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Feb27

Killing the Suspense

by thomas.beard on February 27th, 2012 at 2:28 pm
Posted In: Writing

If there is one thing more horrifying than suspense done well, it’s suspense done poorly. We’ve all read that book that promised blood, sweat, and ashes but failed to deliver. The reader wants to be terrified. The reader wants to scream. But the writer doesn’t hold up his end of the bargain. The book fizzles and dies with a sob. What went wrong? And what can we do to make it right?

 

  1. Be Good at What You Do

 

Being good at what you do is all about knowing your craft. There are literary devices we can use to heighten the terror of the moment. Remember, every author has a tool chest, and every tool is specific for a single job. There are tools that are useful for heightening tension. Don’t try to sand a scene smooth when what they really need is a wrench.

As you’ll see, much of the work to be done in suspense involves keeping information from the reader. People fear what they don’t know. If crucial details are kept away from them, they will wonder and they will fill in the blanks themselves, automatically doing so with the worst their imaginations can come up with.

 

    1. Imagery

 

As Navidson takes his first step through that immense arch, he is suddenly a long way away from the warm light of the living room. In fact his creep into that place resembles the eerie faith required for any deep sea exploration, the beam of his flashlight scratching at nothing but the invariant blackness.

Navidson keeps his attention focused on the floor ahead of him, and no doubt because he keeps looking down, the floor begins to assume a new meaning. It can no longer be taken for granted. Perhaps something lies beneath it. Perhaps it will open up into some deep fissure.

Suddenly immutable silence rushes in to replace what had momentarily shattered it.

Navidson freezes, unsure whether or not he really just heard something growl.

                                –House of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski

 

Obviously, your book should be full of stellar imagery. But the imagery that is used when building suspense is very different from that used in simple exposition. The operative word is nyktomorphs. From the Greek meaning night shapes, nyktomorphs are images that bring up more questions than they answer. As in the above example, they play off of darkness and uncertainty, creating a tension in the scene that the reader needs resolved.

Uncertainty is the key to suspense. Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle is as useful in literature as it is in quantum physics. Heisenberg said that, when examining a particle, you can either know its position or its momentum, but never both. If you know where something is, you don’t know where it’s going. If you know the destination, you don’t know the present location.

This rule is vital for building suspense. If the reader knows that something is coming, but they don’t know what, they will be frightened. If they know what it is that’s coming, but they don’t know when or where, they’ll be on the edge of their seat. If they know both, then they have nothing to fear. Therefore, when building suspense, remove crucial details, instead using images that are evocative and unclear.

 

    1. Point of View

 

The furnace man…returned with a work crew. The men installed a more powerful burner that, once ignited, heated the kiln to three thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Holmes seemed pleased.

Only later did the furnace man recognize that the kiln’s peculiar shape and extreme heat made it ideal for another, very different application. “In fact,” he said, “the general plan of the furnace was not unlike that of a crematory for dead bodies, and with the provision already described there would be absolutely no odor from the furnace.”

But again, that was later.

                                –The Devil in the White City, Erik Larson

 

This is another tool that will help you to limit the information reaching the readers and incite fear in their hearts. It’s not uncommon, especially for amateur authors, to run into “dramatic” scenes that are told from no point of view in particular. The author is herself, telling every detail of the scene as she sees it, almost as if she’s taking notes as she’s witnessing microbes in action in a biology lab.

While in the throes of a suspenseful scene, the author should limit the point of view being used. As we’ll discuss later, the reader will always perceive the world through the eyes of the point-of-view character, especially the protagonist. By limiting the point of view to a particular character, the reader will then be emotionally embedded into a scene, knowing only what comes to the character’s mind. The reader is then sealed off from every other piece of information that remains outside that character’s purview. If the point-of-view character is being hunted, now the reader is being hunted, and with proper imagery their fight-or-flight reflexes will kick in.

 

    1. Pacing

 

She ran across the bridge.

Oh. God, God, please, please let me get up the hill! Now up the path, now between the hills, oh God, it’s dark, and everything so far away. If I screamed now it wouldn’t help; I can’t scream anyway. Here’s the top of the path, here’s the street, oh, God, please let me be safe, if I get home safe I’ll never go out alone; I was a fool, let me admit it, I was a fool, I didn’t know what terror was, but if you let me get home from this I’ll never go without Helen or Francine again! Here’s the street! Across the street!

