people telling me that they liked my writing and loved my character. Zac grew up as time passed, becoming a journeyman beast herder, and then searched as a candidate. Eventually he impressed a bronze and changed his name to Zâdel.
The club grew, and what the members read in the newsletter encouraged them to also write stories about their characters. Like me, several were learning the craft before breaking out into their own fiction. We had solid writing skills. What we lacked was the ability to take it to novel length in a world of our own creation.
Anne had created a rich and detailed world. The wonderful thing about fanfic writing is that youâre free to ignore world-building at first; your audience knows all the cool details that the creator laid into place. I could write about my character stripping off his wherhides as he walked into his weyr, uncovering the glows to light his way, and then using soapsand to bathe without having to invent and explain anything. I could focus on getting my character through four scenes to set up and solve a problem.
Once I got short story structure nailed down, I discovered that I could create two levels of conflict. The surface level would be a simple world problem that gave my character something to do while he struggled with inner emotional conflict. The two could be thematically connected but otherwise unrelated. The mental lightbulb went on while I was writing a story about Zac attending a Gather immediately after walking the tables and becoming a journeyman. Heâs been charged with keeping all the boys heâd been an apprentice with under control. Heâs distracted, though, by his girlfriend asking him to move in together.
The outer conflict is trying to have fun with his girlfriend while keeping track of the younger boys in thick crowds, breaking up fist fights, and chasing accidently freed herd animals. These are all things out of his control; he can only react to them.
The internal conflict is trying to cope with being âadult.â What decision does he make in regard to things he can control? How grown up does he want to be? Does he try to be responsible or does he focus on having fun? Does he really want to be in a relationship as serious as living together?
For the first time, I realized that there could be a disjuncture between what a character was doing and what he was thinking. Zac could be trying to dance with one eye out for his apprentices, but what was going on his mind wasnât step one, two, three, spin, clap . . . was that a wherry? No, no, he was thinking Move in together? Oh shards, what do I say? What do I say?
None of my college courses or writing books ever explained conflict in this manner. I donât think I would have easily made the realization writing short stories set in worlds of my own creation. I would have been too caught up fighting with world-building to pay attention to that fine point.
With this freedom, there was also this wonderful feedback from Julia explaining where Iâd gone wrong with a story (often demanding rewrites until I got it right) and the general membership telling me that I was great. (I wasnât actually âgreat,â but I was writing exactly what they loved: Pern.) Even in the age where we were photocopying all the stories and mailing them to the membership with regular postage, the feedback was rich and heady.
Anne was six books into Pern when I started to write fanfic. Once I got a handle on the basics of storytelling, I wanted to expand my story arc, to reach more toward novel length via a series of related short stories. But to grow, I first had to understand Pern. How the weyr and holds worked together. How they came into conflict. How the crafts fit in.
Pern at the basic level is man versus nature. Thread would destroy all life on the planet if given a free rein. The dragons, while full of wonderful beneficial abilities, came with negative side effects, from the dangerous
The club grew, and what the members read in the newsletter encouraged them to also write stories about their characters. Like me, several were learning the craft before breaking out into their own fiction. We had solid writing skills. What we lacked was the ability to take it to novel length in a world of our own creation.
Anne had created a rich and detailed world. The wonderful thing about fanfic writing is that youâre free to ignore world-building at first; your audience knows all the cool details that the creator laid into place. I could write about my character stripping off his wherhides as he walked into his weyr, uncovering the glows to light his way, and then using soapsand to bathe without having to invent and explain anything. I could focus on getting my character through four scenes to set up and solve a problem.
Once I got short story structure nailed down, I discovered that I could create two levels of conflict. The surface level would be a simple world problem that gave my character something to do while he struggled with inner emotional conflict. The two could be thematically connected but otherwise unrelated. The mental lightbulb went on while I was writing a story about Zac attending a Gather immediately after walking the tables and becoming a journeyman. Heâs been charged with keeping all the boys heâd been an apprentice with under control. Heâs distracted, though, by his girlfriend asking him to move in together.
The outer conflict is trying to have fun with his girlfriend while keeping track of the younger boys in thick crowds, breaking up fist fights, and chasing accidently freed herd animals. These are all things out of his control; he can only react to them.
The internal conflict is trying to cope with being âadult.â What decision does he make in regard to things he can control? How grown up does he want to be? Does he try to be responsible or does he focus on having fun? Does he really want to be in a relationship as serious as living together?
For the first time, I realized that there could be a disjuncture between what a character was doing and what he was thinking. Zac could be trying to dance with one eye out for his apprentices, but what was going on his mind wasnât step one, two, three, spin, clap . . . was that a wherry? No, no, he was thinking Move in together? Oh shards, what do I say? What do I say?
None of my college courses or writing books ever explained conflict in this manner. I donât think I would have easily made the realization writing short stories set in worlds of my own creation. I would have been too caught up fighting with world-building to pay attention to that fine point.
With this freedom, there was also this wonderful feedback from Julia explaining where Iâd gone wrong with a story (often demanding rewrites until I got it right) and the general membership telling me that I was great. (I wasnât actually âgreat,â but I was writing exactly what they loved: Pern.) Even in the age where we were photocopying all the stories and mailing them to the membership with regular postage, the feedback was rich and heady.
Anne was six books into Pern when I started to write fanfic. Once I got a handle on the basics of storytelling, I wanted to expand my story arc, to reach more toward novel length via a series of related short stories. But to grow, I first had to understand Pern. How the weyr and holds worked together. How they came into conflict. How the crafts fit in.
Pern at the basic level is man versus nature. Thread would destroy all life on the planet if given a free rein. The dragons, while full of wonderful beneficial abilities, came with negative side effects, from the dangerous
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