Tag: a song of ice and fire (Page 1 of 2)

Some Things I Learned on My Tour Through Westeros

November 17, 2021 / Kyle A. Massa

Westeros Header

I recently re-read the entirety of George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire.

…Do you still say “re-read” if you listened on audiobook? We’ll pretend the answer’s yes. Shoutout to late great narrator Roy Dotrice.

Anyhoo, now that I’m back from my tour, I thought I’d share some words of wisdom for those planning a similar visit. Consider this a long-form TripAdvisor review, only with fewer typos (hopefully).

People are super judgmental about parentage

In Westeros, if both your parents aren’t members of the one percent, odds are someone will call you “lowborn.” And if mom and dad weren’t married at the time of your birth, you might even be labeled “bastard,” which is only marginally better than, say, “accident.”

Seriously, people sling birth-related insults like mashed potatoes in a cafeteria food fight. Just ask Jon Snow, Mya Stone, or Gendry what’s-his-name. There’s even a guy named “The Bastard of Godsgrace,” if I remember correctly, which somehow stings even worse. I mean, if I was called the Bastard of Albany, I’d be bummed.

If you receive a wedding invitation, check the “Respectfully Decline” box

I’ve been to three weddings this year and the body count remains at zero (as far as I know). If this was Westeros, I wouldn’t even be alive to write this article. And if you think Westerosi weddings are dangerous, try a Dothraki ceremony. In the words of Illyrio Mopatis:

“A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is considered a dull affair.”

If you must attend a wedding, arrive armed and don’t touch the food. And if the DJ starts playing “The Rains of Castamere”—yes, even the remix—run.

Imposters are everywhere

John the Fiddler, Jon Snow, Gryff, Young Gryff, Alayne Stone. Whenever you meet someone in Westeros, I suggest doing a background check, post haste.

George R.R. Martin is more sex crazed than a 14-year-old

Seriously, the guy can’t go five paragraphs without mentioning boobs, brothels, or some variation of the word “fuck.” No wonder HBO wanted the series adaptation.

Don’t be a peasant, because you’ll probably be murdered

Also, people will call you “smallfolk,” which is insulting.

…But don’t be a noble, either

You’ll probably get assassinated by your most ruthless rival, at which point they’ll claim your lands, income, castle, and underwear (presumably).

The safest approach is to become a middle-class working joe. Not that Westeros has a middle class, mind you.

Anyway, whatever your job is, it’s going to be horrible

Whether it’s the lifetime vow of celibacy for the Kingsguard or the lousy food of the Night’s Watch, every job in Westeros is kinda unappealing. Some other examples:

Hedge Knight: This is like being a freelance writer, in that you’ll take any project, so long as somebody pays you—which is never much, by the way. But at least you’re not sleeping under a hedge. Unless you really are sleeping under a hedge, in which case, you should’ve read the job description closer.
Septa/Septon: Meh, this job seems kinda boring—unless you’re the septa shouting, “Shame!” during Cercei’s penitence walk.
Maester: This looks like a desirable profession at first glance, since you just read books and offer unsolicited advice. However, several Maesters have met nasty ends, i.e. Luwin and Kerwin. Plus, Lady Barbrey Dustin made unflattering observations about them: “Isn’t it clever how the maesters go only by one name, even those who had two when they first arrived at the Citadel? That way we cannot know who they truly are or where they come from.” Alright, fine, I suppose that is a little sus. I’m out.
Whore: No thank you.
Hand of the King: Similar to the Vice President, minus the potential for biopics. Plus, the last few Hands have gotten caught in the proverbial wood chipper. A brief list:
- Jon Arryn: Poisoned by his psycho wife.
- Ned Stark: Imprisoned, framed, and beheaded.
- Tyrion Lannister: Nearly decapitated in a botched assassination attempt, then subsequently fired. Technically acting Hand of the King at the time, but still…
- Tywin Lannister: Shot in the bowels by his son whilst pooping.
- Harys Swyft: I don’t remember this guy and I’m sure you don’t either.
- Orton Merryweather: Hired because his wife was frienemies with the Queen Regent.
- Mace Tyrell: Hired to forestall the end of a hopelessly fraying alliance. Also a doofus.

