Will Write for Shoes. A no nonsense guide for writing chick lit available at Amazon.com

A good chick lit read will contain the following key elements:

* A female lead: The main character will be struggling in at least one if not all of the dimensions of her life. These dimensions generally being her career, her love life and her relationships with family and friends.

* A unique style of writing: Often being as a recount of the heroine’s disastrous efforts in love and life, this can sometimes be in a diary format, such as ‘Bridget Jones’ Diary’, which was one of the more successful chick lit books on the market. The style of writing ensures that the book can be picked up, read and enjoyed in short bursts.

* Humour: The book will generally highlight the character’s failings or day to day happenings with a humorous slant.

* Sexual themes: A good chick lit will not shy away from the inclusion of sex and it is often written about in a very frank manner.

* Glamorous setting: These stories are often written around the supposedly glamorous worlds of fashion or media, although more often than not the story reveals that the reality is not quite as the reader would expect.

* Modern references: References to the latest designer shoes or to celebrity lives can often be found in a good chick lit and it adds to the relevance that the reader can find within the story.

* An unexpected twist: Although chick lits are expected to be an easy read, the more successful books always have a quirky outcome or twist that makes finishing the book even more worthwhile.

So if you want to write successful chick lit make sure you incorporate these simple elements.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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Learn how to build great scenes from Jack Beckham. Available @ Amazon.com

What is a scene?

Well, a scene is a discreet and specific part of a story. It has a beginning, middle, and an end. It takes place in a finite period of time. Generally there is one or more characters present. And, something happens in the scene. It is helpful to think cinematically if you are having any trouble with this definition. Think about movies and stories you have really liked and told your friends about. “Hey, remember that scene in Jaws where the head falls out of the submerged boat… Remember that scene in the Lord of the Rings (the book), where Golum bites Frodo’s finger off…” A good scene is memorable.

So, how do we get in trouble with scenes?

First, I think that when we do not have a clear idea of what the scene is about, it is difficult to write it. In other words, if you are humming along with a clear idea of what a scene is really about, it is probably not that hard to write it. Sure, you may debate how to best write it, but you probably can get it down. So, the first step in writing a troublesome scene is to figure out what the scene is really about – explore what the scene means and what needs to happen. How do you do that?

Here are five steps to writing a troublesome scene and moving your story forward:

1. Figure out why you have the scene in your story in the first place. More than likely, you have a need for a character to get from point A to point B, or you need something to happen – either an action, a decision, or an insight. If there is nothing important that happens in the scene, then maybe it doesn’t need to be there. Ding! Eliminate unnecessary scenes and your writing will be crisper and tighter.

2. Decide what characters have to be in the scene and what each of them wants or needs. Remember, you want tension in every scene in your story, whether that tension is overt and visible or subtle and hidden. Tension is achieved by characters wanting different things, having different goals, coming into conflict or having conflict within themselves.

3. Decide on a location and a time for the scene. The more specific you are, the easier the scene will be to write. I am not advocating that you have to write a detailed spreadsheet out (unless you are into that kind of thing, as Ridley Pearson is), but having a clear vision of location and time makes for clear and precise writing.

4. Figure out how the scene will start and how the scene will end. How will you know when the scene is over? What has to happen? Try this: write the very first line of the scene and the very last line of the scene and see if that does not open up your writing. Even if you know you will discard either the opening or the ending, framing the scene will help you construct it.

5. Write the dialogue first. Seriously, if you are stuck on a scene, don’t worry about description, exposition or even action. Write the dialogue first and then go back and fill in everything around it.

If you have never written this way, give it a try. Writing is about choices and constructing a layered piece of work (my belief). Dialogue is one of the less complicated things to handle if you know your characters even moderately well. If you are feeling bogged down or blocked in a story and you are just not sure how to handle a difficult scene, try and break it down and approach it in a systematic and methodical way. Some scenes are easy to write and you flow from one to the next in a linear way – you are in the zone and the story is just pouring out almost effortlessly. If that is the case, just go with it, and remember to thank the writing gods and goddesses. But when it is not going so well, take a deep breath and try the steady, measured approach I’ve outlined here. Maybe in the end it will all get rewritten and tossed, but having a system to use on the tough scenes means that you can always advance the story.

