While making time to shut the door and isolate yourself in order to get your best writing done is extremely important (and something I think really can't be overestimated), so, too, is putting yourself in situations that allow you to listen to the world, or perhaps more honestly, that allow you to eavesdrop. This is something I've heard said for years now, particularly in my writing classes: that to be a good writer you must pay attention. You must be a good listener and observe the world around you. You must carry around a notebook and jot things down all the time. And of course, I nodded and wrote down the advise, and do carry a notebook in my purse or backpack. But this week, this idea really came alive for me. And I found that listening helped me not only with my current project, but with the projects I am currently developing. Listening became free inspiration. And new ideas seemed to be popping up all over.
Instead of cooking dinner one night, I decided to go out and grab some food. As I waited for my order, I took out my notebook and began doing some writing, kind of paying attention to the people moving around me and the TV on mute in the background. Then, the interplay between several waiters caught my attention. Teasing and joking one another, they began to make up these ridiculous names and guess at their potential origins. Some of them were so good, that I began jotting them down, knowing that I was totally stealing these — one in particular which will be perfect for my spring novel! They even caught me laughing, it was so funny! But they didn't seem to mind at all.
Similarly, while taking a break to watch some of the olympics, I found myself enthralled by the sports commentary. So helpful to my current novel, I listened to the phrases and flow of the words — things you can't just look up on the internet. Sure, you can find a list of the phrases, but to hear them used, to hear them woven together and spoken so effortlessly gave me a whole new insight into how to use the terms.
Then yesterday, as a girl of seven or eight walked down the sidewalk of an apartment complex under a shared umbrella with a boy of the same age, she said, "I ain't running in no rain." The sass that came from that little girl in white ballet flats and a pink Sunday dress reminded me just how opinionated kids can be. And the subsequent acceptance of the boy, who didn't dare utter one word of protest, revealed just how early the boy to girl dynamics begin. Listening to children's conversations is one of the funnest things to do, but also so important to my work. Understanding and recreating the speech patterns of a child allows me, as a children's writer, to gain an authenticity that I may otherwise be lacking, and similarly reminds me that children are just as complex as adults, even though people seem to forget this at times. But in order to get it right, I need to listen to it unfold.
Being in the world, and being present, provides so many ideas that are just there for the taking. Each of the examples above helped me gather an idea, or think about a character differently, or improve the texture of my language. And all of them just happened. I just was in the right place at the right time. But really, it was the right time because I was listening — listening with that writerly ear — and recognizing them as related to my stories almost as soon as I heard them.
Coupled with this idea of listening to other's conversations, is also the idea that you should create your own. Ask questions. Be friendly. Offer to buy someone a coffee, and interview them about their knowledge and skill sets. Most people want to talk — about themselves and their own stories, or something that just happens to be on their heart. So listening, and asking might just be the best way to find ideas, and enrich the ones you already have. Inspiration comes from all over. And sometimes the most unlikely of places. So make sure to keep your ears open. And stick by those friends who are really great storytellers.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Wednesday's Writing Prompt — The Jump
Your character stands on the top of a cliff, high above the water. His friends have convinced him to join them for cliff jumping. "It's fun," they told him. Now is the moment right before he's going to jump. How does he feel? What is he thinking? What did the walk up there feel like? Is there any person he's thinking about? What is he seeing? And ultimately, does he jump?
Sunday, July 22, 2012
The Unspoken Emotions — Movement and Dialogue
This week, while working on a particular tension-filled scene, I found myself stressing over my characters' dialogue. I found myself thinking questions like, "Would she really say it like that?" and, "how can I reveal his discomfort without having him just say it?" When there is so much that needs to be said, but only so much a character would actually voice, I felt the pressure of wanting to capture the weight of the moment accurately with each line a character spoke.
The thing about dialogue is that while characters can say a lot about themselves, there are equally as many things they won't say. Like every person, there is a distinction between a character's thoughts and what he will actually voice. So in writing a scene that so heavily depends on dialogue, you have to be careful to maintain the line between thoughts and speech. Of course, you want your characters to be realistic and only speak dialogue that is authentic to their nature, but then, how do you accurately describe their state of mind, and the tension of the moment, if having them directly state it just doesn't work?