I’d rather work in customer service than any of these jobs, which is really saying something.

Keep a dream journal

This is a must since dreams are so often prophetic. Sure, you’ll stress over portents and symbols and whatnot, but you’ll have an advantage over those who don’t bother. Take this dream from The Ghost of High Heart as an example:

“I dreamt a wolf howling in the rain, but no one heard his grief. I dreamt such a clangor I thought my head might burst, drums and horns and pipes and screams, but the saddest sound was the little bells.”

Though she never made it to the show, she totally dreamt of the Red Wedding before it happened. Alas, nobody in Westeros enjoys Freudian dream interpretation.

At least the food’s good

They may not have GrubHub in Westeros, but who needs it when you’ve got options like this?

“They began with a broth of crab and monkfish, and cold egg lime soup as well. Then came quails in honey, a saddle of lamb, goose livers drowned in wine, buttered parsnips, and suckling pig.”

“There were loaves of crusty bread still warm from the ovens, crocks of fresh-churned butter, honey from the septry’s hives, and a thick stew of crabs, mussels, and at least three different kinds of fish.”

“They started with a creamy chestnut soup, crusty hot bread, and greens dressed with apples and pine nuts. Then came lamprey pie, honeyed ham, buttered carrots, white beans and bacon, and roast swan stuffed with mushrooms and oysters.”

Fortunately, they don’t have Tapas restaurants. Now please excuse me while I go raid my pantry.

In Conclusion

I hope these notes have enlightened you regarding Westerosi culture. If not, I wouldn’t recommend traveling there anytime soon.

…Unless you’re arriving via book, that is. In that case, visit as often as you like. I know I will.

Kyle A. Massa is a fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include two books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

Thanks to this Gizmodo article for collecting the meal descriptions.

Thanks, GRRM: Lessons Learned from George R.R. Martin

June 21, 2021 / Kyle A. Massa

George R.R. Martin

Whether written or read, every book is a lesson.

George R.R. Martin is one of the best I’ve ever learned from (and for more than just his gratuitous descriptions of food). GRRM’s writing has made an indelible impact on mine. So today, I’d like to share some of my favorite lessons with you.

(Be forewarned—there will be spoilers for his books!)

Lesson 1: It’s Good to Bully Characters

Though I’ve covered this subject before, it remains a tough lesson to internalize. Yet the truth is plain: It pays to be mean to your characters.

Nobody’s nastier than George R.R. Martin. He beheads poor Ned Stark in book one, murders Renly Baratheon in book two, then goes ham in book three by killing Catelyn Stark, Robb Stark, Joffrey Baratheon, and Tywin Lannister (among others).

And those are just the characters who die. The ones who live fare little better, i.e. Jaime Lannister getting his hand lopped off, Bran Stark being tossed from a tower, Daenerys Targaryen losing her son and hubby within hours of each other, and so forth.

I am almost certain Martin likes all these characters (with the exception of Joffrey). Yet he still bullies them. It’s the right thing to do.

Imagine, for example, if Martin liked Robb Stark too much to have him killed at the Red Wedding. Doing so would deprive us of one of the most shocking plot twists in modern literature—and television, for that matter. (I remember when the Red Wedding episode of HBO’s Game of Thrones aired. People could not stop talking about it.)

Bullying one’s characters means putting them in difficult situations. This forces one’s characters to be clever, courageous, and resilient; in short, it makes them more interesting. The meaner the writer is, the more momentous their characters’ eventual triumphs will be.

Lesson 2: Plan Ahead

As a kid, I dreamed of writing series. I dreamed of trilogies, quartets, quintets, whatever you call a six-book series, and more. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire is a planned seven-volume series, and it’s masterful.

Before anyone writes an angry comment, let me clarify. Martin’s series is masterful. His writing pace? Not so much.

