Flashbacks, Yes or No

 QUESTION: Writers are often told that editors and readers hate flashbacks, but I see them, some of them full scenes, used all the time. What gives?

The first thing you must consider is the kind of book you're talking about. Flashbacks are quite common in literary fiction, not that common in genre (popular fiction).

Literary fiction and some mainstream fiction aren't concerned with plot and linear time (one event followed by another event). In fact, plot suspense is often tossed away by having the end of the book revealed at the beginning of the book.

Popular fiction, however, depends on plot and linear time, and the reader wants to see what happens next.

Flashbacks are a major speed bump which slows or stops the reader's forward movement through the story. The reader must pause and readjust at the beginning of the flashback and then again at the resumption of the regular plot. That pause can be fatal to the reader's immersion into the story.

Most flashbacks are poorly done, even in published writing, and the inexperienced writer would be wise to avoid them entirely because they give too much information which can be deleted without a loss to the story. Instead, the important bits can be sprinkled judiciously through the story with dialogue and interiors.

Finding Your Character's Weakness

According to Greek myth, Achilles' goddess mother dipped him as an infant into the River Styx to make him invulnerable to injury, but the heel she held him by wasn't dipped.  As fate and story would have it, he died when someone shot him in that heel.   

Most people and the most interesting fictional characters always have an Achilles heel, that one weakness which will defeat them unless they overcome it.

As a writer, you must figure out what your main character's weakness is and attack it through plot.

That weakness can be fear of some physical danger.  If like Indiana Jones, your character is afraid of snakes, then snakes he must face to achieve victory.  

A better weakness is an inner one.  If your character prides himself on his dignity and fears ridicule, he must find the strength, at his high school reunion, to race across the room in his bunny underwear to protect his girlfriend from the same bullies who just stripped him.  

If he fears death, he must find the strength to risk dying for something or someone who is more important than life.

Minor weaknesses and disasters can add conflict to a scene, but that one Achilles' heel of your character and his attempts to overcome it are the heart and soul of a good story.

 

How Not to Lengthen Your Novel

Many of us in our writing careers have had a novel that simply wasn’t long enough.  Sometimes, it is poor planning on our part when we misjudge exactly how much word length each element of the plot entails.

Other times, it is due to a market shift-- a publisher who wants one length either closes down that line or rejects your book so you have a book with no home to go to.  

This problem has been solved to a certain extent with the advent of self-publishing and ebook publishers, but, if you want to sell to one of the major publishers, you must either rewrite to fit the available markets or shelf the book.  

I recently read a Regency historical which was obviously written for the defunct short Regency market then had around 20,000 words added to make it fit the historical market, and it’s a classic example of how not to lengthen a book.  

Novels have a certain rhythm to them, and most of us sense when the end is coming.  Plot ends are being tied up, the bad guy has been thwarted, and the emotional problems, particularly between the hero and heroine, are being settled.  

When I felt the novel coming to a close with many pages yet to go, I realized what this author had done.  Instead of adding another subplot to make the novel longer, this author had chosen to leave the short Regency basically untouched except for a few extra sex scenes and to continue on with the story.

This choice meant that the novel came to a complete stop because all the plot points had been answered, and the hero and heroine had come to a certain emotional closure so they were worthy of their happily-ever-after.

The author then lured the reader forward with standard honeymoon events and sex for several chapters then family matters and villains who had appeared to be handled reappeared and trashed their relationship once again so it was back to square one for them.  

This was not only annoying, but it also gave a lie to the possibility that these people would ever have a happily-ever-after if they couldn’t get past their emotional issues.  

Even if they seem to solve them this second time, it’s more likely that these problems will reappear again.  Like a bad monster movie where the monster may rise again, the final page seemed to say “The End?”

When that short novel needs to be longer, resist the urge to leave the main body of the book alone, and, instead, work in subplots to make it one whole book.  It will make a better book and won’t annoy your reader. 

Second Book Syndrome

Second book syndrome has several definitions.  One refers to the writing process of the second book after the successful publication of the first book.  The writer fears that they won’t be able to write as good a book as the first.  Or, they fear that the first book was a fluke, and they really don’t know what they are doing.  Some authors become so frozen with fear that they can’t move forward with their writing.  

The other definition refers to the time after the second book has been written and published.  The reading audience discovers the writer’s paranoia about his skills were right, and the second book fails to deliver what the first book did.

Margaret Mitchell was so terrified of failure after GONE WITH THE WIND she reportedly decided not to publish another novel.  Robert James Waller who wrote the phenomenally successful bestseller, THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY, proved to be a one-hint wonder.  All his other books failed to even remotely achieve the success of this novel.  So, yes, second book syndrome does exist.

I’ve discovered a new kind of second book syndrome in a series.  In the last month I’ve read two urban fantasies that were a second in the series, and both failed badly for the very same reason.  Up to sixty pages at the beginning of the book were nothing but clean up between the plot ending of the first book, and the plot beginning of the second book.  

Minor unresolved problems were answered, and characters discussed their relationships and careers that have been changed because of the first book's events.

I imagine all this was vastly important to the author and some readers, but it was a massive brick wall to a majority of readers.  

A second book should start like any book.  The reader should be immediately shoved directly into the book with an important plot goal and engaging characters and should be kept there for the remainder of the book.  

If you think some things should be clarified or expanded, wait until a bit later and have the character explain to a friend why she no longer works for the police, or why she fears her friends may be targeted by her enemy.  

Also, let the reader intuit some changes.  If they read the first book, they can usually guess why things have changed, and if they didn’t read the first book, they won’t care as long as you give enough information to cover the current situation.  

And, remember, this holds true for all the books in a series.  Successful series writers never maunder about at the beginning of each novel, and neither should you.