The answer is through a description of their physical movements — all the small ticks and habits and body language that reveals so much about a character. This is what I spent a lot of my week doing, visualizing the thing going on between and around the dialogue. In my scene, which relies so heavily upon dialogue because of the static nature of the office where it takes place, I realized that the physical expression of those words mattered just as much as the words themselves. Although you cannot detail every inflection and tone of a character's voice, well-placed descriptions of how a character looks, or what a character does, can make all the difference.
Visualizing the physical element of dialogue allows you to realize that it is not just about the words that are said, but also how they are said. Because we are limited to the words we put on the page, and cannot insert stage directions or whisper each and every emphasis into the reader's ear, the description of a character's actions becomes vital. In the absence of such stage directions, the expression of a character's subtle movements and tweaks become the guide that allows us to reveal just how a character's dialogue can be read. It gives the reader insight into the tension of the moment, and all the ways we envisioned the scene to come alive.
In my particular scene, my protagonist finds himself in the guidance counselor's office, where they are later joined by his mother. Unlike the previous scene that takes place on the soccer field, there is little movement happening. Everyone sits in chairs. No one is gesticulating wildly. But yet, the way the guidance counselor leans across her desk to portray empathy, and the way he slouches, totally uninterested in her words, and the way his mother fiddles with the clasp on her purse — these are all so important to understanding the scene. They show you what's going on below the surface. They show you how people feel.
You have to be creative about the movements you choose, because you don't want to venture into the cliche. I mean, your character can't sigh every time he feels exasperated, right? And your other impatient character can't just loudly tap her foot throughout the entire book. So you have to ask yourself, if she tilts her head to the side, what does that say? And, what would it mean he if purposely dropped something to the floor just to lean over and get a break from the gaze of his teacher? Scenes that are full of tension, or whatever emotion that lay just below the surface, need the physical description in order to come to life. Yes, the words of the dialogue themselves are so important, and cannot be underestimated, but the things going on around the dialogue are just as important, too.
When further limited by the first-person narration like my story is, you only have that moment to work with. What your characters sees and how he perceives things is all you have. With a distant third person or a third person omniscient, things might be easier. But when you only have that one scene, you need to bring it to life. And life is full of physical movement. So why not use it? It might just tell part of the story for you.
The thing about dialogue is that while characters can say a lot about themselves, there are equally as many things they won't say. Like every person, there is a distinction between a character's thoughts and what he will actually voice. So in writing a scene that so heavily depends on dialogue, you have to be careful to maintain the line between thoughts and speech. Of course, you want your characters to be realistic and only speak dialogue that is authentic to their nature, but then, how do you accurately describe their state of mind, and the tension of the moment, if having them directly state it just doesn't work?
The answer is through a description of their physical movements — all the small ticks and habits and body language that reveals so much about a character. This is what I spent a lot of my week doing, visualizing the thing going on between and around the dialogue. In my scene, which relies so heavily upon dialogue because of the static nature of the office where it takes place, I realized that the physical expression of those words mattered just as much as the words themselves. Although you cannot detail every inflection and tone of a character's voice, well-placed descriptions of how a character looks, or what a character does, can make all the difference.
Visualizing the physical element of dialogue allows you to realize that it is not just about the words that are said, but also how they are said. Because we are limited to the words we put on the page, and cannot insert stage directions or whisper each and every emphasis into the reader's ear, the description of a character's actions becomes vital. In the absence of such stage directions, the expression of a character's subtle movements and tweaks become the guide that allows us to reveal just how a character's dialogue can be read. It gives the reader insight into the tension of the moment, and all the ways we envisioned the scene to come alive.
In my particular scene, my protagonist finds himself in the guidance counselor's office, where they are later joined by his mother. Unlike the previous scene that takes place on the soccer field, there is little movement happening. Everyone sits in chairs. No one is gesticulating wildly. But yet, the way the guidance counselor leans across her desk to portray empathy, and the way he slouches, totally uninterested in her words, and the way his mother fiddles with the clasp on her purse — these are all so important to understanding the scene. They show you what's going on below the surface. They show you how people feel.
You have to be creative about the movements you choose, because you don't want to venture into the cliche. I mean, your character can't sigh every time he feels exasperated, right? And your other impatient character can't just loudly tap her foot throughout the entire book. So you have to ask yourself, if she tilts her head to the side, what does that say? And, what would it mean he if purposely dropped something to the floor just to lean over and get a break from the gaze of his teacher? Scenes that are full of tension, or whatever emotion that lay just below the surface, need the physical description in order to come to life. Yes, the words of the dialogue themselves are so important, and cannot be underestimated, but the things going on around the dialogue are just as important, too.
