Fear Elements For Your Fiction

On Scars

(This post is an excerpt from Maim Your Characters: How Injuries Work in Fiction.)

First off, let me be clear about what I mean when I say the word scars. I’m not talking about the medical definition: rough tissue that overlies a wound as it heals over time.

I’m using a broader definition of any physical evidence of a previous injury.

That can be the amputated hand, the limp from a spinal cord injury.

It can also include tattoos. (Maui’s moving tattoos in Moana are a perfect example of this: his tattoos are a physical embodiment of where he’s been.)

Scars, by this broad definition, are an interesting shorthand for a story, whether we actually see that tale or not. We use them as a way to say there’s a story here. Sometimes our global story gives us the chance to tell it, sometimes not; either way, scars can be an interesting way to add depth to a character.

In fact, sometimes a scar is integral to explaining and understanding who that character is.

For example, we know that Peter Pan’s Captain Hook has been involved in some fierce battles, because he lost his hand – and had it replaced with his legendary pirate hook. That hook is a symbol of the cold cruelty he now gives off.

The eponymous Harry Potter wouldn’t truly be Harry without his lightning-bolt forehead scar. For Harry, it’s not just about his past, it’s about his future: his fate and the fate of the scar-giver are intertwined, a battle that will determine the fate of the world. Worse, it’s all inscribed on his forehead, for everyone to see.

Darth Vader’s scars in Star Wars are extensive, so much so that they shroud his identity completely. While we see the faces of the heroes, and even of Emperor Palpatine himself, Vader’s wounds require a respirator mask that obscures his face and makes him the terrifying villain he is. He’s actually turned the support system he needs to stay alive – a depersonalizing suit and respirator – into something useful, a mask to terrify his enemies. Vader’s life is, in some ways, enhanced by his disability, and he’s certainly comfortable moving in his world with the scars he’s got.

In Moana, the demigod Maui’s scars are branded on him as tattoos. These are the stories of who he’s been and where he goes. When hero-protagonist Moana asks him where they come from, he tells her, “They show up when I earn them.”

This isn’t dissimilar to the battle scars on an old soldier, sailor, or mercenary: their wounds are manifested on their flesh.

But if scars are shorthand for a story, if they’re someone’s past writ large, we need to honor that character in the way we represent them. If we elect to give a character scars, they should represent not a plot but a story, something that not only wounds the character but drives them to change internally.

As an example, I’m going to tell you the story of two of my personal scars. At the end we’ll discuss which one would go into a story about me, and why.

Scar #1: The Knife Point. When I was six or seven, I was trying to get some corn off the cob — I wanted to eat it in kernel form for some reason, and I was using a kitchen knife. I got the corn off all right — and drove the point of the knife straight into the webbing between my thumb and forefinger on my left hand. Ouch!

(Actually, it didn’t hurt, it was the sheer volume of blood that was terrifying).

I changed in that I learned not to do that specific task (cutting corn off the cob) that specific way (driving the knife toward my hand).

But it’s not a marker of who I am.

Scar #2: The Bite Mark. Let’s consider another scar, also on my left hand. There’s an old bite mark by the heel of my hand, at the base of my left thumb.

It happened like this: I was fifteen or so, and my neighbor’s dog, Clancy, wasn’t doing well. He was old and he was sick. That day he had become too sick to get up. It was time for my neighbor to take him to the vet and say goodbye.

She had him on a blanket. But he was a big dog, and the vet was far, and she didn’t have a car, and so our neighbor came to ask me and my mom to help get him to the vet. Of course we said yes. We liked her, but more importantly, we loved animals. (Both my mother and I had worked at the vet at one point or another.)

When we went to move him by picking up the blanket and moving him to the car, Clancy reached out and bit me. Not because he was a bad dog, not because he was out to hurt me. He bit me because he was scared and sick and hurt and he didn’t know what to do.

I didn’t feel anger at Clancy, and I didn’t turn afraid of him. I felt sympathy. His act hurt my skin. His pain broke my heart.

So when we got him to the vet, while they were easing his pain and saying goodbye, I calmly and quietly washed my wound in the sink with an antiseptic.

I learned something about myself in that moment.

