writing | Bertram's Blog

On Writing: The Mythic Journey and Answering the Call to Adventure

March 28, 2008 — Pat Bertram

I have reached the point in my work-in-progress where the hero Chip has chosen not to enter the place of safety, preferring freedom to security, and he won’t be succumbing to the lure of safety until the third time it is offered. (Three is a very mythical number if mythicism can be said to have degrees.) Now that Chip is mostly alone in the world, however, I’m not quite certain what to do with him. For him to become willing to give up his freedom, he has to undergo many ordeals, and the dangers need to escalate. I know I can create these situations, but they should have an underlying feeling of cohesiveness, otherwise they will appear as a series of unrelated incidents that go nowhere. After my last blog post and the realization that my work-in-progress is starting to follow the mythic journey template, I thought I’d check the template to see if it offers a solution.

The mythic journey begins in the ordinary world, which is the way my work-in-progress begins.

The second stage in the format is the call to adventure. I suppose the ending of the world qualifies; you can’t find anything more unsettling and disturbing than that. The choice to enter the place of safety is another call to adventure, for Chip doesn’t know what will await him, but it’s also the antithesis of the call to adventure in that he is being called to safety not danger.

The third stage is the refusal of the call. The refusal is supposed to show the hero’s fear, his need to be cajoled, the riskiness of the adventure. But if the call isn’t dangerous, does Chip’s refusal to enter the safety zone qualify for the third step? He is confronting the great unknown, so perhaps his choosing freedom and danger isn’t as noble as I think it is. Perhaps he is choosing the known over the unknown. Either way, he prefers to stay where he is.

Traditionally, the hero cannot achieve his or her full potential without accepting the call and the risks that come with it. Choosing to accept the call does not guarantee the hero’s success, for the road is long and treacherous. But for Chip, refusing the call is the long and treacherous time. Still, in the mythic world, opposites often lead in the same direction, so I will presume the lessons learned are the same.

Many influences come into play to get the hero to answer the call, such as a change in circumstance and offenses against the natural order of things. These Chip will have, and they will help him redefine his objectives. Readers also like to see the hero’s reluctance overcome, and the stiffer the reluctance, the more they enjoy seeing it worn down. Perhaps that’s my answer. Maybe I need to have readers hoping Chip will opt for safety, make them an accomplice in his choice so they will have a stake during the other nine stages of the journey. To do this, I will need a character that stands in for the reader, which means Chip can’t go it alone.

This brings us to the next stage of the mythic journey: the meeting with the mentor. A mentor helps prepare the hero for the coming adventure, giving him advice and gifts. A mentor would certainly give this part the cohesiveness it lacks, and it would also give life to what would otherwise be simply a string of ordeals.

So there it is, the solution to my problem: a mentor.

A nice irony: in my mythic journey as a writer, I always hoped to find a mentor, one who would help me overcome the problems I encounter. Who would have thought I’d find this mentor in my own blog?

Posted in blogging, books, culture, fiction, life, writing. Tags: call to adventure, character, hero, mythic journey, writing. Leave a Comment »

The Mythic Journey: Star Wars, Tin Cup, and Me

March 26, 2008 — Pat Bertram

New writers often rail against formulas and rules in an attempt to find their own voice, but the rules of good writing and storytelling need not be formulaic. Nor do formulas themselves need to be formulaic.

The most prevalent formula for writing fiction is the mythic journey, and two of the most obvious examples of this template are The Wizard of Oz and Star Wars. Does anyone doubt that these two movies tell the same story? Yet the mythic journey is not always so obvious. Tin Cup, far from the plots and contrivances of The Wizard of Oz and Star Wars, follows the same basic structure as they do and is equally mythic.

The movie begins in Roy McAvoy’s ordinary world, a driving range. The main call to adventure comes when his friend Romeo suggests that Roy enter the U.S. Open. Roy refuses the call, not wanting to change his ways, but he agrees when he realizes it is a way of catching the interest of the woman he loves. The woman and Romeo act as Roy’s mentors, helping him prepare for the game. He crosses the threshold into the extraordinary world when he enters the U.S. Open. As in any mythic journey, other archetypical characters (non-stereotypical but recognizable) accompany the hero Roy and help, hinder, and cheer him along the way.

Roy wants to change, and he prepares for and passes first one test and then another. Then comes the big moment, the mythic moment. He fails the final test, losing the U.S. Open, but wins his personal quest. He makes the shot he knows he can make, and he returns to the ordinary world with his ladylove. At the end he attempts to figure out what he learned, and recommits himself to another quest, next year’s U.S. Open.

