Post #8 - Melancholy and Subtext
I’m back, baby!
Time is zipping by. My last blog post was almost a month ago, yet it feels like two weeks tops. The upside of this lapse is that it hopefully indicates I’ve been busy writing my actual novel. This is somewhat true.
I’ve had an arduous time planning writing sessions. I’ve had an uptick in writing productivity the past few days, which is nice. It’s just been easy to procrastinate. I’ll favor going to the gym or just relaxing with video games or a show after work instead of writing. I say this not to condemn myself or to provide a platform for the haters (even if they’re mostly in my head) to say I told you so. Being objective about my work can be both harrowing and enlightening. I want to write often, write well, and have as much fun as possible in the process. It does me a disservice to pretend like I’m this ultra-productive writer who takes #nodaysoff. In reality, I’m just some guy with a dream.
Okay, down to business.
I’ve been noticeably more melancholy the past several weeks. For a few days, I even suspected I was fighting an illness (maybe I was—who knows). I’ve previously discussed the necessity of occupying the middle ground of arousal to write creatively and effectively. Subsisting in hypo-arousal (low mood) has made it tremendously difficult to feel like writing or even being creative. Instead of standing at a trailhead of multiple favorable routes and possibilities, I’ve felt like I’m sitting in a dark room, facing a locked door. I lack the will to write because I believe I’m not capable, and it’s pointless anyway.
Anyway, that’s what’s been up…er, down.
I recently posted a YouTube short about the concept of subtext in fiction. As I’ve allowed myself to “write ugly” during this first draft, I’ve noticed a propensity to have my characters say everything they’re thinking/feeling/believing. Fortunately, I’m catching myself now, so I can minimize this rookie mistake even before I begin the editing/revising process. See, in real life, real people don’t always say what they are sensing on the inside. Subtext is all that stuff that is not said. It’s there, but obscured. Readers have to dig between the lines to discover it. Below the context, subtext infuses meaning into what’s transpiring.
Here’s an example. Instead of outright saying, “I don’t believe you and think you’re annoying,” a character might turn away and roll her eyes but say nothing. The reader can understand the essence of this sentiment from non-verbal cues. It also gives us tidbits of insight into the character. Why didn’t she say anything? What, specifically, does she find annoying? An eyeroll—seems a bit sassy, but maybe covertly sassy? Is this other person actually annoying and dishonest, or is our character just having a bad day and being cynical?
All of this is subtext. I’m discovering that its use can radically enhance a story’s flavor. Subtext creates intrigue and fuels curiosity. It’s like little pieces of the puzzle. When they’re provided, you may or may not know where to place them, but they’re at minimum something to hold and hypothesize about. The reading process is also exponentially more enjoyable. A story in which the characters are fully transparent at all times would be tremendously insipid, predictable, and boring. Subtext adds suspense, makes realistic dialogue, and breathes life into a narrative. It makes the reader into a detective, gathering clues and growing hungry for more.
It’s not just the mystery genre that demands ample subtext. I think it can brighten any story.
And that’s all I have to say about that. My next post will probably discuss “head hopping”—another rookie writer pitfall. I’m discovering there are a LOT of potential pitfalls for new writers. Let’s explore them together!
Until next time,