Remember, write hard and write often.

About the Author:

Rocky Cole is a professional counselor and freelance writer. More information on freelance and creative writing can be found at http://www.ColeWriting.com.

What is setting credibility? It is credibility derived from accuracy. Let’s say you are writing a story that is set in New York City. It’s our detective story. In the second chapter, you have the detective walk about the World Trade Center. Unless you’ve set the time of the story before 9/11, you’ve just described buildings that no longer exist. Not only is it bad taste, but the inaccuracy has shot a hole in the credibility of your story. So, how do you avoid this problem?

Let Jack Bickham teach you about writing settings. Available @ Amazon.com

Many writers will only go with settings that they know. This approach has its benefit in the fact that your inherent knowledge of the area means mistakes should be easily avoided. There is, of course, a secondary benefit in that you really don’t have to do much research on the setting since you already know it. For us lazy writers [we know who we are!], this cannot be understated!

What about settings you don’t know? What if you’ve never been to New York City, but are ready to write the greatest detective novel ever? The simplest answer is to go to New York and spend a few months there to get familiar with your setting. The problem, of course, is few of us have the money or time to do this. Being a writer may be touted as glamorous, but it hardly pays well unless you are a big name.

This makes research the best approach for the majority of us. There are obviously many different ways to do research. The Internet is a great tool, but just make sure the information you have is both timely and accurate. Another great tool is, believe it or not, to rent travel documentaries on the location. You can get them through Netflix or your service of choice. Again, make sure you know when the film was shot.

To add extra credibility to your setting, try research unique characteristics about specific locations in your setting. Let’s say an important part of your story takes place in a hotel. Try to pull up pictures of the hotel online by searching the “images” function of any search engine and order brochures from the hotel. Once you have all the information, note as many unique, small details as you can about the hotel. Now write them into your story. Readers will note those details and your story will become far more credible. The devil, as they say, is in the details.

The setting of your story is incredibly important. Collecting the details surrounding it is not always the most glamorous task, but it is a critical one. Get it right and your story will benefit.

About the Author:

Thomas Ajava writes for NomadJournals.com – your source for writing journals you can keep notes and diaries in.

One of the most important aspects of mystery writing is the plot. This genre is very plot driven and it’s important to flesh out a good strong plot before beginning. This includes creating several plot points leading readers on different paths. Don’t give out too much information too soon in your story. Equally important is knowing how your story will end. By outlining your plot and establishing your ending up front, you’ll know how to structure the other elements of your story.

Let this award winning manual teach you how to write a great mystery story. Available @ Amazon.com

A mystery incorporates the following elements: a problem or conflict, a villain, a detective or hero, clues/red herrings, and suspense. Also, the time and setting are important elements as well. Time and setting can augment suspense and mood of the story.

The best way to begin the story is with action. Put the hero, villain, or both in action when you start. This engages the reader and lends itself to introducing the problem/conflict that the hero has to solve.

Characters should include the hero/detective, villain, and a supporting cast. Define your main character. Is he or she a go-getter like “Nancy Drew” or a hard-charging police detective determined to solve any mystery? The villain must be appropriately matched. Having a “Nancy Drew-like” sleuth bring down a crime cartel wouldn’t be realistic. Also, when considering the mystery, or crime/problem to be solved, cruelty to animals or violence directed at anyone is generally discouraged in this genre. Your hero should be striving to solve a murder mystery (like in “The DaVinci Code”) or trying to locate a stolen, rare painting. Keep in mind, as your hero navigates your plot, he or she has to use believable and legal forms of evidence. This keeps your story grounded in reality and believable.

Clues and red herrings are an intrigual part of mystery writing. A clue is a piece of information that helps the hero come that much closer to solving the mystery. One clue should be the crucial clue – that one bit of information that helps the main character solve the problem. Red herrings are bits of information designed to mislead your readers. They make the mystery harder to solve.