I learned that healing really is a calling for me. That I was glad we had cared for him and that I was able to help him on his final journey. I was glad to know Clancy. I wasn’t mad, or hurt, even though my hand stung from the antiseptic.

That scar helped me find my internal true north.

Now, which of those scars has meaning? Which of them would you want to include if you were writing me as a character? Which do you think would make it into a memoir, if I wrote one? It’s most certainly the second, the one that helped me figure out who I am, the one that drove me to learn about myself. The first is something that happened; the second is something that changed me.

It’s stories like these that you should use in order to figure out who your characters are – and how to honor them.

Let’s Talk Tattoos.

Tattoos are interesting in that they can be another, more interesting set of shorthand. Unless your character has a Maui-like situation going on, her tattoos won’t simply appear. She’ll not only have to choose what story she wants to represent on her flesh, but she’ll have to choose how to express that story in an image. Then comes the pain of the ritual scarification: the injection of ink under the skin, a microbaptism in pain and blood and pigment.

Tattoos are absolutely fascinating. Because they don’t typically connect to physical wounds so much as to emotional ones, they’re a really great piece of shorthand for getting into the depths of who someone truly is.

My own tattoos are direct messages to myself about how I should live in the world. They’re an easily visible piece of guidance that explores what my role is and should be in the world.

Of course, not all tattoos have this deeper meaning. People choose to tattoo things on themselves for a hundred different reasons, the aesthetics of the design being one of them. Some tattoos are simply trendy. I’m not here to judge anyone’s ink!

But if you’re going to cover a character in tattoos, consider having each of them explore a deeper facet of that character’s personality and the journey they’ve been on.

How to Use Scars Effectively

As we said above, scars are a shorthand for a story. Prominent scars, particular facial or obvious hand scars, are a constant source of tension and questions. When someone has a big scar on their face, we find our eyes drawn to it, a question forming on our tongue: What happened?

But the What happened? isn’t as important as How did it change you? And so my general recommendation with scars is twofold and contradictory:

One: only introduce scars if it’s an incredibly important part of a character’s past.

Two: only introduce scars if it’s an incredibly important part of a character’s future.

So why the two recommendations? Why the contradiction?

Characters are constantly moving, if not in space, then through time. Their scars shape their past, which shapes where they are now and where they’re going.

If a scar is germane to a character’s past, it helps establish where they’re coming from and what their experiences have been.

But those experiences are only important if that scar-causing event is relevant to their future.

The scar a sea captain got fending off pirates once upon a time doesn’t have much to add if his current quest is finding new plumbing for his house. His scar isn’t relevant, unless it intimidates the shady plumber into giving him a better price. Even then, it’s a shallow connection.

Consider the old injury (and its scar) to be a cause.

Ask: what was the effect? If your character got a scar on their eyebrow from a bike accident when she was seven, that scar doesn’t mean anything… unless that was the bike accident where she failed to protect and save her kid brother, which makes her overprotective and hypercautious now.

If she crashed her bike as a kid and merely went on with her life… what was the point? Why tell that story with a scar so visible?

Remember that the point of a story is that people change. If a scar doesn’t fundamentally shape a character, consider simply leaving it out. Window dressing is just that: window dressing.

What we want is to give more insight into who your character is.

Avoiding Wandering Scar Syndrome

Wandering Scar Syndrome is when a character’s scar is on their left eye on Page 3 and their right cheek on Page 12. It’s simply a symptom of not taking good notes.

There are two techniques I’m going to suggest here.

The first is, keep character sheets. Many writers choose to do this, many do not. But especially if you’re going to wallpaper your character with scars and tattoos, it’s worth writing down where they are and what they look like. In fact, copy/pasting the way they were originally described into a separate document is particularly helpful in being sure your descriptions stay consistent throughout the story. It’s a pain in the butt for a moment, but it helps so much with consistency down the line!

Another option is to use [brackets] as an aside.

What do I mean?

Let’s say you talk about a minor character in two different places in the story, chapters — even acts apart.

Kitty Scarborough was the best fighter in town, and she bore the scars to prove it. [Kitty Scar Description — line on her face?] Or, [scar TK]

TK is the editor’s mark for To Come, a placeholder of sorts, and it’s useful for all kinds of things: Name TK, Dog Breed TK, Red sports car [make/model TK], etc. (Once upon a time, this book was littered with TKs .)

