In this series of articles, I draw from key excerpts of my textbook on how to write fiction The Fiction Writer: Get Published, Write Now! whose 26 chapters go from A to Z on the key aspects of writing good and meaningful fiction.

J is for a Hero’s Journey

The Hero’s Journey is essentially the three-act structure of the ancient Greek play, according to Ridley Pearson (Writer’s Digest, 2007). The three-act structure was handed down to us thousands of years ago and consists of Beginning, Middle, and End (otherwise known as Opening, Development, Conclusion or “the decision to act”, “the action” and “the consequences of the action”).

the Hero’s Journey duplicates the steps of the rite of passage and is a process of self-discovery and self-integration. The Hero’s Journey is a concept drawn from the depth psychology of Swiss psychologist Carl Jung and the scholar and mythologist Joseph Campbell, author of The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Jung proposed that symbols appear to us when there is a need to express what thought cannot think or what is only divined or felt. Jung discovered reoccurring symbols among differing peoples and cultures, unaffected by time and space. He described these shared symbols as archetypes. Ultimately, the hero’s journey is the soul’s search for home. It is a long and tortuous journey of the soul seeking enlightenment-redemption-salvation only to find it by returning “home” (though, often not the home previously envisioned). It is a journey we all take, in some form.

Assigning an archetype to a character allows the writer to clarify that character’s role in the story as well as to determine the overall theme of the story itself. Archetypes are therefore an important tool in the universal language of storytelling, just as myth serves the overall purpose of supplying “the symbols that carry the human spirit forward.” (Joseph Campbell). Seven useful archetypes include: hero; mentor; herald; threshold guardian; shapeshifter, shadow; and trickster.

K is for Write About What You Know

The advice, “write what you know” isn’t about literal truths; it’s about what you know inside. As SF author Marg Gilks says, “You know more than you think.”

In an article in Writing World, Gilks discusses how a writer can use her own knowledge and experiences in everyday life and translate them into something far from ordinary. You start with universal experiences.

Get emotional: What excites you; what frightens you; what angers you, makes you sad, happy. These are emotions we all feel. When we give our characters experiences similar to our own, we breathe life into both character and experience and provide the reader an anchor for her heart.

Get sensational: You know how it feels when the sun shines on your face or the rain drenches you. You know how it feels to have your knees shake with fatigue after a long climb on a hot day or the invigorating freshness of a cool lake in summer.

Get people around you: My neighbor has a funny way of focusing his gaze slightly off me when he talks, as if he can’t look me directly in the eyes. When the paperboy approaches my house to deliver the paper, he strides with a lilting gait as he listens to hip-hop on his iPod.

Drawing from what you observe and know of the people around you is one of a writer’s most treasured resources for character description. I always carry a notebook with me no matter where I go, even if it’s only to the grocery store. Doing research is another way of “knowing” something. Once you have done the research, you certainly know about a subject, rovided you’ve done a good enough job.

A writer is like a magician. You play upon what readers all “know” then surprise them with the unexpected. Unleashing your imagination and letting it soar while grounding yourself in the realities of universal truths is the stuff of which stories are made. This is what most of us mean when we say “write what you know.”

L is for Long Form, Short Form

Figuring out what you are writing isn’t always as easy as you think. Many of us when we begin a story may think we are writing a short story when we are actually writing a novel; or vice versa. I had several editors of magazines tell me just that: “This feels more like a novel than a short story” they said—and rejected it. So, what are you really writing? Or, more to the point, what should you be writing?

A short story only has 5,000 words to get your story across while a novel has over ten times that many words to do the same. It follows then that the short story format is a simpler one. Novels provide a sense of change, growth and solutions to problems and conflicts. Short stories must be more succinct, contain fewer characters and subplots, have less complicated story arcs and a single theme. A short story is a poem to a novel’s prose. A short story is a statement to a novel’s argument.

“If the novel is a landscape, the short story is a close-up,” says Shelley Lowenkopf in a short story workshop entitled Telling Tales. Lowenkopf adds, “The short story is an event, a moment in time, captured as if by accident … The short story doesn’t have the luxury of depicting change; the closest it can come is awareness.” A short story, more than a novel, has the power to transport, disturb and enlighten.

“…Like the good Doctor’s Tardis, The Fiction Writer is larger than it appears… Get Get Published, Write Now! right now.”

David Merchant, Creative Writing Instructor

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