Writing the Paranormal Novel: Techniques and Exercises for Weaving Supernatural Elements Into Your Story. (33 page)

Finally, when in doubt, don't use a prologue. Jump right in and start your story.

Exposition
is the writer term for the process of explaining stuff to the reader. Paranormal novels have a problem endemic to all speculative fiction — there's so much more to … er, expose. The history of werewolves or how vampires are made or where fairies come from or how magic works all need explaining, and this comes in addition to all the “regular” exposition you have to sneak in, including character background, setting, plot setup, and so on. The problem is compounded by the fact that when you pause for exposition, the plot screeches to a halt and people often don't want to read it. So what's a writer to do?

There's a terrible temptation to drop necessary exposition onto the reader in a big lump to get it out of the way or simply to make sure the reader has it. This is sometimes called an
expository lump or infodump
, and it makes for dull reading because the reader has nothing to do but “listen” to an author's lecture. You can avoid lumps and dumps in a number of ways.

First, you can break the information up into tiny pieces and scatter it into a scene where something else is going on. Spread those little lumps out, and readers scarcely notice they're reading exposition. Check out this passage from Philip Pullman's
The Golden Compass
:

Pullman gives three bits of exposition in this passage: Lyra has a dæmon, the dæmon's name is Pantalaimon, and Pantalaimon can change shape. The first fact he drops casually into the narrative by simply referring to Lyra's dæmon without comment. The second fact — the dæmon's name — he states directly. This is fine — it's short and quick, and we barely notice he's telling us something. Pullman puts the third fact — the dæmon's shape-shifting powers — in the context of what's going on: Pantalaimon has taken on this shape for camouflage so he won't be seen. (Indirectly, we've also learned that Lyra isn't supposed to be in the hall, so I suppose Pullman has actually handed us four bits of exposition.) Rather than stop the action to explain that all people in this world have dæmons and that children's dæmons can change shape, Pullman shows us a dæmon at work, and tells us only a couple tiny facts, barely pausing in the story to do so.

Another method uses dialogue to fill in expository blanks. People talk about the necessary information, and the reader eavesdrops. In the case of
The Lightning Thief
by Rick Riordan, Percy, the protagonist, eavesdrops, too:

We learn that something is strange about Percy's background. Not only that, his friend Grover and his teacher Mr. Brunner are in on it. A Kindly One, whatever that is, has appeared in the school, and although the summer solstice is important, Percy will have to miss it. We don't know all the facts, but we've learned enough to move the story forward, and the tension created by Percy's eavesdropping gives the reader a reason to stay interested.

A variation on this method is the necessary lecture. A character in the know explains to a less-informed character what's going on. Brandon Mull uses this technique in
Fablehaven
.

Here, Grandpa “lectures” Kendra about what happened to Seth, informing both her and the reader. Notice also how Kendra reminds the reader in her own dialogue that fairies theoretically can't use magic against humans (and that Mull stays within the limitations he set up for magic — fairy magic can't hurt mortals, but Seth changes the fairy into an imp, and therefore all bets are off).

This method works very well, but it does walk a fine line. You have to make sure the people who do the talking have a
reason
to discuss the topic. One of the bigger sins a paranormal novel can commit is an
As you know, Bob
moment. This is when two characters have a conversation about something they have no reason to talk about for the sole (and obvious) purpose of informing the reader. The term
As you know, Bob
got started in science fiction pulp magazines, but it's bled into other genres. It's a reference to bad dialogue that started with
As you know
:

These characters have no reason to say any of this, and such scenes are nothing but blatant and bad attempts at exposition. At least one character in such a conversation needs to be ignorant of whatever it is the other character is explaining, or it turns into
As you know, Bob
.

Another method is to have characters find or stumble across reading material — books, diaries, magazine or newspaper articles, even Web sites — that you reproduce on the page. This can work well if it's not overused and if you have a nonfiction bent. Some writers like the chance to use a different writing style for a bit. J.K. Rowling pokes gentle fun at this method several times in the Harry Potter series. Hermione gleans enormous amounts of expository information from the book
Hogwarts, A History
. She relates the information to Harry and Ron (and the reader), and then grouses that the two boys could just as easily read it themselves. “What's the point?” Ron says. “You know it all by heart, we can just ask you.”

