How To Be a Games Developer

For a while Dennis has been bugging me to address a question Max sent to him via the email. It’s a subject I’ve been asked about often over the years and it’s never an easy one to answer:

“It’s more of a question of getting into games design. Now, I’m sure you have been asked this question to death but I thought I would ask anyway and it’s not specifically related to Games Workshop.

 

I’m currently attempting to develop a war-game but its taking longer than I thought due to other commitments. I find it very hard to move away from [my influences] in order to produce something different. Did you ever suffer from this problem or something similar when doing independent works?  

But going back to the question, I’m guessing the best bet is to just get out there, meet people and generally submit stuff? But as a developer / writer I was wondering if there was anything else you found along the way such as balancing or adding telling a story in a specific way in order to develop a successful game? As well as any other tips of the trade on wrangling a job as a games designer (anywhere) and the other roles that it involves?”

 

I’ll start with the caveat that my experience of the wider games development industry is mostly second-hand, from the privilege of talking to many other games designers over the years at conventions and such. However, there are similarities between their stories and mine.

First off, if you want to work for GW games development it is simply a case of keeping an eye out for the recruitment adverts. Occasionally a position will open for an Assistant Games Developer (or Trainee Games Developer in the most recent recruitment). I am surprised by people that asked me how to get into the GW Design Studio only weeks after a position was advertised on the website. For Games Development that’s probably the only way. The same is true for other established games manufacturers, most do their work in-house for the reasons I’m about to go into.

In wider terms, if you have a sci-fi or fantasy miniatures game in mind, there are some very specific obstacles. The greatest of these is that such a game needs miniatures! If you write an historical rules set you can use the vast wealth of independent manufacturers to provide miniatures for you. You might be able to interest a company, or at the end of the day self-publish and hope it goes well.

Those companies that produce sci-fi or fantasy miniatures generally do so with either a specific ruleset, a specific universe, or both. Their goal is generally to continue to expand and develop their intellectual property and games system. So, your first big question is who is going to make the miniatures? In this regard you are not only selling the idea of the rules set and imagery but asking a company to invest in the design and continued development of the miniatures range.

With a wargame that is tied to a specific range of miniatures there are many considerations that impact upon your games design decisions, and will also influence the imagery you want to explore. The foremost of these is how is it going to be made and packaged? Questions of scale, for example, will limit what is physically possible, as will cost of production – there is no point creating rules for miniatures that cannot be made at a profit with the materials available. In a sci-fi setting, vehicles tend to be the real difficulty here – large models that will weigh a lot and be expensive to produce and purchase if made in resin or white metal. If you want to create a game with gigantic battling robots the size of skyscrapers, for example, then you’re not going to want to produce it in 28mm scale!

The other key question is that of sustainability. From the outset you must decide if the miniatures range is finite or not. If it is not finite, what mechanisms are you going to create to allow the continued expansion of the rules set and miniatures range? Is it a rulebook, a series of rulebooks, boxed sets, blisters, both? How do players collect the forces they will use? Do they purchase complete ‘elements’at a time, or are the components built up over several purchases. To give a specific example, let’s say you have a unit of lazergun-wielding Galactic Infantrymen. Do they have optional equipment and how is this made available to the collector? Is there a variable squad size?  If you’re writing a miniatures wargame, you have to bear in mind all of the practical issues of collecting a force. Is a force infinitely expandable like a 40K army, or is there a real or implied ceiling, such as a Blood Bowl team? How many factions give you enough variety to collect without creating a range that is impossible for stores to stock? What is the minimum outlay for a customer before they have a battle-ready force?

That seems like really dull stuff, doesn’t it? If you think these aren’t questions for the games designer to answer, it’s going to be very difficult. Writing some rules and background, whilst challenging, is not the be-all-and-end-all of designing a miniatures game. Having those things is a little bit further on from a ‘good idea’ but only a little in terms of what needs to be sorted out before you have a marketable game and miniatures range.

So, you need to have a plan – and be flexible about it – to present to companies. This is my game, which uses a miniatures range that looks like this, and can expanded like this. If you can get a company to buy into your proposal as viable for marketing and production, then you can start worrying about the details of how things actually move around the table and what they look like…

If the game is picked up and established, it may be the case that some of these practical responsibilities are taken on by other folks such as sales managers, but when developing your game you have to continually bear them in mind. An idea is only good if it can be made and people can buy it.

