How to Write a Good Story

7 Ways to Make a Good Story Great (I)

Whenever I think of the word gatekeeper, a little film clip from The Wizard of Oz starts up in my head, where the fearsome palace guard denies Dorothy and friends access to the Wizard. "The Wizard says, 'Go away!'"

If aspiring authors are Dorothy, agents and editors are that guy. They seem bigger than you. They give stern lectures.

Except remember what happens? Dorothy's sob story melts the mustachioed, bearskin-hatted guard's heart, and he winds up letting them in.

Thus the great secret is revealed: You don't have to do anything but tell a fabulous story to make them love you.

There are subtle differences between fiction that's passable and fiction that pops—fiction that shows that you know what you're doing. Consider agents and editors your über-readers. If you win them over, a larger audience won't be far behind.

Here are seven ways successful authors make their stories crackle with authority and get the gatekeepers on their side. These techniques will work on any kind of fiction: literary, romance, mystery, sci-fi, you name it. What's more, you can implement them no matter where you are in your writing process, from first draft to final polish.

1. Go beyond the five senses.

Most writers know enough to put in sensations beyond sight and sound. It's always great to read about a character who takes note of the hot metal-and-oil aroma that lingers over the rails after a fast train has passed, or the weight of a new tweed coat on his shoulders.

Agents and editors love the five senses, but they want and expect more. They want physical business that deepens not just your setting, but your characterizations.

Here's the key: The best authors use body language in their narratives. Odd thing is, I have never once heard an agent or editor comment on my (or any author's) use of body language, and I think that's because it goes by so smoothly it's almost unnoticed. Yet it absolutely gives texture and depth to your work. When it's missing, fiction feels flat.

Begin by reading up on body language. You'll find that two things are at the root of all of it: anxiety (or lack thereof) and hidden desires. Dwell inside your characters and sense how they feel in any given situation.

Consider this:

Brian paused and lit a cigarette. He exhaled a stream of smoke at the window.

That doesn't tell anything about the character or his state of mind. If Brian needs a cigarette, use the moment fully:

Brian paused and lit a cigarette. He held it close to his body, as if he didn't want to take up too much space. He exhaled a stream of smoke at the window, avoiding Anne-Marie's eyes.

We learn something about what's going on with Brian here, without having to plow through an internal monologue from him or Anne-Marie.

2. Embrace idiosyncrasies.

People behave rationally only part of the time; the rest of the time we take stupid risks and do other things we can't explain.

Agents and editors know this as well as anyone, but because they don't want readers to have to work too hard to suspend disbelief, they really harp on believability. And when they do, frequently their objections have to do with a character's motivation. (I should add that you can pick apart any masterwork on that basis: "I really don't think Ophelia would kill herself in this situation. I mean, don't you think suicide is way over-the-top? Much more plausible to have her develop an eating disorder, wouldn't you agree?") The trouble is, if you bow to this and have your characters behave totally rationally at all times, you'll write dead-boring fiction.

Here's the key: Human weirdness follows patterns we can all relate to (or at least understand).

One of the biggest is that love—or sex, at least—makes people irrational. We throw over the picture-perfect millionaire for the rough-around-the-edges dirt biker with debt; we lie to our faithful wife on the phone while bonking the secretary in a motel. Which goes to show that if you incorporate a strong enough motivating factor—even an irrational one—you can easily establish a plausible reason for erratic actions on the part of your characters. And those characters are far more interesting to read about than those who always behave rationally.

Similarly, any number of terrific plot turns can result when you give a character an obsession—random or not—or an idiosyncrasy that can act as a thread through the story.

For instance, someone who is obsessed can become single-mindedly so, leading to horrible errors in judgment. Control freaks turn vainglorious and become prone to fatal decisions:

"Aw, Captain, let's just go back to port. We've lost half the crew already."

"Shut the hell up! I can't let that white whale win!"

It follows that an obsessed character must either find grace (or be forced to it), or reject growth and stick with their crippled, familiar life to the end. Either way, it's compelling storytelling.

To embrace this side of human nature in your fiction, you needn't get a degree in psychology. In fact, a little capriciousness here can be beneficial.

Decide which of your characters is the weakest—which one isn't working well. Which one are you sort of avoiding dealing with?

Now, brainstorm the "-istics" of that character. Let's say he is casual about commitments. OK: What if he categorically will not show up anywhere on time?

Automatically, this character becomes more interesting, and automatically we feel a little detonation of uh-oh:What's going to happen when suddenly a lot is riding on him being somewhere on time—say, for an ultimatum, or a starting gun? This sort of characterization does two things: It makes a character stronger as a dramatic device, and it makes him more memorable.

A character's weirdness can keep your readers guessing all the way along; it can keep them compelled, as they try to understand and spin theories. Or they might not even notice—but they will get a feeling that for some hard-to-pinpoint reason, this character just seems genuine.

P.S

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