Monthly Archives: October 2018

How to incorporate backstory into narratives

When I help children write narratives, I see one common mistake:  a desire to tell the backstory first.  Students don’t know that what worked hundreds of years ago for the Cinderella story is not the way people tell stories today.

For example, most Cinderella stories begin with an explanation of how Cinderella’s mother died, of how her father remarried an apparently nice woman, of how her father died and the stepmother turned on Cinderella, of how Cinderella came to be the maid in her stepmother’s house, of how her stepmother and stepsisters are mean to her, and of how the king has invited all the young women to a ball so his single son, the prince, can choose a wife.

How much of that is really necessary to begin the story?  Is there another way?  What if the story started on the evening of the ball with a mother and her two daughters frantically preparing for the dance and the maid helping?

“Eh!  My stocking has a hole in it.  Cinderella, find me another.  And fast,” said a young woman with large feet, snapping her fingers.

“Stop, Cinderella.  Finish curling my hair,” said another young woman, drying her painted fingernails.  “Find your own stocking, sister.”  She stuck out her tongue to her sisiter.

“Girls!  Girls!” cried an older woman, handing Cinderella a diamond necklace, and turning so Cinderella could fasten it around her neck.  “We must hurry.  The ball begins in a half hour and we must be on time to the king’s palace.”

“Oh, mother, do you think the prince will choose me for his wife?” asked the sister with the torn stocking, looking dreamy-eyed at her mother.

“Not if you trample him with those gigantic feet of yours,” said the other sister, shaking her tiny feet at her sister.

Do you see how the necessary parts of the backstory are all there without a separate paragraph to explain them?  We know Cinderella is the maid because the others are ordering her around. We know that her sisters and mother are selfish because of how they talk to Cinderella and to each other.  We know they are preparing for a ball at the king’s palace because the mother says so while Cinderella is fastening her necklace.  And we know the prince is looking for a wife because one of the girls says so.  No backstory is necessary because the details are woven into the action happening right now.

Hundreds of years ago, stories weren’t written this way.  They began with the author telling backstory.  But today readers want authors to start with action.  Readers are used to jumping right into the story and catching the backstory details as they read, not in a section set off by itself.

To meet reader expectations, you the writer, want to keep the story moving.  Stopping to give backstory interrupts the flow of the action. What will happen next is what readers want to know, not what happened before.

Students can learn to write this way if their teachers know that this is the preferred way to begin narratives and if they teach students how.  But unfortunately, few elementary or middle grades teachers write narratives themselves.  No time.  And few were trained in how to teach this kind of writing.  For my masters of education degree in 1995, I didn’t take a single course on how to teach writing because no such course was offered.

How can you show (not tell) students how to write narratives this preferred way?  More about that in our next blog.

Writing “keyboards” of the near future

I learned to print capital letters in kindergarten and lower case letters in first grade.  I learned to write cursive in third grade.  In high school I learned to type—QWERTY—on a manual typewriter and on an electric, reaching 55 wpm.  Later I learned to use a keyboard, then an ergonomically curved keyboard, then a touch pad, a stylus, and most recently, an iPhone touch screen.

But soon I might be writing the great American novel on one of these:

A thin, almost see-through key pad to which a device (about the size of a pack of cigarettes) sends lasers which pick up the movement of fingers and sends signals to an electronic device, such as an iPad.  It’s available now for $119.99 from Brookstone.

If you find keying into phone’s tiny keyboards hard, you could attach a strap over each hand and type on any surface you want, with or without a keyboard.  Air Type detects the movements of your fingers and turns them into electronic signals to your phone or other device.

Then there is the roll up keyboard called the Qii which rolls to the size of a roll of coins.  Via Bluetooth it connects to your electronic device.

The Celluon Magic Cube projects a laser onto a flat surface creating a virtual full-size keyboard which connects to electronic devices via Bluetooth.

All of these keyboards use the QWERTY arrangement of letters.  But what if you want a different arrangement?  Then you can use the Puzzle Keyboard which enables you to connect letters in almost any arrangement you like.

For people with physical disabilities there is the one-handed keyboard, a roundish mouse-like device with several buttons.  Pressing various combinations of buttons creates various letters and punctuation.

If you like the look and feel of an old-fashioned typewriter, you could get Qwerkywriter, a keyboard which looks like a 1950’s era typewriter.  It uses Bluetooth to connect to electronic devices.

One odd-looking innovation already available is a one-handed wearable keyboard called Tap made by Tap Systems.  While wearing rubbery finger bracelets, tap your index finger and get an “E.”  Tap two fingers together and get other letters.  Tapping the middle finger and the pinky produces a “Z.”

Another innovation is Leap Motion’s digital menu which can attach to the palm of one hand, allowing you to tap on it with your other hand.  The signals are picked up by an electronic device.

On the horizon are vision controlled devices which would allow you to stare at particular letters, inputting those letters into an electronic device.

Perhaps most futuristic is the technology of Openwater, which is figuring out how to track your thought waves.  Think “water” and w-a-t-e-r appears on your electronic device.

Cursive has been eliminated, and from what I see, so has keyboard instruction. Maybe in a few years we will need no pens, keyboards or smart phones.  Instead maybe we’ll send messages one brain to the next with no intermediary technology?

But will the writing be any better?

 

Types of writing: Mystery genre

A mystery (sometimes called a detective or crime novel) focuses on an individual, usually a detective, who solves a crime, often a murder.  Edgar Allen Poe was one of the first to write such stories, and from his first name comes the Edgar Awards, given annually to the best examples of this genre.  This genre has several common elements.

Detective with a magnifying glass inspecting a newspaper.Often the crime happens before the novel opens.  In The Cuckoo’s Calling by J.K. Rowling (using the pen name of Robert Galbraith), the murder (or is it a suicide?) happens minutes before the opening scene in which the police and medical examiner investigate the corpse.  In Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None, the murders happen as the book progresses, after characters and setting are established in the readers’ minds.  Either way, we readers do not usually develop an emotional connection to the victim.

If the crime begins the story, the next chapter introduces the detective, interrupted while living his usual life.  Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple might be knitting with a friend, or Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlow might be drinking in a favorite bar.  Elizabeth George’s Thomas Lynley might be heading to his estate for a family gathering.

The detective-protagonist is proactive:  looking for clues, meeting with suspects, talking to the police, and facing danger.  He often reaches a low point well into the story from which he emerges a better person.  Sherlock Holmes is a damaged protagonist—a drug addict.  Philip Marlow is an undiagnosed alcoholic and chain smoker.  Such character flaws make the detective more realistic.

Sometimes the detective has a side kick.  Dr. Watson is Holmes’.  Sergeant Barbara Havers is Lynley’s.  But many detectives, like Hercule Poirot, work alone.

The antagonist is the killer, but since we don’t know who he/she is, almost all the characters are antagonists whose alibis, means and motives need to be studied.  Sometimes a character whom we assume to be innocent turns out to be the killer, making for a clever twist at the end.  The antagonist must be cunning, resourceful, and indefatigable—the same characteristics as the detective, so their battle of wits, like Holmes’ and Moriarty’s, seems matched.

Suspense is important to sustain reader interest.  So is foreshadowing and surprise.  Many times the detective finds himself or herself in danger.  Evidence is revealed little by little, asking the reader to infer what each clue might mean.  Some true clues are brushed over while red herrings are traced to their dead ends.

Many mysteries put a cast of characters in a closed off situation—on a train or on an island—so we know one of them has to be the murderer.  P.D. James used this strategy as did Agatha Christie.  Other writers, like Raymond Chandler, don’t close off characters physically, but motive or opportunity limits the likely suspects.  Picturing the setting is important, and writers describe in great detail where rooms or items within rooms are located.

The fun of this genre is trying to solve the murder before the detective identifies the murderer.  Satisfaction also comes from appreciating the fine mind of the detective as he explains how he (or she) solved the crime.