When further limited by the first-person narration like my story is, you only have that moment to work with. What your characters sees and how he perceives things is all you have. With a distant third person or a third person omniscient, things might be easier. But when you only have that one scene, you need to bring it to life. And life is full of physical movement. So why not use it? It might just tell part of the story for you.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Wednesday's Writing Prompt — Fire
Imagine your character has to run out of the house to escape a fire. She has time to grab a few items. What does she grab? Why does she think to take these things? What does this reveal about your character? What matters most to her? What is one thing she cannot take but she wishes she could?
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Keeping It Real — The Importance of Authenticity
This past week, much of my writing time has been devoted to research — researching soccer positions, defensive and offensive formations, drills, terms, and the important skill sets for each position. I've taken notes and watched youtube videos. I've made lists and diagrams of a soccer field. I've even asked a few soccer players I know for advice. It's been interesting, but doesn't fully fit into my typical idea of writing productivity. If the page numbers aren't increasing, it just doesn't feel as fruitful, right? But knowing your subject goes well beyond the importance of page numbers. It creates a sense of authenticity that ultimately affects both the voice of the novel and the reading experience of your future reader.
Going into my novel, I didn't anticipate that the game of soccer would be such a big part of my plot. I'd done plenty of research for other important topics in my novel, but didn't realize just how heavily soccer would play into the life of my character. Thus, I needed to understand it better — to really delve into the subject matter in order to write (or seem to write) with authority.
Providing an authenticity to whatever topic you are exploring is like creating a backbone to your work. It is something to lean on. Something that makes your work seem to stand a little straighter, and will make your work stronger. Authenticity is one of those tricky things that takes a whole lot of effort but doesn't always get a whole lot of recognition. Often, when you, the writer, seem to know what your talking about, then readers will simply accept your presentation and move forward, never questioning or really admiring your knowledge, unless it's something really rare. But, even if no one knows just how hard you worked or how many hours of research you had to put in, they will definitely know if you didn't put enough time into given subject matter.
Authenticity is literary quality that often doesn't get highlighted, but is always noticed when it isn't there. Whether it's details about a specific geographic region, the intricacies of a hobby like fishing, the rules for baking a delicacy, or a sport such as soccer, the reader needs to feel convinced that you know what your talking about. You never know when that fishing expert is going to pick up your book and read about a process they know by heart. You don't want to alienate them by getting it wrong. And similarly, for the reader who knows nothing about fishing or baking, you want to provide them with valid information so they can learn and expand their knowledge of the topic.
Of course, soccer is not the primary focus of my novel, just as your subject may not be yours. But the value of authenticity can't be underestimated. As writers we need to know what we are talking about. Yes, our stories are fiction, and perhaps even set in another world, but you want to build a trust with your reader through the presentation of real facts — a trust that allows them to not have to question your details; a trust that allows them to fall deeper into the story because you have done all the leg work for them.
Authenticity goes along way in strengthening a story, and a long way in creating a relationship with your reader. So even if you might not like doing all the research, keep going. In the end, when a reader can benefit from all your behind-the-scenes work, the research will pay off, your story will be stronger, and it will all be worth it.
Going into my novel, I didn't anticipate that the game of soccer would be such a big part of my plot. I'd done plenty of research for other important topics in my novel, but didn't realize just how heavily soccer would play into the life of my character. Thus, I needed to understand it better — to really delve into the subject matter in order to write (or seem to write) with authority.
Providing an authenticity to whatever topic you are exploring is like creating a backbone to your work. It is something to lean on. Something that makes your work seem to stand a little straighter, and will make your work stronger. Authenticity is one of those tricky things that takes a whole lot of effort but doesn't always get a whole lot of recognition. Often, when you, the writer, seem to know what your talking about, then readers will simply accept your presentation and move forward, never questioning or really admiring your knowledge, unless it's something really rare. But, even if no one knows just how hard you worked or how many hours of research you had to put in, they will definitely know if you didn't put enough time into given subject matter.
Authenticity is literary quality that often doesn't get highlighted, but is always noticed when it isn't there. Whether it's details about a specific geographic region, the intricacies of a hobby like fishing, the rules for baking a delicacy, or a sport such as soccer, the reader needs to feel convinced that you know what your talking about. You never know when that fishing expert is going to pick up your book and read about a process they know by heart. You don't want to alienate them by getting it wrong. And similarly, for the reader who knows nothing about fishing or baking, you want to provide them with valid information so they can learn and expand their knowledge of the topic.