Target Audience

All of this talk about marketability and such may sound a little evil and corporate. It is, and it isn’t. First and foremost, design a game and background that you enjoy. Don’t think about target audiences, or demographics or any of that. Write a game that you want to play. When you’ve done that, work out why it appeals to you and so therefore what sort of other people (who are like you) will it appeal to. You can’t do this sort of thing for an abstract reason, it has to come from ownership and genuine pleasure. If anyone asks who your target audience is just say, ‘People who are like me’.

Making It Original

As discussed on other subjects, the question of originality is one that often comes up. I’ll say now, whatever you come up with will not be original. However, it can be unique. Big robots are not original. The particular rendition and portrayal of big robots can be.

Uniqueness comes on two scales: big picture and little details. In big picture terms you can rely on transposition and juxtaposition to create something unique. Transposition is straightforward enough, it is simply taking an existing idea or image and moving it to a different place: the Roman empire in space; a space pirates game; baseball in space; time-travelling big game hunters. There’re loads of ideas to mine, and it’s prevalent throughout all forms of fiction.

In fact, it’s been done a lot, sometimes to death. Space Samurai, Space GIs, Space Knights, Space Cowboys, Space Celts… Bring in juxtaposition to add variety and depth. Simply directly translating the legions of Rome and their barbarian foes into space is step one. Adding in elements that did not exist in the original iteration (excluding the obvious technological differences) adds spice and uniqueness. The barbarians are not other humans at all, but rather strange plant-based lifeforms with a barbaric culture. Or the legions of Rome are zombie-like automatons under the control of a psychic elite. Or it’s actually a spaceship game based on these principles rather than ground warfare. Or… You get the point. Uniqueness comes from taking a step further than simple transposition, and another step, and another until you have a concept that is still based upon the strong idea but is far enough removed that it has become its own thing.

On the other end of the scale is the detail. If our space legions were literally Romans with lazerguns, that would be a bit weak. What stylings of the Roman legionary can you keep whilst pushing the unique interpretation of it? In this regard you must learn to look at what elements of an image are archetypal and which can be changed. It’s kind of like having an infant eye again – see what’s important and recognisable uncluttered by everything else you know to be true. We know that there’s no such thing a typical legionary across the breadth of Republican and Imperial Rome, because things changed, some of them quite dramatically. However, ask a reasonably educated kid what a Roman is and he’ll say a square shield and a crested helmet. He might even say sandals. Those are what you retain in general form. Everything else should be modified to add the flavour of the setting.

The Old Adage

As I always wrap up this sort of thing, my advice is just to do it. Try and fail and learn and try again. Most writers start out because they love writing, Most games developer start out because they like playing games and are interested in how systems work. Film directors like movies. Passion cannot be learnt, skills and experience can. Create what you want to create, and only after that start making the necessary commercial compromises.

I’ll get onto ‘telling a story’ at a later date…

Harsh but funny (and true)

Nothing long-winded today, I’d just like to pass on this touch of genius:

http://www.wired.com/culture/lifestyle/commentary/alttext/2008/06/alttext_0618

I think this is great, most likely because it mixes two of my favourite things; gaming and cooking! Some people will be horrified that the other week that I made ‘almond brownies’ with coconut instead of almonds. That’s not Recipes As Written, is it? Funnily enough they still tasted great.

You spatula nazis know who you are!

For those interested, I swear by Delia’s Cookery Course and a very old Farmhouse Cookbook donated by my mum. There’s not been a decent cookbook released since 1992…

How To Avoid a Cliché in Three Easy Steps*

* Note that I don’t actually have three easy steps, but I wanted a clichéd title…

Along with accusations of a predictable plot, poor dialogue or an unimaginative setting, one of the criticisms that many sci-fi or fantasy writers dread is that their characters are clichéd. ‘Stock characters’, ‘cardboard cut-outs’ and other such terms are judged to be anathema to good writing.

In the modern world, it is almost impossible to avoid cliché of one sort or another, or so it seems. With so many books, TV series and films over the past forty years pretty much any type of character you can imagine has been explored somewhere already by someone else. We now face not only the problem of the cliché but also the anti-cliché – that is to say, attempts to make characters not cliché have themselves been so widely used they have turned into their own form of cliché.