Suspense is an intrigual part of a mystery. Footsteps coming up dark steps heightens the “scare” factor of the story. Tied into this is the time and setting. Does the story happen at night? During a full moon? In a cave? In the fog? During the rain? Is it always overcast? This type of setting, effectively described, can augment the suspense of the story.

Mystery writing also has its own vocabulary which is important to identifying the story as a mystery. Words like alibi, clue, crime, hunch, motive, suspect, witness, are specific to “mystery” writing. They help cement the story in the genre.

One of the most well known mystery authors wrote under the pseudonyms “Carolyn Keene” and “Franklin W. Dixon.” Her name was Harriet Adams and she wrote for the classic Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mystery series. She was born in 1892 and died in 1982. Her literary career includes over 200 published works that appeal to young adults and teenagers. Her classic formulas still work in today’s more complex world.

Before I explain more about that, though, let me explain what fiction point of view means. (Or POV, as it’s often written, and even pronounced, i.e. like a word, pov, if you’re really cool!)

Every writer has to decide which character(s) is telling the story, and indeed if it’s a character at all who’s telling the story, or some invisible narrator. In other words, whose point of view is the reader ‘borrowing’ at any time? The reader will be ’seeing’ the scenes and places described – well, through whose eyes does he/she do the seeing?

Get a handle on character point of view. Mastering Point of View available @ Amazon.com

In first person point of view, the reader is ’seeing’ the action through one character’s eyes, a character who describes what’s going on by saying “I”.

An example might be, I knew it was going to be a bad day when the dog got sick, the car got a puncture and my boss fired me.

In contrast, the same scene in third person point of view might be written as: Jane knew it was going to be a bad day when her dog got sick, the car got a puncture and her boss fired her.

The advantages of first person point of view are:

· It’s easy to write – we all live our lives in this viewpoint anyway, so it’s very natural.

· It’s very immediate for the reader. He or she finds it easy to get into this main character’s head and be absorbed in the action.

· It’s easy to get an intimate chatty tone.

The disadvantages are:

· It’s difficult to get the character to describe him/herself naturally, but yet it’s essential to do so, and early. And unfortunately getting the character to view him/herself in a mirror and comment on it has been done to death – it’s a real no-no these days. You’ll need to come up with someting more innovative than that.

· It’s too easy for your character to get overly contemplative and navel-gazing. By this I mean that he/she might well spend too long telling the reader what he/she thinks or feels about the situation, rather than narrating dialogue and action. Some of this is great – it’s what leads to the intimacy I listed under the advantages. But be careful not to overdo it.

· It’s difficult-to-impossible to include subplots. This means that the whole burden of the story rests on your main plot, which can be challenging.

It’s impossible to include scenes that your character isn’t present for, and this limits what plot twists you can make, or means that you have to be very creative about giving your character a good reason to be at a scene he/she wouldn’t automatically be at.

Get a handle on character point of view. Mastering Point of View available @ Amazon.com

Rarely does anyone even question this. It’s unusual to hear someone say ‘I only read first person point of view’ or ‘I really like third’. Most of us prefer good writing regardless of the POV. But it isn’t so much the specific POV as the quality. It’s difficult to take a concept as simple as ‘my story’ versus ‘his story’ and discuss quality, but after reading a handful of books you’ll probably agree, quality is an issue.

As a writer or a reader, you are probably more familiar with the kinds of point of view than the general public, but a quick recap is a solid idea. In first person POV, the main character is ‘me’. ‘I meandered down the dark path and I shivered’. If ‘you’ are the main character, then ‘you’ are in second person POV which is probably the least common type. Third person may be the most common POV. In this set-up ‘he’ or ’she’ is the person whose head we are inside. ‘Jason nervously hid the roses behind his back. As soon as he pushed the doorbell, his hand immediately slipped back in his pocket to rub the small velvet box. He forced a smile as Violet appeared in the doorway looking as nervous as he felt’. Omniscient POV is another commonly used tool – in this case the reader can know what is going on inside all the characters heads. So we would not only see Violet at the door, we would know that she suspected what Jason had in his pocket and was aquiver with her own excitement.