Later, we can pull it back up: A tall redhead walked through the door. Kitty Scarborough was easy to recognize, especially by her [Kitty Scar Description].

Why does this work? Why is this helpful?

Because it allows us to maintain flow as a writer. If we know Kitty’s got scars from fighting, we can come up with what exactly those look like later. (We’re using them as evidence of her toughness and battle prowess, not for a particular meaning behind each individual scar she’s got.) So when we describe Kitty, we don’t need to spend ten minutes racking our brain for a cool scar to give her — we can do that later. All we need to drop into our first draft is [Kitty scar] and we can move on!

This works for all sorts of details, from car models to hair colors to background characters’ names, so don’t think it’s just a scar locater!

Later on we can come back, look through our manuscript with the magical Find tool, and simply search for that left bracket, [ . Anything that comes up can be filled in with your text!

Want a good scar generator, including ideas for how it shaped the character? Visit MaimYourCharacters.com/Scars !

This post is an excerpt from Maim Your Characters, from Even Keel Press. If you’d like to read a 100-page sample of the book, [click here]. If you’d like to order a print copy, it’s available [via Amazon.com], and digital copies are available from [a slew of retailers].

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

Ways I Show a Character Is Petite Without Reducing Them to “Small and Fragile”

Petite doesn’t mean powerless. It means compact energy. It means you underestimated her and now you’re on the floor wondering how she flipped you.

They walk with that deliberate energy that says, “Don’t mistake size for softness.”

People overlook them in a crowd until they speak. Then suddenly, the whole room tilts in their direction.

They have to climb onto counters. They pretend to hate it. Secretly? They’ve mastered it like an art.

When someone makes a “you’re so tiny” comment, their smile is all teeth and danger.

They fit in weird places. Under tables. Through windows. Behind doors. Like their body was made for hiding orsneaking into trouble.

They’re always underestimated in physical fights, until someone ends up winded from a hit they didn’t see coming.

Their clothes are always too long. Sleeves past the fingertips. Jeans cuffed twice. But they wear it like style, not an inconvenience.

Character Tip

Realistic characters have contradictions. Exceptions to rules. Maybe they’re mostly nonviolent, but they’ll punch you if you insult their friend. Maybe they’re afraid of spiders, but aren’t afraid to kill a spider for their younger sibling.

In short, don’t be afraid to have characters who can’t be defined by a character fact sheet. 

How could one play a manipulative character?

sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

A list of phobias that your OC (original character) can have

Arachnophobia: Fear of spiders.

Acrophobia: Fear of heights.

Claustrophobia: Fear of confined or crowded spaces.

Ophidiophobia: Fear of snakes.

Cynophobia: Fear of dogs.

Trypophobia: Fear of clusters of small holes or bumps.

Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD): Fear of social situations and interactions.

Glossophobia: Fear of public speaking.

Hemophobia: Fear of blood.

Nyctophobia: Fear of darkness or night.

Thanatophobia: Fear of death or dying.

Mysophobia: Fear of germs or dirt.

Entomophobia: Fear of insects.

Aquaphobia: Fear of water.

Astraphobia: Fear of thunder and lightning.

Dentophobia: Fear of dentists or dental procedures.

Selenophobia: Fear of the moon.

Taphophobia: Fear of being buried alive or of cemeteries.

Xenophobia: Fear of strangers or foreigners.

Atychiphobia: Fear of failure or not being good enough.

Consider which phobia fits well with your OC's personality, background, and the story you want to tell. You can also explore how their phobia influences their behavior, relationships, and journey throughout the novel.

Me trying to figure out the distance between places and how long it’ll take a character to get there in a society that travels mostly on foot:

Words to Use Instead of "Said"

whispered

shouted

exclaimed

murmured

muttered

yelled

cried

screamed

stammered

declared

replied

answered

commented

remarked

suggested

hinted

announced

observed

mentioned

noted

Showing 'Love' in Writing

Gazing into each other’s eyes with a soft smile.

Holding hands and gently squeezing.

Brushing a strand of hair behind the ear.

Speaking in a tender, affectionate tone.