Let’s take for example the Gentle Giant. We all know this chap. He’s large, either with fat or muscle, and can really handle himself, but inside hh has a well-meaning heart and a soft spot for small animals and children (not in that way…). He is often slow-witted but likeable. If one goes to the opposite extreme to avoid this, we have the brutal bully, who uses his physical bulk to get what he wants. He is greedy and avaricious. He is also just as much a cliché as the gentle giant, as evidenced by countless slave overseers, gaol wardens, bosuns and other stock bully characters throughout fiction.

So we are seemingly faced with the dilemma – go with the really old stereotype or go with the new post-modern cliché evolved to avoid it. The truth of the matter is that your character on a basic level isn’t going to be original anymore. What he or she needs to be is believable.

Where’s the Trope?

Stereotype, cliché, archetype, trope – all words that basically mean the same thing, but with differing levels of acceptability. The self-same character might be described as stereotypical or clichéd as a criticism, or equally praised as being a good use of a staple trope or a strong archetype. What makes the difference?

The answer is all in the realisation of the character. Archetypes/ tropes are useful because they are shorthand direct from writer to reader. They carry with them all sorts of expectations and assumptions about the character that the writer doesn’t have to waste valuable time and space explaining. Take the knight as an example. By introducing a knight into a fantasy setting one conjures up all sorts of imagery of who the character is and what he does with one simple word. Similarly, the ‘US Marine sergeant’ instantly creates a picture of a weathered, cigar-chomping badass who doesn’t take any nonsense and gets the job done. Beautiful princesses, conniving viziers, scabrous beggars, pirates, learned druids, mad high priests, free-spirited cowgirls and all manner of other archetypes abound throughout fiction. To move from cliché to strong character, a writer must not be afraid of the template upon which he or she is basing a character, but also be aware that it is nothing but a skeleton upon which to hang more.

Writers prepare in different ways. One of the things I do when setting out on a new piece is to have a brief overview of the main characters for my own reference (if only to make sure I spell their names the same way until I get used to them!). These bald notes always, always appear to be clichés for the reasons I mentioned earlier. The gregarious character who is always ready to crack a joke. The experienced veteran with trust issues. The wet-eyed new boy with everything to learn.

Wherever possible I try to focus these few notes on personality traits, with only the most basic necessities about physical appearance (if any). As Matt Keefe explains so well in his essay here, think about character not biography. Sometimes it’s also worthwhile making a note of the character’s role in the story – after all, sometimes what a character does is as clichéd as their physical and mental make-up; a best friend is going to have to either betray the protagonist or stay loyal, both of which might be seen as cliché, so just be certain which it is and not worry about it.

Arrested Development

These bare bones are always going to look somewhat trite and unoriginal by dint of being unfleshed notes. What turns a cliché into a strong archetype is how you realise that character during the writing process. The cardboard cut-out is a great analogy, because it demonstrates the most obvious deficiency of a cliché; it lacks depth. Now, we all know some shallow people, but when we really think about them there’s always something more than the façade (sometimes not much, but that’s people for you). A writer’s characters must also appear to have that similar quality.

The first is contradictory behaviour. Very few people are 100% true to themselves all of the time. Personality is all about predilections and likelihood rather than hard and fast rules of behaviour. Character A is a coward and is 99% likely to run away from a fight. That 1% of occasions when he or she doesn’t run makes them more believable. The timing of these contradictions can also be clichéd, though. As I mentioned, what characters do can be stereotypical as well as what they are. If Character A’s 1% of bravery is in the last big fight against the bad guy and saves the protagonist’s life, it’s veering back towards cliché. If Character A stands up for the protagonist halfway through the book but later reverts to type - that phrase tells its own story doesn’t it? – then Character A will appear more rounded and less clichéd.

So, one way of avoiding cliché is not to hang important plot or narrative elements on single instances of uncharacteristic behaviour. If it really is important that Character A saves the protagonist in the final battle, then the transition from coward to hero must be portrayed in such a way that it is almost expected, though to keep suspense it should not be certain – character development. Character development can be overdone, because very rarely in real life do we see the kinds of radical changes in behaviour that many fictional characters undergo. They have epiphanies concerning themselves and suddenly about face and do the right thing for the necessity of the plot and ‘character development’.