But part of what makes the five existing books so compelling is their foresight. The more you read, the more you’ll notice that those vague prophecies and ethereal dreams always seem to come true. That’s because Martin plans ahead, and has a destination in mind.

Consider this passage from Catelyn Stark’s point of view in A Game of Thrones:

“Sometimes [Catelyn] felt as though her heart had turned to stone…”

An innocuous line when you first read it. Yet once we get to book three, when the Freys murder Catelyn and Beric Dondarrion resurrects her, she goes by a new name: Lady Stoneheart.

And that’s just a subtle example. Adding these nuggets throughout the series makes the books feel even more intertwined and interconnected. Plan ahead and reap the rewards.

Lesson 3: A Good Mystery Goes A Long Way

I’m not much of a mystery reader, but I probably should be. I always enjoy books with even a hint of the unknown. Martin has those hints in spades.

There’s the classic R + L = J equation, a long-standing theory which I won’t spoil for readers (but was confirmed in the series). Also, what the heck happened to Benjen Stark, who went ranging in the wild in book one and never appeared again? And what game are Illyrio Mopatis and Varys playing together?

I’ll stop there to preserve my word count. But you can visit the long-running Forum of Ice and Fire or the series’s Subreddit for more mysteries and possible explanations. If a series has enough enigmas to fill two websites with content, you know it must be special.

Lesson 4: Perfection is an Illusion

In second grade, I decided I wanted to be a writer. Fantasy was my genre, chiefly inspired by The Lord of the Rings. I loved the trilogy, yes—but part of me resented it as well. I’d convinced myself that no one—particularly me—could ever write anything better.

Then, 10 years ago, my dad invited me to watch a show I never heard before: A Game of Thrones. He’d heard about it somewhere and knew how much I loved LOTR. So, we watched the pilot. (Not really the type of show you should watch with a parent, but so it goes.)

Here’s a short list of the things I witness on my first visit to Westeros:

Nudity
Incest
Attempted child murder
Several creative uses of the word “fuck”
Characters who aren’t clearly good or evil

What blew me away was the audacity of the story. Game of Thrones took epic fantasy, a genre that celebrated heroism and the triumph of good over evil, and turned it into something far uglier—and in many ways, more compelling.

I spent the summer of 2011 watching new episodes every Sunday. The other six days of the week were spent tearing through the novels. And though it didn’t come immediately, I eventually had an epiphany: I liked A Song of Ice and Fire better than Lord of the Rings.

When you see perfection improved upon, you realize nothing’s perfect. There’s always more to be done, a higher place to climb, a better book to write. GRRM’s work helped me see past the ceilings I’d always believed were there. I doubt I’ll ever write anything better than Lord of the Rings. But if Martin could do it, it can’t be impossible.

Thanks, GRRM

Though we’ve never met, I’ve learned so much about writing from George RR Martin. I hope you did as well.

Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their cats, and their dog. He has written two books and numerous short stories, both published and yet-to-be published. He enjoys unusual narrative structures, multiple POVs, and stories that make readers laugh.

Fantasy Settings: How Much Do We Really Need to See?

May 18, 2020 / Kyle A. Massa

Everybody likes a good fantasy setting. Whether it’s Tolkien’s Middle-Earth, Jemisin’s Stillness, or Pratchett’s Discworld, there are some places we never want to leave. By that logic, there are some places we should see even more of, right? Well, not necessarily.

For us fantasy writers, it’s tempting to show every region of our worlds. That abandoned graveyard? Let’s send some characters there, just to see it. What about the ancient eagle’s nest atop the mountain? We need to show it, just because it’s awesome. And that village of singing trolls out in the west? There’s a chapter.

Before we do that, let’s take a step back and look at our world. Not the story world, but the world we actually live in. You know, Earth. It’s vast, isn’t it? And not only geographically—in terms of our knowledge, too. So many cultures, so much history. It’s practically limitless. Most people live their whole lives never seeing the entire thing.

To create an authentic fantasy world, I think we need to keep that same principle in mind. I believe every fictional world, fantasy or otherwise, should have parts on the periphery that we never discover.

