Rock the Boat by Rachel Allord

Rachel Allord

Please join me in welcoming Rachel Allord as she reveals how to ramp up the conflict in your story. Rock the Boat! Welcome, Rachel. 
~Dora

I recently had a reader tell me he felt his pulse rate increase while reading a relationally intense scene I’d written. Highest compliment ever. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something like, “Oh I’m sorry to put you through that” but what flew out of mouth was, “Awesome!” If I can turn a reader into a hyperventilating, finger twitching, nervous Nellie, I’ve done my job.

Our task, writers, is to make it worse. Not better, worse. Yes, we’ll need to come to some resolution at the end, cause our readers to breathe a deep, satisfied sigh of relief when they close our book, but until then, make it bad. Really, really bad.

Stories thrive on tension. Tension—the thing we try to avoid in reality—is what keeps us turning the pages late at night. We want to smooth things over in real life, keep the boat floating calmly, but in fiction you must rock the boat. I’m certainly not the first to say this but you must ask yourself, what could be the worst thing that could happen to this character at this moment?

There is a catch: The Badness has to be plausible. It has to fit the context of the story and jive with the spirit of your characters. For instance, you can’t suddenly have a plane crash through the roof of your main characters house just to add some sparks, unless of course you’ve somehow set it up where that it makes sense. (And if you’ve managed to do that, good grief, hats off to you.) Your protagonist can’t contract a rare virus halfway through the book simply to avoid a literary sagging middle… unless, of course, you’ve written way back in chapter three that he or she happened to get stung by some creepy-crawly in the Brazilian rainforest. If The Badness isn’t credible your reader will see right through your shenanigans and throw your book across the room. For the reader, The Badness has to be unanticipated but believable. If we don’t believe a character, we don’t give a hoot as to what happens to them, rare disease ridden or not.

So make it bad and plausible.

One more thing: The Badness has to be tempered with periods of calm, increased character development, and maybe even doses of humor. If the story is just one horrible thing after another—car crash, coma, divorce papers, murder—it feels contrived and, ironically, gets a little tedious and brings us back to the whole plausibility factor. No one can have that bad of luck. Unless your character is trapped in a daytime soap.

To summarize, make it bad and plausible and balanced.

So rock the boat. Ruin that imaginary friend’s life. Don’t worry; you’ll get to make it all better in the end. 

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College student Amber Swansen gives birth alone. In desperation, she abandons the newborn, buries her secret, and attempts to get on with her life. No matter how far she runs, she can’t escape the guilt. Years later and still haunted by her past, Amber meets Beth Dilinger. Friendship blossoms between the two women, but Beth’s son is a constant, painful reminder to Amber of the child she abandoned. 

When heartache hits, causing Amber to grapple with the answers to life’s deeper questions, Beth stands by her side. Yet just when peace seems to be within Amber’s grasp, the truth of her past and the parentage of Beth’s son comes to light and threatens to shatter not only their worlds, but the life of the teenager they both love.

Rachel Allord’s debut novel, Mother of My Son, released in May of 2013. Both an adoptive and biological mother, Rachel grew up as a pastor’s kid, vowed never to marry a pastor, and has been happily married to her pastor husband for eighteen years. She resides in Wisconsin where she avidly consumes novels, coffee, and sushi— preferably at the same time.

When Happily-Ever-After Isn’t Enough by Amanda Cabot

“Nothing happens.” It’s been many years since I received that particular rejection, but I still recall my confusion. How could the editor say that nothing happened? I was writing short contemporary romances for the secular market at the time, and I thought I’d done everything right. The book was set in an exotic location and was laced with fascinating (at least to me) details of life in a place most of us only dream about seeing. My hero and heroine met, they fell in love, and after resolving a few misunderstandings, they lived happily ever after. What could be wrong? And why did the editor say that nothing happened?

When I recovered from the sting of rejection, I realized that the editor was right, although I still thought she was wrong in saying that nothing happened. What she should have said was that nothing interesting happened. I had written a story of a close-to-perfect romance, and while readers might want to live that story, they don’t want to read about it. Perfection is boring, or as Tolstoi said in his famous opening to Anna Karenina, “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” What was missing from my book was conflict.

I hate conflict. After one of those stressful job interviews that used to be popular, the recruiter looked at me as if I were an unknown species. “You’d rather walk around a wall than through it,” he said. Duh! Who would willingly bang her head against a wall? There’s only one winner there, and it’s not the head. But that aversion to pain and conflict wasn’t helping my writing. If my characters weren’t willing to fight, if I wasn’t willing to put them through pain, then I was going to continue receiving rejection after rejection and hearing editors say, “Nothing happens.”

I wanted to make another sale, but I hated the idea of torturing my characters, and that’s how conflict felt to me. It seemed like an insurmountable impasse. And then I realized what I had to do. It might seem like a matter of semantics, but the technique worked for me. I told myself that I wasn’t torturing my characters; I was healing them. And since I believe in the healing power of love – both God’s love for us and that between a man and a woman – it became easy (okay, a teeny, tiny bit easier) to create characters who were in pain. Sometimes the pain was emotional. Sometimes it was physical. Though I wept and cringed as I wrote some of the scenes, I wouldn’t let myself off the hook. No matter how dark the story was, I knew that eventually I would give my characters – and my readers – what they deserved: healing, followed by a happily-ever-after.

And now, as I give thanks for the people who’ve touched my life, I include the editor who told me, “Nothing happens.”

With both parents avid readers, it’s no surprise that Amanda Cabot learned to read at an early age. From there it was only a small step to deciding to become a writer. Of course, deciding and becoming are two different things, as she soon discovered. Fortunately for the world, her first attempts at fiction were not published, but she did meet her goal of selling a book by her thirtieth birthday. Since then she’s sold more than twenty-five novels, all of which feature happy endings. Her most recent release is Christmas Roses, which answers the question, Can an itinerant carpenter searching for his father and a young widow who seeks only her daughter’s well-being find happiness in a small Wyoming mining town in the fall of 1882?

Amanda can be reached through her web site (www.amandacabot.com) or on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/pages/Amanda-Cabot/110238182354449?v=wall) or her blog (http://amandajoycabot.blogspot.com/).