Honestly after reading through this last chapter of The Fire in Fiction (a couple of times) I am very afraid nothing is 'burning' in my heart anymore.

What have I lost? Too, too much and I've turned the emotions off rather than be bombarded daily. Of course, I've lost nothing compared to so many others I know personally or have heard about.

What 'inner well' will I tap to reach my writing goals and tell my best story?

It's absolutely frightening to think the well might actually be dry. But to compare myself to others is quicksand. Life struggles or career successes, comparison only makes my writing fall flat – with such a resounding thud – on the page.

I am not any other writer. I've not had their experience in publishing or in life. My own stuggles have shaped my ideas, my personal philosophy and I do myself a disservice to think otherwise. It's a mistake to minimize exactly what sets me apart.

Yes, I'm afraid, though I trust that in the practical tools that follow, Maass will have a few steps to reassure me and silence the infernal inner critic that keeps yammering on that I don't have what it takes (drive or conviction -the inner critic can't make up it's mind) to succeed in publishing.

Here is my final exercise for your reading enjoyment:

The Fire In Fiction  – Master Technique!

"How often, when something bad happened to you, did you think to yourself, at least this will be good material for a story some day!"

During the RWA national conference in Washington D.C. Maass shared an eloquent explanation of a long distance breakup – showing us how to incorporate the feelings and emotions we've experienced into our fictional worlds.

This was conveniently reinforced by Eloisa James' speech during lunch about how her own concerns for her husband's health impacted the characters in a recent novel.

Even I am bright enough to realize why there's been a plethora of wise grandmothers in my manuscripts since my own grandma – my hero, idol and inspiration – passed away last year.

But her death and my grief, if I read these exercises right, is merely the tip of the iceberg.

When I got the call – actually I had called to check on her and let her know her great granddaughter had come through surgery just fine – when they told me she'd died.

The sadness, the aching emptiness, the guilt, the relief, and the comedy (her body was 'lost' for several hours) becomes the perfect 'well of experience' to draw from when my characters are subjected to well – anything – but particularly a deep, significant loss or bizarre happening within the story.

Through The Fire in Fiction I've learned that instead of trivializing my grandma and her impact on my life – to tap those emotions actually honors her. Using all I felt in those horrible hours and days to create stronger stories for my readers is the best solution.

It's what I want and it's what she always supported as a savvy reader, editor and accomplished writer herself.

To your best creative writing!

~Regan

Working, hating work, evil bosses – those are all common experiences with wide reader appeal -  if the story's told in the right way.

"… novels of workplace complaints do become worthwhile [when] they offer us extra levels of humor and insight."  Maass cites The Devil Wears Prada as one example of a common experience (evil boss) told well.

"What is routine in your story? You can edit out low-tension stuff…or, alternately, you can find in it the drama and significance that it can have if we will but see it."

Engaging the reader in an experience means you've excavated the deeper meaning inside yourself to better illustrate either the mundane or the monumental moments of life.

"What does it mean to write for the ages?…is it enough to…plumb depths of human experience so that we all can relate?" Maass says what matters, what gives fiction power is "touching readers. Touching readers comes from your own compassion."

And perspective.

No matter how many tools are in your writer's box, no matter how well you turn a phrase, none of it matters unless the story is "charged with your own deep feeling."

So writing to a concise or moral point, like Aesop or writing from universal tragedy or comedy, it all comes down to the fire you put into your fiction.

The corresponding exercises are effective (no surprise there), but the most pertinent of the questions, for me, is what is the reader missing and how will seeing it – the way I see it as the writer – make a difference?

Additionally – when stretching to tell a tale of uncommon experience – the exercise step where I had to assess 'what in my story world was timelessly true' was the turning point that made the whole thing click for me.

Working through the steps for the moral of the story – that felt more like the familiar character arc/character development than anything else so far in this book.

Not that that's a bad thing – to the contrary – it was simply more that I didn't have much in my collection of doorstops to address this point specifically.

To your best creative writing!

~Regan

"Insuring that your story is powerfully yours is the subject of this final chapter."

So I dig in and read on, no longer delusional enough to trust in my own assumptions when it comes to the wisdom Mr. Maass imparts.  I won't be so naive as to think chapter nine  might be some causal summary of all that's come before.

No, here I find we get down to the one detail that makes my writing different from that offered by everyone else.

Me.

Yes, it's another 'aha' moment and I admit it's one I frequently discount. Chalk it up to all those lessons my mother gave me on vanity. Yet Maass assures me true originality is only about one thing – the author – not the impossibly unique idea or setting.

Maass tells us what most of us already know, that bandwagon syndrome is real. We've all seen a successful book draw a slew of readers and almost as many imitating authors. Enough imitators, says Maass,  creates a trend.