A great example comes from The Lord of the Rings. Sure, you remember Mordor and Rivendell. But riddle me this: Do you remember Queen Beruthiel? She’s mentioned in an offhand comment from Aragorn:

“[Gandalf] is surer of finding the way home in a blind night than the cats of Queen Berúthiel.”

That’s it. She’s never mentioned again. At first glance, this might seem like laziness or even a mistake. But that reference is almost certainly intentional, and one of the many tricks Tolkien employed when building Middle-Earth. He created a rich, wholly believable world precisely because he didn’t show us everything.

Just like in the real world, there are limits to our knowledge as readers. If we directly experience every location and every person, the setting ends up feeling awfully small. But if there’s more beyond the borders of the page, we get a proper sense of scale.

Let’s stick with epic fantasy for our second talking point. A Song of Ice and Fire is one of the most immersive worlds out there. And it’s a big world—big enough that the story might not even conclude after seven volumes.

In books four and five, author George R.R. Martin shows us more of this expansive world. He adds several characters just to serve as vessels through which we can see the other areas of his setting. For example, bodyguard Areo Hotah exists only to show us what’s happening in the desert kingdom of Dorne.

Does it work? Well, that depends on whom you ask. For the most part, though, fans hate it.

Why? Because even Martin, who’s been a professional writer for decades, makes the mistake of showing too much of his setting. He has many chapters in which his characters do little except tell us what’s going on in this one place. Do we really need to see what’s going on in Dorne and the Iron Islands first-hand? You could debate it, but a lot of fans will tell you it distracts from the main plot. Furthermore, it makes his world feel smaller.

The more we see of a setting, the smaller it gets. Though we might want to visit that cool place we referenced way back in chapter five, it’s often best if we resist the urge.

*Image credit: Mehmet Canli. Used under permission of CC BY-SA 2.0.

The Curious Case of Why Short Story Collections Don’t Sell

July 29, 2019 / Kyle A. Massa

“Short stories are loose change in the treasury of fiction.”

That’s what J.G. Ballard wrote in the introduction to his Complete Short Stories collection. Considering the dwindling attention spans of many readers, you’d think that short stories would be more popular than ever. But when’s the last time you saw someone reading a short story collection? Just like Ballard wrote, it seems short stories are the pennies, nickels, and dimes of literature.

So why don’t short stories sell?

First, I think it’s about the characters. Take a series like A Song of Ice and Fire, for example. Fantasy fans and non-fantasy fans alike revere that series in large part because of the characters. They’re dense, they’re layered, and they evolve over the course of many volumes. In short stories, however, you don’t have hundreds of pages to devote to character development. That’s not to say that short stories don’t have good characters—it’s just that, with such limited space, writers must focus on a few key characteristics rather than many.

Furthermore, I think agents and publishers are less likely to go for collections because they don’t have the potential for a series. This one’s a no brainer: once readers get attached to the first book in a series, you’ve got them locked in to buy the rest. The Harry Potter series, for instance, only got more and more popular with each new release. And once the series ends, publishers can package the whole thing into a box set for even more sales. All told, that’s a heck of a lot of money.

And another thing: authors often use short story collections to explore different styles and genres, which is the opposite of what they do with novels. Another truism of the publishing industry states that once an author makes it big with one book, she/he should pretty much rewrite that story, only make it a little different this time. For readers, this is a good thing; you can pick up a novel by an author you know, and you’ll probably end up liking it.

Short stories don’t necessarily follow that rule, though. Things like second person narrative and interview style, which rarely work in long-form narratives, suddenly spring to life in a short story. Authors also tend to explore subjects they stray away from in their longer fiction. Roald Dahl is a great example. Sure, you know him as the guy who wrote James and the Giant Peach and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. But have you ever read his short fiction? Just to get a taste (sorry for the pun), try Lamb to the Slaughter. It’s a clever short that includes murder, adultery, deception, and dinner.

Or, in other words, good fun.

Will short stories ever sell like novels do? Maybe not. Historically, the novel has always been far more popular, and, for the reasons listed above, I can see that trend continuing for a long, long time.