                                — Dandelion Wine, Ray Bradbury

 

Your should already be working on varying the pace of your story, upping or lowering the tempo as the scene sees fit. This is even more crucial in suspense. Remember, suspenseful writing is all about limiting the reader to the experiences of the moment, not letting them see behind whatever curtains you’ve put into place. Limiting the reader to the point-of-view character’s mind also entails having the reader experience time in the same way the character experiences it.

If the point-of-view character is hiding, for example, time will seem to drag on, and each detail will be its own little crisis. There will be creaks in the floorboards, muffled voices on the other side of the door, footsteps in the darkness. Imagine the ponderous ticking of a grandfather clock – this should be time as the reader experiences it, each terrible moment bringing new fears of discovery and demise.

On the other hand, there will be scenes like the above, where the point-of-view character is fleeing from the killer behind her. She’s running. She’s taking action. The mind in that situation will speed up and process thoughts and sensory input more quickly. Notice the punctuation in the example above. One sentence alone has nine separate clauses, all separated by commas and semicolons. The sentences describe the character’s ascent out of the ravine in her race to get home. In experiencing time accelerated alongside her, the reader will run with her.

 Comment 
Dec19

Inspiration

by thomas.beard on December 19th, 2011 at 5:01 pm
Posted In: Writing

I’m nearing completion on my first novel, the title of which is undecided. It’s part of what was going to be a trilogy, is now a quartet, and may become a quintet at some point in the future. It is my experience that books multiply by mitosis.

As I go through this process of trying to put the finishing touches on one story and adequately set it up for the first sequel, I’ve started a new habit. Growing up, I remember reading that Isaac Asimov kept a little notebook with him and wherever he went, if he found an intriguing idea for a story, he would write it down. I don’t keep a notebook, but I keep a cellphone, and that’s more than adequate. So now I’ve begun writing down intriguing images or ideas for stories that I can write in the future. And I’ve already fallen in love.

So far, this hypothetical story is comprised of elements that I’ve pulled from three disparate sources:

1. A torn ticket on the floor.

2. A story I heard of a man who is part of two communities, but doesn’t really belong to either.

3. A brilliant photo essay in Life Magazine about North Korea.

Combined here I have a basic plot structure, main character, and central image that I can construct into a full-fledged aesthetic. I don’t want to be one of those writers who just writes sequel after sequel with no end to the whole story, so I fully intend for this to just be a single novel, self-sufficient and -contained. It’ll be fun to put it into the crockpot of my mind and let it simmer while I finish the story I’m on.

And, in case you were wondering, in the story that I’m currently working on, the first attempt has been made on our dear queen’s life, propelling her forward into a future she can hardly imagine. Soon she will find herself exiled in a strange and frightening new world with no idea of how to get back.

 Comment 
Dec09

Not So High a Flight

by thomas.beard on December 9th, 2011 at 3:03 pm
Posted In: Poetry
I need a kick
Plant one there
Trajectory into the air
Air is slick
Slides me through
Foul is fair up in the blue

Past the blue
Up through the black
No more harness on my back
I hear your tune
Your voice like space
Wrapped in a sack of inky grace

In pilgrim ponds
With vagrant stars
And bright angelic avatars
In this beyond
I’ll win my race
I’ll slip my bonds and touch your face.

 Comment 
Dec09

Goosebumps

by thomas.beard on December 9th, 2011 at 2:40 pm
Posted In: Poetry

Who ever called it bitter cold?
I think the chill is sweet.
Far from gray or grim, the winter’s
Where the brisk and bright-eyed meet.

Who ever said the clear dawn sky
Is weaker after fall?
The hope the sun brings in December
Is the bluest hope of all.

Just like folks who sing of rain
Are wrong for being drear,
When the air the rainstorm brings,
Is lively, fresh, and clear,

Just so do those who hate the clouds
That Baron Winter brings
Project their dark and dusky hearts
Onto December’s wings.

 Comment 
Oct12

Never Quite There

by thomas.beard on October 12th, 2011 at 2:19 pm
Posted In: Poetry
Your platinum face blushes to a dusky red
As you bed yourself down on the horizon.

Speeding down a westward road,
Toward a westbound moon blanketed in black,
I can forget the road, forget my gravity,
And pretend you’re drawing near to me
As I’ve always longed for you to do.
But the road always turns
And we’re always on parallel paths.
We never meet.

Plaster ceiling, glass ceiling, debt ceiling:
The only limits that matter are those that bind us to the road
And keep us tangent to the moon.

 Comment 

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