiment with AMS ads: five more. Suddenly, these have added up to enough that you snatch a true fan that leaves a glowing review.

This review converts to twenty more sales, and the new fan starts you one person further along on the next book.

So it’s all interconnected and not traceable to any one thing. After a bunch of books of doing this, you find yourself starting with a hundred fans buying it on launch day getting you to bestseller status and days of free advertising in your genre. These “organic” sales translate to new fans, etc.

That’s the tipping point. It can look like a sudden spike in success, but it’s not the most recent marketing trick you tried. It’s dozens of things synergizing to create the effect.

So, most of all, take everything the gurus say with a grain of salt and don’t be afraid to experiment with your own ideas. What worked for these gurus several years ago may not be working in today’s market or your genre. Or they might. You’ll have to be the judge of that.

Year of Mysteries, Part 8: The Last Place

Woops. I just realized the title of this series changed from “Year of Mystery Novels” to “Year of Mysteries” at Part 5. Sorry. I try to keep this consistent for searching purposes.

The main point of this series was to examine the mystery novel genre. There are people that read a few a week. There’s something about the genre that keeps people coming back.

I feel like my book choices to this point have basically avoided the “typical mystery.” Pretty much every book in this series is considered a “classic” or has been award winning. In other words, there’s nothing typical about them. Hundreds of new mystery novels come out every month, satisfying readers of the genre without the fancy prose of award-winners.

I went to my local used book store and went to the mystery section. I wanted to pick something at random to get a better feel for what a generic, contemporary mystery novel felt like.

This was a bit hard. The first few I picked up were classified as “suspense thrillers.” I wasn’t opposed to this, but I also couldn’t tell if there was an actual mystery from the back cover. I finally grabbed The Last Place by Laura Lippman.

It was by a bestselling and award-winning author, but this particular novel hadn’t won awards. This made it the perfect candidate.  Unfortunately, it turned out to be the seventh book in the Tess Monaghan series, even though nowhere on or in the book told me this.

I read it anyway.

The novel definitely references some stuff from previous books, but it is perfectly readable as a standalone. I assume this is one of those slow character growth things that happens over multiple books.

Tess is the main character, and she is a private investigator. She has anger management issues and basically messes up a child molester. So she gets assigned a community service project by the courts and has to investigate a police department. She checks up on five unrelated murders to make sure they followed procedure, etc.

As it goes on, she finds out that all five have major issues and are unresolved and are possibly related.

The first thing I noticed was the solid prose style. I often read literary stuff, which tends to be fancy. I also read fantasy, which tends to be wordy. This book had that pristine, clean style that I tend to call “bestseller” style.

I can’t go into all the details here, but it just means few adverbs, active voice, just enough description, pared down sentences, etc. It really makes the book come alive fast in your mind without any excess thinking or confusing sentences.

This brings up the next point. This was a page-turner through and through. I also can’t remember the last time I read something like that. I’d say it’s almost too polished. If you’ve studied plotting and structure, you can see how each scene is crafted to raise the stakes and complicate the plot just enough to push you along.

One thing I think this book did better than any of the other mysteries was to provide a lot of red herrings. At one point, the investigators discuss the possibility that the male killer could actually be a female. They go into depth on how this could be pulled off, despite being married, by referencing Boys Don’t Cry.

I found myself thinking: what? No way! Wait, but maybe. 

It was never meant to be taken all that seriously, but little things like this added up to keeping me unsettled. Whenever I thought maybe I was getting a handle on things, something would come up to remind me that I just didn’t have enough information yet.

I was thinking about characterization, since I recently wrote a post on it. One character has a quirky “thing” they do. This is often one of those cheap techniques that give readers a false sense of depth.

He’s really into movie quotes and says them all the time. Each time it happens, you think, oh yeah, that’s the guy that does the quote thing. This made the character more into a caricature than a fully fleshed out character.

Overall, this was a fast and enjoyable read. I definitely understand why people tear through these at the rate of a couple a week.

If you’re following along, I really only have one book left on my list: The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco. I’ve been avoiding it, because I’ve heard it has a beastly beginning that’s almost impossible to suffer through. We’ll see…

 

Less is Awesome

I’m abandoning the embarrassment of having a “…is awesome” set of posts. If I find awesome stuff, I want to share it.

Less is a novel by Andrew Sean Greer, and it won the Pulitzer Prize this year. I’ve been steering clear of prizewinners over the past few years, because the politics of who wins what prize is a bit nauseating.

Eventually, I saw enough good comments by enough people I trust to give it a try. Wow, I’m glad I did. It’s funny, has a unique and strong voice, clever and insightful descriptions, and somehow manages to be tragic and heartwarming at the same time.

It’s awesome!

I want to address the elephant in the room first. Most of the negative reviews (and they have a lot of upvotes) demonstrate a clear failing of the modern education system. Here are some actual verbatim quotes:

I also found Less such a privileged, oblivious character. He is tall, attractive, white, able-bodied, and can afford to travel. His privilege is not examined in any interesting or meaningful way.

It’s heavy and dull with this self absorbed white man mourning his youth…There’s nothing wrong with his life at all except for the fact that he’s way too self-absorbed and does next to nothing for anyone besides himself.

He is literally mid-life, 30 years down and roughly 30 to go. Somehow this is a burden to him, living his privileged, tall, handsome white guy life surrounded by men who really like kissing him. Oh, poor thing.

There seems to be a modern trend to think that one cannot have sympathy or empathy for a main character that is white, male, and “able-bodied.” I feel sorry for these readers, because this lack of empathy on their part shows way more about them than the novel itself.

The whole point of a novel is to learn to see through the main character’s eyes, and understand why they think their problems are real. Someone that has actually read the book should understand that Less has struggles and problems.