Of course, soccer is not the primary focus of my novel, just as your subject may not be yours. But the value of authenticity can't be underestimated. As writers we need to know what we are talking about. Yes, our stories are fiction, and perhaps even set in another world, but you want to build a trust with your reader through the presentation of real facts — a trust that allows them to not have to question your details; a trust that allows them to fall deeper into the story because you have done all the leg work for them.
Authenticity goes along way in strengthening a story, and a long way in creating a relationship with your reader. So even if you might not like doing all the research, keep going. In the end, when a reader can benefit from all your behind-the-scenes work, the research will pay off, your story will be stronger, and it will all be worth it.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Wednesday's Writing Prompt — Bookshelf
Now connect this with the current circumstances in her life. Why is she choosing to go back to this book at this very moment? What comfort does it provide her with? Is her feeling for the book changed by her circumstances?
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Writing Out of Order
One of the most common questions I've been asked lately is, "Do you write in order?" Start to finish? Chronologically? Middle or ending first? Perhaps it was starting the blog that prompted these questions or, simply answering the common question of "What have you been doing this summer?" with "Mostly writing," but people seem to be curious, specifically regarding the sequencing of my writing process. Let me preface this by saying I don't think my, or your, answer to this question provides the answer as to how everyone should write, as we all have different processes. I think it's important to work however is best for you. But for me, the answer is that while I mostly write in order, writing out of order is an important part of my writing process, and often opens up unexpected doors that might otherwise remain closed.
Leaving order behind first comes into play when I first start to build an idea. I'm definitely not someone who has to have the exact ending in place before I begin writing, but I do consider the overall arc of the storyline, as thinking about the big picture becomes really important when deciding questions that will affect the entirety of your novel. For an idea to be good (at least a basic level), it must have a sustainable conflict that carries the reader throughout the story. And the only way to make sure it does, it to think in terms of the big picture. Whether plot-driven or character-driven, he premise of a book always has to be something that carries the reader forward, from the beginning to end, without seeming too small or too big, too boring or too fantastic. Therefore, thinking about all parts of the novel simultaneously and not strictly in order is an essential part of this planning.
When it comes to the actual writing part, my lack of order comes mostly when writing within specific scenes. So while I typically start at the beginning and progress through the novel alongside the storyline, I do a lot of jumping around within certain portions of the text. For example, one scene in my new novel takes place at a school dance. Entering into this scene, I knew the key points that I wanted to hit: where it starts, where/how it ends, the climatic moment, and present characters. But despite this, I was having a heck of a time getting it all down on paper. For some reason, I just couldn't figure out how to get my protagonist from the beginning to the climax to his exit from the dance. It was just killing me! So I decided to start jumping around.
First I wrote a portion of the scene's climax. Then I jumped back to the beginning of the scene. How can I get him closer to the tension? I figured out he should find his friend. For some reason that seemed to be dragging, so I jumped ahead to the moment just before the scene's climax (that I had previously written) and then doubled back to helping him locate his friend — which turned into a group of friends. But then in one of my prolonged moments of staring at the screen, I had a great idea for a portion of a conversation that was to occur the next day. So I jotted that down later on the page and then headed back to what I'd been working on, and figuring out how to get him out of the dance.
Confusing? Yes and no. Because I am staying within the confines of a particular narrative timeframe, for me, I didn't find it mentally confusing at all. Organizing these portions of the scene in the order they will ultimately fall into is also a trick that helps me keep things straight. I just leave several line breaks in between each section to indicate to me they are not yet finished or connected, and then fill in/connect portions as I jump around.
Writing out of order is a great way to break up the mental blocks that naturally occur, and still be productive amidst some struggle. I also find that it informs my writing within the current narrative moment. Writing portions or even entire later scenes gives me something to write towards, and helps to keep the characters consistent throughout the story.
