Guest Post from Rhonda Eudaly: Writing Is Only Glamorous Until This Face Appears

Fantasy is quite literally a magical genre, and as a fan, there’s nothing more exciting than seeing that magic brought to life. From epic undertakings like the Lord of the Rings trilogy to dazzling new Netflix series like The Witcher, adapted fantasy has more than proven its entertainment value and staying power in recent years “” which may have some fantasy writers wondering, How can I do that with my book?

Of course, blockbuster dreams shouldn’t be your only motivation; in order to succeed as a fantasy writer, you need genuine passion for your story, regardless of whether it ever hits the big screen. That said, there are definitely some things you can do to make your book more vivid and “cinematic”! Here’s how to strike just the right balance to write fantasy that’s both compulsively readable and potentially watchable.

Create a unique, vibrant world

When writing fantasy, worldbuilding should come before all else. If you don’t lay out your geography, cultures, and magic system(s) first, your storytelling will almost certainly feel thin or haphazard in places. Not to mention that a well-established world is key to a great adaptation: the realm you create will serve as the visual and atmospheric backbone of your show or movie, so make sure it can hold itself up.

You might start by thinking about your world’s predominant beliefs and power systems. What folklore, religious influences, or other major ideas have shaped it, and which might clash and lead to conflict in your story? What group is in power “” or which groups are contending for it “” and what are their motives and ambitions? How have factions arisen within this context, and to which do your main characters belong?

Once you have a strong sense of these elements, you can think more about the “fun” cinematic details: what your world will look, sound, and feel like. Consider your wider setting “” whether that’s a collection of feuding countries or the far reaches of outer space “” as well as smaller ones that will lend your story color. Flesh out what people do on a daily basis: how they work, interact, and take care of themselves, and how all this reflects the society in which they live.

Finally, think about what will distinguish your world from other fantasy worlds. Will it be based on unusual mythology? Will it offer a new aesthetic, or revitalize an old one (as Leigh Bardugo’s Grishaverse, now being adapted as Shadow and Bone, has done for steampunk)? Though cinematic considerations should not take precedence over organic worldbuilding, it never hurts to muse on this sort of thing early on.

Plan rewarding character arcs

Now you’ve hammered out your world, it’s time to fill it with characters that will engage readers and viewers alike. Though some might argue that writing physically attractive characters is the best approach here, those of us who have watched too many shows on The CW will know that even stellar looks can’t make up for poor characterization “” which is why you should focus on strong character arcs instead.

Why highlight character arcs in particular? Firstly, because fantasy tales can easily get lost in their own grandeur. You need human stories to act as an anchor, otherwise people will simply stop caring. And secondly, because at the end of a (usually lengthy) fantasy book or adaptation, readers want to feel the journey was worth it. If your characters don’t end up changed or at least reaffirmed in their principles, people will wonder, what was the point of all that?

To give you a jumping-off point: a strong character arc should intrigue readers from the beginning, giving them a sense of the character’s potential for various outcomes. As the story unfolds, the character will face obstacles “” often in the form of other characters on their own journeys “” and make choices that determine who they become.

The trajectory of this arc depends on what role you want each character to play. For example, you might have a character renounce their previous goals and become an antagonist, moving the story in a brand-new direction. From there, you’d need to work out whether this character will revert or fight it out with the protagonist. But either way, you’ll have the audience deeply invested “” and ultimately rewarded with an exciting, emotional (and yes, cinematic) finale.

Hone your action and dialogue

Action and dialogue are two more crucial elements when writing screen-friendly fantasy. However, there’s a reason this tip reads “hone” rather than “increase” “” though you might be tempted to cram your fantasy with epic battles and rapid-fire dialogue, quality remains much more important than quantity.

When writing action (used here to mean “physically active things the characters are doing”, i.e., not thinking or sleeping) it should be pacy and easy to visualize, yet not overwhelming in its description. Whether your characters are dancing, feasting, or hiking up a mountain, provide just enough detail to conjure a clear image while still leaving some things to readers’ imaginations.

The only exceptions are tide-changing fight scenes, for which you can take a beat-by-beat approach to draw attention to their significance. This scene from Dorothy Dunnett is an excellent case study in descriptive, revealing action; see how she uses long, all-in-one-breath sentences to illustrate the rush of action. Of course, this isn’t the only way to write a good fight scene “” you might find that short, staccato sentences better reflect the punchy combat styles of your characters, or that interspersing the action with dialogue creates more emotional resonance.

Speaking of which, let’s talk dialogue (no pun intended). Like character arcs, this is important in every story, but especially in fantasy; it adds another human element that will keep readers invested. And witty banter is a real breath of fresh air onscreen!

But writing great dialogue is easier said than done. To tackle this challenge with confidence, nail down your characters’ voices before you dive into your story. You can try dialogue-based writing exercises “” or, if these feel too random, write a few prequel stories about what your characters were doing before your central narrative began. Whichever exercise you choose, just remember to really delve into your characters’ minds in order to grasp their distinct voices.

As your story progresses, you’ll be surprised how much your characters have to talk about. Once again, honing is key. Though you can draft as much dialogue as you like, keep only the best lines in your actual book “” not just the clever ones, but those that also enhance characterization or serve the plot. The rest you can save for a rainy day, like the sequel or even the eventual adaptation, which will likely place more emphasis on dialogue.

Use plot twists wisely

This article on writing cinematic fantasy would be remiss if it didn’t discuss plot twists. From Snape being a double agent to Gandalf coming back from the dead, a thrilling twist is often the cherry on top of an action-packed fantasy”¦ just be careful not to overdo it. To extend the sundae metaphor, one or two cherries is fine, but more than that and you’ll make your readers sick.

Audiences particularly dislike out-of-nowhere twists, so make sure any twists you do include make sense within the story. If you find yourself throwing in a twist when you haven’t built up to it enough, whether to liven things up or because you feel like you “should, “ stop right there! You might think it’s cinematic, but it’ll only come across as cheap.

That said, it’s fine to come up with a twist at the end of your book, then go back and sprinkle in hints throughout your story “” “mak[ing] it look like you knew what you were doing all along,” as Neil Gaiman advises. You might even devise a twist that could be revealed now, but would have much better payoff down the line. If that’s the case, be patient; your readers will appreciate the strategic mastery of saving the big guns for later books.

And of course, if a bona fide “twist” simply doesn’t suit your story, don’t force it. Books aren’t adapted on the basis of twists alone; people want fantasy tales with wildly original worlds, compelling characters, and creative writing to rival the likes of Jemisin and Le Guin.

Sure, it’s a tall order. But won’t it all be worth it when you’re the showrunner on your very own fantasy series? With these tips in mind, you might just have the next Game of Thrones on your hands”¦ only your ending will be a lot more satisfying.

BIO: Savannah Cordova is a writer with Reedsy, a marketplace that connects authors and publishers with the world’s best editors, designers, and marketers.  In her spare time, Savannah enjoys reading contemporary fiction and fantasy, as well as writing short stories.

If you’re an author or other fantasy and science fiction creative, and want to do a guest blog post, please check out the guest blog post guidelines. Or if you’re looking for community from other F&SF writers, sign up for the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers Critclub!

Any story which dips overly much into issues of society, culture, or what it means to be human, is often tagged as soft science fiction. Even cyberpunk, a high-tech genre, is usually considered soft, because of its thematic commentary on the fallen state of mankind.

The implication is that hard SF is somehow “better”, just as the hard sciences are “better”. Physics is a hard science. Psychology is not. Psychology is assumed to be flimsy, weak, inaccurate, and easy. “Soft.” Therefore, SF that deals with it is equally easy.

This division seems a little unfair, because to me the “soft” sciences are arguably far more complex than hard sciences. Physics and chemistry picked up the low-hanging fruit of empirical discovery, those aspects of our universe that could easily be discovered by looking through a microscope, telescope, or mass spectrometer. But understanding the interplay of synaptic pathways? That takes advanced tools like fMRIs and scanning electron microscopes, which have only recently been invented.

All Freud and Jung had in 1900 was instinct and anecdote. So their research consisted of conjecture. Conjecture which has been built upon and advanced greatly since their time.

Access to technology is now blurring the line between soft and hard sciences. Soft SF concepts that used to require a certain amount of hand-waving can now be written about with a foundation in actual research.

It should follow that the line between soft and hard SF should also blur. And in many ways, this process has already occurred.

I remember reading my father’s shelf of classic authors, like Asimov, Heinlein, and Clarke (but also soft science-fictionist Bradbury). My young mind didn’t care that all the characters were cardboard cutouts, barely-human actors there only to convey the ideas. Because for me, the ideas were most important.

But mere ideas, as cool as they are, flicker over the surface of our minds, the frontal lobe of the neocortex. They fail to reach into the occluded recesses of emotion and subconscious. They fail to spark our deeper neurological wiring.

Some golden era stories did dabble in psychology, but they did so at a clinical distance. For example, the classic novel Foundation depicted a science called “psychohistory” ““ only at arm’s length. Psychohistory dispassionately crunched numbers to predict how people in masses move inevitably towards some end. But these stories weren’t really about the people themselves.

