Wonder Full
By Donald Maass | August 3, 2016 |
Flickr Creative Commons: Peter Prehn
Wonderful. Wouldn’t it be marvelous if readers used that adjective to describe your current novel? Or your every novel? I imagine so. What if you could be sure of provoking that feeling every time? Is that possible?
Let’s start by breaking down the experience of wonder. What does it feel like to undergo wonder? Dictionary definitions say that the feeling of wonder is excited by, a) what is strange, and, b) what is surprising. Wonder is puzzled interest, tinged with admiration.
I think that the dictionaries understate it. Wonder isn’t a mild feeling. It’s exuberant. When we feel wonder we are more than simply surprised, we are amazed. We are more than merely puzzled; we are intrigued, excited and delighted. It’s a feeling of childlike discovery. It’s a kind of awe.
What conditions provoke such strong feeling? We are overwhelmed by wonder when the impossible comes possible. When something we’ve never seen before appears. When something that we imagined could not happen actually does.
When the unreal becomes real we are astonished. Dumbfounded. We can’t believe it. But we can’t deny it either. We are experiencing something miraculous. That’s especially true when that miraculous occurrence feels good. Wonder has a quality of joy. It feels like a delightful gift.
Think about snow days. Second chances. Flashes of inspiration. Declarations of peace. Shoes that fit. Walking on the Moon. The theory of Relativity. Card tricks. Catches on the flying trapeze. Finding a twenty. All your kids napping at the same time. Home runs in the bottom of the ninth. Flowers blooming in the rubble. Answered prayers.
All of those things are surprising, but also things that we desire. Things we believed that we’d never see. Things that we feared would never happen. Things that felt impossible…but they are possible, they do happen, and we’ve seen them with our own eyes.
Thus, to excite wonder with our stories we can start with two principles. First, cause readers to believe that something could not possibly happen. Second, make that impossible something a something that is desired.
Wonder also provokes the question how can that be? Well, “it” can. You have made it so. You just haven’t told your readers—yet—why their beliefs were wrong. So, here is the third principle of exciting wonder: There’s a reason for the impossible to happen, but not one that’s obvious.
Okay, let’s turn all that into steps that get the results on your pages:
- What would amaze the people in your story? What would amaze you? Who can change completely? What occurrence would reverse our expectations? What simply cannot happen? What is a joy too great to hope for? In the world of your story, what would be a miracle?
- Demonstrate that the particular miracle you have in mind doesn’t happen here. Show that it’s the reverse that happens, and that is the norm.
- Show that your protagonist hopes for something he or she cannot have. Let your protagonist hope for something less than you are going to give.
- Bring about what is wonderful…then reveal how and why it came about.
- Choose a scene. What would be a big surprise here? As you open that scene, send your POV character into it expecting anything other than that surprise.
What’s strange to readers is not strange to you. You planned it. What’s surprising to them is no surprise to you. You simply thought of it first.
You also discerned what we hope for, and projected that hope into your characters. When you then fulfilled that hope, or exceed it, it feels to readers miraculous…but actually it’s a miracle that you engineered. Because of that your story is full of wonder. Wonder. Full.
BTW, wondrous surprises can also be bad. Instead of being miracles what we desire, they can be horrors beyond anything we have feared. The process of engineering a bad surprise is essentially the inverse. The intention and the outcome for readers is the reverse. Instead of feeling wonder, readers feel despair.
But that’s another post.
What wonder have you come up with for your WIP? How is it strange? How is it surprising? Why do we desire it? What allows it to happen?
[coffee]
Donald Maass (he/him) founded the Donald Maass Literary Agency. in New York in 1980. He is the author of The Career Novelist (1996), Writing the Breakout Novel (2001), Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook (2004), The Fire in Fiction (2009), The Breakout Novelist (2011), Writing 21st Century Fiction (2012) and The Emotional Craft of Fiction (2019). He has presented hundreds of workshops around the world and is a past president of the American Association of Literary Agents (formerly AAR).
Who can change completely? What occurrence would reverse our expectations? What simply cannot happen? What is a joy too great to hope for?
Don, this reminded me of the “added reward” a character receives for making the right moral choice. It often is manifested in another character. The best example is Louis in Casablanca. When he says, “Round up the usual suspects,” we cheer with delight. Only then do we realize that his change has been subtly justified throughout the film. We didn’t see it coming. It came. And we go, Aha! Yes! And then he adds that he’s ready to go off with Rick to join the war effort. The beginning of a beautiful friendship!