There are always going to be times of struggle when you just don't know how to start or end or move a scene forward. Changing your focus and giving your mind a break allows you freedom to be creative elsewhere, and feel refreshed when you return to the difficult scene. There's no need to remain stuck when you can work on something else. For the writer, the novel is a living thing that sometimes seems to write itself, and sometimes just needs space to breathe. Maybe it's not for everyone, but I would at least encourage people to try writing out of order, at least in the moments of struggle. We don't really think in order, so why should we write in order? Try it and see what happens! Hopefully it will unlock some great ideas and provide a new type of freedom to your writing process :-)
Leaving order behind first comes into play when I first start to build an idea. I'm definitely not someone who has to have the exact ending in place before I begin writing, but I do consider the overall arc of the storyline, as thinking about the big picture becomes really important when deciding questions that will affect the entirety of your novel. For an idea to be good (at least a basic level), it must have a sustainable conflict that carries the reader throughout the story. And the only way to make sure it does, it to think in terms of the big picture. Whether plot-driven or character-driven, he premise of a book always has to be something that carries the reader forward, from the beginning to end, without seeming too small or too big, too boring or too fantastic. Therefore, thinking about all parts of the novel simultaneously and not strictly in order is an essential part of this planning.
When it comes to the actual writing part, my lack of order comes mostly when writing within specific scenes. So while I typically start at the beginning and progress through the novel alongside the storyline, I do a lot of jumping around within certain portions of the text. For example, one scene in my new novel takes place at a school dance. Entering into this scene, I knew the key points that I wanted to hit: where it starts, where/how it ends, the climatic moment, and present characters. But despite this, I was having a heck of a time getting it all down on paper. For some reason, I just couldn't figure out how to get my protagonist from the beginning to the climax to his exit from the dance. It was just killing me! So I decided to start jumping around.
First I wrote a portion of the scene's climax. Then I jumped back to the beginning of the scene. How can I get him closer to the tension? I figured out he should find his friend. For some reason that seemed to be dragging, so I jumped ahead to the moment just before the scene's climax (that I had previously written) and then doubled back to helping him locate his friend — which turned into a group of friends. But then in one of my prolonged moments of staring at the screen, I had a great idea for a portion of a conversation that was to occur the next day. So I jotted that down later on the page and then headed back to what I'd been working on, and figuring out how to get him out of the dance.
Confusing? Yes and no. Because I am staying within the confines of a particular narrative timeframe, for me, I didn't find it mentally confusing at all. Organizing these portions of the scene in the order they will ultimately fall into is also a trick that helps me keep things straight. I just leave several line breaks in between each section to indicate to me they are not yet finished or connected, and then fill in/connect portions as I jump around.
Writing out of order is a great way to break up the mental blocks that naturally occur, and still be productive amidst some struggle. I also find that it informs my writing within the current narrative moment. Writing portions or even entire later scenes gives me something to write towards, and helps to keep the characters consistent throughout the story.
There are always going to be times of struggle when you just don't know how to start or end or move a scene forward. Changing your focus and giving your mind a break allows you freedom to be creative elsewhere, and feel refreshed when you return to the difficult scene. There's no need to remain stuck when you can work on something else. For the writer, the novel is a living thing that sometimes seems to write itself, and sometimes just needs space to breathe. Maybe it's not for everyone, but I would at least encourage people to try writing out of order, at least in the moments of struggle. We don't really think in order, so why should we write in order? Try it and see what happens! Hopefully it will unlock some great ideas and provide a new type of freedom to your writing process :-)
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Wednesday's Writing Prompt — Fireworks!
If the 4th of July doesn't fit into the timeline of your narrative, pick another holiday event and do the same exercise.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Taking a Chance and Making a Switch
So I must admit that I was having a bit of a hard time with my new novel. Of course, I didn't want to admit it to you, or to myself really, but things just weren't flowing quite the way I wanted them to, and I couldn't quite pinpoint why that was. Something about my story just seemed off — too quiet, almost lifeless in a way. As a result, my ideas became harder to execute. The excitement of the story started to dwindle.
Then, the other day, when I was sitting in the park waiting for a friend, I took out my notebook and started writing part of a scene. And then the idea came to me. Try the story in first person. Really? I thought. Before I had even started my novel, I carefully contemplated which POV to choose. Ultimately, I'd settled on third person, because of both the age of the target audience and because I felt it might give me more room for necessary description and exposition. Nonetheless, I resolved to experiment with the POV and switch the first scene (about six pages) to see how it felt. Then I'd compare the two, I figured, or ask someone else which they thought was a better fit in the case that I wasn't sure.