Because of mythic journey formula, Tin Cup is not simply an amusing movie but is the quintessential story: an ordinary person who transforms himself into an extraordinary one.

In my own mythic journey as a writer, I have learned not to be afraid of formulas and rules, but rather to embrace them and make them my own. I hadn’t considered using the mythic journey formula again, since I already used it for my novel Daughter Am I, but my work-in-progress is the story of an ordinary man who is transformed into an extraordinary one, so whether I like it or not, I will be following the formula to a certain extent.

And I do like it. Perhaps it will give my novel a mythic aura. Not a bad quality for any story.

Posted in culture, life, writing. Tags: formulas for writing, hero, mythic journey, Star Wars, Tin Cup, Wizard of Oz, writing. 1 Comment »

On Writing: Flashing Back to Flashbacks

March 25, 2008 — Pat Bertram

In my post on finding a beginning to a novel, I mentioned as an aside that if you have many flashbacks in your book, you should move the story backward in order present those scenes as they happened chronologically. It’s good advice — my advice on writing is the distillation of the hundreds of writing manuals I have read coupled with my own experience as an unpublished novelist — but reading the comments people left on my blog made me wonder where I really stand.

I do think that ideally a story should begin at the beginning and go to the end with few backtracks. Telling it chronologically gives the story impetus, making us want to read further in order to find out what is going to happen. But the ideal way of telling a story is not always the most practical way.

If I have any reservations about my novel More Deaths Than One, they come from its five long flashbacks. Two flashbacks are told as stories. Scheherazade-like, the hero seduces the heroine with the stories so, as in all elements of a good novel, they do double duty. Two other flashbacks introduce the hero when he was younger and introduce a friend who is murdered. The fifth, I’m embarrassed to admit, is there simply because I like the story it told, though it did introduce a minor character. (And the heroine asked for a story. What can I say? She was insatiable.)

Originally I wrote the book in three parts: present, past, then present again. That didn’t work — the past was so boring it slowed the pace, even though much of it was important. Then I tried using a prologue. That didn’t work either; it seemed as if it were there merely as a hook and not an integral part of the story. So I began the novel in the present and added flashbacks as needed. I don’t know if it works, but right now it’s the only way I know to tell the story.

In my other books, I let the characters tell each other their life stories. It’s a cheat, really, a means of making the past seem more immediate, but at least the characters get to know each other at the same time the reader does. The flashbacks in my work-in-progress are true flashbacks, momentary musings by the hero. I do not plan to write any scenes in the past. I want this one to have as much forward movement as possible to mask its real character — an allegory. (I mean, really, an allegory? Who reads allegories?)

As a reader, I prefer anything that keeps my attention. Often, flashbacks disturb the flow of the story, making me aware of the construct. In the minutes it takes for me to get into the flow of the back-story, I lose interest. But I admit, I have become something of a philistine and no longer admire writing solely for its artistic and intellectual achievements.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

Posted in blogging, books, fiction, life, writing. Tags: advice on writing, flashbacks, flow of the story, Scheherazade, story elements, writing. Leave a Comment »

What the Color of your Vehicle Says About You (Or the Character in Your Book)

March 23, 2008 — Pat Bertram

In my green article for St. Patrick’s Day, I wrote, “Owning a dark green vehicle supposedly means that you are traditional, trusty, and well balanced, but what it really means is that you are thrifty. Who makes dark green cars anymore? If you own one, it’s probably been a while since you bought a new vehicle.”

So for all you smug people who don’t own a green vehicle, I thought I’d tell you what the color of your car says about you.

Yes, your fiery orange-red sports car says exactly what you think it does: you’re sexy, speedy, high-energy, dynamic. Before you preen, go out and look at your red car. Most red cars on the road are more of a kidney bean color. Is yours? If so, it means you are dynamic and energetic but are losing your fire. You really want to be have that orange-red sports car personality, but you just can’t quite make it. You’re too busy, too old, or too tired. For all the good your red car does you, it might as well be brown.

A silver car supposedly says that you are cool and elegant. The only problem is that since silver was the most popular car color for several years, almost everyone owns one, like your neighbors who don’t mow their lawns and don’t put their garbage cans away after the garbage has been picked up. Real cool. Very elegant.

White supposedly means you are fastidious, but what it really means is that you wanted that fiery orange-red sports car, but you drive like a bat out of hell or like batman in his batmobile, (depending on your age group) and you were afraid that you’d get too many tickets so you chose the less conspicuous white. Good thinking. On average, while drivers in red cars do not get more tickets than anyone else, orange-red sports car drivers do, and let’s face it, they deserve them. Who drives the speed limit in a car like that?

A light blue vehicle supposedly means that you’re calm and quiet, but what it really means is that you went to the showroom to buy a sunshine yellow car to show how joyful and young-at-heart you are, but they only had marine blue, and since you really are a calm, quiet person who doesn’t like to make waves, you bought it.

A purple vehicle means you are creative, individualistic, original, and perhaps it does. It could also mean you’re too old to care what anyone thinks of you.

A black vehicle says you are empowered, not easily manipulated, love elegance, and you appreciate the classics. It’s also says that you are mysterious or that you have two sides to your personality; it’s the favored car of both clergy and gangsters.

A dark blue vehicle says you are credible, confident, dependable. And you drive too much because you always get stuck with the carpool.

A gray vehicle says you are sober, corporate, practical. Boring. But if that gray car is charcoal with sparkles, you still have flashes of brilliance and charisma.

An orange vehicle says you are fun loving, talkative, fickle, trendy. A yellow-green one says you are trendy, whimsical, lively. And you know it’s true. Only fun and whimsical cars come in these colors: Volkswagen bugs and little sportscars.

A tan vehicle means that you’re timeless, basic, simple, but it also means you have something to hide. Maybe bad driving habits? Or that you never wash your car?

A gold vehicle says is that you love comfort and will pay for it; it also says that you’re intelligent, and you must be — you were smart enough to come read my article!

And a brown vehicle supposedly means you’re down-to-earth but who are you trying to kid? If you really cared about the earth, you wouldn’t have bought that big old gas-guzzler.

So what color of car do I drive? I’m sorry, but I don’t know you well enough to answer such a personal question.

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One. “Grief: The Inside Story is perfect and that is not hyperbole! It is exactly what folk who are grieving need to read.” –Leesa Healy, RN, GDAS GDAT, Emotional/Mental Health Therapist & Educator.

Posted in culture, life, writing. Tags: black car, blue, brown, dark blue car, gold car, gray car, green, meaning of color, orange car, purple car, red, tan, vehicle colors, white, white car, yellow. 5 Comments »

Finding a Beginning to a Novel

March 20, 2008 — Pat Bertram

The search engine terms that bring most visitors to my blog are “the origin of the grim reaper” and “the moving finger writes,” but occasionally people come looking for something specific about writing. Lately, it seems, people are wondering how to find the beginning of a novel.

A character’s life, like any life, starts with either a gleam in the parents’ eyes or a birth, depending on your religious and political beliefs. And all stories, taken to their logical conclusion, end in death. Somewhere in that spectrum is the story you want to tell, and since all stories are about change, the novel should begin as close to the moment of change as possible.

The one exception to this rule is that if your story will need flashbacks, you should move the beginning further back on the spectrum in order to show these scenes as they are happening. Flashbacks, no matter how interesting, stop the flow of a story; because they are in the past, readers have no stake in their outcome. Making your flashbacks part of the present gives them an immediacy they would not otherwise have.

Most new writers (and many professionals who should know better) begin with a weather report, long passages of description to set the scene, or even the character’s ancestry. If you feel comfortable starting one of these ways, do so, but keep in mind it is only a temporary construct until you figure out where you are going with your story. As you write, you will find ways of inserting the necessary information elsewhere in the book, and will be able to delete it from the beginning of your novel. Despite what you might think, readers do not need to know who your character is before you begin the tale. They need to be thrust into the story so that they can find out for themselves who your character is.

So, start your novel with something happening, with a moment of potential drama, with a conversation. Many books begin with violence, which is a sure way of catching readers’ interest. At the very least, they will find it more exciting than a weather report or a description of your extraterrestrial world. And so will you. The more excited you are about the story you are writing, the easier it will be for you to write. Because, as you will find out, beginning a novel is simple; finishing it is an entirely different matter.

Posted in blogging, books, life, writing. Tags: beginning, beginning a novel, drama, flashbacks, moment of change, novel, violence, writing. 5 Comments »

On Writing: A Character’s Emotions

March 19, 2008 — Pat Bertram

How would you react to the end of your world? In Groundhog Day, each morning was the same and only Phil Connors changed as he lived through the monotony of his new world. Interestingly enough, such monotony would make it easier for you to cope; you would know what each day would bring.

But what if the opposite were true? What if you woke up to a different world every day, where nothing was familiar and nothing made sense? You would learn to cope with the current day as best as you could, but the next day you would have to start coping all over again in an entirely different milieu. Even worse, everyone you know has disappeared. One day they were there, the next day . . . nothing.

In my current work in progress, my hero is struggling with this very problem, but it seems to me as if he’s being a bit too accepting of the situation. Dealing with his neurotic mother all his life could have trained him to be adaptable, which would make him accepting. He could be shell-shocked, which could explain his lack of emotion. He is dealing with the possibility that he’s gone crazy, which could further explain why he’s not emoting all over the place. And, to top it all off, he is in the denial stage regarding the deaths/deletion/disappearance of his mother and his friends.

But the question arises: are his the proper reactions for the situation? Could his restrained emotions be due to my lack of understanding of the human psyche, my inability to write emotional scenes, or perhaps simply my dislike of overly emotional characters?

Emotions are seldom pure and simple; they come mixed, like love and hate, fear and attraction. Sometimes they are inappropriate, such as laughter at funerals, anger at imagined slights. Some people have extreme emotional swings, and other people react unemotionally no matter what happens. And sometimes, the more outrageous the situation, the less emotion it garners.

With such wildly divergent possibilities, in the end, it comes down to what I can make the reader believe, and more importantly, what I can make myself believe. If I believe his reactions are the proper ones, I can write them properly. I like the idea that he is a stoic guy moving through his changing world until one insignificant problem arises to send him over the edge. But if he is that stoic, will he go over the edge? I think not.

And so it goes.

Posted in life, writing. Tags: character's emotions, coping, end of the world, Groundhog Day, writing, writing emotions. Leave a Comment »

On Writing: Embracing Playfulness

March 18, 2008 — Pat Bertram

My goal as a writer is to learn all I can and to be so accomplished and confident that I can write whatever and however I wish and be able to stand by it. Too many new writers think they don’t need to follow the rules, that they can set their own style, which is true up to a point, and that point is readability. What I want is confidence coupled with readability. Following the style others have set is not my way, but so far I haven’t found a distinct voice.

One way I am trying to find that voice is by embracing playfulness. When I’m trying to figure out where to go with a story or a scene, I brainstorm, stringing incongruities and absurdities together, the more ridiculous the better. Not only does it get my mental juices flowing, sometimes those ridiculous ideas are the perfect answer to the problem of what comes next.

Silliness has added some interesting twists to my books. My novel, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, is about a disease that wipes out most of the population of Colorado. About half way through the writing, I hit a wall. I tried brainstorming with a friend, and he had no interest whatsoever in my plight, so being silly, he said I should forget the book and write about zombies. I laughed at the suggestion, but the idea took hold. Since the disease was a rapidly mutating one, I had the disease go through a short spurt where the victims turned into zombies. Gave the book an interesting twist, mostly because even though the idea started out being silly, it ended up being spooky. Odd, that.

One thing I have not been able to silly my way out of is my habit of using too many pronouns. He did this. He did that. He went here. He went there. It’s the mark of an amateur, but more than that, I don’t like it. I should be able to come up with a better way of telling the story. And maybe someday I will.

Until then, all I can do is write, perfect the craft, and embrace playfulness.

Posted in fiction, life, writing. Tags: brainstorming, confidence, goal as writer, playfulness, pronouns, voice, writing. Leave a Comment »

Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Green and More

March 17, 2008 — Pat Bertram

The colors at the ROY end of the spectrum excite us, the BIV colors calm us down, but green is neutral in its effect.

Green is the largest color family discernible to the human eye. Darker tones are linked with durability, soft tones are perceived as restful, bluish greens can be calming, yellowish greens can be exciting. Yellowish greens also produce feelings of well-being and optimism, but too much yellow in the green induces negative responses and are associated with envy, illness, toxins, slime. (You with that bilious green sweater: now you know why your wife keeps throwing it out. Do her a favor and leave it in the trash.)

If green is your favorite color (and statistically it isn’t, most adults prefer blue and most children prefer red) you are probably stable, well balanced, and responsible. You are a good citizen, a concerned parent, a caring companion, a loyal friend. You are intelligent and inclined to do something new rather than follow the crowd. (What a conundrum! Everyone else is wearing green for St. Patrick’s Day, and it’s your favorite color so you’d like to do the same, but since it is your favorite color, you are the type who doesn’t do what everyone else is doing. How do you cope?)

Owning a dark green vehicle supposedly means that you are traditional, trusty, and well balanced, but what it really means is that you are thrifty. Who makes dark green cars anymore? If you own one, it’s probably been a while since you bought a new vehicle. (Off the subject of green, but on the subject of vehicle colors: men sometimes prefer trucks in blue because they love the way mud looks on the side of a blue truck. Hey, don’t look at me. I’m just reporting someone else’s research.)

Wear green if you are anxious, bitter, resentful, and you want to overcome these negative feelings. Wear green to ameliorate allergies, circulation or breathing problems, or upper back and shoulder pains.

Wear green for creative thinking. If you have writer’s block, wear a green hat, switch to green ink, go outside and contemplate the green grass and green leaves. But if detached, analytical thinking is required, stay away from green. Especially green beer. But then, it’s Saint Patrick’s Day, so who cares about detached, analytical thinking?

Posted in culture, life, writing. Tags: creative thinking, green, green beer, meaning of green, St. Patrick's Day, wearing green, writing: writer's block. Leave a Comment »

Can the Setting Be a Character in the Story?

March 13, 2008 — Pat Bertram

The setting of a book should not be static, a mere backdrop for the story, but should have personality, emotions, strengths, weaknesses, scars, and moods. At least that’s what books on writing tell us.

In my previous novels, I tried to make the settings necessary to the stories, to show how they couldn’t have happened anywhere else in exactly the same way. Because my stories all take place in Colorado, by the very fact of geography, mountains play a part if only to shadow the humans living at their foot.

My current work in progress is different in that the world changes constantly. The mountains are always there giving my hero a reference point, but cities change to plains and plains change to seas. My hero has to try to come to terms with his constantly changing environment, which creates most of the conflict for the first part of the story. Because of this, I’m wondering if I can turn the environment into a character. It would certainly make the first part stronger because during much of it the hero is alone. It would give the book an entirely new dimension. And it would be a challenge for me.

Despite its changeability, though, the environment doesn’t want anything, so I’m not certain it can be a character. Doesn’t a character have to be dynamic with its own wants and needs? Even if it is possible for an environment to be a character, can I create one that has wants and needs without my anthropomorphizing it? Maybe the environment, like my hero, wants to be left alone. Maybe, the environment, also like my hero, stoically endures what is happening to it. But how would I show this from only my hero’s point of view?

I remember discussions in literature classes about those very things, and I didn’t get it. No matter how dramatic a setting was and how much it influenced the characters, it still always seemed to me to be static. Yet here I am, trying to put something more into my setting than perhaps needs to be there.

The only thing to do, I suppose, is keep all this in the back of my mind as I am writing, and if I can make the setting more alive, do so. If not, leave well enough alone. The story is already developing too many depths for what was supposed to be a silly little tale.

Posted in books, life, writing. Tags: character, mood, personality, Setting, story, strengths, weaknesses, writing. Leave a Comment »

Describing a Character the Easy Way

March 12, 2008 — Pat Bertram

The tendency today is for authors to keep character descriptions in a novel short and focused by using brand names, and some books on writing recommend doing so. Obviously, a character who wears named designer suits or dresses is different from one who wears discount store clothing. And a character who eats a certain boxed cereal is different from one who eats plain old oatmeal. (Another recommendation is to describe characters by comparing them to celebrities, which, in a way, is the same thing — a celebrity is a name brand person.)

Most readers, perhaps, can more easily identify with a character who uses the same brands they do, and such descriptions give the book immediacy, but it seems to me like blatant advertising. Brand names have so encroached on our lives that we no longer realize we’ve become walking billboards. Even worse, we pay for the privilege of donating our personal space to the major corporations for free advertising.

But that doesn’t mean I have to embrace the trend in my writing. Sometimes there is no getting around a brand name. Saying a character put a Band-Aid on a cut has a completely different connotation than saying the character put a bandage on the cut. (For me, bandage summons a vision of gauze wrapped around an arm with the ends tied in a knot.) And I once used the phrase “Popsicle colors” to describe northern Wisconsin in the autumn. (If you’ve ever been there when the leaves are changing color, you will know how apt that description is.) Outside of that, I don’t think I’ve ever used brand names.

So, like writers of fantasy, science fiction and historical novels, I have to fall back on the old-fashioned way of describing and defining a character — by the colors they prefer, the style of clothing they wear and, most importantly, their actions. In the end, these descriptions are more enduring than brand names. Brand names, however entrenched, do become defunct, which would make our books passé, and us along with it. This perhaps defeats the purpose of writing. After all, don’t we all harbor the unrealistic dream of future generations reading our immortal works?

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