Sharing inside jokes and laughing together.

Leaning in close to whisper sweet words.

Giving a lingering, gentle kiss on the forehead.

Wrapping arms around each other in a warm embrace.

Blushing when receiving a compliment.

Touching foreheads and closing eyes.

Smiling uncontrollably when thinking of the other person.

Caressing the cheek or back of the hand.

Playfully teasing each other with a grin.

Preparing a favorite meal or surprise.

Writing heartfelt notes or letters.

Holding each other close while watching a movie.

Taking care of each other when sick or tired.

Sharing dreams and hopes for the future.

Listening attentively and showing genuine interest.

Expressing gratitude for each other’s presence.

self-editing for fiction writers

Showing vs Telling

Do you have any narrative summary, or are you bouncing from scene to scene without pausing for breath?

Characterization & Exposition

What information do your readers need in order to understand your story? At what point in the story do they need to know it?

How are you getting this info across to your readers? Is it all at once through a writer-to-reader lecture?

If exposition comes out through dialogue, is it through dialogue your characters would actually speak even if your readers didn’t have to know the information? In other words, does the dialogue exist only to put the information across?

Point of View

Look at your descriptions. Can you tell how your viewpoint character feels about what you’re describing?

Proportion

Look at descriptions. Are the details you give the ones your viewpoint character would notice?

Reread your first fifty pages, paying attention to what you spend your time on. Are the characters you develop most fully important to the ending? Do you use the locations you develop in detail later in the story? Do any of the characters play a surprising role in the ending? Could readers guess this from the amount of time you spend on them?

Dialogue

Can you get rid of some of your speaker attributions entirely? Try replacing some with beats. 

How often have you paragrapher your dialogue?Try paragraphing a little more often. 

See How it Sounds

Read your dialogue aloud. At some point, read aloud every word you write.

Be on the lookout for places where you are tempted to change the wording. 

How well do your characters understand each other? Do they ever mislead on another? Any outright lies? 

Interior Monologue

First, how much interior monologue do you have? If you seem to have a lot, check to see whether some is actually dialogue description in disguise. Are you using interior monologue to show things that should be told?

Do you have thinker attributions you should get rid of (by  recasting into 3rd person, by setting the interior monologue off in its own paragraph or in italics, or by simply dropping the attribution)

Do your mechanics match your narrative distance?(Thinker attributions, italics, first person when your narrative is in third?)

Easy Beats

How many beats do you have? How often do you interrupt your dialogue?

What are your beats describing? Familiar every day actions, such as dialling a telephone or buying groceries? How often do you repeat a beat? Are your characters always looking out of windows or lighting cigarettes? 

Do your beats help illuminate your characters? Are they individual or general actions anyone might do under just about any circumstances?

Do your beats fit the rhythm of your dialogue? Read it aloud and find out

Breaking up is easy to do

Look for white space. How much is there? Do you have paragraphs that go on as much as a page in length? 

Do you have scenes with NO longer paragraphs? Remember what you’re after is the right balance. 

Have your characters made little speeches to one another? 

If you’re writing a novel, are all your scenes or chapters exactly the same length? -> brief scenes or chapters can give you more control over your story. They can add to your story’s tension. Longer chapters can give it a more leisurely feels. If scene or chapter length remains steady while the tension of the story varies considerably, your are passing up the chance to reinforce the tension. 

Once is usually enough

Reread your manuscript, keeping in mind what you are trying to do with each paragraph–what character point you’re trying to establish, what sort of mood you’re trying to create, what background you’re trying to suggest. In how many different ways are you accomplishing each of these ends?

If more than one way, try reading the passage without the weakest approach and see if it itsn’t more effective. 

How about on a chapter level? Do you have more than one chapter that accomplishes the same thing?

Is there a plot device or stylistic effect you are particularly pleased with? How often do you use it?

Keep on the lookout for unintentional word repeats. The more striking a word or phrase is, the more jarring it will be if repeated 

Sophistication 

How many -ing and as phrases do you write? The only ones that count are the ones that place a bit of action in a subordinate clause

How about -ly adverbs?

Do you have a lot of short sentences, both within your dialogue and within your description and narration? Try stringing some of them together with commas