Why is Less so preoccupied with being fifty? This seems to be a mystery to a large number of reviewers. It seems trivial to them (I mean, he still has 30 great years left, don’t you know!). Let’s see if the text of the novel gives us a clue:

Arthur Less is the first homosexual ever to grow old…He has never seen another gay man age past fifty, none except Robert. He met them all at forty or so but never saw them make it much beyond; they died of AIDS, that generation. Less’ generation often feels like the first to explore the land beyond fifty.

So, dear reader of this blog: can you come up with any reason, any reason at all, why Less might see turning fifty as a monumental point of his life? Take some time. It’s hard to understand why any privileged white man would see any aspect of his life as difficult or challenging.

I think Millennials and iGen have no conception of history. They think that whatever is happening right now is exactly how it’s always been.

As a gay man, I’ll admit that right now is pretty great. But to think Less has had no struggle in his life is to forget a tragic part of history. Less spent most of his youth thinking he’d never grow old, losing all his friends to a horrific epidemic, and then feeling guilty for surviving it.

The novel opens with Less as a failed novelist, whose lover of nine years has just invited him to his wedding to a different man. The way Less tries to avoid the wedding is to accept invitations to speak around the world at events no prominent novelist would be caught dead at.

(Note how different this is than “can afford to travel.” He’s not taking a leisure trip. These are work trips paid for by the events, not the main character).

If you read this book and think: why’s he even upset? At least he’s not being shot by cops. At least his boss didn’t sexually harass him. He’s a white man with no problems. 

Well, then you’re pretty hopeless, and maybe reading books isn’t the best idea until you work some of that out with a therapist. No one is saying his problems are worse than someone else’s. Just because it’s not a talking point of the day, doesn’t mean it’s not important to the character.

The problems of Less have to do with heartbreak and aging and figuring out what makes a life worth living and being remembered and finding love. These are timeless issues found in great art throughout history. Hopefully we don’t lose these themes merely because a generation of critics view the only worthwhile topics to be what they saw on Vox that day.

Sorry to spend so long on this, but as someone who writes books, I find this growing movement very concerning.

So, what’s so awesome about Less?

A lot came up in that rant already, but one of the greatest parts is how brilliant the descriptions are.

His slim shadow is, in fact, still that of his younger self, but at nearly fifty he is like those bronze statues in public parks that, despite one lucky knee rubbed raw by schoolchildren, discolor beautifully until they match the trees.

If such a sentence occurred in a vacuum of otherwise banal prose, I’d say cut it; it would be too much.

But this voice and style abound throughout the novel and stays quite consistent. The result is a flurry of original images and similes and metaphors that always bring the right emotional resonance to the scene.

Greer has a talent for “breaking the rules” in impeccable ways for a powerful reading experience. I think all writers should read this for examples on how to do description and prose style well.

The Character/Caricature Balance

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One of the most important things we can do as writers is to acknowledge our weaknesses and then work on them. I think too often we get comfortable with “our thing” and then try to hide our weaknesses by going all in on our strength.

I’ve spent an enormous amount of time over the past five years or so really studying and working on prose style and story structure. I write a book according to something like the Story Grid method. Then I see what works and what doesn’t for me, and then move on to another technique like John Truby‘s method. Iterating this process a dozen times has brought me a rich understanding of structure.

I think there’s no doubt that characterization is my weakest point. I’ve had a philosophy for a long time that characters should be “real.” This means my characters often act in contradictory or paradoxical ways. They have subtle and complicated reasons for doing things that only come out in subtext.

You might be thinking: wow, that sounds great! But then you actually read it and every character sounds the same and has no interesting characteristics. I tend to write an “everyman,” and they all sound boring and similar.

This is especially problematic in fantasy writing. There is a general trend in fantasy to create caricatures instead of characters. This means one feature is exaggerated to the point of becoming a one-dimensional defining feature. These flat characters can be boring and predictable.

For example, a book might have one character’s defining trait as loyalty, the bad guy as greed, the sidekick as humor, etc. I don’t have to tell you why this is a bad thing, but I will make an argument for how it can be good if done properly.

When writing caricatures, it is very clear how the character changes over the course of a novel. The one subplot has the cowardly character, and they have to learn to be braver. Their arc will culminate in a test of bravery, and yay, they succeed! It’s exhilarating and emotional to read these things.

Another reason caricatures can be good is that they create very clear differences in stories with many characters. It’s easy to keep track: that one’s the trickster, that one’s the nerdy one, etc.

Unfortunately, I see a bunch of positive reviews of books that take this too far with claims like “I loved the variety of characters.” Or worse, that the characterization is great. Caricatures can create an illusion of depth by keeping the motivations clear and consistent.

As I’ve started exaggerating certain traits of my characters toward the caricature breaking point, I’ve seen reviews get more and more positive. So people obviously like this.

I’m still struggling with this balance. It’s bad to have no defining traits, because then the character will be boring and spastic. It’s bad to be all caricature, even if you trick some of your audience. So it’s a balance, and one that’s far trickier than I initially thought.

So far, the best method I’ve come across is to have a fleshed out backstory that is the cause of a character flaw. The flaw gives the character a clear sense of growth as they learn to overcome the flaw.

Then, if you use the backstory to inform character actions, the character will have a consistent demeanor without being focused on a single trait. This will allow the character to still have some unpredictable behavior, and since the backstory isn’t explicitly spelled out, it allows you to keep some of the motivation as subtext.

This balance brings out some of the positives of the caricature while maintaining the depth and richness of a true character.

Of course, the main thing I’ve learned over the years is that everyone seems to have a different method for everything. What one person thinks is the only method could not work at all for another person. That’s why I’ll keep reading and exploring to find my own way.