Dissecting Fantasy: Heaven and Hell

"The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven." --John Milton

This isn't an article about the afterlife.

This is an article about writers, especially fantasy writers, creating their own representation of Heaven and Hell in their work. You can build a setting so wonderful your readers will wish they can buy a ticket there for their next vacation, or so terrible they will shiver with fear.

Heaven

"On earth there is no heaven, but there are pieces of it." --Jules Denard

Although I use Heaven in this article, for the sake of contrast, another way of putting it is Home. It's a place where your characters feel loved and accepted, usually a place of peace and truth and beauty. The beauty does not have to be extravagant or perfect. A cracked vase with a single wildflower can be more beautiful than a silver urn overflowing with roses. It's the heart put into the place that makes it special.

The importance of Heaven is twofold. First, it gives the audience some place to care about and to feel safe in. When that place is threatened, the audience feels that tension. Another use of Heaven is to manifest ideals and themes. It can be a utopia, a place to aspire to.

Some famous representations of Heaven include Hobbiton, Rivendale, and Lothlorien in the Lord of the Rings, Hogswarts in the Harry Potter series, Shangri-La in Lost Horizon. But my favorite versions of Heaven probably come from the writings of Laura Ingall Wilder, who drew such a vivid portrait of the landscape of the American pioneer, it inspired a thousand games of make-believe.

Hell

"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell." --Oscar Wilde

Hell, by contrast, is any setting comprised primarily of pain and misery and dread. It is a place where natural human relationships are strained, perverted, or broken. It may be superficially beautiful, but it is rotten to the core. Whereas Heaven inspires the audience's love, hell provokes fear.

Hell is the ultimate obstacle. It will test your protagonist on every level. It serves as an object of dread; if Heaven is what your protagonist seeks to gain, Hell is what they want most to avoid. That said, as an author, you'd do well to toss them into Hell at least sometimes. If the hero's don't confront Hell, they don't deserve Heaven.

Hell is probably easier to write, since we have many more real world examples and since, while people might disagree on what Heaven looks like, we all have a pretty good idea of Hell. Popular examples include Mordor in Lord of the Rings, the arena in The Hunger Games (where the games are played), and, well, Hell in Dante's Inferno. My most frightening vision of Hell was in George Orwell's 1984. I had nightmares for a week.

How to Build Your Own Heaven or a Hell

1. Draw on your own loves and fears

"To different minds, the same world is a hell, and a heaven." --Ralph Waldo Emerson

Heaven is usually built on love, hell on fear.

When you start to draw these places up, you should begin with yourself, what you love, what you fear. If you simply steal the trappings of other people's visions of heaven and hell, without bringing in your own emotions, you'll be left with a dull facade.

For example, if you love animals, incorporate that into your version of heaven. I, personally, like art, culture, and history, so into the pot it goes. In The Changelings, I drew upon my experiences in Japan to create a festival that, for me, represented the heavenly aspect of that particular group of people.

As far as fears, I tend to draw on failure, rejection, brainwashing, loss of control, and things of that nature. I find that cult environments play heavily in my version of hell.

Don't overdo it. Don't try to throw in everything at once. Also be careful to make sure your love and fears can appeal to a wider audience. I have a phobia abut butterflies, but I doubt I could evoke fear with a horde of raging Monarchs.

2. Location, location, location

"Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company." --Mark Twain

This is a bit obvious, but Heaven and Hell are settings.

Not necessarily physical ones, though. If you're literally doing Heaven and Hell, you're dealing with the afterlife. Or you could do a dream world or a virtual reality. In cases where you're not dealing with physical limitations, you may still want to set some specific ground rules, so that your writing isn't all over the place.

If you are creating a physical landscape, what sort of environment? Land, sea, sky, underground? Hot, cold, temperate, humid? Wild or civilization? City or country? Woods, mountains, grass, swamps, river, lakes, volcano, islands?

Rather than picking and choosing places at random, you may want to look at the characters, ideas, and scenarios you already have in your head. For example, if your character is a mermaid, Hell might be a desert or any stretch of land far from the ocean. If you know your character values freedom, Hell might be a prison.

For some reason, the strongest representations of Heaven and Hell that I've read about have some element of isolation. In Heaven, this isolation protects it from evil or corrupting influences. In Hell, this isolation helps keep the evil from running rampart; but once you're there, you can't get out.

One thing you may want to consider, then, is a barrier. It can be a physical barrier, like mountains, desert, sea, or a physical wall. It can also be something more abstract, like magic, existence on a different plane of reality, secrecy, or obscurity: no one knows about this place.

3. Origins and History

"The safest road to hell is the gradual one--the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without sign posts." --CS Lewis

I, personally, like to know the origins of everything, whether or not I share it with the readers.

If you're only dealing with a wild, natural landscape, no further explanation might be necessary. But if there's any human (or non-human) involvement, you may want to think about who built the place and why and how.

Heaven, I like to think, is built on the foundation of love, so think about what the great passion of the builders may be. What sort of ideals did they hope to embody? What obstacles did they have to overcome and sacrifices did they have to make to create the place? Are they still working to better themselves even now?

With hell, it's a bit more complicated. Unless you have beings that are pure evil, most people don't set out to build a place of pain and suffering. So what happened? What went wrong?

You could begin with a fear. People were desperate to protect themselves, and in that desperation, they did something stupid, like hand over power to a dangerous man or shut themselves into a system they can't get out of.

It might begin as a kind of bitterness or hatred to a certain group of people that grew and grew, until it became ever more demented. It might begin as a beautiful ideal that got perverted somewhere down the line. Maybe the place was a normal city, but complacency and indifference allowed criminals to take over. Maybe greed got the better of the people.

There's all sorts of scenarios you could come up with.

4. How Did I Get Here?

"To be willing to march into Hell for a Heavenly Cause" --from Man of La Mancha

So now that you've got your Heaven and Hell, it's time to think about how your character gets to these places. One of the simplest ways is to have your character start off in either your version of Heaven or Hell. That way, one location is given right off the bat.

A person starting off in Heaven might experience a fall from grace and be ejected or they might voluntarily leave to seek out greener pastures (before discovering there's no place like home) or they might be forced away from their Heaven in order to protect it, rather like a soldier might.

They might be violently ripped away: captured, kidnapped, enslaved, orphaned. Or it might be that Heaven gets destroyed from the beginning and they might have to seek a new paradise or build one from scratch.

On the other hand, they might start off in Hell. An orphan or slave might, through brains, cunning, skill, spirit, daring, or sheer luck, find himself propelled out of his horrible situation. Or, perhaps he, like his Heaven counterpoint, is forced out, due to war or other external forces. Maybe he's rescued from his situation.

Another option is for a character to stay in the same basic place, but have either that place, or their perception of that place, change. Even Heaven can become Hell, if taken over by bad management, as Hogwarts was under Voldemort. Or perhaps the character starts off thinking they're in Heaven or in Hell, but as they see more of the world, they get a new perspective.

Perhaps a great catastrophe comes to the place. War, for example, can make even the most peaceful place into a Hell. Or it could be a natural disaster or (in the case of virtual reality) maybe some bug in the system.

If, however, a character actually has to seek out Heaven or Hell, consider why. Hell usually pops up as an obstacle the character must go through in order to get to Heaven, but if the character intentionally seeks it out, there must be a reason.

In classical myth, heroes make trips to the underworld (Hell) in order to retrieve a loved one's soul or to seek the advice of one long dead. There can be valuable treasures in Hell, as well, enough to make the trip seem tempting. Or perhaps they want to destroy Hell and can only do it from the source.

The last thing to consider is that the character may never actually enter Heaven or Hell. The places may exist as an aspiration or as a threat, and maybe the mere mention of them is enough.