But don’t let that stop you from trying short fiction, if you haven’t already. There’s an elegance to a good short story, a brevity and directness that many novels are missing. Some of the greatest short stories I’ve ever read say much more with far less.

So, for J.G. Ballard’s sake and the sake of short story writers everywhere, always hold on to that loose change.

Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife and their two cats. His stories have appeared in numerous online magazines, including Allegory, Chantwood, and Dark Fire Fiction.

The Question of Simplistic Morals in Epic Fantasy

April 16, 2019 / Kyle A. Massa

What’s one of the key differences between J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings and George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire?

Nope, I don’t mean the treatment of dragons. I’m not thinking of dwarves. And no, I’m not referring to uses of the word “fucking.” I think the key difference between these two giants of the genre is their treatment of morals.

The Lord of the Rings has clearly defined sides: The Fellowship is good. Sauron is evil. Though some characters switch sides (most notably Saruman), it’s mostly obvious who you should root for and against. A Song of Ice and Fire is far less clear. The series was more or less written in response to LOTR, and one can see how: The characters in this series are morally dynamic, all of them ending up somewhere in the middle.

I’ve heard a lot of readers suggest George R.R. Martin’s approach is the better one. ASOIAF is more realistic, making Tolkien’s LOTR simplistic by comparison.

Yes, I agree. Lord of the Rings’s morals are simplistic. But I don’t think simplistic morals make for a worse story. Quite the opposite, actually.

Listen, I love both of these series. I ranked them in the top two of my fantasy power rankings. But I think there’s something to be said for Tolkien’s clearly-defined good and evil.

First of all, fiction is often about wish fulfillment. One of the most satisfying elements of a story is seeing an event reconcile itself within a truncated timeframe. Oftentimes, these are huge problems which realistically can’t be solved, at least not in the way presented. For example: a character reconciles the death of a loved one. Though this process would likely take years, fiction allows us to view this process within a few hundred pages. Wish granted.

Let’s bring this conversation back to Lord of the Rings. The wish fulfilled by the end of the novel is that all evil is vanquished. The One Ring melts into the lava, and boom. World saved. That’s a wish everyone can get behind.

Of course, we’ll likely never see a reality without evil. But fiction need not reflect the possible. Rather, it’s satisfying because it shows the impossible coming to life.

While I love A Song of Ice and Fire, it’s all too often a reminder of the world’s nastiness. If that’s what you’re into, I can see why you love it. I love it, too. But since the world is already a place filled with atrocities and death and violence, sometimes it’s nice to get away from all that in a book, rather than be reminded of it.

Sometimes the very best fiction is transportive rather than reflective. When we step into Middle-Earth, we can’t help but feel that we are elsewhere. We’re in a world where there are good people who fight for justice, where the seemingly insignificant become heroes. We get a little bit of that in Westeros, but mostly we get Red Weddings. Listen, I’m getting married soon. I don’t want to read about Red Weddings right now.

So yes, The Lord of the Rings is kind of simplistic. But sometimes, that’s what we need most.

3 Signs Your Novel Has Too Many POV Characters

March 11, 2019 / Kyle A. Massa

Writing a novel from multiple points of view is tempting. It’s especially tempting, I find, for those writing fantasy. George R.R. Martin does it. Why can’t we?

Well, what works for Mr. Martin won’t necessarily work for us. And truth be told, what works for Mr. Martin doesn’t always actually work for Mr. Martin, if you know what I mean. Because even the most diehard Song of Ice and Fire fans will admit that the series might have too many POVs.

Let’s back up a moment. A point of view character is pretty much what it sounds like—the character whose thoughts and feelings are described to us. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby has one point of view character: Nick Carraway. Martin’s A Game of Thrones, on the other hand, has multiple point of view characters, indicated by the character name at the beginning of the chapter.

To be fair, you know your novel best. Maybe you really do need ten or twenty POV characters. But if you fear you’ve got too many, these are three telltale signs.