Therefore "Originality is not a function of your novel; it is a quality in you."

Wow. More reinforcement of my aha moment! It's a simple fact that anyone writing any type of story whether it be mystery or paranormal romance or anything in between will not be the first person to deliver such a manuscript.

So what can you add to make your fresh take on the not-so-original premise shine?

You. "What gives any novel the impact of the new is something that does not come from plot or mileiu, but from a perspective: yours."

Throughout the entirety of The Fire in Fiction, Maass has pushed me to examine motive, character, and details that create more than description or a relating of fictional events to evoke feelings and reactions in the reader.

Now, in this last chapter, I can see he intends to challenge me, myself, and my internal editor.

To your best creative writing!
~Regan

That's what sets The Fire in Fiction apart from other how-to writer's guides. The extras, the subtle and succinct challenges, and the essential elements that sneak past that pesky internal editor to enrich the manuscript.

My favorite step in the exercise on Tension From Nothing is step 4: "How would your character describe the state of his being at this moment?"

This is the assignment of sorts after choosing a passage of nothing and addressing details and differences that define the potential and purpose buried within the un-happenings of the passage.

What a thought-provoking way to assess whether sequel is required, or merely more scene. It's a full editorial analysis wrapped up in one not-so-modest question.

Diligently applying just that question to every scene of action and reaction in the manuscript would nearly guarantee a stronger novel. No matter what the creative writing endeavor, it should be the strongest, boldest, reflection of the writer's best effort in that moment.

"Every minute has a mood. Every moment has meaning," writes Maass. A statement which (hopefully) will stay with me for the rest of my writing career. It's certainly an accurate assessment of what keeps me in a book as a reader.

To your best creative writing!

~Regan

Maass, in The Fire in Fiction declares these days over. "I do not believe in aftermath. The human brain moves faster…Mulling it over on the page doesn't add anything fresh."

Maass spends much of this chapter pleading with authors to learn how to beef up the writing – how to add tension – to avoid writing passages readers inevitably skim.

Unless of course, you learn to infuse that aftermath, the sequel part of the scene and sequel pattern, with micro-tension.

"…emotional conflict. Competing desires…" he writes. Not between characters, but within individual characters.

It's a challenge for the writer – but the reward is so worth the extra effort. And who wants to say they just threw a manuscript together willy-nilly? Who wants to degrade their hours of labor over the keyboard like that?

As I read this chapter, I was also reading a book by a favorite author of mine, Claudia Dain.  Mr. Maasss' lessons about page turning tension being less about action and more about the character's internal conflict within those events are perfectly illustrated by Dain.

It was a wonderful reinforcement of both the writing skills necessary to succeed in this business and the pure enjoyment a reader can find when an author puts such skill to good use on the page.

To your best creative writing!

~Regan

"Deconstruct this action into it's [3, 4, or 5] distinct pictures, the stills that freeze-frame the sequence."

See (pun intended) I'm a visual writer and learner. I love relating writing books with how directors make movies. This is the perfect method for me to grasp the whole approach to the concept.

With those images in mind, it's up to me to make lists of corresponding, obscure details, feelings and conflicting emotions for the point of view character.

It's character interviews – only tougher – and better!

Because whether you're working on a sex scene, a weather scene (hopefully your protagonists aren't contemplating the weather during a sex scene) or violence in one way or another, "…torn emotions cause us to care."

This, the emotional risk and impact, is the crux of creating tension according to Maass. Personally I'm inclined to believe him. He and his literary agency see a lot more fiction – good, fair, and poor – than I ever will.

I'm willing to rely on and learn from his vast experience.

You can get your own copy of The Fire in Fiction to discover Maass' super suggestions for sex scenes (you can jump to page 230, but you'd be better off working your way up to that one).

To your best creative writing!

~Regan

You know those moments your critique partners suggest you cut because they're bland and don't do anything for plot or character development.

In The Fire in Fiction, Maass often cites the extreme perils of 'weather' openings, but (thankfully) shows us when and how some authors make them work.

Here, as examples of low-tension traps, he states, "...the weather has an effect on us not because it is an outward portent but because it is tied to an inward storm."

Same goes for other types of low-action, observation sorts of passages in books and manuscripts that want to become books.  It's not the lack of action or the prosaic notation of details that stands out or falls flat.

From reading The Fire in Fiction it's clear a reader sticks around and keeps turning pages when the author creates a need to know and understand what's going on inside the character.

To fully embrace, master, and appreciate this micro-tension chapter, you need to get your copy of The Fire in Fiction and work through these detailed exercises on your own.

Putting your manuscript under The Fire in Fiction microscope will strengthen your skills and take your creative writing to the next level. Just think of all the passages that won't end up as out takes if you can make them matter to the story and the reader.

It's simple time and efficiency stuff. As well as good author stuff.

I was amazed when I took a passage I'd previously dumped and put it through three of the four steps in the exercise related to this segment. (Step 4 is to find 20 other places in the manuscript to repeat steps one, two and three).

This gives me oodles of hope for salvaging several of my previously hope-less doorstops. Mainly because it's easy to go back and see how to fix my newbie errors in order to tell a compelling story.

To your best creative writing!

~Regan

This quite possibly is the most valuable chapter so far. Except I've probably said that about every chapter previously. But I'm learning how mastering micro-tension will give me more freedom as an author!

"Much exposition stirs faint interest….[but] exposition always matters."

The struggle, as I understand this segment, is to avoid the trap of exposition that merely rehashes what the reader's already learned. Exposition, like every other word in the manuscript, must move the story forward.

"To put it another way, exposition is an opportunity not to enhance the dangers of the plot…but to put your characters' hearts and minds in peril.  …true tension [here] comes not from circular worry… it springs from emotions in conflict and ideas at war."

I know without even looking that (especially in early doorstops) my exposition will need a boost (or a red slash of mercy) for merely stirring a soup of old worries.

So to look at exposition like Maass does – an opportunity for a 'mental turning point in the plot' – I'll spend some time on the exercise, studying the expected emotions and opinions of my characters – and then delving into the opposite emotions and ideas, to find that all-important conflict!

In this multi-layered exercise (aren't they all multi-layered) I'll follow instructions and consider new reasons for my character to feel endangered or anxious.

Once more, The Fire in Fiction has taken a concept, and slid the important lesson right by my internal editor so that I can incorporate the new skills in my next writing session – and even in my next, vital, manuscript edit.

Thanks Mr. Maass!

To your best creative writing!

~Regan

In other words- readers have seen it all (in real life, news, books or movies)  and just seeing it again won't keep them in your story. Worse, Maass suggests the usual emotion tacked on won't help you either.

How then do you apply micro-tension to escape the cliches and shake free of the expected action/reaction to make the reader sit up, take notice, stay engaged and keep turning pages?

Maass goes back to his conflicting emotion theory, using examples from a couple of bestselling thriller writers. "Fear! Shock! Horror! Un-huh. What else have you got?"

It's hard to disagree (through the offered samples) that external action combined with conflicting emotions related to and around that action are what holds a reader's attention. "Unconsciously our brains are seeking to make sense of a contradiction."

To enforce this through practice, Maass points out "High action immediately benefits from having torn emotions folded in." Making it no big surprise that the exercise directs us to choose a point of action, and look for the expected emotion – then the conflicting emotion – of the point of view character.

Expanding from there – look for details, 'oblique details', that might be overlooked at first glance. Using what you've learned, rewrite the passage.

"True tension lies inside."

Are you seeing the theme? I hope so eight chapters into this amazing resource! Pick a topic, a chapter, hell, just a segment. Study it, pick it apart, then – don't cheat – do your best to apply the lesson to your own manuscript.

If it's been working for me – it'll work for you too!

To your best creative writing!

~Regan

Addressing the pitfalls and perils of the info dump and backstory – even in dialogue, Maass shows us how Krentz avoided the traps to deliver an exchange that keeps us engaged.

"In other words, it is not information itself that nails us to the page; rather, it is doubt about the facts and skepticism of the deliverer. Tension in dialogue is emotional, not intellectual."

It's subtle, but it's there and most of all it's effective. Maass warned readers a few pages ago: Understanding the concept is easy enough – making it happen in my own work – well we'll see. That's why I'm blogging my way through The Fire in Fiction!

Whether the conversation is friendly or adversarial, the micro-tension must be there to keep the reader in the story. Each reader will bring his own preference to the moment, cheering for one side or the other in each verbal exchange.

As you'd expect with an expert like Maass, the exercise relating to this passage is different from earlier dialogue exercises. "If it's strong on the page it will hardly matter what they're talking about."

So I'm taking a stab at this technique using a YA heroine and her friend who's worried about his sister's preference for 'bad boys':

Merilee followed Cooper's glare. “Why don't you like her boyfriend?”
“The guy's only after one thing.”
"You sound like my father." She pitched her voice low, "'Merilee, all boys your age are only after one thing.'"
“Well, it's not always a bad thing.” His sharp grin and pointed look at where their knees met proved her father's wisdom.
Her throat went dry. His easy charm had surely broken plenty of hearts in the halls between classes.
“But she's got a bad boy complex," Cooper groused.
“So fix her up with one of your friends.”
He was glaring at his sister's back again. “He is one of my friends.”
Oh. “Does that make you one of the bad boys too?”
Cooper's intense eyes slid back to her. “So this complex is universal?”