5. What Can Threaten Heaven?

"If you're going through hell, keep going." --Winston Churchill

Heaven, at least the kind found on earth, usually has a sense of fragility to it. Whatever is good and peaceful and loving and beautiful can always be destroyed. One of my favorite passages from Lost Horizon sums up this fragility nicely:

"It came to him that a dream had dissolved, like all too lovely things, at the first touch of reality; that the whole world's future, weighed in the balance against youth and love, would be light as air. And he knew, too, that his mind dwelt in a world of its own, Shangri-La in microcosm, and that this world was also in peril. For even as he nerved himself, he saw the corridors of his imagination twist and strain under impact; the pavilions were toppling; all was about to be in ruins."

In this case, it takes only a shift in the hero's perception, that causes the whole thing to collapse. One generation might build their ideal, only for the next generation to reject it. Passions cool, causes are abandoned, community ties become too much work. People leave.

Of course, it might, more directly, be attacked.

Hell, like any good enemy fortress, likes to appear unassailable, but, unless you're writing a depressing Dystopia in the vein of 1984, it usually has some weakness built into it. If Hell is built on deceit and people discover the truth, that power is broken. If it is built on fear and people find courage, that power is broken. If it is built on hatred and people forgive, that power is broken.

Change can happen anywhere and in the blink of an eye.

Character Archetypes: Trickster

Lately, I've been playing with an idea for a girl who uses a magical ring to change her appearance and lead a double life. Diamond, as I call her, likes to be at times beautiful, at times plain, at times rich, at times poor, at times the center of attention, at times practically invisible. She uses these dual roles to get what she wants. She's a trickster.

Which got me thinking. What is a trickster? What makes them tick? How do they pull off their mad plans and what roles can they take in the story?

Definition

"A trickster is a character who plays tricks or otherwise disobeys normal rules and conventional behavior. The Trickster openly questions and mocks authority, encourages impulse and enthusiasm, seeks out new ideas and experiences, destroys convention and complacency, and promotes chaos and unrest." So sayeth TV Tropes, my authority on archetypes.

Put another way, a trickster is the polar opposite of your typical law-abiding hero. He trades relatability for unpredictability. You might not approve of what a trickster does, but darned if hhe doesn't make things interesting. And therein lies both the risk and reward of writing one. You may have to push the boundaries of what is acceptable in order to give the character life.

Characters In-Depth

I want to look at what makes other trickster characters tick. T.V. tropes offers a wonderful list of examples, but for my intents and purposes, I want to study tricksters I know very well, so I've chosen one trickster I watch every Sunday and another I wrote an awesome fanfiction about.

Rumpelstiltskin (Once Upon a Time--TV series)

In a show chock full of magicians, Rumplestiltskin is arguably the most powerful of all. Though he's known as "The Dark One," he's not really into taking over the world or committing acts of genocide. Instead he watches on the sidelines, offering deals to heroes and villains alike. If you need something, he'll give it to you... but often at a price.

The deals are the source of his trickster power. Every single one is made to his benefit and few are what they seem. Sometimes, Rumpelstiltskin seems to promise one thing, only to deliver something else. Sometimes he asks for small tokens in return for powerful magic: name, a cloak, a strand of hair. They will be important later on. Rumpelstiltskin works the long game like no one else in the show. It took him several hundred years to put his grand scheme into action, but he did succeed.

Nabiki Tendo (Ranma 1/2Anime/ Manga)

Almost everyone in Ranma 1/2 is a rock-splitting, high-flying super martial artists, half the characters are cursed, and the rest are more than willing to use magic objects lying around for their own nefarious purpose. (It should be noted, this is a comedy, so said purpose includes anything from growing hair to making someone fall in love.)  In this world, Nabiki Tendo is an anomaly. She doesn't fight or dabble with magic. Yet, when something stands between her and money, she will destroy heaven and earth and poor hero Ranma to get it.

Whereas everyone else uses physical force, only Nabiki relies on manipulation to get her way. She blackmails, spills secrets, sells things the heroes might want. To keep from getting hurt, she plays up her own weakness and her strategic position as the sister of Ranma's girlfriend. Nabiki knows Ranma will be obliged to save her from the chaos, even if she's the one who created it. If worse comes to worse, she'll whip out the crocodile tears, pretending she's hopeless in love or wounded by the hero's actions. Then, as he stands paralyzed, she'll strike like a viper, wheeling and dealing not two feet behind his back.

Personality Traits

Deceptive

All tricksters lie. If they don't fib outright, they tell half-truths or leave out important information. It's impossible to play tricks without deception. But aside from that, this may have a defensive purpose. They know the power of getting inside someone's head; they don't want that to happen to them. So they feign indifference about the things they care about, mask anger with a smile, and lie about their motives. Some may go all out and pretend to be crazy. They want to seem unpredictable, as that is their greatest asset.

Student of Psychology

Tricksters are smart. Not in a memorize-the-Internet way or a make-robot-out-of-soupcan way. Their power derives from psychology. They can predict how people will react. This isn't done by reading books, but by going out and studying them. The trickster doesn't hide out in a tower, he interacts with the masses. And if he finds a special subject of particular interest, you can be sure he will unwrap their loves, desires, weaknesses, and philosophy on life.

Master of Planning and of Improv

Tricksters can draw up insanely complicated plans and abandon them in an instant. Maybe they say that everything is going to plan. Maybe they say they have no plan at all. These are lies. Think of any prank or surprise party you've pulled off. You need to figure out what you want to do and how to pull it off. So you plan. But something goes wrong. So you improvise. Tricksters must do both, and do them so well it comes off as effortless.

Playful

Tricksters generally don't take themselves too seriously, and ultimately, this is their saving grace. An evil mastermind will pull off a complicated schemes in hopes of ruling the world. Tricksters usually settle for a few bucks, a shiny object, and maybe some amusement. Even dangerous tricksters tend to be witty, charming, and amusing. They force you to like them--perhaps their greatest trick of all.

How to Play a Trick

The Motive

Why are they playing the trick? That's the first thing a writer must consider. Reasons can range from great to petty: trying to prove a point, trying to win a bet, boredom, money, a valuable object, love, greed, vengeance, justice, freedom. They may, of course, say they want one thing (like money) but really want something else (like vengeance). Or their motive may evolve alongside the prank.

The Victim

Who are they playing the trick on? Bear in mind, the choice of victim may shine a light on the trickster's psyche. Does he chose people he admires or loathes? Does he pick easy marks or go for a challenge? Even if he chooses at random, he may adjust the trick according to the person.

The Set Up

You cannot just pull off a trick in a void. You need to make sure the circumstances are just right. In The Dark Knight, the Joker had to carefully cultivate an atmosphere of terror. In Ocean's Eleven, Danny Ocean had to make sure he had the right people in the right spot at the right time. Costumes are dawned, mirrors polished, smoke blown. Even magicians aren't exempt. They may be able to wave their hands and come up with any scenario they want, but first they need to think up that scenario. Weirdly enough, the more powerful the being, the more they relies on rules and limits. A trick is only fun if you can get the hero to play along.

The Test (Optional)

If the trickster doesn't know their mark very well, and if they are a relatively normal person (not an immortal god), it might behove them to set up a little test in order to gauge their victims reaction. For example, in my fanfiction, I Want a Refund, Nabiki's trick relied on her victim carrying enough about her to fight for her honor. To test this out, she had him walk her home from school. Little tests like this are a good way to foster trickster-victim interaction and make the audience wonder what's to come.

The Strike

This is where things go boom.

Now tricks can take many forms, but its usually vital for the trickster to insert himself in the action. No sitting in a tower for him.  First of all, the trickster knows the trick won't go off without his involvement. Second, this is where the fun is.

The Counter Strike

Tricks don't go as planned. Any simple thing might go wrong. The victim may fight back. A good trickster will roll with the punches.

The Getaway (Optional)

The problem with tricks is that, even if you succeed, you will end up with a huge mess and perhaps a mob of angry people. This is a good time for the trickster to make a graceful getaway, far from the chaos and the consequences.

The Lesson

Tricks are a psychological experiment. You mess with people in order to see how they'll react. If the victim is wise, he will learn something from the trick. The process may also change the trickster.

Final Thoughts

Tricksters work especially well as wild card supporting characters in long running series. Their personality adds spice and they can cause the hero plenty of stress without doing him much harm. Tricksters can be good or bad, helpful or bothersome. They can switch sides on a whim.

The question, for me, is can they work as main characters? I think so, but they may be trickier (ha) than a regular hero. The fun of a trickster is their lack of inhibition. Heroes get saddled with the weight of expectation: upholding morals, saving the world, etc. One way of balancing this is creating a secondary character who can act as the pillar of respectability, freeing the trickster to act as they want.

Another problem is the actual trick. A trickster must be like a magician, misdirecting the audience all the way until the end. Having a trickster as a point of view character risks giving up the goat too soon. However, a writer can get around this by judiciously cutting scenes or setting up the trickster as an unreliable narrator. It's a delicate art to leave out important information without annoying the reader, but it can be done.

Dissecting Fantasy: Objects, Part 2

Objects, Magical and Mundane

Part 2

How selective use of objects can enhance a fantasy (or non-fantasy) novel

Last time: We discussed the importance of choosing wisely which objects your characters should have access to and what sort of practical items can help in your character's survival

Sources: The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins,  the Harry Potter novels by J.K. Rowling, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien, "The Snow Queen" by Hans Christian Andersen

Objects in Identity

"For the opening ceremony, you're supposed to wear something that suggests your district's principal industry.  [...]  This means that coming from District 12, Peeta and I will be in some kind of coal miner's get-up.  Since the baggy miner's jumpsuits are not particularly becoming, our tributes usually end up in skimpy outfits with hats and headlamps.   One year, our tributes were stark naked and covered in black powder to represent coal dust.  It's always dreadful [...]."

--Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games

I'm going to say three objects and you're going to tell me when and where the story takes place. Ready?

Spurs.  Revolver.  Star-shaped badge.

Obvious, right?  American West, circa 1880s.  The setting of many cowboy movies.
How about three more:

Katana sword.  Green powdered tea.  Silk kimono.

Feudal Japan.  Not hard at all.

But it shows the power of objects and cultural identity.  Say toga and we're in ancient Rome.  Nesting dolls sticks us in Russia.  Heck, even magical objects have cultural implications.  Flying carpets and magic lamps evoke pre-Islamic Saudi Arabia, while 7-league boots and deadly spindles plants us squarely in pre-industrial Europe.

These associations can help or hurt your story.  If you want to set your fantasy story in a specific time and the mention of even a few of these items will immediately paint a picture in the reader's minds.  Food, art, and technology, in particular, show the culture of a society.  Dried deer jerky versus cream puffs, marble statues versus ink scrolls, chariots versus steam trains--each thing very succinctly paints a picture of a time, a place, and a people.

On the other hand, if you want to create your own unique world without any cultural associations, objects can be a problem. How do you show readers that the world is different? There are three main strategies:

1. Mix-and-Match Objects

Let's see the reader try to place a character wearing a kimono, toting a six shooter, and standing near a marble statue.  That will teach the reader to form associations.  Unfortunately, it may also confuse her.

2. Create-Your-Own Objects

The splutok is a clay-based water holder with a rope handle and patterns of pre-Groteal artwork covering the surface.  By creating your own objects, you show the reader that the culture is not of this world.  Unfortunately, not only do you have to spend the time to invent this new object, you now have to slow down the story to explain it to the readers.

3. Intentionally Vague Objects

The girl sits on the comfortable sitting object, holds the writing object, and writes on a flat writing surface.  The less specific the object, the greater the chance of it being universal and thus not tied to a particular time and place.  But if your objects are too vague, the reader loses a lot of the imagery and thus the joy in the story.

Now, I realize my examples are all exaggerated and sort of ridiculous.  Hey, I like to have fun, too.  But I don't want you to think that these strategies don't work.  They do.  They just need to be employed with a deft and subtle hand.

For example, when you mix and match cultures, take into account the setting.  Fans make more sense in hot, muggy environments than in arctic ones.  A few strange, magical, and important objects show you're in a different world.  If the splutok is used in an important religious ceremony that will play a crucial role in the plot, the reader may be more inclined to read a long description.  Otherwise, opt for general objects: dress, chair, pen, soup, wine.  Oh sure, you can embellish them with adjectives.  The Artrukian silk dress, the famed plum wine of Chial.  As long as the readers can visualize the noun, you should be okay.

* * *

Thus far, I've been discussing objects in relation to cultural identity.  But it can also apply to the individual.

Now, I'm going to play the same "three object" game, but with people instead.  I want you to guess the name of the person based on some objects.  Tell me who has:

Glasses.  A magic wand.  An invisibility cloak.

Too easy?  How about:

A magic ring.  A glowing sword.  A (distinct lack of) pocket handkerchief.

Okay, so Harry Potter and Bilbo Baggins are famous, iconic fantasy figures.  Even so, you were able to guess them based on three objects, weren't you?

Why do we want to chose our own clothes?  Why do we want to decorate our house in the way we want?  Why do we take a glance at a person's clothes or nose through their house and draw certain conclusions about them?  Objects have power to reflect a person's identity.  Even objects chosen on a whim.  Wear dragonfly earring everyday and people will associate those earrings with you.

What does this mean for you?

It means that a few well-chosen objects can act as a shortcut to the character's identity.  A main character, of course, will have loads and loads of objects.  But a minor character with a single memorable object will also stick in people's minds.

* * *

Writing Prompt

Your hero roots through the corpses of his enemy for supplies.  All the enemy look the same--similar faces, similar clothing, similar supplies.  Then, suddenly, your hero opens an enemy's pack and finds a single object that makes him stop dead in his tracks.  When he sees this object, he realizes that his enemy was a real person, not some faceless monster.

What is this object?  Why does it affect your hero so much?

* * *

Magical Objects

"One day [a hobgoblin] was in a high state of delight because he had invented a mirror with this peculiarity, that every good and pretty thing reflected in it shrank away to almost nothing.  On the other hand, every bad and good-for-nothing thing stood out and looked its worst. [...] All the scholars in the demon's school [...] reported that [...] now for the first time it had become possible to see what the world and mankind were really like."

--Hans Christian Andersen, "The Snow Queen"

Admit it.  This was the part you were really interested in.

I hardly need to explain why magic is awesome.  It just is.  On the one hand, it can bring your every desire to life.  Things you can regain what you lost, you can do they impossible, you can master skills in a flash.

Things We Desire

• Power over Nature (water, fire, wind, lightning, earth)
• Power over People (having them like you, protection against harm or disloyalty)
• Power over the Supernatural (bringing the dead to life, speaking to ghosts, visions of the future)
• Mastery of a Particular Skill
• Wealth
• Transformation (controlled shapeshifting)
• Communication (telepathy, speaking to animals, speaking different languages)
• Youth and Rejuvenation
• Flying
• Invisibility
• Healing
• Knowledge
• Love

But on the other hand, magic can represent everything we fear, especially the things which are not necessarily solid or material.  It can manifest horrible losses, it can mar the soul, it can turn us into what we most hate.

Things We Fear

• Power (used against us)
• Loss of Loved Ones
• Loss of Identity
• Loss of Soul
• Loss of Freedom
• Loss of Respect
• Pain
• Poverty
• Sickness
• Deception
• Transformation (uncontrolled, monstrous)
• Ugliness/ Disability/ Age 
• Death

All this awesome power comes packed inside an ordinary, everyday item, usually something small enough to pick up.  Though the object can be anything, it usually comes fraught with some sort of symbolic power.  Things that bind, things that reflect, things that speak in some unconscious way to our soul.

