The reason for this is simple. Conflict hurts. Conflict takes what you want and keeps it out of reach, and delaying gratification is a painful process.
Most new writers back away from this because they don't want to piss off their readers. You need readers to like your work or else you don't sell books, right?
We all tread that line cautiously, even when it comes to what we do to ourselves.
As the first readers of these books, we really don’t want to witness this cavalcade of crap for the characters we loved enough to tell their story in the first place. The temptation is strong to back away from the line instead of jumping right over it. As newbies to anything, humans tend to err on the side of caution. We are mostly conservative by nature, figuring it’s safer and better to not go far enough rather than go too far. I once watched a cooking competition where the (pardon the pun) seasoned chef commented that she could tell a new cook by how little spices they used in their recipes. That lack of boldness was a dead giveaway of their inexperience. Same holds true for writing, I think. There are some writers who are audacious from the get-go, but they’re usually the exception that proves the rule. Most writers will pull back, afraid of “going too far,” because they fear they can never get back if they do.
Honestly, that doesn’t hold true just for new writers. I have a book releasing this month that seriously makes me want to wet myself for just how far I go, which is so much farther than I’ve ever gone before. Funny thing happens every single time you hop over that line. The line keeps moving.
If you look at your writing career as one that challenges you and changes you and refines you into a writer of any real significance, there’s a part of you that should be terrified to cross that line, but prepared to dangle your toe over it anyway.
Write scared. Otherwise, why write at all?
Usually, “going too far” is just far enough. In order to give your readers a memorable story, you have to make it hurt. For them. For your characters. For yourself. Angst and conflict drive the best stories, no matter the genre. Essentially you are denying your reader satisfaction with every turn of the page, until you lead them bruised and bloody over the finish line, giving them what they never even knew that they needed, even if it wasn’t exactly what they wanted.
You’re not looking to fill custom orders here. You’re seeking to communicate and connect.
Hopefully this journey will be worth it to them. But you can’t allow yourself to get too hung up on that, otherwise you’ll never write another word. Worrying how the audience will react to something you do is the death of creativity. You should write scared. You should write terrified. Worry how far you’re going to go. Worry that they won’t like it. Boldness comes with risk, and you have to be willing to take those risks if you plan to do anything that anyone will remember. Thousands upon thousands of books are released every year. Readers move along this copious buffet, tasting morsels as they go. You can offer something bland and inoffensive to them as they briefly stop at your table, or you can spice up the dish in a taste explosion, with a flavor so bold it punches them right in the face and stopping them momentarily to recover.
Whether they like it or whether they don’t, which do you think they’ll remember at the end?
I write romance, as I’ve said. This is a rather formulaic genre, despite the fact that it’s broad. There are all sorts of sub-genres in romance, piecing them out by categories like contemporary, chick lit, suspense, mystery, historical, erotic, paranormal, young adult; the list goes on and on. Despite how many variances there are, romance is a genre that by its very definition demands a very specific outcome.
Readers want to end happy.
There are some readers who will skip all the way to the end to make sure the couple ends up together before they’ll invest themselves in the story. They have said, time and again, that they get enough unhappy endings in their real lives. They depend on romance to provide the fantasy of a happily ever after.
As a result, thousands upon thousands of books release annually that provide that happy ending dressed up in all sorts of ways, setting up this expectation that it will always happen this way.
I hate that restriction more than any other in the genre, simply because it torpedoes conflict. The whole time your reader reads the story, there’s a safeguard in place saying, “Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay. There’s gotta be a happy ending at the end of all this.” This, to me, undermines whatever conflict you happen to throw their way. One of the biggest questions you ask throughout the book is, “Will this couple get their happily ever after?” If the answer is implied, or known, then that takes away that sense of urgency to turn page after page just to see what happens next.
The only reason that conflict can truly exist is if some books buck convention and offer a less than happy ending. You may not remember every single thing that ever made you laugh, but you’ll remember things that made you cry. You remember pain and disappointment because that’s where you learn. Likewise, that’s where your characters learn, too, hence the need for conflict.
There are readers who want a litany of “trigger” warnings on books for things that piss them off in any way. While I understand the need for a little heads up when you broach topics that could set off anxiety in someone suffering something like PTSD, like sexual or emotional abuse, violence of any sort, death of a character, drug abuse, eating disorders and the like, the need to warn against the “triggers” of unhappiness or disappointment (i.e., like cliffhangers or the lack of a happily ever,) squashes any sense of urgency for readers to finish your book. Books introduce questions to answer. Answering these questions before someone ever reads it effectively spoils what any storyteller is trying to do.
Imagine if “The Walking Dead” began each and every episode with, “By the way, guys, you may want to prepare yourself. So-and-so is gonna die at the end of the episode. Brace yourself. It’s gonna hurt.” No. The only warning you get is, “This show contains some material unsuitable for some viewers.” They don’t promise they won’t go too far, because they often do go too far, killing off beloved characters regularly because it’s the freaking zombie apocalypse for cripes’ sake. In order for you to know how dangerous this world is, you have to feel the pain sometimes.
Those of us who are brave enough to tune in sit on the edges of our seats the whole damned episode to make sure our favorites are alive to fight one more day.
“But Ginger… that’s a TV show. About zombies. It’s not even your genre. Romance needs a happy ending or else.”
Oh, yeah? I tell you what. You get yourself a copy of the most successful romance novel written in the last decade, the one that flew off the shelves, selling a bazillion copies, spawning a movie, creating such a buzz that almost every single person on the planet knows about it just by its reputation, whether they read romance or not… whether they read or not. You read that book all the way to the end and you tell me whether or not that author followed or defied convention.
Go on. I’ll wait.
Going too far works. Well. Circumventing the expectations of your readers, taking them by surprise, is necessary. Otherwise you become one of many they’ll browse and forget.
That may be the career you want, inoffensively selling a steady stream of books that are universally beloved by readers who know you will give them what you want. But the competition for that is pretty darned steep, which is why standing apart from the pack is where the secret to success truly lies. Like I said, you want to be remembered. Liked, disliked, doesn’t matter. You can either have this be said about your book…
“Yeah, I think I read it. It was okay. Don’t remember it much.”
Or you could have this said about your book…
“OMG It gutted me! I was so mad I wanted to throw my tablet right at that author’s head.”
In order to be remembered, you need to go where other people are unwilling to go. This is especially true in a genre where more books are released than will ever be read. If you’re easily forgotten, you’re easily sunk. This industry is driven by word of mouth. Voracious readers, who tally up hundreds of books read per year, need something outstanding to recommend. Coasting ain’t gonna cut it.
If you’re afraid to piss people off, your conflict will suffer as a result. Your writing will suffer as a result. Most of the times I’ve been legitimately blocked as a writer, it has been because I knew what I needed to do for the story, but it flew in the face of what I wanted to do as a human. I'm a nice person. I don’t want to piss people off. I want people to like me. I’m a people pleaser to the nth degree. My hand shakes when I hit “publish” on a book where I’m afraid of “going too far,” and every single time I check a review, I’m terrified that people will fire up their torches and sharpen their pitchforks because I colored just a shade out of the line.
I’ll admit that I’m not all that thrilled when I get to the end of the book and things are unresolved, and I have to wait for satisfaction. But if I’m excited about those characters, I’ll roll with it, even if I have to wait years to get it. I know what a rare and beautiful gift it is to care about these fictional people in the first place. If I give a damn what happens, enough to get pissed when I’m denied finding out exactly what that is, that’s a win in my book. Kudos to the storyteller on a job well done.
Not everyone feels that way. I’ve pissed off many a reader in my day. The ones who love me for it will send me a note telling me how they yelled at their e-reader (or practically smashed it against the wall,) when the conflict I put my characters through nearly made the reader tear their hair out. Oddly enough, that complaint is found more in the 5-star reviews than the 1-star reviews, so make of that what you will.
The reason my most devoted readers love me the most is because they don’t know what I’m going to do next, and they can’t wait to find out. They love the gut-twisting angst I put them through. Granted, there are those who have had to utter their safe word and exit the Ginger Express. That’s okay, too. I know I’m an acquired taste. If you like what I do, great. If you don’t, godspeed. I wish you well, no hard feelings.
But if you lock into my ride, we’re going where I say. So hang on tight and I’ll get you there (mostly) in one piece.
It is just a book, after all. These characters aren’t real. These situations are all fictional. It’s the safest roller coaster in the world because your feet never leave the ground.
If you feel like you’ve been thrown arse over teakettle by the end of it all anyway, as if you have met these people and lived through these experiences, then I’ve done my job. I’ve communicated an idea in a way that you could connect with it.
Again, I consider this a win.
It got to the point where the only “warning” I’d put on my books stated, “If you need a warning to read a book, this author’s books are not for you.” Not only do I write about things that would justify legitimate trigger warning labels, like sexual or emotional abuse, violence of any sort, death of a character, drug abuse, eating disorders and the like, I also happily, boldly and unapologetically put my characters (and my readers) through things like cheaters, triangles, cliffhangers, and the worst sin of all: unhappy endings.
If the story calls for it, I’m going to do it. And I’m not going to tell you ahead of time, because I trust that you can handle it, if you trust me enough to get you there.
Here’s the good news. Most readers do trust the writer to lead them wherever they go. Most readers are just like me, willing to strap ourselves blindly in the ride, without any hint or idea what’s coming, just so we can watch the whole beautiful story unfold the way the author intended. Most of us are willing to roll with the punches provided we get emotional payoff in the end, which doesn’t always have to end on a high note if notable bestselling novels are to be believed.
You can go further than you think.
I learned this lesson with my GROUPIE saga.
We already talked about my decision to write a rock and roll romance. I was going through some stuff, needed to work it out, so I decided to play in the sand with a sexy rock star for a while. It was my full intention to write a story where, at the end of all, my douche bag hero would figure out that he was a douche bag and right all the wrongs he had done to my long-suffering heroine.
The problem arose from the conflict of the story, when my heroine met another potential suitor, one who was a much better match. He had money, he offered security; he was romantic and respectful. He was steadfast in his support of her, even when she was torn up in knots about someone else. And the fact that he was a viable option at all (arguably a better one at that,) made my hero flounder, rather than rise to the challenge. (Hence: conflict.) The closer and closer I got to the end of that book, the more I realized that I couldn’t end it the way I had originally planned, which was (spoiler alert) with a happily ever after.
Because of the conflict that had grown organically in the book, I could no longer sell that ending to myself. It may have started as a fantasy romp between the sheets with a sexy rock star, but it still needed to make sense to me. And it didn’t make any sense whatsoever that a heroine like Andy would just ride off into the sunset with someone who had made her life hell for three years, just because he had an epiphany in a crisis.
He wasn’t good enough for her yet, and likely wouldn’t be for a while… much longer than a one 100,000-word book, anyway.
I talked to Steven about it, because he’s one of my biggest sounding boards to bounce story ideas off of. He had been reading along, like he always did, and he let me know in no uncertain terms that if I ended it the way I had planned, it would cheapen the story.
In my gut I knew he was right. I examined my options. I could end it the way I planned and just send it off into the ether, content to take my knocks for half-assing the story, or… I could end the book unresolved since the story itself wasn’t resolved.
I knew I had a lot more ground to cover before I could sell any sort of happily ever after to myself, which meant that book may have ended, but the story wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
A few tweaks later and (spoiler alert) I ended it unresolved, on a cliffhanger, with a plan for two more books to tell the story the best way I knew how. Like I said, my hero Vanni wasn’t ready for his HEA (Happily Ever After) by the end of book one. He had a lot to learn. In doing so, he had a long way to fall. The second book worked out like a second act of the whole story arc, which was nothing but ugly conflict start to finish.
I knew I was flirting with disaster. I researched romance reader forums high and low to decide how firm that HEA requirement was. The more I read, the more discouraged I got. This was where I first found those readers who read the last page first, which was unthinkable to me. The whole point of a book is to find out how it ends. Why do I need to read hundreds of pages if I already know the answer?
Granted, I’m a bit of an angst whore, which might explain why “The Walking Dead” and “Doctor Who” are a couple of my favorite shows. I grew up on “General Hospital,” where storylines took years to pay off. I was there for Luke and Laura from the beginning. I remember every single time I ran to the TV just to see if that day was the day they’d finally get together. “Moonlighting” was my favorite show in the 1980s, at least until Maddie and David answered the question of “will they/won’t they?”
I started my own soap opera in 1980, when I got my first Ken* doll to add to my growing stable of Barbies. Now that I had a doll of the opposite sex, I could tell all kinds of new, exciting stories, and I totally did. Like I said, I was heavily influenced by “General Hospital” at the time, so the minute my girl dolls had a boy to play with, the angst of unresolved love stories drove my playtime.
If my girl characters got pregnant, and they did, I would let that play out in real time. As they began to “show,” I would tape tissue paper to the teeny tiny waists of my dolls to show the incremental growth of a real pregnancy. I took my time, even when I took it to extremes.
One of my characters, Jenny Gold, was a successful model and happily married to a character named Robert, played by a discarded Superman doll with a missing hand. They were very much in love and married fairly quickly, but that wasn’t the end of their love story.
In 1981, Jenny met photographer Kevin Sherwood through her modeling work. He was good-looking, kind of arrogant, a bit of a jerk. My first real “bad boy,” as it were. He was instantly besotted by this beautiful woman, who was every bit as sweet as she was lovely. Kevin, who had gone through some stuff, decided that she was the one who would save him from his biggest enemy: himself. He became obsessed with her, to the point that she didn’t want anything to do with him. He crossed her boundaries, forcing his affection on her even though she was happily married. And of course she was far too honorable to give in to his charm.
He realized that as long as Bobby was in her life, she’d never be free to love him. So he decided to fake her death and take her away to a remote island, where they could be together at last. She begged him to let her go, that she had just found out she was pregnant with her second child. For Kevin, though, that was even more reason to keep her. In his warped mind, they could have a HEA together, the three of them.
Meanwhile, back home, Bobby tries to get through day after dark day as a widower and single dad.
For eight long months, I carried out this story line day after day. Of course, I knew where I was going with it, but I played along like I didn’t. I ate up all that angst with relish. Finally, right before Jenny was due to give birth, Kevin got his change of heart. After months together, she had finally gotten through to him that love didn’t demand its own way. It gave wherever it could, putting the happiness of the loved one above the love of self.
(Like I said, she was both sweet and lovely.)
He finally brought her back to Los Angeles (where they happened to live) just in time for Bobby to reunite with her during the birth of their son. She was so grateful to him and so impressed with his change of heart that she didn’t turn him in, and instead made peace with Kevin so that they could all move forward with their lives.
Voila. Happy ending. It just took a helluva lot of crap to get there.
Did I mention I was eleven/twelve when all this played out? (And yes, that means two consecutive years.)
It took another two years for Kevin to find legitimate love for himself, after a disastrous marriage to a conniving model who took advantage of his vulnerability for his own personal gain. After they married, she cheated on him left and right, with anyone who would advance her career, or simply piss him off. He was caught in the middle of that quagmire of a relationship when he met Karen, a woman so traumatized by her abusive past that she had severe selective mutism and hadn’t spoken a word to anyone other than her brother since she was five years old. (I came up with this thing before I even knew that was a legitimate “thing,” by the way.)
Like Jenny, Karen was sweet and lovely, and instantly appealed to Kevin. With his help, she was slowly allowed to heal enough to connect, once again, to another person.
If I wrote this story today, it would be a whole series of books. It would have to be. In order to fully tell Kevin’s story with maximum emotional payoff, I would need to set up the romance between Bobby and Jenny in book one, to establish why Jenny would never be the right woman for him. In book two, he’d be (literally) balls deep in his contemptuous marriage with Bambi (yes, that was her name.) There he’d meet Karen, and that relationship would put him at a crossroads by the end of book two, so that book three finally answers the question that drove us to pursue the story for so long: will Kevin Sherwood ever be able to truly find love for himself, especially after he sacrificed everything that he wanted to find it?
This is the kind of storyteller I am. I take my time. I go to extremes. I dive into controversy and chaos with both feet, and have since I was nine years old. That was the summer that my teenaged Fisher Price Little Person* left her comfortable Tudor home to run away to the big city with her black boyfriend after her conservative parents forbade her from seeing him.
If it’s just for me, I’m not afraid to go there. Gaining that confidence with an audience was a little trickier, particularly when the audience is as rabid as in the genre I happen to write. If you get paid to create, the people who buy your product expect their needs/wants/expectations to be met, and woe to the writer who circumvents those expectations.
But circumvent those expectations you must, or else the work will suffer.
One of my idols is the late, great John Hughes. If you grew up in the 1980s, you know John Hughes. He was the creator behind all the Brat Pack movies, and wrote teen angst better than just about anyone in the era. “The Breakfast Club” is sheer gospel to me, as well as all the generations who have related to the timeless film ever since it released in 1985.
For those of us in the 1980s, there’s a certain possessiveness there. You may understand what Mr. Hughes was talking about, but we lived it.
(Oh, and by the way, did I happen to mention “The Breakfast Club” was written over a weekend? Take that, “Can’t Write Anything Great in a Short Amount of Time” Skeptics!)
I loved almost everything that John Hughes did, with the exception of “Weird Science.” Only one movie, however, ticked me off.
I didn’t like “Pretty in Pink.” There. I said it. And I feel better having done so.
I didn’t like it then for a variety of pretty superficial reasons. One, I was never a huge Molly Ringwald fan. Aside from “Sixteen Candles,” which marginally put me in her corner just because of how heinous her world was at the time, I just didn’t really connect with the characters she played. This was true of Andie, who, even though she was dirt poor like I was at the time, played the role a little more sullen than her roles in the past. I didn’t find the patented petulance endearing.
I also didn’t care much for Andrew McCarthy’s Blane, the weak rich boy who didn’t quite understand the complexities of their conflict to grow a pair and stand up for her when she needed him most.
It was a much drearier and drab backdrop in comparison to other Hughes films, “Weird Science” excluded. This virtually stole all the charm and innocence typically juxtaposed with the angst in all the other films, which juggled the bright boldness of the decade with the angst of adolescence. 1986 was a rough year for me anyway. “Pretty in Pink” put a pretty ugly headstone on it.
It hurts a ton when your idols fall from the pedestals on which you place them.
The only real redeeming part of the movie was Duckie, as played by Jon Cryer. He brought light and levity to an otherwise maudlin tale of the Haves vs. the Have Nots. He was also completely and totally dedicated to his best friend, Andie, who was so blinded by shiny Blane that she couldn’t see that her best friend was crazy in love with her, even when he was willing to stand up to the rich bullies to defend her – something Blane proved unable/unwilling to do.
To me, the choice was clear. In order for me to have a happy ending, Andie needed to pick Duckie. They needed to go to the prom together and show all those snooty rich people they weren’t better than them just because they had money. Love wins.
Except love didn’t win. Andie picked the more self-involved Blane. The way it was written, I was probably more devastated about that than Duckie was, who accepted her choice because that was how much he loved her.
It was such an unsatisfying ending for me I shunned watching the movie. I watch “The Breakfast Club” at least twice a year, and have since the 1980s. I’ve watched “Pretty in Pink” twice.
The only reason I watched it twice was because I found out something about the movie I didn’t know before.
What we saw is not what John Hughes wrote.
(Whew. Idol – pedestal, restored.)
The reason I needed Andie to end up with Duckie was because it had originally been written that way. Every single scene was constructed to guide us all towards a HEA that, if not exactly like I wanted, was pretty darned close.
So what happened?
Prior to its release, they screened the movie in front of their target audience: teen girls. Those teen girls decided they wanted Andie to choose Blane, because that was more of the “fairy tale.” Poor girl gets rich guy who doesn’t quite deserve her, but her love will save him and make him better in the end.
In a last-ditch scramble to “fix” this “problem,” they brought everyone back to reshoot the ending, which is the one you can see today.
The reason it was unsatisfying was because it wasn’t organic. The conflict guided these characters to a whole other resolution entirely.
I knew that GROUPIE would have worked out the same way, even if I gave the majority of the audience what I knew they wanted.
I decided not to go that route. I decided to let the story grow and develop naturally, even if it meant breaking a few rules along the way.
My boldness paid off. Unlike my other, more typical romances, the GROUPIE saga virtually launched my career, such as it is. I’m not schmoozing with Danielle Steel, but that one series helped me break through the pack to the top 20% of indie writers and stay there.
The series where I dared to kill of a lead broke me into the top 10%.
In fact, of all my romance novels, the ones that defied convention were the most successful, despite their most vocal critics who hated how I broke the contract expected of me as a romance writer.
Conflict sells because conflict turns pages. If they inhaled your book in one setting because they couldn’t wait to see what happened next, they’re going to tell all their friends about it. They’re going to get excited about it. You make them feel something, and they will love you forever, even if they hate you for hurting them.
If you ask someone what their favorite book is, odds are it will be one that had a visceral, emotional reaction. I read stacks and stacks of romance novel where Boy Met Girl, Boy Wooed Girl, Boy Got Girl, and I can barely tell you one basic plot from any of them. But ask me about any book I’ve read of Danielle Steel’s, where she put her characters through the ringer and back, and I can talk your ear off all day. And” The Fault in Our Stars”… I can’t even.
Don’t be afraid of conflict. Don’t be afraid of pushing the envelope. There are some readers that the more they hate you, the more they love you. The only way you fail is if they don’t care at all and they stop reading. I’d much rather have a 1-star review where they rant and rave about my characters as if they were real people than a DNF (did not finish) tag.
I want the audience that will read my book twice a year for the next 30 years. I aim to be a “Breakfast Club,” not a “Pretty in Pink.”
Not everyone will like your books, and that’s an unreasonable goal to shoot for. There’s a saying that you could be the juiciest, ripest, sweetest peach on the tree, but there will always be those who don’t like peaches. It’s a given. You will find critics who will 1-star your books because you didn’t give them what they wanted, no matter how much you tried.
It’s inevitable. Even classics have their critics.
That is why you can’t write solely for the audience. Not really. Be bold enough not to care. The whole reason you decided to write a book was to tell the story only you could tell. Instead of having a long line of chefs walking through your kitchen, adding to and taking from your pot until it resembles nothing like you whatsoever, you could assert that, as the book’s first reader, you have to pass your own standard first. If you can take it, I’m sure your audience can handle it.
In fact, I’m relatively sure your audience will love you for it, even if they say they don’t. Don’t let their bitching fool you. They love the angst and the push and pull every bit as much as you do. That’s why books with cliffhangers or character deaths are the ones people talk about the most. If they’re talking, you’re selling books. That’s how it works.
Another colleague of mine said that she wanted her readers to go in blind, scared shitless as they got locked into her ride, and she was going to take them wherever the hell she thought they needed to go.
This colleague is a successful, published writer, which proves she knows what she’s talking about.
Even Stephen King says he likes to get you attached to his characters before he “turns the monsters loose.” He’s going to make you hurt. That’s part of the process. If you hurt, you care. If you care, you turn the page. If you turn the page, you finish the book. And if you felt anything at all, you will remember it, and the writer who did it.
“Here, show us on the doll where Stephen King/Danielle Steel/John Green/George RR Martin/Steven Moffat/Robert Kirkland/EL James/JK Rowling et al. hurt you.”
If you are blocked because you’re worried the audience will be mad if you “go too far,” I guarantee you that you’re not going far enough. Reexamine your conflict and then turn it up a few decibels. Make yourself uncomfortable. Go down the dark passageways where you normally fear to tread. If you don’t feel it, whatever “it” is – fear, anger, frustration, relief, joy – then your readers aren’t going to feel it either.
Dial up the conflict knowing that no matter what you do, it can be changed if it doesn't work. You’re still in the first draft. And what is the first draft?
(All together now:) THE FIRST DRAFT IS NOT READY FOR PUBLICATION.
This is your chance to go as far as you possibly can because there’s nobody but you to stop you. If you take that next step and it doesn’t work, you can scrap it and try something else. There’s no real downside and very little risk.
Believe me, you’ll know if you hit it or if you miss. And when the time is right, you’ll publish your book with the knocking knees we all do, waiting to see if your gamble pays off.
It may, it may not. As long as you hold true to your story, you’ve created something to be proud of.
So push yourself. Lock yourself in and brace for the wildest ride you can imagine. Follow the story, not any perceived audience.
Tomorrow we’ll talk about the specifics of mining for opportunities.
Today, get comfortable with the idea that if you want to do something truly memorable, truly remarkable, truly and fully realized, you’re going to have to step outside of your comfort zone.
Turn those monsters loose. Your readers will love you more if you do. And you’ll hate yourself if you don’t.
Started First Draft: November 11, 2015 11:42am PST
Completed First draft: November 11, 2015 1:58pm PST
Word Count of first draft: 4,187
Began revisions: November 11, 2015 6:15pm PST
Completed revisions: November 11, 2015 7:49pm PST
Updated WC: 5,899/45,600