As I grew up, and as SF grew up, readers began to demand real characters. They wanted to see how the technology affected human beings. There was a realization that without people, science was meaningless, and the outer space we sought to explore would simply be an empty, darkened void.

Mainstream fiction has always focused on an exploration of humanity. The golden age of SF set itself apart as a genre by instead exploring ideas about the future. Since then, it has come back around to become a reflection of ourselves via an exploration of the future. The future has become ancillary to the purpose of SF.

A story that doesn’t mean something beyond the idea is not likely to be published. It’s not enough anymore to fire off dopamine in a reader’s neocortex. A story that doesn’t also evoke some emotion or spark some unknown “thing” in the hidden depths of our hearts is unlikely to be noticed.

Psychology and neuroscience has grown up, too. But we’ve never needed it to. Psychology is often discounted as “squishy,” but that’s because the mind itself is squishy. Many of Carl Jung’s insights 100 years ago still apply today. Modern science is simply discovering how the underlying cells and chemicals work to create the behaviors and mental dynamics he and his contemporaries observed.

And we’re discovering more parts of the mind than even Jung’s two-part consciousness vs. unconsciousness model suggested. An engineer or astrophysicist might prefer the simple, predictable mechanics of a one-brain, one-mind model, (hard science!), but to accept that would be in denial of the facts.

Many may be tempted to laugh at the hand-wavy woo of Jung’s “collective unconscious.” But is it really so silly now that we’re learning about how culture spreads and how about “memes” may be thought of as living creatures that reside in our minds and self-replicate to everyone who comes into contact with them?

Getting a bit meta here (because a mind exploring the mind is intrinsically meta), science fiction has always unconsciously acknowledged psychological principles. By way of example, dreams are a common fictional vehicle to represent thematic elements of a character’s past. This is classic Jungian psychology, and as authors and artists, we know the power of symbolic metaphor firsthand.

Yet how often do we address these ideas head-on, with self-awareness, making the reader aware of the processes of her own brain as she’s reading? Wouldn’t such stories act fully in the spirit of science fiction, which has always asked the reader to ponder her place in the universe, to ponder her own relationship to the ideas of the story?

It’s time to consciously embrace the mind sciences in science fiction. It’s our responsibility, because as a society, we will soon begin to feel the impact in our own lives. Science fiction needs to step up and fill its predictive role, both warning us and giving us hope. Warning us of the dangers of advancement, while simultaneously inspiring future engineers in how to apply the discoveries we’re making right now.

Because what could be more disruptive (both constructively and destructively) than a comprehensive understanding of the human mind? I’m not just talking about obvious technologies, like neural implants, but also developments in how we practice the art of existing in fully understood self-awareness. How might we structure society to account for a better understanding of what nature has already given us?

Moreover, in past-SF, we’ve treated the obvious tech (like neural implants) like toaster oven technology (nifty conveniences) ignoring the probable fact that these technologies will change us at our innermost core. Just as social media has transformed how we relate to one another, “upgrading” ourselves will transform what it means to be human.

And though these scenarios are difficult to imagine (because how else can we relate to our fiction except through our current understanding of humanity?), it’s our responsibility to close our eyes and imagine it. We need to grapple with these disruptions via fiction before the changes come.

Here are just a few questions we ought to explore:

• As we discover more neurotypes and cease to pathologize them, how will society change?
• What if we could all see a live map (fMRI-style) of our minds on our smartphones?
• Forget flying cars ““ how would the world be different if we could end the cycle of abuse, both in homes and in our public institutions? And how can we end those cycles of abuse? (Yes, this is science fiction!)
• How can we explore newly discovered aspects of the human brain by telling stories of alien beings that take those aspects to extremes?
• As we gain a better understanding of psycho-social manipulation, can we develop technologies (in the form of memes perhaps) that counter it?

Discoveries now tell us that the digestive tract literally is a mind of its own, and that the nerves throughout our bodies may play a much larger role in memory and thinking processes than previously thought. My words in this post may have triggered neurons in your left elbow. This point alone is worth a hundred science fiction stories.

And if that’s not hard SF, I’m not sure what really is.

Bio: Luna Lindsey lives in Bellevue, WA. Her first story (about a hippopotamus) crawled out of her head at age 4. After running out of things to say about hippopotami, she switched to sci-fi, fantasy, and horror. She also became an accidental expert on mind control, autism, computers, and faeries. Her stories have appeared in The Journal of Unlikely Entomology, Penumbra eMag, and Crossed Genres. She tweets like a bird @lunalindsey, intermittently blogs at www.lunalindsey.com, and publishes entire novels and nonfiction tomes at http://amazon.com/author/lunalindsey. Her novel, Emerald City Dreamer, is about faeries in Seattle and the women who hunt them.
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