Development that works well is subtle and continuous. Character A is still, at heart, a coward at the end of our story. However, he has grown sufficiently in confidence for a small act of heroism at the end. He’s not going to physically confront the big evil our protagonist must defeat, but in some small but important way Character A influences the battle. He might risk his life to throw a sword to our heroine (yes, it’s a heroine, let’s not even start on gender-specific clichés!) and then scuttle back for cover. If the character has been realised well, the readers see that this may be a small victory but it is an important one.

Keep it Real, Man

With prominent characters writers have time and space to explore them in more detail, with minor characters this can present a much more problematic situation. First of all, don’t labour too much over walk-ins. If the sub-ensign of the UMS Irrepressible’s only job is to hand our valiant captain a message from the engine rooms, nobody cares. He’s not a character, he’s a function of the plot. You might like to give him the broadest brush possible – young, old, blonde, excited, worried. That’s all he needs, because your reader doesn’t care about him, your reader cares about the message.

Some characters are a lot trickier, as they are not main characters but they will appear several times. These secondary characters are most likely to cause you problems, with more ‘screen time’ than your walk-ins but not enough space to be realised as main characters. Firstly, avoid the temptation to big up their part. It’s interesting that Herr Werner mentions fighting off just such a character in his latest post for his blog. Sometimes secondary characters are immensely entertaining for a writer because they seem to develop more naturally than the strictly-controlled main characters. Don’t let them steal the show, especially if you have a pre-determined word count to adhere to!

On the other hand, give these characters a little bit of time in the limelight. They may only exist to perform a functional purpose like a regular walk-in, but now and then give them a reaction, some extra dialogue to express an opinion, or some other small glimmer that they are in fact a person and not a plot device.

Go For It!

If all else fails and you really can’t avoid a cliché, then grab the bull by the horns and ride it for all you’ve got. If there’s one thing worse than a cliché it’s a partial cliché. You know the ones; they’re 80% cliché and it is obvious that the writer has tried to throw in a real curveball in an attempt to avoid the inevitable - the virtuous knight who likes to kick dogs, the deranged psychopath with a liking for flower arranging or the hardy ship’s captain with a liking for poetry.

One of the reasons that stereotypes, tropes or whatever you want to call them, endure is that people respond to them. If you use a cliché make it the best rendition of that cliché ever to be read or seen. Take Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s chock-full of clichéd pirates, and don’t we just love it for that. Now and then it’s great to see pirates doing things we think pirates should be doing, complete with peg legs and parrots. If the writer realises the cliché with unashamed gusto and skill the reader responds positively; the writer is being honest and so the reader is left to enjoy the entertainment for what it is.

Martyr or Mercenary?

I again find myself with a few ‘fallow’ days between completing the first draft of my Heroes of the Space Marines short and receiving rewrites, as well as waiting for the manuscript of Malekith to arrive in the post for checking, sprinkled with some preparation work for a secret project known only as Ssh!… Contemplating more personal projects I am faced with the simple fact that I need to get more work.

On the one hand I can labour away my precious time on a magnificent opus, which I am certain will astound the publishing world with its vision, breadth, plot and characterisation. On the other, I can set my ambitions to a more realistic level and consider a more commercial line of endeavour.

Quality isn’t the issue. I don’t purposefully set out to write something that is sub-par. Questions of style and approach, on the other hand, are fair game. There is a very strong desire from the sci-fi and fantasy publishing fraternity for certain types of work. Preferably these have a strong single-viewpoint character and have the capacity to be part of an ongoing series. There’s nothing inherently wrong with this approach, as some fine fiction attests.

So the question comes to that of risk versus reward. Confidence plays an important part in any creative’s make-up, and so one must have the courage of one’s convictions. If I write something that I feel is remarkable – literally worthy of remark - it may be deemed unsuitable for publication and never see the light of day. On the other hand, if it is published then it always offers the chance of standing out from the crowd and garnering much higher success (and financial reward) than a more middle-of-the-road title. Yet it is very tempting to go with the more secure option (as secure as any publishing venture can be) in the efforts of increasing the chances of having at least some success.

It’s also a question of resources. Creating something mould-breaking, inspiring and all-round seven flavours of awesome takes a lot more time than writing within well-understood boundaries and conventions. I consider myself pretty well-versed in the art of the staple fantasy or sci-fi approach and so can concentrate on the plot and characters without worrying too much about the form.