Your POV Characters Have “Check In” Chapters

When you read certain books, do you ever get the sense that we’re returning to a POV character not for any story reason, but just to remind you they’re still alive? I call these check in chapters.

Avoid them. They slow your story and add unnecessary chunkiness to your page count. Plus, nothing bothers readers more than pointless tangents. Readers give their time to our stories. We shouldn’t waste it!

I’ve certainly had check in chapters infect my manuscripts. For example, I had five POV characters in one story, each with a complete and satisfying character arc. Yet for my fifth POV character, a multi-talented scoundrel by the name of Trast, his story resolved itself about a hundred pages sooner than expected. The rest of his chapters seemed to say the same thing: “Remember Trast? He’s still here.” Clearly, I had too many POVs. Poor Trast was demoted to an auxiliary character in the next draft.

Your Readers Skip POVs

One of the most fun (and sometimes frustrating) aspects of writing is this: Your conception of your story never quite aligns with the finished product. When you brainstorm, you might guess that you need that additional POV. But once you start writing, you might find those extra chapters don’t add much to your story.

Though some characters might not attain POV status, you needn’t necessarily cut them entirely. You might work them into other spots or just lessen their role in the story. Just because a character isn’t a POV doesn’t mean they’re not important. We never get Dumbledore’s perspective in Harry Potter, yet he’s undeniably vital to the story.

You’ve Added POVs Only to Show More of Your World

Adding POV characters just to show new settings is like using the Death Star to destroy an ant hill. That is, there are better ways to accomplish the same goal.

Books are often better when they leave some things unsaid. Exploring every crevice of a world just for the sake of exploration produces aimless chapters. Settings and characters should serve the story whenever possible. If they don’t, they’re likely unnecessary.

If you’ve got essential action going on “offscreen,” it’s often better to devise an alternate way to show it. Can another POV character reach that other region so they experience the event first-hand? If not, can you suggest the action without showing it? Maybe a courier relays the action to your main character.

I hope these suggestions prove useful to you. If you’ve got too many POV characters, don’t worry! You’re creative. I know you’ll think of a better solution.

6 Telltale Signs You’re Reading an Epic Fantasy Novel

September 4, 2018 / Kyle A. Massa

Fantasy is a fantastic genre. And thanks to the brilliance of series like The Lord of the Rings and A Song of Ice and Fire, epic fantasy has become one of the most popular flavors of fantasy. How do you know you’re reading epic fantasy? These six signs should point you in the right direction:

1. There’s a Prologue

I’m starting to think literally no other genre has prologues. Though, to be fair, many epic fantasy novels probably don’t need them, anyway. Prologues are supposed to set the stage for the book, but often they just add a few pounds to an already hefty volume.

2. It’s Part One of a Ten Volume Series

Fantasy authors have a definite obsession with the multi-volume epic. For example: “This is part one of the first trilogy of three interconnected trilogies, all set in the same world.” Even Tolkien would be giving you the stink eye right now.

3. There’s a Map

I think it’s safe to say we can blame J.R.R. for this one, too. They’re not necessary to the story as it is, but whatever—they give authors an excuse to make up names for cities their characters never end up visiting.

4. Quotes Begin Every Chapter

These tend to be passages from books within the book or quotes from people with silly names. Either way, you don’t feel too guilty for skipping them.

5. Peasants

No fantasy story is complete without illiterate peasants, presumably speaking with cockney accents.

6. Every Character is a History Buff

In many epic fantasy novels, characters possess an encyclopedic knowledge of the world—even the peasants. Which is funny, because most people in the real world probably can’t even tell you who the 30th president of the United States was (I definitely cannot). And in fantasy novels, they don’t even have Google.

Okay, that’s all I can think of for now. What did I miss? Let me know in the comments!

Story Ideas: Where Do They Come From and Where Can We Find More?

April 9, 2018 / Kyle A. Massa

It’s never this easy.

I’ve heard it said that great ideas are easy to come by—it’s the writing that’s the hard part. I don’t buy it!

On the contrary, I think when you start with a great idea, the writing blossoms from there. So the question is, how do we come by those great ideas?

Man, I wish I knew. I’m no more of an idea factory than anyone else. What I can say is, I’m always trying new methods. Some work, some don’t, but here are a few of my favorite idea generators.

Keep a Notebook

My mom encouraged me to do this, and I’m glad she did. Writer or not, everyone has a hundred ideas every day—it’s just that we remember few of them. That’s where the notebook comes in.

This thing should be the Robin to your Batman, so make sure it’s small enough to fit in your pocket. Whenever you have an idea, any idea, jot it down. It’s perfect for those thoughts that just need to gestate a bit, or perhaps an overheard conversation that would make a great scene of dialogue, or maybe a solution to that complex conflict between your central characters.

If you’re interested, Joan Didion’s essay “On Keeping a Notebook“ explores this topic with much more eloquence than I can. Check it out!

Focus on the Fun Ideas

This one seems like a no-brainer, but a lot of writers (including myself) seem to forget it.

I remember working on a manuscript for far longer than I should have, forcing my way through and groaning whenever it was time to write. Truth was, the initial idea turned out to be far more interesting than the piece itself.

Two months in, I realized I wasn’t having fun anymore. So I put the manuscript away, all 40,000 words of it.

I didn’t throw it away (more on that later), but I didn’t force it, either. Not every piece will be like eating ice cream, but fun should be an essential part of your writing process. After all, if you don’t have fun writing a piece, no one’s going to have fun reading it.

Don’t Abandon Anything

Even if you think you’ve just written the literary equivalent of Plan 9 from Outer Space, keep it! Every idea is like a seed. Some never grow. Some grow into shrubs and die in their first winter. But some flourish and grow tall. Pretty soon, you’ll have yourself one mighty fine-looking tree.

George R.R. Martin encourages young writers to never throw away anything, and here’s a good example why. In his introduction for Dreamsongs, Volume I, Martin describes one of his first forays into the epic fantasy genre. (Remember—this was a long time before A Song of Ice and Fire.)

“Dark Gods of Kor-Yuban” I called it, and yes, my version of Mordor sounds like a brand of coffee. My heroes were the usual pair of mismatched adventurers, the melancholy exile prince R’hllor of Raugg and his boisterous, swaggering companion, Argilac the Arrogant.

And later…

In the sequel, my exile prince finds himself in the Dothrak Empire, where he joins Barron of the Bloody Blade to fight the winged demons who slew his grandsire, King Barristan the Bold.

If you’ve read A Song of Ice and Fire, then you probably recognize the names R’hllor, Argilac the Arrogant, Barristan the Bold, and the Dothrak Empire. All those names reappear in his series!

So what does it take to make a great story idea? It takes hard work, deep thought, and perseverance. Truth is, ideas don’t always come to us—sometimes, we need to go find them.

Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his fiancee and their two cats. His stories have appeared in numerous online magazines, including Allegory, Chantwood, and Dark Fire Fiction. To stay current with Kyle’s work, subscribe to his email newsletter. He promises not to spam you.

Unearned and Pointless: When Character Deaths Don’t Work

November 20, 2017 / Kyle A. Massa

From Amazon

In fiction, everything happens for a reason. So when characters bite the dust, the audience wants to understand why. (Unless we’re talking about someone like Joffrey Lannister. In which case, reasons need not apply.)

A film called Trick ‘r Treat got me thinking about this topic. I really enjoyed this movie. It’s a horror-comedy Halloween anthology film featuring a murderous school principal, zombie children, and a demonic trick or treater. I loved pretty much every minute of this film—except for the very first scene.

It begins with two characters: Emma and Henry. They’ve just returned from a night of trick or treating, and Emma decides to dismantle their Halloween decorations, since she knows Henry won’t do it. Henry’s kind of like, “Yeah. True.” He also points out that removing decorations before the night’s over goes against tradition. Emma does it anyway.

As she’s putting away the decorations, an unseen assailant murders her. Henry comes out later and finds Emma’s dismembered corpse in the yard. And…scene!

Okay, this is a horror movie. The mortality rate for characters in horror films is far above the national average. And, as I mentioned, I think this is an excellent film. Yet I have an issue with this scene because the character’s death feels undeserved and pointless.

First of all, when we meet Emma and Henry, Henry feels like the character more deserving of death (no offense, Henry). He’s dopey and clueless. Plus, he won’t help with the stupid decorations. Emma, on the other hand, seems like a perfectly likable character. She doesn’t do anything in the scene to make her death feel earned aside from breaking the rules of Halloween. Yet she isn’t ware of the rules (nor is the audience) until it’s too late.

Here’s the thing about character deaths: Oftentimes they should feel either earned or significant to the plot. Otherwise, they feel cheap. If the villain dies at the end, no one minds. If the main character’s best friend dies and that death has no further bearing on the plot, something’s off.

I’ve seen cheap character deaths in other films as well, and they’re just as jarring. For instance, in Jurassic World, there’s an assistant character named Zara who’s needlessly and brutally eaten by dinosaurs. It isn’t just the character’s death that’s jarring—it’s the way she dies, being dropped into the waiting jaws of a sea monster. Seems unnecessarily nasty.

As mentioned earlier, I’ll admit that genre bends this rule somewhat. We expect character to die in horror films, often in gruesome ways. This makes sense, considering the genre is all about scaring its audience.

Still, the best works of fiction, horror or not, should strive to make character deaths feel earned. Deaths are plot points, after all, so like any plot point, the preceding actions must progress toward them. If an author/filmmaker doesn’t work toward a character’s demise (whether it’s a nasty one or just a regular one), it can often feel hollow. Plus, if a perfectly innocent character gets killed in a really awful way, audiences are likely to be repelled.

Character deaths work best when they’re earned or they serve a purpose to the plot. Striking that perfect balance is a challenge, one that even experienced filmmakers and authors don’t always get right.

Okay, I’m gonna go clean up my Halloween decorations. Wish me luck.

Why Do We Care When Characters Die?

December 12, 2016 / Kyle A. Massa

Why’d you have to take Ned Stark, man?

Did you cry when Bambi’s mom got shot?

It’s okay. You can admit it. Though we know they’re not real, the death of fictional characters evokes real emotion in us. I find that amazing. After all, when fictional character die, we’re essentially mourning the loss of someone who does not, has not, and never will, exist.

The question is: why? Why do we care when a nonexistent character bites the dust?

I don’t claim to know the answer. But I do have some theories.

Here’s the first: we humans can’t help but empathize. When characters feel realistic, when we become invested in them, they become mirrors. We see our own traits reflected back at us, both the good and the bad. We draw parallels between our lives and theirs. So, when one of them dies, we see parts of us dying, too. And nobody likes that.

Here’s another: the more time we spend with characters, the more we become attached to them. Especially in book series, TV series, and film franchises, we watch these characters grow, watch them succeed and fail, watch them change with us. I think this is especially true for something like the Harry Potter series, in which the readers/viewers grow up right alongside the characters. When you’re going through the same experiences with another person at the same time, you’re likely to form a connection with them (even if they’re made up).

My third and most out-there theory: death in fiction reminds us of our own mortality. A popular theory of filmmaking states that we love movies because they solve problems in a matter of hours that are otherwise unsolvable in real life. In The Lord of the Rings, for example, Frodo extinguishes every last shred of evil in the world just by tossing some jewelry into an active volcano. Of course, we know that destroying (or even defining) evil is not that simple. But it’s still satisfying to see it done in fiction.

When characters die, however, it’s a subconscious reminder of the real world. We react so strongly to death in fiction because it reminds us that problems like death can’t be solved, not even in fictional realities.

It’s weird, but as much as they can sometimes upset us, character deaths often shape good fiction. Without people dying left and right, would A Song of Ice and Fire be the compelling series that it is? Definitely not. No matter what the reason, killing beloved characters is an essential part of fiction.

But still. Bambi’s mom was over the line, Disney.