TOO MUCH NARRATIVE? CHANGING POV'S? MELODRAMATIC? HOW DO YOU KNOW WHEN YOU'VE GOTTEN IT RIGHT?

One of my favorite authors typically begins her books with pages of narrative.  The reader is introduced to the main character, often through pages of backstory or interior monologue.  And I honestly saw nothing wrong with it.  She's a best-selling novelist with a huge, loyal fan-base.  So it was only natural for me to begin my manuscript in this same fashion.  I didn't follow her lead entirely, however, as I did interrupt the narrative on page two with a phone call between my main character and her husband, who would develop into my antagonist.  In short, I thought I was off to a good start...until I was told opening a book with pages of narrative wasn't effective...until I pointed out that my favorite author did it and asked why she could when I shouldn't?  Until I was told that she's famous and can get away with it simply for that reason.  Being famous does have it's perks, I guess.

I bumped into a "published" author quite by accident and she seemed interested in my work.  So, at her request, I sent my first chapter over to her for feedback.  Turns out, I still have a lot to learn!  Of course, I'd heard the age-old adage that states that we authors must "show" not "tell" our readers, and I honestly thought that's what I'd done.  She gave me tons of advice and, since we're both romance writers, I took it to heart, even though what she said was in direct conflict with what I'd read and learned from other authors.  Still...she was "published" while I was not, so I figured she must know what she was talking about.  So my quest for revision began.

I must digress here and say that this was not the first time my manuscript was the subject of scrutiny.  I'm also using it as my guinea pig for my Masters program so I introduced it for peer and instructor review on several occasions.  My classmate's, of course, did their best to be kind.  I mean, what else are they supposed to do when put on the spot?  None of us wanted to hurt anyone's feelings if it could be avoided.  My instructor's feedback was positive, but he did offer several suggestions on changing up the plot to remove what he said was the melodrama I'd weaved within its pages.  He said he understood what my intent was but that he thought, if I really put my mind to it, that I could keep the emotional impact of the scenes while removing what seemed over-dramatic.  Okay...so once again, I set out to revise, not really knowing what I was doing.  I deleted scenes.  I changed things around.  I tried to look back at my character histories and determine just how each of them would act under certain situations.  I felt as if I was starting over.

Since then, I've struggled to move my story forward, developing from my main character's point of view.  But I've also learned that the advice my well-meaning author friend gave me might hold true for the type of romance novel she writes...one of those short, Harlequin-type books...but might not always apply to my longer, more mainstream, contemporary romance novel.  I've worked on "showing" my readers my character's emotions rather than "telling" them.  I've tried to give my characters something to care about...a goal...something that they simply cannot live without...as well as real-life obstacles that could easily prevent them from having those things.  I want my readers to care about the outcome of the story.

I cannot say that I have a clearer picture on just how you know when you've gotten all these must-haves right in a manuscript.  I suppose the only way to know is keep on plugging away at it and then find an editor who can give feedback.  That's not an easy thing to do.  Besides the expense involved, finding the courage...growing that thick skin...and believing in my abilities as a writer are all factors that play into what lies ahead for my beloved manuscript in the future.  Until then, I will continue to read and learn as much as possible about what constitutes a "good" manuscript.  I plan to use it as my thesis for the final three classes of my Masters program (if I can, that is).  Most of all, I will remember that this manuscript is my baby, so to speak.  It's a very personal endeavor and, whether it is ever successful or not, it will be work that truly came from the heart.  

LOOKING BACK AT LIFE IN "THE MIRROR"

There’s a face staring back at her from the mirror,

The face of a person she doesn’t know.

Her eyes are sad,

Hardened by life.

Who is she?

Her youthful joy’s been replaced by resignation.

The mistakes.  The pain.  The past.

Haunted by all that should have been but wasn’t.

Still, her life is not a complete failure.

She raised a family,

But she rarely sees them now that they’re grown.

“If you don’t hear from them, that means you did your job right.”

She finds little comfort in those words.

She lives in a lonely world, feeling forgotten.

She’s never been good at being a friend,

At being a wife,

And maybe even at being a mother, daughter, sister…

Maybe that’s why she’s alone.

“You made your bed, now you must lie in it,” they say.

Who is this person staring back at her from the mirror?