So we come back to the confidence issue and the necessities of domestic economics. Am I confident that if I do reach for the higher reward I will get there? Or does the pile of bills that arrive every month demand a more pragmatic approach?

Hopefully I can find a ‘third way’ so often sought after in politics. Perhaps I should settle my efforts on an achievable goal that adheres to the tried-and-tested demands of agents and publishers, and yet push that form as far as possible. Getting the best of both might indeed be the greatest victory of all.

Thanks: To those who attended the Angels of Darkness signing in Manchester. Good to meet you, Narry! Sorry I missed you, Rob.

Very Very Recent News: The Malekith mss has just this minute dropped through the door. Very exciting! Two weeks’ turnaround to get it back to the folks at Black Library…

Know Thyself

It’s been a while since my last post, so in a departure from the writing content I’m going to talk about gaming. Apologies to visitors that don’t play games, but I assure you that normal service will be resumed shortly.

Miniatures gaming is a hobby. This means that what you get out of it is directly related to the effort and attitude that you put into it. To get the most enjoyment, one must understand one’s own needs and desires from our hobby. What I have found increasingly over the last few years is a lack of personal responsibility on the part on some players, who equate their own lack of enjoyment with failures on the part of games developers.

I’ll start out by saying that my greatest experience is obviously with Games Workshop games, but it’s not my sole source. This is not an attempt to denounce any particular choice a player makes about their gaming, nor is it abdicating from the responsibility of a games designer to provide a fun and entertaining rules system.

However, gaming is an interactive event; between opponents and between designer and player. With a hobby as nebulous a miniatures gaming there are many things that attract a person to participate, but everyone should understand some of the fundamental truths about what is required of them.

Most importantly, one participates in a hobby for fun. Some people get their jollies slaughtering their opposition and hearing the lamentation of their women. Some enjoy the tactical challenge of outwitting another human being in a close-fought contest. Many delight in the simple spectacle of a miniature army arrayed across the tabletop.

In fact, because one has chosen a miniatures game, this last point is crucial. There are many formats of wargames – miniatures games, hex-and-counter games, computer games. Some purport to be accurate simulations, others emphasise playability and entertainment. So the first question to ask oneself is why one has chosen miniatures gaming, and the only real answer can be because of the miniatures. Whether that first step was a box of Airfix American paratroopers, a War Machine Jack, a set of Roman Legionaries or a squad of Tactical Space Marines, for all of us there was an appeal about toy soldiers that hooked us.

That appeal, and the purpose behind all miniatures wargames, is to collect an army of toy soldiers and then to act out their battles. If this isn’t what you’re after then why the hell did you choose miniatures gaming when other forms of game provide more rigid, ‘balanced’ gaming frameworks?

Continued here. 

Upcoming event: Please come and see myself and Dennis at our GW Manchester signing on the 14^th June for the re-released Angels of Darkness.

Derby Conquered

In phase one of Dennis’ plan for World Domination, the folks of GW Derby were brutally crushed under his sandalled heel last Saturday. Thanks to everyone who volunteered for this subjugation. It was great to hang out and chat, and to sign some books as well!

Next target: Manchester on the 14th June.

The first citizens of Hamstertopia:

Hamster Spotting

A quick reminder for those who do not visit the Black Library website - this saturday, the 17th, Games Workshop is hosting Black Library Day in its stores to celebrate all that is great and good about BL. Various authors are visiting stores, and I’m going to be in the Derby GW from midday for an hour or so. Pop along and say hi, and see Dennis in the flesh.

Find out more about BL signings on their website (please note that my signing at Manchester GW is being moved to the 14th because Angels of Darkness is getting re-released early!).

I Won’t Do What You Tell Me

Thanks to those that have posted comments, and also the brave folks who have emailed the Ask Dennis hotline. This recent comment by Lost_Heretic leads me nicely on to a subject that’s been brewing in my head for a while - what advice should I be giving? More importantly, what advice do I feel qualified to give?