Wonder-full.
Exactly.
Jim: I love this observation, and never thought of it before in this way. In a sense, Capt. Renaud’s transformation is more unexpected than Rick’s, and it amplifies Rick’s, showing both men returning to a sense of purpose both had shrugged off with bitter cynicism.
Thus, to excite wonder with our stories we can start with two principles. First, cause readers to believe that something could not possibly happen. Second, make that impossible something a something that is desired.
I love how you break down nebulous concepts to such obvious, doable steps. You truly have a gift for that.
This actually bolsters my courage to do something in the MS I’m currently drafting that will chafe against reader expectation that I knew I wanted to do but I kind of worried would upset people because it’s not what “should” happen. It’s what “needs” to happen though.
Thanks, Don.
Nebulous concepts made doable…yep, that’s my aim. Thanks!
And yes, what a character wants and needs are two different things. True for us too, as readers. And for our stories, as writers.
Ah, wonder-full reminders, Don. And well-come to me. I’m grate-full… Er, wait – that one doesn’t work at all. Sorry. I’m just grateful.
You mention surprise, but you also mention making things seem impossible (as well as desirable), which I think is key. In fact, some of the story culminations that fill me with wonder revolve around things that I fully expected to happen—at least initially. Take an unfulfilled coupling of lovers. At the onset of almost every such story, part of the setup makes us fully expect an outcome: the lovers end up together. Sometimes it takes an entire novel to make it seem impossible. And yet, it seems like the wonder we are left with is certainly more than the surprise of getting back to our initial suspicion, isn’t it?
I’ll never forget something you told me several years ago about one of my favorite “unfulfilled love stories”: The Far Pavilions. I’d said something in the comments of a Keith Cronin post about how gratified I was by Ash and Juli being united after the extreme barriers that mounted and mounted—culminating in her willingness to enter a loveless marriage to the rana (selflessly, for the sake of her half-sister Shushila)—to seem utterly insurmountable to their getting together. I’m not sure of your exact phrasing, but you added that the power of it is derived from Ash’s willingness to sacrifice everything—even to the point of being the hand of the death of his beloved—to save Juli from the pain of the suttee pyre flames. Talk about a desirable outcome being made to seem impossible! I suppose, even though we initially expect it, we are taken to a surprising extreme to get there. We believe he’ll do it, and that he’s doing it for Juli. And, because we’ve come to be fond of Juli, we are as torn up about it as he is. Talk about leaving us beyond relief. I first read it in the late 70s, and I’m still filled with wonder by that moment.
Thanks for a wonder-full, and long-standing, track-record of generously offering top-notch lessons, Don. (I think I’m hyphen-ventilated now.)
The Far Pavilions is indeed full of wonder. Plus romance, danger, atmosphere and adventure. One of the great sagas.
Thanks for hyphen-ventilating. Now take a breath!
I’ve not thought about Far Pavilions in years … thank you for that reminder. I’ll have to dig out my old copy, that is, if I didn’t give it away.
Don, you made me think this morning of that look on my granddaughter’s face when she’s taken by surprise or gets something she wants (or doesn’t want!) Eyebrows up, mouth open, eyes wide. It’s infectious. I run pieces of my story by her from time to time and when she reacts I know I’m on to something. Conversely, she’ll give me the thumbs down if I bore her. In the big-girl world, I LOVE when my editor tells me ‘I didn’t see that coming.” Now I hope to hear it more often.
Kids are so unguarded, it’s…wonderful.
Don, as always, thanks. There’s a revelation in my novel that smacks of what my character desired, but also has a major negative to it–it’s wish-fulfillment that does not totally deliver, but instead offers my MC another challenge. The impossible happens. I made it so.
There are things I do not deserve and believe I cannot have, yet sometimes they are given to me. It is wonderful. And humbling.
Sounds like you’re looking at your story in a wonderful way. Write on.
Don, This post couldn’t have come at a better time for me. Thanks for bringing it down to a key reason to write. The wonder of it all.
There is a film National Treasure, and although I couldn’t remember the name it’s premise has never let me go. A guy discovers there is a map to a hidden treasures. Not just any old hidden treasure, the lost treasure of the Knights of the Templar. Only the clue to where the treasure is happen to be hidden on the back of the Declaration of Independence. Yeah, the real one.
