10 Lessons I Learned About Writing Novels From Stories That Aren’t Books

(But first… happy birthday, Grace! Yaaaaaay!)

Almost every how-to writing book you can find advises would-be writers to read extensively. This is sound advice. Reading a lot of what you want to write helps you to understand it viscerally the same way doing lots of math problems is a different experience from having the teacher explain the concepts behind them. However, although reading widely is essential if you want to write books, that doesn’t mean you can’t also take lessons from other forms of entertainment. To wit, here are ten lessons I’m teaching myself from TV, movies, video games, and other media:

From The Good Wife (TV series):

1. Your first chapters are still there after you write them.

Going back to the beginning of the story and finding ways characters’ choices then affect what happens to them now is rewarding for both writers and readers. When I see Alicia’s actions in episode one come back to haunt her/reward her midway through season two or three or four, I not only get the sense that the writers know what they’re doing, but I also appreciate that this plot is not plug-and-play: there are consequences to actions, and characters’ decisions matter. One of the best things a story can do is make you believe that alternative plots are or were equally viable in this universe, but that interesting things, like the personalities of the characters, shaped events such that the narrative could turn out only this way.

2. Every character has an inner life. 

It’s the difference between a character being “the judge” and “liberal Judge Abernathy who is always up to stuff like donating blood and making people stand for a moment of silence but who doesn’t just knee-jerk support the more left-wing case” or “that judge who used to like Alicia but then they did the Blue Ribbon thing, and he doesn’t like her so much now especially because she was right, and if you forgot, then too bad, the story isn’t going to catch you up.”

From House, M. D. (TV series):

3. Every character needs an inner life.

For me, it’s the difference between loving Cuddy or Cameron and getting frustrated that their personalities change depending on what the show needs to highlight aspects of House’s character or force him to behave a certain way. The real reason a super-genius character like House is always right is because the universe he inhabits is literally constructed so that this is the case; it’s not because he has any other special characteristics or smart strategies. Great stories mask this reality. Contrariwise, characters who behave like their only purpose is to help the narrator tell the protagonist’s story draw the audience’s attention to the artificiality of the set-up.

4. Filler shows. 

As in, the filler material is obviously filler. I suppose you could put it “filler shows show” if you want.

Often, when writing, I find myself finishing an important scene with an idea of another important scene that comes next. Only, I don’t know what comes between those two important scenes. And I know (or think I know) that for the best effect, the scenes can’t come one right after the other. So I put something in there as a spacer. Maybe 1% of the time, if I’m lucky, I get a scene that surprises me with its quality.

The other 99% of the time, I get a formulaic scene that corresponds to the “meh” shows you get between TV-season sweeps. It’s tempting to think it’s good enough — and, hey, maybe if the purpose is to keep the readers reading until they get to the good stuff, it is — but “good enough” is seldom “good.”

5. The difference between comedy and tragedy is one of tone.

One of the showrunners’ most inspired casting choices was Hugh Laurie as the titular character. A strong comic performer, he lends House the timing and charm of a comedian, and, in some ways, the character is a typical comic character who happens to live in a tragic world. You could transpose House’s actions to a (somewhat raunchy) straight-up comedy, and they’d be OK. It’s the consequences to his actions that make them sad or meaningful or upsetting.

It’s easy to think that things themselves are funny or not funny, but the daunting truth is that construction of tone and context play such a large role in humour that thinking of something funny is less than half the battle. Presenting it in a way the reader is willing to accept as funny — or in a way that reader is willing to accept as not funny, depending on what you’re writing — is both important and tough.

From Dexter (TV series, not the novels):

6. Remember what your story is actually about.

Dexter is about a serial killer trying not to get caught by his sister and their colleagues and also affording his audiences a vicarious vigilante thrill. Whenever the show deviates from that with relationships or subplots or whatever, I get restless and judging by the online comments, so do many other members of the audience. I write what speaks to me, but sometimes something that speaks to me doesn’t belong in the story I’m writing right now.

7. Haters gonna hate.

Contrariwise, my favourite character on the TV series is Deb Morgan, Dexter’s adoptive sister. Some of my friends who like this series hate her. And so do a heckuva a lot of online fans. That’s cool.

Sometimes, audiences will love what you do, and sometimes they’ll hate what you do. Don’t change stuff based entirely on audiences’ negative reactions. Sometimes those reactions are a matter of taste and not necessarily indicative of a problem. Find out the reason for their booing, and whatever you do, make sure you still love what you end up with.

From Star Trek (several TV series and movies series):

8. You can’t write for posterity.

When I re-watch TOS and TNG, it’s difficult to reconcile how they seem today with the fact that they opened doors for women, characters of colour, and other minority groups during their original runs. Uhura was a progressive character in the sixties, but today, I look at the bridge of the original Enterprise and see a whole lot of straight, white men with a minimal number of female characters, characters of colour, etc. and many experiences not represented at all*. Similarly, when I look at TNG, I see, again, mainly white people, with one of two men of colour cast as a Noble Warrior character, and a kind of obvious, awkward avoidance of openly not-heterosexual characters.

Just because something pushes the envelope for its context doesn’t mean that it will still seem impressive or even ethical once those limits of time, location, and environment are gone. And what’s more important for writing and, well, life is: all you can do at the time is your own best, and just because what’s best might change in the future is no reason not to try right now.

From Pokémon (video game series):

9. Amount of exposition is no excuse for confusing your audience.

These days, there are more than 500 pokémon, and now they not only have names and evolutions but also multiple types, personalities, special abilities, etc.  Thanks to new mechanics like pokémon happiness, day/night, and seasons, there might be dozens of things to try before you can get a particular pokémon to evolve. Then on top of that, there are things like shinies and EVs to worry about.

Point is, the Internet is a handy reference for those overwhelmed with information, but dedicated pokémon trainers young and old commit  a lot of this to memory. When your audience wants to understand, lots of information is no barrier. It’s how you present it that counts.

From my treasure hunts:

10. Find your assumptions.

Sometimes, when I watch my victims — I mean, friends go through one of my treasure hunts, I feel like I’ve written all the clues and instructions in gibberish. I forget that some concepts I gleaned over a lifetime of devouring everything from kids’ how-to books** to scholarly histories aren’t intuitively obvious if you’re not using the same words to describe them in your head as I am in mine. It’s important to identify these assumptions and make them explicit.

Similarly, when writing fantasy, science fiction, and mystery — three of my favourite genres — it’s easy to take aspects of the world of the story for granted, especially if I’m already in love with/immersed in the particular fictional trope or real-life details on which I’ve based my plot conceit. I have to take a look at my ideas that’s as objective as possible and break them down into their fundamental parts. Like explaining how to do a math problem.

* Yes, I know the Spock character was originally a woman called Number One until the Powers That Be vetoed it. Doesn’t change the overall point.

** OMG, this one is free online now! Excuse me, I have… important, uh, research to do.