This is where it gets sticky. Writers fail when they mix their points of view. And the best way to keep from mixing POVs is to know how to identify it, how and when it happens and keep a clear eye out so it can be avoided or fixed. It is important that when we are in Jason’s head, we stay there. Jason standing at the door can’t know how Violet is feeling; he can’t know she suspects he has a ring. A lot of authors (perennial favorites, too) are violating this convention and still getting published. But it’s a huge pet peeve to a lot of readers – enough of an issue that it takes them out of the story as they are reading.

To be fair, perhaps POV isn’t the most important asset of good writing. If we don’t care what Jason is feeling or we can’t visualize the scene around him, then staying in his head isn’t our top priority. Writers who can’t describe and tell a good story aren’t likely to get published anyway. But the public at large likes to know where they stand, and in a book POV is a large determinant of that. Loss or violation of POV is a sin and can bring the flow of the book to a brakes squealing, dust billowing, burnt rubber smelling stop.

There are greater distinctions in POV – both third person and omniscient have sub-categories. (So could first and second, but it’s almost never done.) It’s these subcategories that get authors confused and irritate readers when they aren’t handled well. Third person often isn’t limited to a single character’s POV. Multiple third person is widely used in fiction, in this case you can see out from a handful of different characters’ eyes. The difference between this and omniscient is that you must be in only one character’s head at a time. In order to change POV you must use some sort of writing device (page break, ***, new chapter, etc.) The most common version of omniscient POV is multiple-character omniscient. In this case, like in standard omniscient, the reader can see into many characters’ heads at the same time. But we are limited to a handful of important characters. (This sub-category is more widely used than true omniscient that enables a look inside all characters – even the guy who gives our heroine back her change at the gas station and is never seen again.)

Multi-character omniscient POV is often violated by random (or even useful) glimpses inside a non-key character’s head. Unless this is done throughout the entire story, a side glimpse is a violation of the construct that the reader has put together from the story to that point. The reader won’t put together the set of rules that the writer has determined, he will only gather from what he has read to that point. So if there have been no prior side glimpses, then we can’t add one in chapter five. It is not all right to violate this just because the information is key; authors must stay true to the standards they have set at the beginning of the story. Another way to disseminate the information must be found.

Both standard, completely omniscient POV as well as the multi-character version, sometimes suffer from the psychic, all knowing power of the reader bleeding over into the characters. Because the reader knows that Violet anticipates the ring in Jason’s pocket, Jason now also knows what Violet suspects. Or worse, it is unclear what Jason knows. Authors must keep track of what each character sees and understands and never inadvertently give away unavailable knowledge. Jason must stay on pins and needles and believe that he is surprising Violet out of the blue. It may even be wise to add lines or information that clarifies this to the reader.

Multiple third person POV suffers from similar issues. Although it is less likely that Jason will learn that Violet suspects he has a ring, it does happen. Far more often though, the crime is that the author knows Violet is on pins and needles, and even though we are in Jason’s chapter/section, suddenly we get a chance to see how she feels. And the readers get upset.

Read the following paragraph opening: Kelly stood looking at Charity, a small smirk upon her face. Both women knew the storm was coming, but neither of them was willing to say it. Kelly spoke first.

This opening is just fine if the POV is omniscient. In this case, we expect to see into everyone’s head and it’s fine not to have cues. However, if this is a new chapter or section in multiple third person POV, we have a problem. While we haven’t violated the POV per se – we haven’t seen into anyone’s head, let alone more than one person’s. The problem is that we don’t know who this section belongs to. Certainly, this could be used as a writing device, but in many cases it seems to simply be an author who isn’t paying attention to what the reader needs. In general, the writer has a minimum of two sentences to establish POV. Why two? Because at that point the reader’s eyebrows begin to pull together, wondering to whom does the section belong. Sometimes the sin isn’t just violation of the established POV, it’s lack of clarity about where the reader is. So, sometime in those first sentences, give us a few words that tell us whose head we are in. We can add to the Kelly and Charity scene – ‘Kelly stood looking at Charity, her anticipation appearing as a small smirk upon her face’. Just a few words tells us that we are in Kelly’s head. Or we could say ‘She knew both of them saw the storm coming . . .’ With very little changed, we have a firmly established POV and a happy reader.

