It was partners in crime that led me to romance. Or rather, partners in solving crime. I’d become completely captivated by the relationship between two characters in a mystery series. So much so, I kept reading even after pegging the murderer. I stuck with the story, not to see if I was right (I was), but to see how this couple navigated an intricate and heartbreaking relationship. At story’s end, they tentatively agreed to begin again.
When I finally had the next book in my hands, I turned to the first page only to discover my beloved and tortured couple on their honeymoon.
Honeymoon?
What of the renewed courtship? What of past betrayals? I wanted to see them work for that happily ever after, not have it lost in the “white space” between books. I was crushed. I was more than crushed. I was a woman scorned–and you know what they say about those.
So I found the romance genre, a place where two people traversed rocky terrain to find, if not happily ever after, then at least, hopefully every after.
Still, before I ever knew the terms goal, motivation, and conflict, before I ever knew what a dark moment was, before I could name plot points, I noticed something.
When I was in the Army, we had a formula for training:
· Tell them what you’re going to tell them
· Tell them
· Tell them what you told them
Redundant? Oh, yeah, on purpose. A good practice for keeping live ammo down range? Definitely. Good for storytelling?
Not necessarily.
I noticed romance authors were telegraphing the entire story within the first chapters, even within the first scenes of a novel. For me, it was as bad as pegging the killer on page seventeen of a mystery.
They were telling me what they were going to tell me.
The internal and external conflicts were so explicit, so detailed within the early part of the book, all I had to do was think up “the worst possible thing” and I had the black moment. I knew how story would unfold, so what was the point in reading it?
I suspect many readers draw comfort from this structure. Me? I want an author to steal my breath away. I want not “the worst possible thing” to happen but as Orson Scott Card suggests, “the most interesting thing” to happen. I want the romantic dark moment to be as startling as the revelation of the murderer in a well-crafted mystery–a surprise that nevertheless resonates with the story and characters.
I don’t believe the critics who claim romance is formulaic. Romance readers have certain expectations, but then so do mystery readers. So do readers of literary fiction. And authors in all genres can inadvertently telegraph their stories, give away too much, too soon.
In mystery, the “what” is clear: there’s a crime, usually a murder, and a sleuth who, after twists and turns, solves it. I know what will happen, but not how.
In romance, we have what I think is the very best mystery of all: how two people navigate the rocky terrain of love to a committed relationship. I know what will happen at the end of the story. But as with a good mystery, I want the “how” shrouded. I want the romance equivalent of clues and red herrings, twists and turns.
So dazzle me. Break my heart. Make me gasp.
Just don’t tell me what you’re going to tell me.
No related posts.
I’m always amazed how, as I think I’m reaching an impervious plot/style/story block in my writing, someone comes along and shows me how to walk around it with a few well chosen words. Thanks, Charity.
‘I want not “the worst possible thing” to happen but as Orson Scott Card suggests, “the most interesting thing” to happen.’
I like that. As you’ve said, too often writers concentrate on the “worst possible thing,” which makes stories predictible.
Good post!:wink:
Wonderful, thought provoking post. I’m so glad you shared. You’ve given me a lot to ponder.
Oh, I hate being told what I’m about to be shown. Hate it! Beat me over the head, ack! And, yes on the most interesting thing!!
Funny this subject coming up right now. I’m working on a query and synopsis, and I find myself telling, telling again, and yet again. Yeah, I worked around the military, so I had that mantra drummed into me, but, you know, I think it might work for a synopsis. Tell them in very general terms, then in more specific/detailed terms, then wrap it up with a quick summary.
Am I nuts, or is this reasonable?
Whata great metaphor — the military training thing. I never thought about it that way. Great post, with lots for us writers to think about!
Great post, Charit. For the most part I agree 100%…but then I thought about those books did ‘telegraph’, yet had such well drawn and engaging characters, depth of emotion, and wonderful touches of humor and turns of phrases, that the telegraphing actually tweaked my anticipation of what was to come. It comes down to execution and author voice; but I’ll admit that even with all those wonderful elements, if the author had, perhaps, not ‘telegraphed’ the Black Moment, or a certain plot twist my enjoyment would have been greater.
I can’t help but wonder what the book was that you were originally referring to now…