I am sure there’s some that visit this site who will say to themselves, ‘What the hell does he know? Why should anyone listen to some sub-pulp hack writing derivative tie-in fiction?’. Some may be less harsh but the principle stands… While I don’t feel any necessity to justify my opinions, I do think it’s good to understand where advice comes from. Quite often advice is given for the benefit of the advisor, whether consciously or not. I’ve attended courses on communication and coaching, and one of the things that comes up time and time again is the fact that most people don’t want advice, they just want help with working out the answers for themselves.

In my previous post I somewhat arbitrarily took one point of advice from a list of writing tips. I callously took it out of context and then deliberately used it to fashion an excuse to express my own take on dialogue. I did this for two reasons. Firstly, because I disagreed with the sentiment. Secondly, because on the whole I have real problems with checklist advice. The problem is not just with the people writing the advice, but with how many readers treat it.

Often the checklist of do’s and don’ts makes it look like something is easy to do - follow these simple rules and you can be a writer too. Not only is this misleading, it stifles thought and creativity. Such advice becomes a meme that inveigles its way into the minds of writers, editors and publishers, and becomes dogma rather than advice. One that gets me riled is the Show Don’t Tell approach. I have nothing wrong with this as a guideline, but it is not a founding principle. It has become a shorthand criticism that can be applied without thought. It’s too easy to scribble ‘Show Don’t Tell’ next to a passage of text, applying it as an ironcast rule without actually bothering to read the text and consider it in its place. Sometimes writers jump through ridiculous hoops to Show and not Tell, or otherwise mangle their characters and plot to avoid some necessary exposition. When applied as an unalterable law, what began as a sensible piece of advice to ensure writers engage their reader, along with the viewpoint character and other devices, has become uninspired dogma used to label and pigeonhole writing styles and their worth.

Everyone who reads this site is more than welcome to ignore everything on it. Some of it I occasionally ignore myself, and some of it I’ve learnt over the years and wish I’d known when I started out. Embarrassingly enough, I was re-reading Angels of Darkness over the weekend (for research, clearly, not just vanity!). Having laboured the point about not ending every sentence with an exclamation mark if a character is angry, I found just such a piece of dialogue that I had written myself…

So we learn, and we take on board those things that we can use and must be strong to avoid those pieces of advice that are actually dogma. More than just ignoring those things that we disagree with, we should work out why we disagree and express it. If a dozen comments were posted saying that I have no clue what I’m talking about with dialogue (oh dear, that’s a poor pun), you should look at this and that, read this book or that author, I would be overjoyed. Not because I’ve been proved to be an idiot but because it means that people are thinking and contributing.

So, more than giving do’s and don’ts, checklists of what will make writing great or awful, what I am aiming to do is stimulate thought and discussion. Every rule has a caveat and every caveat a codicil. Every piece of advice can be ignored. All I ask is that writers do this consciously. 90% of writing is thinking not typing. Thinking not only about characters and plot, scenes and dialogue, but about style, about theme, about pacing. Writing, like games development. is about making decisions and compromises, and the best thing any writer can do is make sure that those decisions are as informed as possible.

So, if you feel like calling me out on something I’ve written, please do. If you agree, then why not add your own thoughts and experiences. You never know, someone might pay attention and learn something else from you.

For creativity to flourish, there must be change and invigoration. Commercial forces would have the world predictable and manageable. As a writer, one has a choice, perhaps a duty even, to constantly challenge the status quo. The easy money is in doing the pedestrian, the achievable, the accepted. True greats break the mould and do their own thing. History is shaped by those who leave the flock and lead us on a new path, not from those who blindly follow. Without pioneers we would have no novels, no fantasy, no science fiction. Without new pioneers, what future do these things have?

Do I think I’m that sort of person? Very likely not, we can’t all be geniuses. We can be allowed to take risks. We can try to be great.

Realism is Fake

I’m currently writing (or more precisely thinking about) a short story that involves no dialogue. The reasons are many and varied, but the short version is that I and a circle of some other literary types are challenging each other to write more short stories and this month we’re tasked ourselves with the additional caveat of no dialogue.

 

 

It’s a tricky one, if only because as modern readers we’ve had dialogue rammed down our throats for decades. Whilst surfing t’interweb about the subject I came across this in a list of advice on good dialogue:

“3. Develop your ear. Listen carefully to actual people talking, not characters on TV, in movies, or on the radio - the latter kind of dialogue is always artificial, unrealistic, and unconvincing on the written page. No one actually talks like “The Sopranos” or “Friends” or “ER” or “Masterpiece Theater”. Sorry. Don’t mimic stage dialogue either.”