There are other instances where POV is abused, although not necessarily lost. A page break is used to indicate – in most cases – a change in POV. Alternately it can indicate a passage of time or change of venue. In too many cases, page breaks are appearing when none of these things has occurred in the plot. For example, our hero starts a task. Partway through we get a page break, then the next section starts with him finishing the same task. This leaves our reader confused while he figures out where the author is going, as the page break has indicated to him that there was a change. It will take a few sentences and occasionally a full page to figure out the story wasn’t where he thought it was. Anything that does this removes the reader from the story, and therefore reduces the quality of the writing. If the space can be filled with a phrase connecting the two parts, then a page break is unnecessary. In this case, ‘After Hero-Man finished tying up Super Bad Guy, he . . .”

Lack of clarity about POV is another problem readers suffer with. Maybe because POV conventions aren’t followed as well as they should be, readers are wary and want to be reassured. Try this -’Charity stood in the doorway, surprised to see Kelly there, although Kelly knew Charity should have remembered the pact they’d made ten years earlier.’ And the POV goes to . . . it’s difficult to tell. Ultimately, the scene belongs to Kelly. Why? Because ‘Kelly knew’. Charity was ’surprised’, but while we can see someone else’s surprise, we can’t know what he knows, unless we are in his head. So the POV here wasn’t violated, it was just confusing. All the writer has to do here to clarify is add one word – ‘Charity stood in the doorway, looking surprised to see Kelly there’.

Violation of the writer’s own construct is just as confusing to readers. A classic sci-fi book tells the story in third person from the main character’s POV. But a third of the way through, we suddenly are in the sister’s head. A small while later we are in the brother’s head, although after a few visits, we don’t go back again. We pass POV back and forth between the main character and the sister, until the book again deviates from this construct. One small section is written in the POV of another character who, until this point, has been a minor player. This is insanely confusing to the reader.

Readers appreciate clarity in POV. Remove confusing wording. Add phrases that help determine viewpoint. And set up section or chapter openings to establish POV within the first two sentences. In addition to this, writers can further establish POV by use of language. Lindsay, from the Midwest, sits on a ‘couch’ and carries a ‘purse’, while Southern Leslie sits on a ’sofa’ and clutches her ‘pocketbook’. Russian born Nick doesn’t use idioms in his speech or thoughts.

There are no real laws about POV. If a writer wishes to violate the conventions so be it. If a new character, who will be giving us a new POV, needs to be introduced late, then the author should establish that POVs will be coming in throughout the book. Regardless of the chosen POV, or violation thereof, the writer should stick to what he has established. Watching for mishaps or possible confusion will cut down on POV problems, but mostly writers don’t spend enough time considering POV when they are planning characters and plot points. POV should become predetermined rather than happenstance. Always, the POV of the story should be established early and held tight.

We’ve all seen the movie where the action is playing along at a rapid clip and you still can’t quite see how all the pieces fit together. Maybe you’ve checked your watch. How are they going to tie it all up? Then, the bad guy crashes his car through a wall right into the room where our hero and heroine were trapped, thus freeing them. Also, our villain is carrying the stolen object. He puts up a token fight, takes a few left hooks from our hero, and gets cuffed. In a mere thirty seconds the movie has gone from unsolvable to rolling credits.

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Certainly this scenario can be varied slightly. Maybe it’s the heroine that punches the villain. Regardless of what varies it’s still the same – crazy, odd or improbable things wrap up the story at the last minute. But it isn’t just happening in movies, books are headed this way, too. Romances where the two don’t get together until the last page. Thrillers with only two paragraphs after the serial killer takes a bullet.

What happened to the ending?

Your seventh grade English teacher asked you to write a concluding paragraph to your essays. It wasn’t okay even on a one-page, five-paragraph essay to skip the ending. So why is it fine now? It seems to have been replaced with solving the mystery. Even when you work a puzzle you take a moment to admire it after you finish it. Don’t you? I’ve never seen anyone pop the last piece in and immediately begin to break it apart and box it up. Why are we being asked to do that with our movies and books?