You can also dip into a character's memory for exposition. This isn't quite as involved as a flashback (see below), but it works. Something conveniently triggers a memory about facts the reader needs to know. The technique shows up in
Fablehaven
:

Here we learn that Kendra grandparents are dead and that her mother hit up Kendra's other grandfather about child care arrangements at their wake. We also get a bit of Kendra's reaction to the event, and that tells us something about Kendra.

Which brings us to the final bit about exposition — whenever possible, put it in terms of the viewpoint character. In other words, be sure your exposition shows up with the character's thoughts and feelings woven into it. Above, the wake and funeral are unpleasant for Kendra, and those feelings are part of the memory. This adds a human element to the infodump and makes it more interesting to read.

You may have noticed that I've spent an enormous amount of time telling you how to avoid expository lumps. This demands the question, “Can a straight infodump ever be done well?” And the answer is, “Certainly.”Or rather, “Certainly, but …”

Imagine a group of a thousand professional actors. The vast majority of them could handle a role in an Agatha Christie murder mystery play. A minority could play Shakespearean leads like Hamlet or Julius Caesar. And maybe two could enthrall an audience just by reading the phone book aloud. Writers are the same. Most are pretty good at their craft and can keep a decent story going, while a very few could write a bestseller about the history of sawdust. Until you know for sure that you're part of the tiny minority, you're probably best off avoiding as many expository lumps as possible.

World building is
fun
. So is creating character histories. The more you think about them, the more ideas you get, and the more elaborate the world and people become. And since you've put so much time and effort into the material, there's a completely understandable desire to put it all in. After all, it's interesting, it's fun, and it's informative.

Another temptation is to explain the entire world or character at once. Put it all in front of the reader and get it over with. If it's well written, people will read it just fine, yeah?

The fact is, you
can
hold off. In fact, you probably should. Your reader doesn't need to know everything up front, or even ever. Lots of your wellcrafted world building and character histories will never show up in the book. Every author has pages of notes that never make it into the final book, and you will, too. Also, always remember that exposition slows the story down, no matter how well written it is. Ask yourself if the reader
really
needs to know a particular fact. If not, try holding off on it. You'll probably have a cleaner, faster read.

You can also pop back in time to let your reader in on what came before.

This is called a
flashback
. Flashbacks can run short or long, depending on how much information you need to convey, and they're very handy — they let you start in the middle of some action and then back up a little once you've gotten the reader's attention. In a paranormal novel, flashbacks become an extremely handy tool for handling the extra amounts of exposition these books oft en require. However, you can't just drop a flashback into any old scene. It has to be set up properly.

Something needs to trigger a flashback, create a reason for it to appear.

Otherwise its appearance is abrupt and obvious. You want to lead readers gently into a flashback so they barely notice what's going on. The character might see or remember something that sends his mind back to an earlier event. Or another character might mention something that triggers the flashback. Or whatever's currently happening to the character might start the flashback.

J.K. Rowling needs to show us some of eleven-year-old Harry Potter's history with his dreadful aunt and uncle in
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
, and she leads carefully into the flashback. The Dursleys are planning a trip to the zoo for Harry's cousin Dudley's birthday, and they're forced to take Harry with them. Uncle Vernon isn't happy about this.

From there, Rowling starts a series of flashbacks about Harry's odd childhood. She uses the current event — a trip to the zoo — as a trigger to set the whole thing in motion. And incidentally, she gets double duty out of this transition — it also lets us know that something's supernaturally strange about Harry.

Short flashbacks are no more than a paragraph long and are meant to give the reader a little burst of backstory. If you're writing in past tense, short flashbacks are written in the past-perfect tense. This means you use the helping verb
had
and add the past tense of the main verb, as in
had killed
,
had written
, or
had hit
. Switch back to regular past tense to signal the reader that the flashback has ended. To continue with Rowling's example above, she writes when the lead-in is done: