It started me thinking. Was the narrator right? Does every story have a coincidence in it? Aren’t we told it’s never good to use coincidences in our plots? Coincidence does happen in life, so it would seem logical to incorporate it. So why doesn’t it work? Is there a right way to use coincidence in a story?

Not every story uses coincidence, which, overall, I believe is a good thing. Not because coincidences are inherently bad, but because writers often use them badly in their plots. Coincidence never works when it’s used to help the main character. The most common offense of this nature is when the character overhears important, critical information that will help them achieve success. The character doesn’t deserve to win because they have made no effort towards achieving their goal. It’s just handed to them. However, if the character puts himself into a situation so he can purposefully overhear a conversation, then that’s a plan, not a coincidence. The character bugs an office, or sits in a booth at a restaurant next to the couple talking—it shows thought and action on his part. He has earned the right to find out at least part of what he’s after through his efforts.

Coincidence works only when it gets the character into more trouble.  The main character is ditching school and runs into the principal who happens to be making a Starbucks run. The character sees her boyfriend buying a beautiful necklace, which she thinks is meant for her, but later sees it around her rival’s neck. If you use coincidence to make more trouble, rather than helping the character, then it can work in your story.

I have one caveat about coincidence causing trouble. Never use it to have the main character overhear a conversation in which she misinterprets what she hears so that she thinks the guy she likes isn’t interested in her. Romances have used this device so often that it is now a cliché.

So, in retrospect, I think George’s narrator was partly right. Stories can have one coincidence if, like in George’s case, it gets the character into more trouble. Ursula’s mother warns George away from her daughter or she will remove his excuse for wearing a loincloth. There’s something about that loincloth…

© Anna-Maria Crum 2012

A character arc doesn’t have to be some huge leap in growth. In fact, most arcs tend to be small, and because of that, more believable. People don’t change drastically. They may learn to be more patient, more tolerant, etc., but it’s difficult to change a character from one extreme to another. For example, it would be difficult to make a reader believe that a KKK leader could change enough to accept a mixed race marriage for his daughter.

Your character’s actions and decisions must drive the story. A passive character is one who sits back and waits for things to happen. The action in stories with passive characters feels like author manipulation because the character doesn’t have the motivation to make things happen. Readers don’t bond with passive characters because they are weak.

For a children’s book you should establish who your main character is, what he wants, and if possible, what is stopping him from achieving his heart’s desire in the first chapter. Usually the first character mentioned or the first one who speaks is the main character. If a reader gets to the end of the first chapter and then discovers the character they thought was the main character isn’t, you’ve lost their trust. Adults are more forgiving and sometimes you can start with the villain. Or in a murder mystery, it often starts with the victim. But children need to have a clear picture of the main character when the story starts.

During the course of the story, what the main character wants may change because of plot twists. He may discover what he thought he wanted isn’t really what he needs. Or, he could discover if he gets what he wants it may adversely affect another character. Or he may discover that in order to get what he wants he has to do something else first—something he doesn’t want to do or that would cost him dearly. There are a number of ways you can twist or reverse the character’s quest to get what he wants. The main thing to remember is that the character should learn something or figure something out at the end of the first act. Or he could begin to question something he believes in. Doubt creeps in. Is he doing the right thing? Is he going about this in the right way?

During the middle of the book, the character acts. Because he acts, things happen. His decisions have consequences. He may make some progress toward achieving his goal, but ultimately his actions lead to complications. Finally, he suffers a major setback and he realizes he may never get what he wants. This is the black moment. Because of this moment, the character comes to a deeper understanding of himself and what he needs to do. Going through the emotional pain of this moment helps him resolve what he needs to do. This decision propels him into the climax where he earns his victory through his action. And by victory I don’t mean a happy ending. His victory is in becoming a better, stronger character through his actions. His victory is in doing the right thing, which is the culmination of his character arc.

One thing you should generally avoid doing is trying to make the ending too happy by negating the price your character has paid.  If your character must sacrifice something to attain his victory in the climax, then you can’t manipulate the story to return the thing he sacrificed—because if you do that it negates his growth, makes his sacrifice fake, and leaves the reader feeling cheated. If, for instance, he has to sacrifice his chance of auditioning for American Idol in order to help someone in the climax, you can’t have Ryan Seacrest show up at his house with the judges to hear his song once the climax is over. If you want the reader to care about his victory and believe in his growth, then your character has to pay the price for that victory in full, for real.

Things to consider about your character:

• Have you established your main character and his problem by the end of the first chapter?
• Does your character’s personality play into the plot?
• Does your character have flaws?
• What are your character’s strengths and weaknesses?
• Is your character active or passive?
• Does your character have sufficient motivation for his actions?
• Do his strengths and weaknesses drive the plot?
• Do you have enough conflict for your character?
• Is your villain a strong opponent for your main character?
• Does your villain and major secondary characters have their own arcs? (They don’t necessarily have to have one, but it’s a way to add depth to your characters.)
• Do you get your character out of trouble too quickly?
• Does he suffer the consequences of his actions?
• Have you upped the ante for your character?
• Does your character grow and change?
• Does your character earn the climax?

© Anna-Maria Crum 2012

You have to start with great characters. They need to be distinctive, have their own voice, and connect with the reader. Stephanie elicits a lot of sympathy. She’s just trying to make a living, be a loving, supportive daughter, and maybe find love. Her basic problems are everyone’s problems. How do you make it through the day, pay your bills, be there for your family, and find some satisfaction in life? Can you ever get off the treadmill or is this all there is? Stephanie wants some excitement and spice in her life. Who doesn’t? We connect and bond with her basic problems and desires.

You can’t make every character in your story a comedian. You need the contrast to show the absurdity. The person narrating the story has to be the sane character in the comedic mix so that the reader connects with them. That way the reader experiences the craziness through their eyes. If all of your characters are comedians, the scene falls flat. More is not better. There is no black without white. In Hot Six, Carol Zabo stands on a bridge’s guard rail with a brick tied to her ankle. Stephanie knows she isn’t going to jump because Carol’s wearing a $400 leather jacket. In the burg, you give your $400 jacket to your sister and then you jump off the bridge. Stephanie tells Carol she shouldn’t jump into the river because it will ruin her hair. This halfway convinces Carol. She just had her hair highlighted. Carol’s troubles started when she shoplifted a pair of crouchless bikini underpants to spice up her love life. She was too embarrassed to pay for them and in her haste to get away, she rear-ended an unmarked police car. Carol would rather die than go to jail. She’s seen a special on it. Besides the body cavity search, you have to go to the bathroom in front of everyone. ‘Nuff said. Stephanie knows the cop involved and promises to try and get the charges dropped. And if he won’t drop the charges, I’ll still have a chance to kill myself. That’s a good enough reason to get Carol off the bridge.

When your main character acts crazy they must know it. They must be pushed into it by events or other characters so that their actions have foundation and they aren’t acting that way just to make the scene funny. Stephanie knows it’s crazy to climb the pine tree and check on the guy with suspected mob ties after she’s already been caught once by him. She does it anyway because she knows he knows nobody would be crazy enough to risk getting caught twice in one night. So it’s actually the smart thing to do, right? When, of course, she’s caught, she falls back on the same excuse she previously used and pretends to be looking for her lost cat. Mob guy doesn’t buy it and shoots at her. Crazy actions have consequences.

Go overboard. With a big comedic scene you have to push the absurdity beyond the edge, or what you may think is the edge. In To the Nines, Stephanie, Lula, and Connie go to Vegas to pick up a skip and run into some Elvis impersonators, as you would expect in that city. But there aren’t just a few Elvis impersonators in the hotel, there’s a convention of Elvis impersonators. The girls get invited by a couple of them to go see Tom Jones who is performing at the hotel. But when Lula throws her triple X thong panties at Tom Jones during his act, we discover he isn’t the real one but another impersonator. In fact there is a Tom Jones impersonator convention also going on at the hotel. If he’s not the real one, then Lula wants her panties back. I don’t go giving away perfectly good panties to imposters. You got my panties under false pretenses. And you can’t even sing! I bet these two Elvis impersonators could sing better than you. At this point we discover Elvis impersonators and Tom Jones impersonators don’t get along. Lula makes it worse when she tries to defend their new friends. Someone yells to get the Elvis impersonators and their bitches. Chaos ensues. Connie cold-cocks a Cher impersonator who has a beard and mustache (can’t you just see it) while Lula tackles Tom Jones on stage to get her panties back. You have to go over the top to achieve deep down belly laughs in your readers.

The right details can heighten the comedy. During the fight in the Tom Jones scene, the girls are pelted with beer nuts and wasabi peas. It’s the wasabi peas that add the extra decibel to the laugh. It gives the scene a dose of reality and absurdity (to notice a detail like that) which makes it unique from other funny fight scenes.

Timing is everything. You have to pay attention to the rhythm of your sentences. If your sentences go on too long you can lose the humor. You also need to use short sentences to add punch. One of the running gags in the books are the ways Stephanie goes through cars. My favorite car destruction scene is in High Five. Usually Stephanie’s cars are clunkers, but this time she’s driving a Porsche—a company car from Ranger. Stephanie and Lula are at the trash company looking into her uncle’s account. When they try to leave, a garbage truck sideswipes them. They park the Porsche next to the truck and return to the office to fill out accident forms. Within minutes the car explodes. Flames spread to the garbage truck. The truck driver yells to take cover. He just filled up the tank. And then it blew. Barrrroooom! Lift off. The garbage truck jumped off the pavement. Tires and doors flew off like Frisbees, the truck bounced down with a jolt, listed to one side, and rolled over onto the furiously burning Porsche, turning it into a Porsche pancake.

The payoff must be worth the anticipation. In the previously mentioned scene, the mental image of a huge, heavy garbage truck jumping into the air, and then falling over on top of the Porsche squishing it flat, is the perfect ending for the car. We all know the Porsche isn’t going to last very long in the story. Great cars never do for Stephanie. But we also know the destruction of the Porsche has to be worth it. This scene gives us everything we hoped for and more. Lula sums it up the best: This here’s the first time she exploded a garbage truck. One time her truck got hit with an antitank missile. That wasn’t bad either, but it couldn’t compare to this.

Finally, humor can’t be forced. There is nothing worse than reading a scene where the author is trying too hard to be funny. It’s painful and cringeworthy. Humor has to be natural. It must grow out of the scene. It can’t be troweled on top of it. To see how it’s done right, I recommend all of Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum books. She’s a master of writing seamless, funny scenes where the humor grows naturally out of the characters and the situation.