That story for me, broke loose all my childhood fantasy tales of lost treasure, and all the American history learned in school growing up. And the darker tales of the hidden objects drawn into the one dollar bill. What a wonderful rush.
Your post brought this wonder to the forefront of my attention. Wondrous, that awesome feeling that makes it all worthwhile. That’s what I want to write. That feeling. Elusive, magical, and oh the reality of possibilities…
Thanks.
Wait…there are hidden objects on the one dollar bill???
Rare books have that kind of magic for me. When I hold one, it’s like I’m holding in my hands a volume that the author actually held too. How I would love to meet Jules Verne! Or Neville Shute. Or Irwin Shaw.
Don, coincidentally I just saw a collection of quotes from Neil Gaiman in which he said this: “As Douglas Adams once pointed out to me, over twenty years before the Kindle showed up, a physical book is like a shark. Sharks are old: there were sharks in the ocean before the dinosaurs. And the reason there are still sharks around is that sharks are better at being sharks than anything else is. Physical books are tough, hard to destroy, bath resistant, solar operated, feel good in your hand: they are good at being books, and there will always be a place for them.”
And this: “But a book is also the content, and that’s important.
Books are the way that we communicate with the dead. The way that we learn lessons from those who are no longer with us, that humanity has built on itself, progressed, made knowledge incremental rather than something that has to be relearned, over and over. There are tales that are older than most countries, tales that have long outlasted the cultures and the buildings in which they were first told.”
Magical, indeed!
The literal (yeah, it’s a pun) concept of magic and books is also an old one. I’m not sure what the basis for that correlation is, but I suspect it has to do with the fact that being able to read, and to have an actual book, were once both rare commodities, in a time when swords were commonplace.
I don’t write fiction, but this same concept can be applied well to my non-fiction writing. I’m excited to execute it and deliver wonder to my readers!
Brian, yes, wonder is wonder. It’s an effect not reserved just for fiction.
Don, on an esp. sad day (our 18-yr-old cat is dying) your essay makes me happy. Yes, wonder. Children express it unabashedly. And this is one of my great pleasures, writing for children to share the wonders of creation. A cat’s purr. How fast a cheetah runs. Spinning tops. And you are right about stories. The best ones are where the ending is a surprise but at the same time inevitable. Thank you for putting my head back into my wip.
So sad! Feeling for you Vijaya. It’s so hard to lose them. Thinking of you.
Thank you Don. She’s gone :(
Great article! This is exactly what I want my book to exhibit… I want people to be in awe of what they are reading becuase its filled with wonder.
Thank you for sharing this with us.
Most welcome, Steve.
Don, thanks. My co-writer and I created a character—Massimo Volpedo—in the novel I’m editing that’s like an onrushing train, and at times I’ve worried that he won’t seem credible. He’s six-foot-six, Italian, and when he enters a room, the lights brighten, the balloons drop.
When he should shake hands with strangers he’s meeting, he picks them up and hugs them instead. He induces all the waiters in restaurants to sing, he cries when he tells stories.
But the sense we wanted to convey with him is much of a piece with your “wonder full”—I think we’ll leave him just as he is.
People like that just don’t happen, not in our world. So, yes…wonderful!
Massimo sounds a bit like “the most interesting man in the world” character from the Dos Equis ads.
I always look forward to Don-day, and today’s post is no exception. I love your extended and ebullient description of wonder. Oh, and “a joy too great to hope for”–yes.
What I especially appreciate about your steps are the reversals. Nothing heightens a surprise (good or bad) like giving up on it. The example I use in my workshops is in LOTR where they’re trying to be silent and Pippin knocks the armor clanging and reverberating down the well. There’s a tense silence. When nothing happens everyone relaxes. Then, slowly, the drums start. It’s so much worse than if they hadn’t had that moment of thinking they are safe.
This step is something I hadn’t thought of and can’t wait to add: “Let your protagonist hope for something less than you are going to give.” Love it! Thank you.
That LOTR moment also illustrates another of my principles, I think: Make it worse!
Great essay!! Wonder is truly a gift from an author to a reader. I try for it in every book now – have since I re-read your “How To” book in 2005 which changed my whole trajectory as an author. When I write and read I search out stories that fill me with wonder and your break down of why and how it works is spot on!
M.J.! Hi praise, thank you so much. And thanks for your wonderful novels. They get better and better.