With hair that’s going grey,

With lines and wrinkles interrupting the appearance of youth,

With eyes that speak of loneliness and sorrow…

Without saying a word.

Where did the joy go?  The zest for life?  The hope?  The faith in those stars?

When did she stop being a dreamer?

When did I grow so old?

IS LITERARY THEORY RELEVANT IN THE WORLD OF FICTION WRITERS?

The Relevance of Literary Theory

Nine weeks ago, I was a complete stranger to the world of literary theory.  As I skimmed through Literary Theory: An Anthology, I can say with honesty that I agreed with Robert Young when he said that the realm of literary theory seemed “to be an area of intellectual activity barred to all except initiates…[with] literary theorists…making little effort to address a wider audience” (165).  With no exposure to the field, I felt overwhelmed by what I saw at first glance.  I thought back to my earlier academic days and the required readings of many of the great writers: Shakespeare, Poe, Twain, Dickins, and Melville, to name a few.  At that time, I read those works only at what I now understand to be the surface level.  I didn’t have any idea that a knowledge of literary theory could have helped me “discover new ways in which [I] might be able to experience literature even more powerfully [by pursuing] the questions which literary theory raises” (Young 166).  Having studied the literary theories of psychoanalysis, Marxism, feminism, and deconstructionism, I now see the many layers of hidden meaning that can be extruded from a text, adding depth to my experience as a reader and a writer.

In stating that studying the application of literary theory to a text has opened up new layers of meaning, I’m in direct conflict with the very nature of those theories.  “Deconstruction shows how language can never arrive at a closed final meaning, because in the process of getting to that meaning the signs will always leave a residue that remains unassimilable to it” (Young 170).  In other words, the inherent instability of language to convey meaning makes it impossible to establish one universal meaning of a text.  Other theorists, such as Walter Benjamin, suggest that “understanding literature means more than merely understanding language…[it] must be considered in a speculative mode, always mediated through the way of meaning” (Kohlross para. 18).  Taking into account the many controversial ideas of literary theory, Jacques Derrida sums it up when he defines it as “an adventure of vision…a form of writing whose power and significance resides in the fact that it is explorative” (Young 173).  Regardless of which side of the argument you’re on, the worlds that the application of literary theory to any given text opens up signifies its importance and will be what continues to give its methods of study life.

As I studied a few of the many literary theories , I was completely intrigued by the deconstructionist theory.  I spent countless hours scouring any resource I could find in an effort to understand its complicated concepts.  That being said, I think that the psychoanalytic theory will be the most useful to me in my future endeavors as a creative fiction writer.  “The “cognito” or thinking self defines our humanity and our civility” (Introduction 390).  Part of preparing to construct a piece of fiction involves completing character histories, with the goal being to understand the motivations for their actions, allowing me, as a writer, to convey this to my reader, making my characters more relatable.  Keeping in mind the concepts of the psychoanalytic theory as I develop my character histories will open them up to me and let me “know” who they are and why they would behave or react a certain way to particular events.  Granted, a literary theory is typically applied to a completed text, but I can envision many ways that referring to the key concepts of the psychoanalytic theory will help make my writing stronger from the beginning. 

If asked at this point if I believe that the field of literary theory is just for those elitists, my answer would have to be, “No.”  It is an area filled with complicated concepts that can take a great deal of study to understand, but I found it to be worth it in terms of the new ways in which I am now able to look at a literary text, and even my own writing, and find multiple meanings that enrich my reading experience.  I now understand how much more can be hidden within the lines of those classics that I might have once dismissed as boring or meaningless.  My understanding of literary theory allows me to look at an author’s work and realize that he or she really had something to say about the human condition.

Works Cited

“Introduction: Strangers to Ourselves: Psychoanalysis.” Literary Theory: An Anthology. 2nd ed. Julie Rivkin, Michael Ryan, ed. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing. 2004. pp.390. Print.

Kohlross, Christian. “Walter Benjamin’s “The Task of the Translator: Theory After the End of Theory.” Partial Answers. 7(1). January 2009. para 18. Web. Accessed 19 March 2107. http://search.proquest.com.ezproxy.snhu.edu/docview/226084562?accountid=3783

Young, Robert. “Contemporary Literary Theory: Its Necessity and Impossibility.” College Literature. Vol. 9. Issue 3. Fall 1982. pp.165-173.