Ordinary Objects

• Mirror
• Paper (books, scrolls)
• Clothes and Shoes (cape, belt, slippers, boots)
• Jewelry (rings, amulets, necklace, gemstones)
• Plants (dried herbs, nuts, mushrooms)
• Masks
• Cups, Bowls, Spoons
• Dolls 
• Game Pieces (dice, chess pieces, cards)
• Musical Instruments (pipe, drum, bell)
• Keys
• Weapons and Armor (sword, bow, shield, helmet)
• Candles and Lamps

Put the dread and desire of magic into one of these unassuming objects and you have the beginning of a story.

Just the beginning, of course.  Though the object may be fascinating in and of itself, what people really want to see is how the character uses the object, or, if he doesn't use it at all, why not?  The relationship between the character and the magical object may prove significant.  In order to develop it, ask yourself some of these question.

1. To begin with, how did your character get a hold of it?

Created it
Gift
Found it
Bought it
Earned it
Stole it
Traded for it
Other

2. Does he actually know what the object does?

Yes--completely
No, not at all
Thinks he does but is wrong
Knows some aspects of the magic but not the whole thing

3. Does it take any skill to master it?

Yes
No

4. Can only certain kinds of people use it?  (Pure-hearted, wizards, members of a certain bloodline, etc.)

Yes
No

5. Does the object have a limitation?

Yes--can only be used during certain times (full moon, before midnight)
Yes--limited quantity (only three wishes)
Yes--needs magic words/ rituals (must blow three kisses)
Yes--delicate/ can be broken
Yes--dependent on the physical/ mental/ spiritual state of person using it
Yes--other
No

6. Is there a cost to using it?

Yes--stated up front
Yes--hidden
No

7.  Is the object good or evil?

Good
Evil
Neutral

As you answer these questions, you should start to think of what kind of dilemma this object can cause the character.  Rarely is it satisfying for a magical item to swoop in and solve the character's problems.  There should be a conflict.

* * *

Now up until now, I've been treating the magical object as though it has a deep connection to the heart of the story.  But sometimes magical objects just pop up for convenient's sake.  Magic is like technology.  Sometimes we get airplanes and atomic bombs.  Other times we get velcro and flashlights.

Remember back in the survival section how I said you could use magic to cheat.  Well, here we are.

If you don't want your character lugging around 50 pounds of equipment and if you've created a world where magic is fairly common, you can use select magical objects to make the trip easier for him.  For example, a cloak that keeps your character dry no matter the weather.  A quiver that never runs out of arrows.  A piece of paper that automatically draws perfect maps.

The possibilities are endless.

Favorite Cheat Magical Objects

• Tables that always fill with food
• Purses that never run out of money
• Bread that fills your stomach with a single bite
• Boots that take you seven leagues with a single step
• Walnut shells that store ball gowns

The danger of cheat objects is that it creates what I like to call the RV paradox.  Sure, you can bring an RV into the woods, complete with T.V. and all the comforts of home, but at what point do we start to miss the point of going camping?  Magic can be a nice short cut every once in a while, but too many shortcuts and you suck out all the risk, struggle, and danger.

So when do you use magical cheats?  When the characters actually need them.

Look at The Hobbit versus The Lord of the Rings.  Bilbo didn't get magical lembas bread that filled his stomach with a single bite, because going on an adventure--being uncomfortable and hungry--was the whole point of the book.  Frodo, on the other hand, had to carry a magical ring that was corrupting his soul through an enemy war zone while being hunted by flying ghosts with poisonous swords.  Not starving to death along the way was the least they could do for him.

* * *

Writing Prompt

It's a dragon scale, or so your friend claims.  Blue and bold, with serrated edges, and large as your head.  After the knight killed the beast, your friend blunted three knives to pry it off.  On the dragon, the scale had been green, but once plucked, it turned a mystical blue.

"Proof," your friend says, "Of magic."

"All right," you reply, handing the scale back.  "It's magic. But what does it do?"

What does it do?  Finish the story.

Dissecting Fantasy: Objects, Part 1

Objects, Magical and Mundane

Part I

How selective use of objects can enhance a fantasy (or non-fantasy) novel

Sources: The Night Circus (fantasy) by Erin Morgenstern, Mutant Message From Down Under (nonfiction/ travel) by Marlo Morgan, Into the Wild (nonfiction/ travel) by Jon Krakauer, Warriors: A Visual History of the Fighting Man (reference) by R. G. Grant, Mistborn (fantasy) by Brandon Sanderson

A Treasure Box

"The finished clock is resplendent.  At first glance it is simply a clock, a rather large black clock with a white face and silver pendulum. [...] But that is before it is wound.  [...] First the color changes in the face, shifts from white to grey, and then there are clouds that float across it, disappearing when they reach the opposite side. [...] At the center, where a cuckoo bird would live in a more traditional timepiece, is the juggler."

--Erin Morgenstern, The Night Circus

When I was a kid, I had an old photo box stuffed with my own personal treasures. I thought that if the house ever caught on fire, I could take the box and run out the front door; therefore, I chose with great care the objects that would represent my past.

Stumbling upon my treasure box in the shed some years later, I was sort of amazed by the paraphernalia that made the final cut.  Some things made sense, like my oldest hand-written diary  entries and the gold musical locket my grandma gave me.  Then there was a mini photo album of my best friend and I picking kumquats, a half of a heart made of masking tape, and a random sticker of teddy bear ballerinas.  As I picked each one up, I felt a sentimental squeeze in my heart.  Whether or not I understood the meaning, these were my treasures.

As humans, we love objects and invest a good deal of feeling into them.  So when you write a book, objects take on a significant role.  They can personify a character or act as a symbol of a relationship.  They can move the plot along.  They can represent an entire culture.

But never forget that sometimes we like objects just because we like them.  An interesting object lovingly described can hold your reader's attention as well as any fight scene or moment of poignant drama.  And in fantasy, where nothing is limited by real rules, enchanted objects trigger the imagination and send your reader floating into new realms.

Choose It, Use It, Lose It

"A young woman came to me holding a plate full of rocks.  [...] Ooota at me very seriously and said, 'Choose a rock.  Choose it wisely.  It has the power to save your life.' "

--Marlo Morgan, Mutant Message from Down Under

Writing fantasy can be like going on a shopping spree.  You can pick out anything you like and fill whole rooms with treasures.  Dragon hoards.  Castles.  Bazaars.  Museums.  The power of these places come from the sheer delight in so many objects to look at, smell, and hold.  By all means, go a little crazy.

Just remember that very few of these objects will actually amount to very much value.  As a writer, you must choose only a few prominent items for each of your characters to use within the confines of the story.

Notice I say you get to choose--not necessarily the character.  After all, the character might be exiled from the village with little more than the clothes on his back and a few oddities in his pockets.  It's up to the writer to decide what clothes and what oddities he has.  Likewise, the character might stumble upon useful items in the woods.  For him, it's a matter of luck.  For the writer, it's a carefully planted plot twist.

What the character does get a say in is how he utilizes the objects he has.  As a rule of thumb, the more creative, inventive, and resourceful he can be, the more interesting the character will be.  That's why imposing limits can be a good thing. If he, for example, has only a string and a bent nail in his pocket, can he make a fishing line?  Can he use his cap to gather berries?  Can he collect rainwater using his wooden shoe?

It's always fun to see things used in different ways than intended.  The same goes with magic items.  Can they be used in two, three, four, five different ways.  Can they be combined with other objects to make something entirely new?

Maybe your character will start off unfamiliar with the objects on which he pins his survival, but ultimately, he should gain mastery of his tools.  Once he does, you can make things interesting by taking his objects away.

Sometimes a characters will lose the items they're familiar with.  Sometimes magical wands break.  Sometimes quantities of healing potion are depleted.  Sometimes bad guys steal the mystical sword of awesome.  Sometimes the all-knowing compass leads you in the wrong direction. Sometimes you accidentally leave your book of spells on the train.

The point is, you can never fully 100% rely on objects, either to be with you when you need them or to do the job like they're supposed.  And that's a good thing.  Because characters are more than the things they have.  Start taking away their objects and their true nature comes out.  Can they adapt in time?  Can they fix what's broken?  Will they keep their cool or panic?

Now, I don't mean you have to send your hero naked and unarmed against the monster of doom. You need tools to get the job done.  That's fine.  But taking them away is a great way to create conflict and keep the readers in suspense.

* * *

Writing Prompt

In junior high, while studying voyages to the new world, my history teacher asked us to write an essay on the following question: If you were going on an overseas voyage and could only pick three objects, what would they be? (Mine would be a fat journal and pen--that counts as one--letters from my family and friends and a book--probably Ender's Games, if I could just choose one.)

Apply this to your characters.  If they had to leave home forever and could only pick three things to take with them, what would they be?  Would they choose them for practical purpose?  For comfort?  For sentimental reasons?  For psychological necessity?  Now, will you, as the author, actually let them have these things?  If not, how does it affect your character?  Do they try to replace these things with other comforts?

* * *

Objects in Survival

"Alex admitted that the only food in his pack was a ten-pound bag of rice.  His gear seemed exceedingly minimal for the harsh conditions of the interior [...].  Alex's cheap leather hiking boots were neither waterproof nor well insulated.  His rifle was only a .22 caliber, a bore too small to rely on if he expected to kill large animals[...]. He had no ax, no bug dope, no snowshoes, no compass.  The only navigational aid in his possession was a tattered state road map he'd scrounged at a gas station."

--Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild

By and large, most of the objects you come across in everyday life are exceedingly practical.  We put very little value in the stapler or the potato peeler until we lose it or it breaks.  Then we huff out a sigh and buy a new one.  It's the same thing for writing a book.  We don't realize what the character need until suddenly they need it.  Then, with a growl of frustration, we re-write the last few pages to mention the item we forgot.

All that's fine if your character is sitting in the midst of civilization and can easily get a hold of anything he needs.  But fantasy stories are not exactly known for their sedentary natures.  Characters go on adventures, tramp through the wilds, and find themselves in new and strange objects.  They might not be able to page through their junk drawer or go to the 99 cents store.  They'd better have the items they need at the start.

In which case the story becomes a little like planning a camping trip or traveling overseas.  You'd better make sure the character has everything he needs to start with.

But what kinds of things do they need to survive?  Fantasy stories may take place in modern times, but they might also take place in older times, in which case you aren't going to have access to modern technologies like matches and plastic.  Even if you do have those technologies, how many of us actually know what objects we need to survive and how to use them?

Here's my own casual list of wilderness survival items:

• Food, Means of Getting Food, Means of Preparing Food (jerky, biscuits, salt, herbs, pots and pans, knife, utensils, fishing gear, basket/ bag for gathering wild fruits and vegetables)
• Canteens and Water Purification Method (pot for boiling water, tea leaves, coffee, alcohol)
• Clothing (boots, cloak, hat, gloves, armor)
• Hygiene (soap, shaving kit, brush, toothbrush)
• Medicine (bandages, disinfectants, insect repellant)
• Map/ Compass
• Light/ Heat (candles, lantern, flint/ matches, oil)
• Shelter (tent, blanket)
• Weapon, for food and protection, and Means of Maintaining Weapon
• Personal/ Psychological Objects (journal, religious text, letters from home, games, musical instruments )
• Other (sewing kit, rope, axe,)
• Means of Holding Objects (knapsack, backpack, saddle bag, belt)

But these are general things.  How do you narrow figure out specific items?

I, personally, like to steal from history.  (Note my interest in A Soldier's Pack in my Civil War blogs.)  I grew up on the Oregon Trail and Laura Ingalls Wilder.  Half the time, I just think back to all that pioneering goodness and steal objects willy-nilly.

Lately, I've been interested in looking at soldiers, who have to pack light.  Some sections of R. G. Grant's Warriors: A Visual History of the Fighting Man (a DK book) show what soldiers throughout history traveled with while on campaign.  For example, an American rifleman fighting in the Revolutionary War would carry with him:

• a pewter mug
• a wooden food bowl
• a salt horn
• a bone-handled fork
• a wooden spoon
• a tin cup, which could be used for cooking as well as drinking
• a swiggler (a tiny wooden barrel for spirits)
• a white canvas bag to carry it all in

Or look at survival fiction or non-fiction to see how people manage under trying circumstances.  There's a ton of survival shows on cable.  I personally like to watch Survivorman while doing the dishes.

The amount of research you decide to do, is up to you.  But having at least some idea of how people survive does add elements of realism to a story.

The more objects your character has to haul around, the heavier his pack becomes, the less able he is to fight and the slower the trip.  So you need to figure out ways of carrying the supplies (via horses or some other beast of burden) or keeping the amount of items on his person to a minimum. Towns, inns, farms, and other pockets of civilization are useful, because here your character can re-supply.  If he's less scrupulous, he can steal.

If your character has intimate knowledge of the terrain and it happens to be summer/ early fall, he can simply live off the land.  Or a large party of travelers can share the supplies--one person brings the cooking pot and knives, another one holds the medicine, a third carries the map and books, etc.

Of course, you can always use magic to cheat, but I'll get to that later.

Thus far, I've assumed your character is going off into the woods to survive.  But maybe he's not--maybe the whole story takes place in the city.

Here you have access to whatever you want, depending on the resources of the civilization or the wealth of the character.  Even a poor person, begging or going through the garbage, can usually find food, clothes, and various broken objects.

Survival objects will most likely be tools of the trade.  A peasant will have his plough and sickle.  A tailor will have needles and threads.  A warrior will have his weapons and armor.  And so on and so forth.

Even those ply magic may have perfectly ordinary objects they use in their trade.  In Brandon Sanderson's Mistborn, for example, certain individuals are able to "push" metal objects of lesser weight than themselves; they carry around ordinary coins and send them spraying like bullets.  More generically, fortune-tellers have their tarot decks and crystal balls, while potion-makers have their cauldrons and bottles.  Mixing magic and non-magic objects can be perfectly charming and fun.

* * *

Writing Prompt

Ever heard of  "For Want of a Nail..." ? It goes like this:

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the message was lost.
For want of a message the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

You can try your own "For Want of a Nail" and imagine how your character loses a single item and how it leads to a disaster.  Or, inversely, you can have your character gain one small item and imagine how that leads to something wonderful.

* * *

And that's all the time we have for this week.  Stay tuned next week for the continuation: "Objects in Identity" and "Magical Objects."

Dissecting Fantasy: Games

In this 3-part installment of "Dissecting Fantasy," I'll look at how to represent intellectual play in speculative fiction using mazes, riddles, and games.  Coinciding with the film releases of Ender's Game and Catching Fire, this installment looks at games.

Games

Sources: Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game, Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games, J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, Yu-Gi-Oh, Star Trek

Why We Love 'em

Games are an enticing blend of action and strategy, competition and team work, skill and luck.  As kids we'd go outside to play Hide-and-Seek, Tag, and Dodgeball, then come inside and play Checkers, Monopoly, and Uno.  Games take many forms.  In the  real world, they have physical limitation: space and technology, money and friends.  In speculative fiction, the only limitation is your imagination.  Everything is off the table--including moral compunctions--and the stakes are incredibly high.  Are you ready to play the game of your life?

How to Build 'em

It's hard to just pop out an original idea for a game.  If you have one, great.  If not, you can begin with a simple game and embellishing with new rules, new equipment, and new player combinations.  Or you can smush two games together.  Hide-and-seek Checkers.  Uno Tag.  Once something strikes your imagination, develop it further by considering these aspects of gameplay:

Objective and Rules

All games are based on competition.  Someone has to win and someone has to lose.  The objective tells the player how to win.

Usually, it's pretty simple.  In The Hunger Games, which drops adolescents into an arena and has them fight to the death, the last one alive wins.  In Ender's Game, where children play a strategic version of laser tag in null-gravity, the objective is to "kill" or "disable" your opponents while keeping a requisite number of your own team "alive."  Sometimes the objective varies slightly depending on the player.  In Hide-and-Seek, the hider's objective is to reach home without getting tagged, whereas the seeker must tag the hider before he gets home.

The situation becomes more complicated when you add rules.  Rules determine how the player must play the game--what they can or cannot do in order to keep the game fair and fun.  Rules are tiresome.  They bog down the story with exposition and limit the resourcefulness of the players.  Keep them to the absolute minimum.

What if, however, your game does have a complex amount of rules?  In high school, I used to watch an anime called Yu-Gi-Oh which was based on a card game so complex, I had to actually get a deck of cards and read the rules before I understood it.  But I enjoyed the show.  In a case like this, do not, do NOT sit down and explain the rules to the audience.  Shove the player into the game and explain the rules as it becomes necessary.  This, by the way, is the same way most people explain a new game to their friends--by making them play it.

However, if you want to include the official rules in the appendices for clarification, I'm sure the audience wouldn't mind.

Players

What's the biggest obstacle to victory in a game?  Nine times out of ten, it's the other players.  This is where the author has fun, drawing up the different personalities of the competitors.  But before we get to that, let's have a look at how they face up against each other.

Is it a team game or individual?  Can there be one winner or many?  How many people can play at a single time and how does this affect the play?  Is it a tournament, where people fight against each other one-on-one, until the two champions collide?  Is it a free-for-all Battle Royale?  Do players start off in teams and eventually compete as individuals?  Do they start as individuals and form teams?  Do teams get reshuffled?  Do you boot off members of your own tribe?

All these things facilitate the character's relationships.  It goes without saying, if you want drama, place friends and loved ones on opposite sides with your hero, and have your hero have to work with enemies and rivals.

Generally, your hero's opponents should have some leg-up on him.  Some, if not all of them, need to be bigger, stronger, smarter, more experienced, better-connected, tougher, richer, or more ruthless.  If your hero waltzes in with an advantage--if they are considered the best of the best--do something to knock them down a notch.  In Ender's Game, Ender is the most brilliant boy in battle school, so the teachers manipulate the game to make it more difficult for him.

Field of Play and Equipment

Here's where the imagination really comes into play.

In a normal game, you're limited to whatever 2-D space is available: a schoolyard, a cul-de-sac.  But in speculative fiction, you can utilize air space, if you want, and build whatever terrain you desire: jungles, volcanos, ice plains, the ocean.  Still, before you go crazy, consider what role you want the field to have.  Is it meant to be a neutral place for the players to wage war upon each other?  In that case, keep it simple--a flat smooth field, a court, the airspace over a farm.  But if on the other hand the field is meant to be an obstacle in and of itself, go crazy.  One arena mentioned in Catching Fire, (the second book of The Hunger Games Trilogy) contained beautiful flowers, glistening fruit, and vibrant butterflies--all of which were extremely poisonous.

Think, too, about how long you want the game to go on.  As a general rule, the game lasts for a few hours, a simple enclosed field is best.  If you want it to go on for days, you'll need a larger space with shelter and access to food and water.  Think of a baseball field versus the island on Survivor.  Be aware of the physical boundaries of the game.  What keeps people in the zone of play?  Are there penalties for stepping out of bounds?

The next thing to consider is equipment.  In real life, you can play several games with simple equipment (like a ball) or no equipment at all.  But screw real life, this is fantasy and what good is fantasy if you can't have massive flame throwers and laser-shooting dinosaurs every now and then?  In Yu-Gi-Oh, they bust out larger-than-life holograms just to make a card game more exciting.  Equipment is also where money becomes an advantage.  If someone can afford a T-Rex with a ray gun and all you've got is a Deinonychus with a paintball gun, the odds aren't exactly fair, are they?

Purpose and Stakes

Why are people playing this game to begin with?  With most games, the answer is "for fun," with maybe the additional benefit of getting exercise, practicing a skill, spending time with friends, or proving something about oneself.  Quidditch functions like this.  But if your game is a little more dangerous, sinister, or downright psychotic--if you wonder why anyone in their right mind would play this game--then you need to dig deeper to find the game's purpose.

A little history of the game--who founded it and why--can be helpful.  But the game may have evolved since then.  It's more useful to look at who currently maintains the game and why.  When in doubt, follow the money.  In The Hunger Games, the Capitol hosts the games, provides the equipment, and pays the prize.  They maintain the game because, to them, it's a tool display their complete power over the districts and prevent them from rebelling.

But the government isn't the only ones putting in money.  A sizable amount of citizens spend money to give additional equipment to their favorite competitors.  Ordinary Capitol citizens put in money because they've grown emotionally attached to contestants or have bets riding on them.  It's all entertainment to them.  Poorer district citizens sacrifice their small savings on the slim hope that their children survive.  And here's the thing to remember: a game may have different purposes to different people.  What's frivolous entertainment to some, may be life-and-death to others, may be cold manipulation to someone else.

Stakes are similar to purpose, but it deals more concretely with the costs and rewards of winning and losing the game.  Sometimes, you pay an entrance fee to play and sometimes you gain a huge prize for winning.  But money is the most common and least interesting of the stakes.  What has more value is a person's sense of dignity, his principles, his loved ones, a people he represent, a life long dream.

A game is about risk.  There's always something to gain and always something to lose.  On a petty side, it might be money, pride, or reputation.  In more extreme situations, the hero's life may be on the line or the lives of his people.  In Ender's Game, humanity itself was at stake.  Of course, the more dangerous and stressful the game, the more it costs our hero just to participate.  He may face injury; he may start slowly losing his mind.

Also Consider...

Conventions

People play games in certain ways.  It's not necessarily stated in the rules--it's just the convention.  People in the past have used certain strategies to win; others copy them.  Over time, it's just assumed that there is a "right" way to play.

Here's where your protagonist can gain a slight advantage.  Presumably, you've stacked the deck against him.  He's outnumbered, outgunned--maybe he's never even played the game before and has no idea what he's doing.  But all that can turn into an advantage, if he invents a novel approach--something that defies the convention, something that his opponents have no idea how  to fight against.

By the way, it's not just your hero who can defy convention.  If the committee in charge of the game decides on a rule change, the whole game can get shaken up.  In this case, everyone might be clawing for a new strategy, with very interesting results.

Cheating

You know what happens when you give people rules?  They go out of their way to break them.  In a game, this is called cheating.

And you know what?  Cheating is actually pretty fun.  Bad guys do it all the time, with classic maneuvers such as modified equipment, bribing/ pressuring important officials, or downright sabotage.  But did you know good guys can cheat too?

Two caveats, though.

Caveat #1: A Hero Must Be Forced to Cheat Due to an Extreme Situation, Such As...

...The Game is Evil

If the game demands human sacrifice or supports an oppressive regime, your hero can cheat any which way he feels like and the audience will cheer.  Cheat big, cheat little, cheat subtle, cheat obvious.  Whatever he needs to do to destroy the game itself.

...The Game is Rigged

Not just a little rigged.  There is no possible way for the hero to win.  The classic scenario is the Kobayashi Maru in Star Trek--a simulation of a defeat that Kirk wins by re-writing the program.  This kind of cheating favors the clever and the prepared.

...The Stakes are Impossibly High 

In this case, the game might be fair and reasonable, but factors outside the game has put so much pressure on the hero, he desperately needs to win.  Think dying mothers and loved ones held hostage.  Expect this kind of cheating to occur at the last minute.  Initially, the hero tries to play fair, but when some disaster convinces him he cannot win on his own, that's when the temptation to cheat becomes too much.

Caveat #2: The Hero's Method of Cheating Shall Not Harm Others...

...Especially Innocents

Depending on how evil his opponents are, the audience might forgive the hero for roughing them up a little.  But the hero cannot physically hurt opponents who are neutral or nice.

