The Font of All Wisdom?

What font do you write in? Are you a Times New Roman person, or Arial? Do you obsess about it and try lots of different variations, or just stick to the default?

I tend to tinker a bit.  My current book is written in Lucida Sans, size 12 (n.b. it should always be size 12, and double spaced -- it's much easier on the jaded eyes of publishers and agents) and I have experimented with Courier and flirted with Trebuchet. The reason I'm raising this is that I do believe it has a psychological effect on how you conceive your work.  If I'm thinking about a more romantic story, having a softer and more rounded font seems to fit; if I'm doing non-fiction then something more angular and authoritative works well.

During the editing process, altering your font can be an enormous help in seeing what you have written differently.  The layout on the page changes as a result, which means that phrases and paragraphs crop up in unaccustomed places and you see them with fresh eyes.

So when you are setting out on a new piece of work, consider the font and what effect it might have on your output.  If writing is all about the nuts and bolts on the page, having the right font is like finding that vital little washer...

Plot Structure -- Preludes and Aftermaths

Following on from last week's post about how you need a turning point in your story to bring about change, I've been thinking about preludes and aftermaths and that you shouldn't neglect either of these in your eagerness to concentrate on the main event. In a love affair, the first touch of a hand, or the first kiss, can be more potent and intoxicating than anything else, and often the end of relationship is so excruciating that it can obliterate everything which has gone before.

Perhaps it is worth spending some time working out how you can maximise the impact of the buildup to the climax of your story.  Can you play with anticipation, or does the moment of crisis come out of a clear blue sky?  What emotions are at play -- fear, longing -- or even denial? Similarly, with the aftermath: is the fallout from what has happened predictable, or does the aftershock move in mysterious ways?  How long and deep are the shadows cast? Do the good get punished as well as the bad?  Does anyone emerge untouched by what has occurred?

A few thoughts to mull over, or to file the way for a rainy day...

Make Your Writing Ring True

You can generally spot someone who is being insincere with you a mile off.  It's a subtle con trick that makes you feel uncomfortable. In art as in life - authorial insincerity can leave the same bad taste in the mouth.  It can often take the shape of overblown, overwritten prose and is usually a cover for something: a weakness in the plot, inadequate characterisation, some insecurity on the part of the writer. If your writing strikes a hollow note, rework it and then rework it again until it rings true, otherwise you'll be short-changing your reader and compromising your own integrity.  Truth and clarity are what matter most - everything else is just an accessory.

Plot Structure: It All Hinges on Change

Every story needs to have a turning point, some kind of fulcrum or pivot that radically transforms your narrative.  You could (if you were me and had a door fetish) think of it as some kind of hinge enabling the heroine, and your reader with her, to pass from one state to another.  Here's one I prepared earlier...



...from the west doors of Sens cathedral.

For many, the turning point comes as some sort of recognition, what Aristotle called anagnorisis: a change from ignorance to knowledge, producing love or hate between the persons destined by the writer for good or bad fortune. The key word here is change.  The whole purpose of telling a story is to show the effect that experience and events can have upon your characters.  As readers, we need to be inspired to see that change is not just possible, but something we are capable of initiating ourselves, and fiction shows us how to set about it.

The moral of all of this?  When you are constructing your story, think hard about all the nuances of transformation that are available to you. The pivotal moment which you engineer should not just affect your hero and heroine, as the way in which they are transformed will have an effect on those around them.  In your narrative, nobody should be completely static. You could also explore the opportunities for a change in location, mood and certainly in tempo.  Structure and plot are interdependent, so even if you don't know exactly what the moment of revelation will be when you set out, make sure all the elements that you need are in place well in advance.