Tag Archives: Hunger Games

by

Writing Tip #73

A word about endings. I have a problem with endings, generally. I was reminded of this a few minutes ago while chatting with a friend of mine on the telephone, and we were talking about the series finale to HBO’s Entourage, which I wasn’t too fond of: Ari quitting his job to reunite with his estranged wife, Eric making up with a pregnant Sloan and Vince heading off to Paris to get married. It all seemed so… I don’t know, safe. And perfect. Boys get girls. Friends heading off into the sunset. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I felt let down.

Nor was I fond of the series finale of Lost (they were dead?!), or with the ending to The Hunger Games, which I felt was a nonending. Although I am a fan of the book and the entire trilogy, I thought the first book’s ending functioned simply to set up the second book in the series. I remember finishing the book and tossing it onto the sofa and groaning. Actually, I wasn’t all that thrilled with Catching Fire’s ending either. See what I mean? (I have 50 pages to go in Mockingjay; you can imagine my nervousness.)

I’m starting to think it’s me, the writer in me — I have a tendency to dream up my own little ending as I read a book or watch a film or TV show, and then often the REAL ending falls short of my expectations. Kind of like how you picture characters in your mind as you are reading a book and then are disappointed when you see the actors and actresses who have been chosen to play them. It’s never what you pictured.

Not that I don’t like happy surprises! Those are the best, particularly when I’m SURE I know what’s going to happen in a film or book, and then I’m totally wrong — but in a good way. The writers, instead of playing it safe, went above and beyond, into directions that were new and exciting.

Which brings me to my own ending for Baby Grand. For a girl who has a problem with endings, imagine writing one? The pressure!

Indeed, I know that writing an ending is a tall order — having to wrap things up in a way that feels complete, while leaving a few questions or teasers lingering, if you feel so inclined.

And I have no idea if I succeeded.

But all you can do — I think, all any writer can do — is write the ending you see in your head, be true to your voice and end your book in a way that feels right — satisfying — to you.

And hope that satisfaction extends to your readers as well.

by

Writing Tip #63

Setting (and reaching) goals. I had one New Year’s resolution for 2011: to read more. Plain and simple. And I’m happy to say that I reached that goal. I was shooting for a modest one book a month and wound up reading 16:

  • The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson (fiction)
  • Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua (nonfiction)
  • 1984 by George Orwell (classic fiction)
  • Supreme Justice by Philip Margolin (fiction)
  • The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins (YA fiction)
  • I’d Know You Anywhere by Laura Lippman (fiction)
  • Half a Life by Darin Strauss (nonfiction)
  • The Red Queen by Philippa Gregory (fiction)
  • Sweet Valley High: Double Love by Francine Pascal (YA fiction)
  • Sweet Valley High: Secrets (YA fiction)
  • Sweet Valley High: Playing with Fire (YA fiction)
  • Sweet Valley Confidential: 10 Years Later (fiction)
  • The Submission by Amy Waldman (literary fiction)
  • The Reader by Bernhard Schlink (fiction)
  • To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (classic fiction)
  • Fallen by Karin Slaughter (crime fiction)
  • Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins (YA fiction)

And right now I’m in the middle of The Girl Who Played with Fire by Stieg Larsson.

For 2012, the plan is the same, to continue reading, but I’ve added two bold writing resolutions:

  • To finish the final draft of In the Red (the first draft is nearly completed);
  • To finish the first draft of Baby Carter (the sequel to Baby Grand).

I think it’s important to set goals for yourself. They can help guide you along your path — as long as they’re realistically attainable. Will I reach my writing goals for 2012? Who knows. I hope so. And I intend to make it so, and that’s good enough for me!

What are your New Year’s resolutions?

by

Writing Tip #58

Make sure your narrator and his/her narrative voice jibe. Although I’m currently reading Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins, this week I picked up another YA book my 14-year-old son had discarded on the dining room table. I read the first three short chapters to pass the time while some photos I had taken were uploading, and when I was done, I took a peek at the back cover and discovered that the narrator of the story, whom I had surmised to be a 12- or 13-year-old girl, was actually intended by the author to be a 17-year-old young woman.

This took me by surprise. Being the mother of a 12-year-old girl, I felt that the narrator was familiar to me and had a personality similar to that of my daughter — the wide-eyed innocence of a girl on the brink of adolescence. To me, a 17-year-old young woman, who was supposed to be from New York City, would have acted a bit more maturely. The story had an old-fashioned sensibility, which was fine, but discovering the narrator was actually a 17-year-old made her came across as inauthentic. Even my son dismissed the book after only reading a handful of chapters, calling it “cheesy.”

I wondered why the author decided to make her narrator 17 when I thought the story, as is, would work much better with a younger girl. To be fair, perhaps I’d have a different impression if I had continued reading, but it was a reminder of the importance of having an authentic narrative voice. If you decide to write your book from the perspective of, say, an eight-year-old boy, be sure you know the way an eight-year-old boy not only speaks and acts, but thinks. And consider the time period. Had this book been a work of historical fiction, I think the author may have gotten away with having such a naive 17 year old. But since the setting is modern-day, this narrator is competing with the Katniss Everdeens and Bella Swans of the world for the attention of today’s savvy young adult readers, who know a phony when they see one.