...Intentionally

Well, he tries not to.  The nature of cheating is that, by not abiding by the rules, you leave room for others to get hurt.  The hero's scheme might get out of hand and accidentally injure or even kill someone.  In that case, expect lots of guilt and regret.

...With Bonus Points if He Protects Others.

The hero doesn't always cheat for himself.  Sometimes, it's his teammate or even his rival he's concerned for.  Said person might not appreciate it, but the audience usually appreciates his unselfish intentions.

Dissecting Fantasy: Riddles

In this 3-part installment of "Dissecting Fantasy," I'll look at how to represent intellectual play in speculative fiction using mazes, riddles, and games.   This week I'll examine riddles, a horrifically under-utilized obstacle, which works especially well in fantasy.

Riddles

Sources: Fairy Tales, J. R. R. Tolkien's  The Hobbit

Why We Love 'em

Riddles are miniature word-based puzzles.  They usually contain some kind of paradox that you can only solve by looking at the world in a non-literal way.  And they're fun.  I remember collecting riddles as a kid, first trying to solve them and then passing them off as my own to stump the adults.  It made me feel smart.  Whether I solved the riddle or peeked at the answer sheet, there was always a wonderful "Oh!" moment when the code was cracked and the solution revealed itself like a crane from a sheet of origami.

How to Build 'em

Bear with me, because I'm no expert.  I can only analyze what makes a riddle work and speculate how to create one.  From what I can tell, there are two different methods, plus a cheat.

Method #1

Start with a common household object. Something everyone knows but no one really looks at.  Pencils, nails, tables, chairs, tea kettles, earrings, and radishes.  The less people think of them the better.  Then apply a solid dose of figurative language: either a metaphor, personification, or pun.  Tables have legs, potatoes have eyes, refrigerators run, and newspapers are read.  If you can't find a pun, don't despair.  You can always create an elaborate metaphor, which is the more sophisticated route, anyway.  So turn canes into legs and teeth into horses--anything goes.

It's not enough, however, to imply one thing is something else.  If possible, try to focus on the paradoxical element of it.  Things are suppose to work a certain way.  Water flows downhill, the sun sets in the west.  If something breaks the rule, we want to know why.  And so we have riddles, like this one, from The Hobbit:

"A box without hinges, key, or lid,
Yet golden treasure inside is hid."

The paradox is that there is no way to open the box to put the treasure inside or take the treasure out.  But if you start thinking of how to get the treasure--ie, by breaking the box--the metaphor starts to unfold.  The box is a shell, the treasure is a yolk, and the answer is an egg.

Here's another:

"Little Nancy Etticoat
In a white petticoat
And a red nose.
The longer she stands
The shorter she grows."

Little girls are not supposed grow shorter but rather taller over time.  So what object grows shorter with the passage of time.  The answer, in this case, is a candle.

In both instances, concrete details hint at how to solve the riddle: the golden treasure, the white petticoat, the red nose.  Even the paradox itself is a clue.  The briefer the riddle the better.  Bonus points if you can work in a rhyme.  If you can't memorize the riddle in 5 minutes, chances are it's too complicated.

Method #2

Rather than start with a common object, start with a broad, abstract concept, though still something any elementary school kid would understand.  So no Theory of Relativity allowed.   You can either construct a metaphor as before or simply list off ways in which it interacts with the world.  Then choose the most interesting ones and put them together in a list that befuddles the reader or seems to contradict itself.

Here's riddle that nearly got Bilbo eaten in The Hobbit:

"This thing all thing devours:
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel;
Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slays king, ruins town,
And beats high mountain down."

Notice that this riddle doesn't really have a paradox--it's just so all-encompassing that you have to stretch your imagination to figure out what it is.  The answer, by the way, is time.  Though the riddle uses a bit of personification to make it seem like some kind of monster, most of the riddle is simply a list of the things time does.

Here's a riddle a tour guide told my family a while back.

"What's greater than God,
More evil than the Devil.
Rich man wants it.
Poor man has it.
If you eat it, you die."

What got me stuck was the "If you eat it, you die."  I kept picturing all kinds of poisons, but none of it seemed to fit with the rich or poor man.  At last the tour guide directed our family's attention to the first part of the riddle: "What's greater than God?"  "Nothing," my mom guessed, and that was the answer.

When you compile your list, don't go for the most obvious descriptors.  ("The friend of clocks."  "It lives between stars.")  Look at the concept from all different angles.  Go for both huge mind-blowing concepts ("all things devours"  "greater than God") and smaller, more concrete examples ("gnaws iron, bites steel" "if you eat it, you die").  That's what create the paradox: what object could be so big and so small at the same time?

When people try to solve riddles, they usually start by compiling a list of things they can see, either with their eyes or with their imaginations.  By choosing something they can't see, you'll be able to stump them, even if the answer is right there in front of their nose.

Cheat Method

Even though I've analyzed what makes a good riddle tick, actually writing one requires more time, patience, and work than I'm usually willing to devoted.  Fortunately, I write fantasy, and that means I'm not limited to the real world.  Anything goes.  And that means I can think up a paradox that will stump my readers and then make up an answer out of thin air.  This is the cheat method and it's so much easier.

For example, in a story I'm currently working on called Three Floating Coffins, Princess Sophia asks her suitors to bring her "a gift worth my kingdom that can fit in the palm of my hand."  The answer turns out to be an amulet containing magic.  In the past, a similar amulet was used by Sophia's ancestor to win the kingdom in the first place.

Of course, even if the audience had guessed "Magic," they couldn't have known the specifics.  That is the information the author (me) conceals until the last moment.

I'm hardly alone in this.  In the fairy tale "What the Rose did to the Cypress," (The Brown Fairy Book, edited by Andrew Lang--no relation) a princess asks her suitors "What did the rose do to the cypress?" and executes them if they guess wrong.  The answer winds up being a complicated story of how a woman (Rose) cheated on her husband (Cypress) and would have killed him but for the intervention of his dog.  Thereafter Cypress decreed that his wife should be treated like his dog, his dog treated like his wife.  (It's back before the days of political correctness.)

Normal riddles work because they test your brilliance.  Cheat riddles work because they promise you a story.  The author leads you on a journey into the heart of the world; seeking the answer to the riddle, you come to understand all aspects of the land's beauty, cruelty, and wonder.  That's how you can build a cheat riddle and not have the audience feel cheated.  The riddle is an excuse to explore the mysteries of your world.

So how do you build them?

First off, you need to know why the riddle exists.  A normal riddle exists for its own sake; a cheat riddle is built into and dependent upon the plot.  Usually, it spurs on a quest.  The classic scenario, as I've shown, is that of a suitor who must solve the riddle to win the hand of a princess.   But it can be anything.

I, personally, like to come up with the solution before I come up with a riddle.  In Three Floating Coffins, the amulet plays an important role in the story, as the magic eventually falls into the hands of an evil man who plots to take over the kingdom.  Magic, therefore, is the focal point, and I made up a riddle for it by drawing on the paradox of the amulet being tiny but invaluable.

However, the opposite could work just as well.  You could come up with an interesting riddle first and spend the rest of the book trying to figure out what it is.  It all depends on how you write.  The main thing is to tie the riddle into the plot.  The tighter you tie it, the better the cheat riddle works.

Also Consider...

The Prize and the Penalty

Let's go back to the non-cheat riddles.  Suppose you spend days or weeks or months crafting and refining one only for the reader to spend less than thirty seconds reading it.  It almost feels like a waste.  You need to stretch the riddle by attaching it to an important plot point.

The hero must solve a riddle (or series of riddles) in order to get something he needs or wants.  It might be a magical sword or the princess' hand in marriage.  Or, like Bilbo Baggins, it might be something as simple as being shown the way out.  The riddle becomes an obstacle; solve it and you get a prize.

Of course, if you answer wrongly, there may be consequences.  This traditionally involves some manner of gruesome death, with bonus points if the asker of the riddle is entitled to eat you.  Then again maybe the penalty is small--instead of gaining an item you need, you lose an item.  Maybe the penalty is not against you, but a loved one--Rumpelstiltskin claiming your firstborn.  Or maybe you can guess as much as you want without cost, but the time it takes to solve the riddle will severely hinder your quest.

When you think about prize and penalty, think not just about your hero, but the person asking.  Why do they bother with riddles?  Princesses who want to avoid getting married often use it as a screening process; on the surface, it seems civilized, but it can tally up a high body count.  And unlike, say, a joust, it can go on indefinitely with no winner.  Is the riddler a monster or a human?  Weak or strong?  Cocky or bored?  As you discover their personality, the prize and the penalty becomes clear.

The Action Solution

The other major problem with riddles is that they're passive.  The hero listens and then sits around and thinks.  Don't get me wrong; their thinking process can be quite fascinating.  But for cheat riddles especially, it's not enough to think.  Your hero has to get up and do something.

Going back to my Three Floating Coffins, the princess didn't just want an answer to her riddle--she wanted the suitor to present her with the magical amulet.  Which led to a whole new set of problems--how do you go about obtaining it?  The riddle, in other words, sets off a larger test.  You must first solve it to know where you're aiming; get it wrong and you're on a wild goose chase.  But even if you get it right, there are still many obstacles between you and your prize.

Then again, it may be that you can only solve the riddle if you get up and seek a solution.  In "What the Rose Did to the Cypress," the princess' many suitors all assumed they knew the answer.  They guessed wrong and got their heads chopped off.  But the hero, rather than try to think his way out of it, deliberately set out on an adventure.  In his case, the riddle was impossible to solve without making this journey.  It doesn't have to be that extreme, though.  Maybe the adventure gives the hero a wider view of the world, which in turn helps him to solve the riddle.

Even if your hero is in an enclosed space, he can still take action.  He can goad the riddle-master into giving him multiple guesses.  He can try to bargain or bribe the riddler for hints.  If it were me, I'd try to find out all the wrong guesses other people tried.  Maybe even observing the riddle-master helps.  Poker players learn each other's tells--maybe the hero can learn the riddler's "tell" and use it to his advantage.  Conversely, maybe the asker doesn't let the hero sit and think.  Maybe, he attacks him.  Maybe the hero is in hostile territory and must fight, swim, climb, or run for his life while he thinks.

Riddles are, in the end, problems.  Think of how you solve problems.  Do you just sit quietly and think?  Or do you do something--anything--write, rant to a friend, take a walk, take a bath, play with a toy, eat, beat your head with your hands--until a flash of brilliance comes.  So don't discount action, whether big or small.  Even Bilbo Baggins who was basically trapped in a dark cave with nothing to do but think fidgeted and pinched himself and gripped his sword, all in an effort to solve riddles.

Dissecting Fantasy: Mazes

In this 3-part installment of "Dissecting Fantasy," I'll look at how to represent intellectual play in speculative fiction using mazes, riddles, and games.   Just in time for Halloween, the most horror-dripped of the three forms: the dread maze.

The Role of Play in Fantasy

Do you ever feel nostalgia for the play of childhood?  I have since junior high.  While technically still a kid, the relentless creativity and all-consuming games were starting to detach from my mind.  Even as I felt it drift, I yearned for it.  I think that's why fantasy appeals to me--it's an echo of "Make-Believe" with all its boundless possibilities, adventures, and heightened emotions.

But "Make-Believe" was far from the only game I played as a child.  Every now and then, I liked to mix it up with various puzzles and strategy-based games--things that appealed to my logic and problem-solving abilities.  That's why I get excited to see mazes, riddles, and games in speculative fiction.  They promise conflict, fun, and a certain amount of cleverness that balance out the emotionalism of fantasy.

Mazes

Sources: Greek Myths, James Dashner's The Maze Runner

Why We Love 'em

It's one kind of scary to get lost in the woods.  But a much more sinister kind of terror comes from being trapped in a maze.  In theory, there's a kind of logic and structure to mazes; in practice, all the logic and structure has bent to the will of the maze's creator for the sole purpose of getting you lost.  In a natural environment, you have space to run and places to hide.  Not so in a maze, where narrow corridors and dead ends force you to confront deadly peril.  And even the most benevolent of mazes have some sort of nasty surprise ready to pop out at you.

How to Build 'em

Well, first you grow a lot of hedges....

You need some kind of material to keep your protagonist trapped, something that obscures the view and keeps him from climbing over.  Hedges are find for friendly mazes, but for more evil mazes you need something that can do more bodily damage: poisoned spikes, shards of glass, chains, swinging saws, slime, laser beams... whatever floats your boat.

Now there's a trick about mazes that if you run your hand against the right wall, you can eventually find your way out.   Try to make that option as unattractive as possible.  Set up barriers.  Make the characters have to choose between a deadly route--spiderwebs or swamps or bones--and the safe route that will only get them even more lost.  Or you can break your hero's concentration.  Animals that chase him, swarms of stinging insects, darkness, smoke, alarms.  Downright cheat if you have to--make panels slide open and shut.

You might want to consider how the hero enters the maze and how to make sure they can't get out.  The simplest method is a gate that shuts behind the protagonist, sealing him in.  In The Maze Runner, an elevator brings the boys up.  Try to get down the same way and you die.

Do you want the protagonists to suffer a quick demise or would you rather they linger in torment for days?  In the case of the latter, you may want to consider safe zones and even open spaces where the hero can rest.

Last but not least, include at least one really stand-out monster.  In Greek myth, the Minotaur occupied the center of the maze.  The half-man, half-bull devoured all those who entered his maze.  But your monster can be anything.  It can pop out and surprise your hero or slowly stalk him through the maze.  Although not strictly necessary, the monster in a maze adds action to what would normally be a tense, but tiring meander.

Also Consider...

The Creator

As a general rule, mazes don't pop out of nowhere--to build one takes a focused application of brainpower and resources.  But why expend the effort?  What's the purpose in creating a maze?  A simple hedge maze may exist to delight and challenge its participants.  But a humungous death trap requires more explanation.  It's tempting to just dismiss the creator with a "He's crazy" and leave it at that.   But there must be a method to his madness.  After all, there are far easier ways to torment people.

The creator of the maze is not easily ignored.  Let's say, for example, that the maze is an archeological relic, its creator long dead, its history obscured.  The people who run the maze now use it for their own purpose.  Why the maze came into existence has no bearing on the story--or so it seems.  However, if the hero wandering the maze starts to understand the creator's mind, he gains a significant advantage in solving the puzzle.  He might even use this information to outwit the people who currently run the maze.  In this case, the long-dead creator can actually be the hero's greatest ally.

The fact of the matter is, if you do not establish who built the maze and why right from the start, the question will gnaw away at the readers.  They will demand an explanation by story's end and be supremely disappointed if they do not receive one.  This is the unspoken promise of the maze, and it is not a bad thing.  Few things keep people turning pages like a good mystery.  Establish the creator in your own mind but hide him from the audience.  This will give you power over your readers.

Finding a Way Out

Getting out of the maze should not be easy.  If your hero fumbles and stumbles his way out, the anticlimax is palpable.  Ideally escape from the maze should involve a combination of wits and confrontation.

In Greek myth, hero Theseus enters the labyrinth in order to defeat the Minotaur.  Slaying the beast is the confrontation.  But getting out of the maze requires a trick.  Ariadne, one of the guardians of the maze, gives Theseus a ball of golden thread before he steps foot inside.  He ties one end of the string to the entrance and unravels it until he gets to the center of the maze, where the Minotaur lurks.  After killing the half-man, half-bull, Theseus follows the thread back to the entrance.  That's the wits.

This example, by the way, illustrates that solving the maze need not require any stroke of genius.  A small burst of insight is greater than a complex scheme.  So don't intimidate yourself.  The creator of the maze might employ 10,000 tricks to keep his prisoners captive, but the hero only needs only to exploit one little weakness to escape.