Lots of writing manuals will tell you there are three parts of a story: character, setting and plot. Those are what you will find all over the internet if you try to look up ‘parts of a story’. However, these are key elements, not ‘parts’. The parts are ‘that part where the bad guy chased them’ ‘that part where they kissed’. That’s a real story part. The parts are: the beginning, the middle and the end.

Freytag broke it down further. The plot goes like this – exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, denouement. These are not usually equal size parts. The exposition is however long it takes to get to know the characters, and good writers (authors and screenwriters alike) know to mix that into the rising action. The climax is hopefully obvious – the part where you are on the edge of your seat wondering how it will all come together.

Falling action may be a very small section of the plot. The denouement is the part where you tie off the ends and leave your reader / moviegoer satisfied with the ending. Unfortunately, writing a denouement is a lost art. These days, merely ending the problem is good enough.

Some great dramas get this right. Some allow you to wind down from the heights they have taken you to, to settle back from the front edge of your seat. But many other genres seem to have lost this idea entirely. A good wrap-up isn’t even that difficult to do – unless of course you had no character development. If your character grew or learned anything, you can use that to frame the denouement. Unfortunately, characters today aren’t expected to grow or change, and few seldom do. Even so, give us a chance to wind down, to let the rapid beating of our hearts find a slower pace. Writers everywhere, unite, and give us good endings. Maybe one where I don’t wonder if the lead guy’s heart is going to explode from the sudden shift from frenzy to … nothing.

We can each play a part in bringing back the ending. Look for it, and recommend it when you find it. Or, if nothing else, just sit back and appreciate that the writer gave you a moment to savor it.

Let this award winning manual teach you how to write a great mystery story. Available @ Amazon.com

Blending your secret in with the story’s setting

If you are thinking of writing of mystery novel but are not sure how, this is what you may want to consider. Within the opening pages of your novel, introduce your readers to a captivating secret. Allow this “hidden incident” be a fragment of a love story from another era. This will quickly lure your audience to read more. Or your secret may be an old discarded tool, but later discovered that it was a murder weapon. Or perhaps, there’s something recorded within the pages of a diary containing a secret about someone else. Or suppose the diary belonged to a young lady during the Victorian era who knew of a secret romance that was forbidden. Perhaps this secret romance involved someone who was dear to her. And perhaps the author of the diary had no strength to destroy her personal journal; and it was too painful for her to keep it. So she entombed it within a secret hold residing in her lavished home with hopes that no one would ever find it.

Decades later, the old house with its mystic character is on the market again, only to attract a modern-day couple who have dreams of making the mini mansion into their home. But within the shadows of the darkened cavity lies this secret that will soon be discovered. And perhaps the diary reveals untold history related to the neighborhood that otherwise would have never been known.

The idea here is to expose the secret to your audience but keep it hid from your main character(s) until the right moment. This method evokes more tension, more suspense. And the moment that the secret is revealed may be a chapter away.

An example to this would be:

Mr. and Mrs. Smith were going to be proud owners of their century-old home, but little did they know that their home came with dark secrets that would soon haunt them.

Back story – Originating from the Past

Before you reveal the hidden relic to your character, perhaps you will first want to transport your audience back to the past and show them just how the romance got started, or how the sterling silver cake knife became a murder weapon, or how the diary came into play. But don’t reveal too much. Just show a few sequence-of-events. It will keep your audience engaged. Later on, your character will conduct a search that will lead to clues pointing to the past again.

Leading to the Discovery

After your audience is introduced to your story’s setting, (followed by a glimpse of the past) lead them to the scene where your main character makes the discovery of the old relic/heirloom. Don’t take too long leading your audience. Otherwise the suspense will diffuse some. From there, the mind-twisting turns of the growing mystery will take your audience through the story, like a roller coaster ride in the black of night.

An example would be a novel that opens with an old discarded piano that contains a daunting secret, a tale of a beautiful pianist, (Elsa) who, in her era, struggled to chose courtship over her first love-music. But her own fate is about to be discovered when an antique collector, Maria Weisman, rescues the aging piano from an auction nearly a century later.

Maria’s passion to connect to a bygone era comes with hopes of uncovering stories related to her collection of relics.

Sadly, and very unexpectedly, young Maria becomes terminally ill. Husband (John Weisman) and daughter (Melissa) face the inevitable as they watch their beloved Maria slowly loose her grip on life. This untimely crisis, having collided with John’s fast-paced world brings his career into a slow, downward spin. Months later, Maria departs. It’s a dark time for both of them. Yet, the story secretly hiding in the old instrument that Maria was to hunt for was now left for John to find.

The setting exposes the secret to the audience, but keeps it hid from the character.

Soon thereafter, the audience will be lead to the scene where the discovery is made.

The Mystery Ensnares the Readers…

The secret, once discovered, reveals fragments of a hidden courtship from eight decades earlier. This is the place where the widower’s life begins to change – depression begins to lift. “But why would a pianist lock elements of her cherished romance in the lower compartment of her piano?” John wondered.

Fragments of mystery couple leads to questions.

Questions demands answers that can only be obtained through a search. A search introduces new characters (into the story) who can reveal only pieces of the puzzle.

When fragments of truth are revealed, a new side of the mystery comes to light. This is where John Weisman discovers that the girl’s father interfered with the affairs of his daughter’s life when she fell in love.

Therefore, speculations about the mystery that were first presumed now dissipate. The search goes deeper, even beckons John to embark upon an 800 mile journey in pursuit of answers he must find. The pianist’s home town is his destination.

As a stranger in a town unfamiliar to him, John runs into resistance with another individual. But he pushes forward.

Book keepers of convalescent homes, cemetery archives, and internet death records shed little light on new truths. New truths turn cold. The mystery of the piano becomes more baffling.

Without answers, the search becomes hopeless. This is where John Weisman faces a black hole of unknowns. He realizes what first seemed to be a charming romance story has turned into a darkened enigma. Exhausted, weakened, and defeated, this is where the widower gives up and prepares to go home.

Suddenly, the audience reacts: “Nooo, keep going!” Then, at this point, (during the climax) a turn in the story takes the audience by surprise. Something happens that leads John to a one-hundred and six-year-old woman, who, when asked by him, what happened, Elsa, at the end of her frail life, tells the rest of her love story. The readers become shocked when the truth is revealed.

All questions are answered.

The ride through the story was incredible and gives hope to romantics.

For conflict to exist, action is essential. Every action results from another action before it.

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If conflict is put under a microscope, its basic structure would be like a compound biological cell made up of action and its opposing action. Thinking toward the origin of the action and the origin of the opposing action is important, because this examination results in a strong backstory; however, the writer must remember that going too far back into the origin may bore the reader.

Since the opposing action is the instigator of a conflict, the easiest way to create conflict is to think of opposites, especially because serious conflict springs from characters as in: messy vs. clean and tidy; moral vs. immoral; faithful vs. fickle; kind vs. cruel.

In Euripides’s Medea, when Jason, lacking backbone, deserts Medea, who is decisive, passionate, and strong, love turns to hate and this leads to vengeance. In Somerset Maugham’s Of Human bondage, a gentle medical student falls in love with a cruel waitress who mocks him.

Good conflict rises from the two equally strong opposites, both aiming for the same or similar thing. Even in the more complex conflicts, the basis is more or less the same, because the conflict always depends on offense and counter-offense.

Although many variations of using conflict exist, conflict is applied to fiction in four standard ways: static, rising, jumping, and moving with the character.

When characters stay the same at the end of the story, even if there is conflict in the action around them, the conflict is considered static. In the classic mystery genre, the character of the private eye does not change much, although there may be enough conflict inside the episodes.

The rising conflict is when conflict increases in degrees. A story with rising conflict usually has three-dimensional characters, a clear-cut premise, and unity at the end. Hamlet and Othello are excellent examples to rising conflict, in the way each action or feeling triggers another stronger action or feeling in a chain.

Jumping conflict is when conflict suddenly jumps with the abrupt change in the story or in the character. An example to this would be a docile character who sees his wife talking to a man and takes it as adultery; he suddenly turns into a violent character and kills her on the spot.