This is nonsense. You’ll find similar tired and mediocre platitudes from many other sources encouraging budding writers to churn out the same tired and mediocre dialogue we’ve been subjected to for years. Despite the apparent falsity of such dialogue, when performed or read it can be very natural.

 

 

The idea that any dialogue, whether from TV, film, stage or book is anything like realistic speech is an utter fallacy and any writer who tries to write their dialogue to mimic true speech properly would end up doing something very avant garde and probably unreadable. As a writer it’s your job to communicate what is being said in an appropriate manner and that means admitting to the fact that your characters’ words are contrived and planned by you, the author.

 

 

I cannot say this enough. Do not try to make your characters speak in the same patterns as real people. Real people stutter, repeat, umm and aah, pause for thought and generally make up what they are saying as they go along. In real life we filter out most of this unnecessary verbiage and concentrate on the words and message. We can do that subconsciously while we are listening, we don’t want to be doing that consciously while we are reading. They are very different functions.

 

 

Imagine how much you’d want to punch the author if a character inserted the word “right?” after every clause, as some people do. Or “okay?”. Or “so”, “and”, “so to speak” and all the other verbal placeholders we use in everyday conversation. Another one that crops up is adding the name of the person you are addressing at the end of a sentence, particularly questions. On the page, how confusing would it get if you did this in your writing, with a forest of names littering your dialogue.

 

 

The other problem with being literal about written dialogue is that artificial attempts to introduce character through speech idioms usually detract from what is being said. The content of your dialogue and any contextual description should be more than enough for readers to understand the sort of tone, pace and volume of the words. By forcing a strange word order to imbue some kind of unique character to a speaker will usually end up getting very repetitive unless you can do it subtly. Similarly, trying to write accents is usually a very bad idea unless you are going to do it for all of your characters (Irvine Welsh, for example).

 

 

Rather than ignoring scripted dialogue, you should seek it out. Script writers will generally not put in particular accent, speech patterns or contractions into dialogue because it’s the job of the actor and, more importantly, the director to make those decisions. Through the magical process of acting and direction what can look somewhat clunky on a page will flow into the ears of the audience from the stage or screen. Good dialogue on screen started out as good dialogue written down. In regards to prose, you must trust your reader to be the actor and director. Every reader will come up with inner voices for the characters that are suitable and appropriate. Let them do so without overly forcing your own view.

 

 

A script may tell a director that Bob enters the room, and he is angry. The director knows the context for the following dialogue. You can do the same for your written dialogue. A reader who is reading speech from a character they know to be angry will understand the volume and tone without you having to end every sentence with an exclamation mark. Give the reader-as-director/ actor enough information and then let them do the rest themselves. It’s this interaction that is enjoyable and makes the reader connect with the words.

 

 

If you want the reader to imagine the speech in a particular way, let them know, simply and directly. If someone is slurring their words because they are drunk, make sure the reader knows they are drunk rather than try to write it literally. Similarly, you can’t force timing into dialogue easily, so if someone is being slow and deliberate or gabbling on at a rate of knots, you need to tell the reader. The Show Don’t Tell police will throw their hands in the air. Good - they’ve managed to throttle the life out of good narrative enough as it is. Good dialogue will subtly reinforce this sense in the reader with the correct use of words and the odd quirk. It shouldn’t ram it down people’s throats.

 

Another thing to remember is that dialogue is part of your prose form and hence is part of grammar just like the rest of the sentence. When speaking, we commit run-on sentences, poor subject-object placement and a variety of other sins because it’s transient not permanent; the essence of what is being said can usually be understood without the grammatical guidelines that exist to keep writing clear.

 

 

A person in real life may say:

“Come over here, right, and pick up this ball, the ball, and then I want you to bounce it in that circle, right, the one over there, right Bob?”

Now add “he said” to the end of that sentence. Do you really want to read line after line of that?

 

“Come over here, Bob,” he said. “Pick up the ball and bounce it in that circle.”

Wholly ‘unrealistic’ and much more pleasant to read for page after page.

 

 

A trick that you can generally get away with is sentence fragments, but don’t use them too much. This can convey a more clipped, irritated tone:

“Come here,” he said. “Ball. Circle. Bounce it.”