So I went home and gave it a shot. I changed the pronouns, verbs, etc. and literally — and I mean, literally — it was like my character suddenly popped off the page and was walking around with a life of his own! He was immediately vibrant and witty. His voice shone through. He became exciting, tangible, active. I was amazed. Shocked, even! I almost felt taken aback. It was as if the character became his own person, apart from me, the writer.
Now, I know this doesn't and won't happen every time I experiment with POV in an already, somewhat established story, but having the willingness to try something new really taught me an important lesson. Changing things up in the middle of a story is scary. There's no way around that. Who wants to try something new when you've worked so hard to establish the given story? And who wants to find that even after trying, something still isn't working? Certainly not me. But crafting a story is fluid, and the willingness and awareness that sometimes things need to change is as essential as the initial idea itself.
The question then becomes, why is it so hard to change? What are we really afraid of? We fear that if a story isn't working, then maybe we should abandon the story altogether; or maybe we start to think that our talent as a writer is not as strong as we thought. But this isn't necessarily true. Of course, I think there are times to walk away from a project, or to realize that an idea is simply underdeveloped, but at the same time, all of our ideas will need a lot of TLC. Hard work and experimentation are part of the process, even when you don't want them to be.
It's okay to try several POVs, or narrators, or focalizers, or starting points, or whatever. Making the story work is ultimately the most important thing. We just need to remember that sometimes that doesn't come as easily as we'd like, and sometimes making it work it involves taking a chance. I'm not saying that the change in POV solved all of my narrative problems, or means that the rest of the book will come easy. There will be other challenges. Of this, I am sure. But it all starts with the willingness to take the chance. Because if I didn't take the chance, I would still be struggling with why my story felt flat. And I might still be in denial about having a hard time, just trying to push forward and get the words onto the page.
Maybe your chance isn't a switch of POV. It might be something big, or it could be something small. But staying open to change leaves you open to opportunity. And you never know what little change could make all the difference — or when your character might just pop off the page to show you he's really alive.
Then, the other day, when I was sitting in the park waiting for a friend, I took out my notebook and started writing part of a scene. And then the idea came to me. Try the story in first person. Really? I thought. Before I had even started my novel, I carefully contemplated which POV to choose. Ultimately, I'd settled on third person, because of both the age of the target audience and because I felt it might give me more room for necessary description and exposition. Nonetheless, I resolved to experiment with the POV and switch the first scene (about six pages) to see how it felt. Then I'd compare the two, I figured, or ask someone else which they thought was a better fit in the case that I wasn't sure.
So I went home and gave it a shot. I changed the pronouns, verbs, etc. and literally — and I mean, literally — it was like my character suddenly popped off the page and was walking around with a life of his own! He was immediately vibrant and witty. His voice shone through. He became exciting, tangible, active. I was amazed. Shocked, even! I almost felt taken aback. It was as if the character became his own person, apart from me, the writer.
Now, I know this doesn't and won't happen every time I experiment with POV in an already, somewhat established story, but having the willingness to try something new really taught me an important lesson. Changing things up in the middle of a story is scary. There's no way around that. Who wants to try something new when you've worked so hard to establish the given story? And who wants to find that even after trying, something still isn't working? Certainly not me. But crafting a story is fluid, and the willingness and awareness that sometimes things need to change is as essential as the initial idea itself.
The question then becomes, why is it so hard to change? What are we really afraid of? We fear that if a story isn't working, then maybe we should abandon the story altogether; or maybe we start to think that our talent as a writer is not as strong as we thought. But this isn't necessarily true. Of course, I think there are times to walk away from a project, or to realize that an idea is simply underdeveloped, but at the same time, all of our ideas will need a lot of TLC. Hard work and experimentation are part of the process, even when you don't want them to be.
It's okay to try several POVs, or narrators, or focalizers, or starting points, or whatever. Making the story work is ultimately the most important thing. We just need to remember that sometimes that doesn't come as easily as we'd like, and sometimes making it work it involves taking a chance. I'm not saying that the change in POV solved all of my narrative problems, or means that the rest of the book will come easy. There will be other challenges. Of this, I am sure. But it all starts with the willingness to take the chance. Because if I didn't take the chance, I would still be struggling with why my story felt flat. And I might still be in denial about having a hard time, just trying to push forward and get the words onto the page.
Maybe your chance isn't a switch of POV. It might be something big, or it could be something small. But staying open to change leaves you open to opportunity. And you never know what little change could make all the difference — or when your character might just pop off the page to show you he's really alive.
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