In the moving conflict, conflict moves according to the traits of the characters and at their pace. Although this may be more or less visible in all stories, this type of conflict usually happens more strongly in psychological fiction. In Crime and Punishment, Dostoevsky studies the criminal mind in the character of the student Raskolnikov who murders an aged pawnbroker. At first, Raskolnikov believes the killing to be justified, but as the novel progresses, he is tortured by guilt and questions all his beliefs.

Aside from the ways of using conflict, four essential kinds of conflict exist as:

1. Man against man:

One person or group is pitted against another usually in a physical way.
In The Last of the Mohicans Indians and the white men fight against each other. The same pattern happens in a race between two athletes in Chariots of Fire. In The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck, man’s inhumanity to man leads to rage, rebellion, and to self-respect.

2. Man against himself:

In Jane Austen’s Emma, Emma constantly deceives herself. Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary and Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina also work against themselves while they stand up against social norms.

3. Man against society:

In The Wall by Jean Paul Sartre, Pablo Ibbieta attends his own trial after being captured by the Falangists. In Silas Marner by George Eliot, Silas has to deal with the society of Raveloe. In the movie Star Wars, a young man rebels against tyranny. In Meridian by Alice Walker, young activists try to bring an end to racism and segregation.

4. Man against fate, nature, or circumstances of life:

In Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon, when her husband flees to Africa, Ryna who is left behind has to deal with slavery, racism, and the care of her children. Using Offred’s character in Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood tells the story of the subjugation and the dehumanizing of women.

Inside a story, one principal conflict or one principal conflict with several minor ones can exist. Whichever way a writer decides to use conflict, he needs to remember that the conflict he creates can be as unique as who he is.

On the other hand, the factual road people walk or drive on everyday may offer more excitement for the writer’s pen. If you take a walk on an average street and observe the events around you, you will come up with outer motivation and conflict for your characters or you will at least find fillers for your subplots.

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While walking on any road, you might meet beggars, vagrants, criminals, traffic, accidents, roadkill, animals, plants, and people interacting with each other. In addition, you might notice the physical condition and the moods of the road, the buildings on its sides, and the distance it stretches.

Many fiction and travel writers and playwrights use concrete descriptions of the roads in their works. 1988 Nobel Prize winner Naguib Mahfouz , the author of Children of the Alley, Midaq Alley, Palace Walk, Sugar Street, has built quite a few of his stories solely around factual roads to support his dramatic scenes and portrayal of complex characters in depth.

In Grapes of Wrath, the Joad family and other Okie farmers, during the dustbowl disaster, are forced out of their homes to go on the road to make a living. Jack Kerouac’s On the Road depicts the adventures of Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty as they cross continental America in the late 1940s. Nelson Algren’s novel Somebody in Boots follows the travels of Cass McKay as he treads the gloomy streets of El Paso, New Orleans, and Chicago in the 1930s. Then, closer to today, who can forget Debbie Macomber’s The Shop on Blossom Street and the yarn store or the vivid setting of Lois Lowry’s Autumn Street?

For any writer, when using a certain road, street, alley, pathway, or a highway as a dramatic setting, vivid, concrete imagery is a must, because the sense of sight is the primary sense, and it can be manipulated in many ways to serve the writer’s purpose. Sense of sight easily leads to other senses and provides a transitional hook to what is intangible.

Introduction of fictional roadways in a real city can be acceptable if done with taste. While creating fiction with the facts of a local thoroughfare, a writer should be careful to protect the reputation of the place to avoid irritation.

As a writer, if your setting of a road is a real place within your reach, visit the location. Walk on it; feel it. To aid you later, take photos. Then, do not depend on the visuals only. Take a tape recorder or a note-pad and pinpoint the smells, sounds, textures, and other physical assets. Do not forget to add weather, climate, and mood, as well as the average characteristics of the people you notice on that road. If you are writing historical fiction, you can investigate the backstory of the street in the local library or the town’s archives. Adding factual roads and places to dramatic fiction makes a story more convincing and paints a more complete background.

When people read about a real street, they automatically assume that all the details are accurate; therefore, a familiar road that plays an important dramatic role in a story delights the readers of any town or city. If you use one of the roads of any small town as your setting, you can be sure that town’s local library will carry your book.