Or jollity:

“Come here,” he said with a wink. “Ball. Circle. Bounce it.”

With that last one I cheated, of course, in that I gave the character a nonverbal cue for the reader to connect with. It can be tricky writing nonverbal communication (or non-verbal depending on preference). Things we take for granted in communicating face-to-face look awkward if committed to paper in every detail. Describing every gesture, expression and nuance would flatten even the most lyrical composition. Think reader-as-director/ actor and concentrate on the most pertinent points. The reader’s mind will embellish your timeless prose with all manner of subtleties that fit. That’s why reading requires imagination; don’t deny your readers the opportunity to use theirs.

 

The chap who offered this advice, amongst some good and some not-so-good tips, concluded:

“How will you know when your dialogue is improving? It will become so convincing and powerful that you’ll hardly notice it - it will be like listening to real human beings, where you notice the content of what they say, not how they say it. Your reader will concentrate on your story, not on the people talking and the way they talk.“

My emphasis. Now that’s good advice.

The Lull

The long May Day Bank Holiday weekend has passed and it is time for me to start working again. The thing is, I haven’t got any writing to do…

 

Well, not ‘proper’ writing.

 

I finished the rewrites on Malekith and Call of the Lion last week and also sent off the synopsis for my Heroes of the Space Marines short. That means that this week is dedicated to paving the way for future work – another synopsis or three, emailing folks for possible ventures, and coming up with ideas.

 

100% Free Range and Organic

When I’m in this mode there are two different strands of thought competing for space inside my head. The first is practical. These are things that need to be done to get direct work commissioned (and pay the bills for another month).

 

I have upcoming projects such as the second instalment of The Sundering, Alith Anar. I have a rough outline of what occurs in the novel, some notes on characters and theme and even some text that is left over from Flames of Treachery (the first Sundering novel before it became Malekith). These ideas need to be turned into a proper synopsis with a plot and everything.

 

In a similar vein I have a proposal for a Warhammer 40,000 Eldar project, originally conceived as a novel but after conversations with Lindsey it looks like another trilogy would be better (yup, Gav’s hypocrisy strikes again!). So, I need to develop the ideas further from where they are at the moment, outlining the trilogy as a whole and coming up with a more detailed plan for the first book.

 

There’s also some follow-up work to be done for a possible novel or novels that continue on from the Space Marines story.

 

On the other side of things are the speculative ideas. These are the early seeds of future projects that I need to generate and then mull over for a while. This is what I suspect is most people’s image of a writer’s life – walking in parks, listening to music, scribbling notes and coming up with cool ideas. If only it was that easy…

 

The ‘problem’ is a simple one – it’s not a shortage of ideas, it’s trying to sift through the many and varied concepts and images to find the ones that I can hopefully turn into a good story. Some ideas are virtually stillborn, fleeting thoughts that don’t pass the first examination. Others seem dead-ends at first, but nag away in the back of your head demanding to be re-examined. Since I am not merely interested in writing novels, but also short stories, scripts, comics/ graphic novels part of this thought process is diverted to wondering which of the many media would be most suitable.

 

Split Personality

I can find this quite an unsettling time, because my first instinct is to dedicate as much effort as possible into the practical issues. Knowing that there’s another commission just around the corner, adding another little brick in the wall of financial security, is an exceptionally strong driver.

 

On the other hand, if I don’t make time to explore some of those wilder, more far-reaching ideas there’s no chance of them happening. These are the dream projects that may come to nothing and are a gamble in terms of time and money. They are also a real test of my creativity and I subject them to a high level of scrutiny.

 

As with life in general, the key to success is finding the balance. By spending some time on practical issues I can feel comforted that I have got some ‘work’ done, thus freeing my conscience to do a bit of exploration. The important point at this stage is not to apply too much structure, but rather to go with the flow. If I find myself stuck on one thing, I can move onto another. If I end up getting really caught up in a particular idea then it doesn’t matter if it overshadows some of the other stuff.

 

In this way I can deal with the ‘practical angel’ on one shoulder and the ‘speculative demon’ on the other and keep both happy.

 

In theory…

 

Mouse Update: Nope, still not taking the bait.

 

Last Week’s Life Lesson: Don’t put eggs on to boil and then forget about them whilst surfing internet forums: