Today, I strongly recommend that you follow the friendly Millie Ho. She is near my age and both a writer and an artist, so twice as talented as me! You can learn more about her writing advice and WIP at her blog, or you can check out her cute, snarky webcomic Sorrowbacon.
Talked to Dad last night. He’s 2/3 of the way through with Paradisa now. Since it took him a month to get through the first 30 pages, I never thought he’d get this far! Some of his comments during our phone call were actually fair and will be fixed. Some are fair but will be ignored. And some are like “you obviously skipped a scene, didn’t you?”
One critique I’ve gotten across the board from my betas is that my characters have too much self-doubt. When bad things happen, they don’t always keep their chins high. I agree to an extent, but I also insist on making these people behave realistically. If you were a normal person, thrust into a world of danger and mind-blowing revelations, would you just take it in stride? Or would you worry about yourself and your loved ones? Would you worry about dying? Would you worry about being good enough to fight?
Dad says “no one wants to read that. No one is happy in this book.” In my defense, my characters are not nearly as angst-ridden, self-loathing, sad, or self-destructive as some fantasy protagonists, but they certainly have a lot of fear. I understand that reading about a character being really scared all the time is probably no fun, and that it should be fixed. But no one wants to read about impossibly confident people either. Would it make sense for characters to be “happy” when they’re facing the apocolpyse? Would it make sense for them to be okay with killing if they’ve never killed before, or be proficient in combat if they’ve never held a weapon?
Or should we see fiction as a mere form of escapism? As a way for us, as readers, to vicariously live through a person who is stronger than we are? Are we supposed to remember and love Indiana Jones for shooting a guy dead in the famous Raiders of the Lost Ark scene, and not think about how unrealistic it is for a professor of freaking archeology to nonchalantly murder a dude?
So next week, I’m going to write a post about “Expectation vs. Reality”, and the struggle to present a realistic human hero who is also confident enough to root for. It’s probably the biggest struggle I’m having with writing this book. Perhaps the companions of The Doctor will be the best mold to go by – ordinary people who make the choice to leave their mundane lives behind. It’s hard to do without a “chosen one” crutch to fall on ;)