The essentials of writing

I’ve talked before about my borderline elitism when it comes to writing. I suppose this is a grandiose way of communicating a much more mundane fact: I’m a contrarian, one of those people who likes to head in the opposite direction because that’s what no one else is doing. I’m an anti-lemming, a trailblazer in some sense—on trails that almost universally end up being detours or dead ends. What can I say? There are pros and cons to everything in life.

The result is that I’m not content with the way things are done. I like to poke and prod, to rock the boat a little and see what floats. When it comes to the craft of writing, I have always steered away from the accepted norms. My most recent novel, Robot Human, featured a socially-awkward robot as the protagonist. His existence in the world was never explained, and his goal was patently ridiculous: to become human.

The crazy part is that this story mostly worked. Alpha readers enjoyed his bumbling ways, growing somewhat attached to him by the end; and I got my thrills by breaking the fourth wall, writing in second person, and finding places to insert my computer science knowledge into a fictitious tale. It was vastly satisfying.

Now I’m back to working on a fantasy novel that’s been in progress for over five years. I still hope to defy expectations, but that has proven much harder here. Certain facts about the world need to be communicated, seeing as it’s not our world. Characters speak differently, the customs are strange, and the presence of magic changes the rules of the game. To a certain extent, the very act of writing a fantasy novel is rebellion against the natural world.

But this is also a genre I’m intimately familiar with, one I’ve enjoyed my whole life. Finding the balance of what’s new and exciting while still being comprehendable is meticulous work. At this moment, it feels like a slog.

So If the content is somewhat limited, anchored to certain requirements, what about the form? Could I get away with doing something new?

To answer this I went on a mental quest, asking what’s truly necessary for writing, trying to discover if there was an alternative way to compose a story. Could you fill it with components that look fundamentally different than the ones we usually work with? Action, description, dialogue, theme, exposition. Is there room for innovation? Are these all essential, or are they just the crude trappings we've grown complacent about?

Let me show you what I found.

The first thing to realize is that stories require chronology; they require the passing of time. Without that, all you've got is a photograph. It might be more phenomenal than usual: you could give us a snapshot from inside someone's mind, depicting their thoughts and feelings rather than their physical form. But without moving from one moment to the next, you aren't telling a story; it's merely a rumination.

And if time is going to pass, that means things have to change. Physical location, the weather, the season of the year, the characters we see on stage, their appearance and age, their emotional state. Is it possible to communicate any of these without either action, description, or dialogue? I don't believe it is.

I suppose you could write a pantomime, a series of movements with no accompanying sound. You could cut out the dialogue and still have a story. But why would you want to? Dialogue is often the most arresting part of a tale, and often the most interesting part of real life. Spend a little time eavesdropping in a coffee shop and you will hear the funniest, most touching, most bizarre things. People are entertainingly unpredictable, and nowhere more than in their speech.

And if they're going to speak, they should do it somewhere. Not just in a blank void, but in a room, under a dark sky, by the light of a dying fire. This adds mood and contrast and context; it supports and complicates what's being said. Dialogue is strengthened by its setting, and setting is impacted by what's spoken within it.

And when characters speak, they may as well gesticulate. They should wave their hands and raise their eyebrows and lean close to whisper in your ear. They should move about the room, pick up a trinket, threaten with it, throw it. Sometimes words will not be enough and they will raise their fists or their swords: from this comes the action scene.

Without much fuss we now have action, description, dialogue, place, and time. Each component serves a distinct purpose, but also buttresses the other components and complicates them. They weave together like a tapestry. With these threads, you can create not just a static image but a multi-sensory experience.

There are a few remaining elements we haven't covered: exposition and theme. And it seems to me that these are useful tools for communicating directly with the reader, going above the heads of the characters in your story to reveal the bigger picture. Without exposition, the scope of our stories would be terribly limited. Dialogue and description are small; exposition is infinite, reaching into the past or future, communicating a whole history in a few words. For a fantasy novelist, it’s indispensable. And without theme, the greater meaning of all that grandeur would be lost.

Upon reflection, I don't believe there are any superfluous parts of writing. Nothing can be discarded without a commensurate loss in power or appeal. And I suppose this is what we would expect to see. Over time, forms get stripped down to their bare essentials. The parts of writing that have endured are the ones that bring irreplaceable value.

One of my goals someday is to write a story that eschews the rules and breaks through the limits of what's usually done. I want to write an experimental novel. But I'm coming to see that the typical devices are as close to the metal as you can get. I'm not even sure what a story without dialogue, description, or action would look like. It would be an experience that’s hard to share with the reader.

I am admitting, humbly, that there is no straightforward way to be different here. I want to stand out from the crowd, and that's not the worst instinct to have in a market as saturated as publishing. You need to distinguish yourslef to make it in this particular world.

But you can’t mess with the parts without changing the whole, and writing is hardly a nascent field. Ultimately, it is a medium limited by human understanding, by paper and ink, by space and time. It is one of many ways we grasp at reality, and it happens to be a method I deeply enjoy.

Perhaps I can console myself with the work on Robot Human. It is the expression of my inner artiste, and also a work of art that I think has some merit. I hope to publish it someday.

But for now, I am turning around and joining the crowd, choosing to tell stories the way that stories are told.