I’m honored that you think so!xxx
Once again, a marvelous post.
I second Erin’s remark that you do an excellent job, here and elsewhere, of breaking seemingly amorphous concepts into manageable, and thus usable, components.
I will also second the remarks of several commenters that you have given me both guidance and inspiration for my own WIP.
Last, I’ll offer this quote from The Art of Character, which resonates with what you’ve said here:
Great art tightropes the borderline between the familiar and the mystifying, and thus rewards both our expectations and our desire for surprise.
Sophocles gave his heroes the descriptive deinos, which translates loosely as “wondrous and strange.” A character who truly engages the reader or audience will remind us of the incandescence that stirs within flesh and blood, the unpredictable capacity for loving sacrifice, heroism, greatness of spirit that even the least of us carries within his heart.
> “the unpredictable capacity for loving sacrifice, heroism, greatness of spirit that even the least of us carries within his heart.”
Yes we do. We private citizens, anyway. How is it that our public life has become a freak show of selfies, reality TV, absolutism and jihad?
We could use a little more wonder in our world, don’t you think?
Thanks so much, Don. Another inspiring post that has sent me off scribbling ideas in my writing diary. Hugs.
I met Jodi Wright last weekend! She had nothing but nice things to say about you.
Thanks, Don. Jodi’s novel on how she became an addict is a good read, and has won some accolades. She’s a good writing buddy.
Oh, and Jodi had all sorts of good things to say about your talk, which did not surprise me. I told her to attend the session, and she’s glad she did.
Thank you for breaking down a complex concept into steps even I can follow. I’m eager to dig into my WIP and see where I can add some wonder!
Wonderful, go for it.
Great piece of advice and writing, Don. Wonder is a powerful expression of: feelings. As such, unpleasant experiences from a character can fill a reader with wonder. When I read a particularly violent story, I’ve often “wondered” how I’d feel/react if I get shot, kidnapped, tortured…Wonder can fill us with pleasure or dread. Still wonder-full. Back to my MS, need to fill it up with more, guess what: Wonder. Thanks for great writing tips.
Welcome, Micki. Feelings. Yes. This piece didn’t make it into my upcoming book, The Emotional Craft of Fiction. Perhaps there will have to be a Volume 2?
Hi Don, glad to know you finally wrote a whole book about emotion. I just happened to know, now, by your reply to Micki. And of course I add it to my xmas present list. I guess is the ‘micro tension’ and the ‘bridging conflict’ developed, right? I’m on for Volume 2 either. Hihihi.
I read this earlier, on my phone, waiting in line. It has lingered all day. I think if so many tales, but especially The Art of Racing in the Rain, which is one of my most passionate favorites, and embodies wonder.
Your posts are always thought provoking but this one is one that will linger. Thanks, Don.
Thanks, Barbara, means a lot to me. The Art of Racing in the Rain makes me want to hug my dog. Wonderful indeed.
I have to play devil’s advocate, and say that I disagree about what really charges a reader’s sense of wonder. When I read this: “Think about snow days. Second chances. Flashes of inspiration. Declarations of peace. Shoes that fit. Walking on the Moon. The theory of Relativity. Card tricks. Catches on the flying trapeze. Finding a twenty. All your kids napping at the same time. Home runs in the bottom of the ninth. Flowers blooming in the rubble. Answered prayers.” None of it really produced a sense of wonder in me at all. I mean, I smiled when I read it, and I was definitely entertained, but capturing that deep sense of wonder? It wasn’t there.
I’ve found a twenty on more than one occasion, and it definitely wasn’t a sense of wonder … it was more excitement and I better get the hell out of here before someone tries to claim it … and one time a boy much bigger than me did claim it. I gave it to him. I think that engaging the reader’s sense of wonder goes deeper than this. It’s not about the twenty or setting up the fact that it can’t happen and then it does. I think the missing element here is that sensing of wonder because it ‘means’ something to the protagonist. If it’s important to her (assuming she’s likeable) then it’s important to us.
Please humor me on this example since it’s based on a Disney cartoon: When the Little Mermaid sees a bent fork/aka a dinglehopper, it produces a sense of wonder for her. For the reader/viewer, the fork is an everyday object. The wonder is that raw experience of seeing something ordinary with ‘new eyes’, it’s that sense of discovery… it can be mundane … it can be absolutely anything. It’s about how the character sees it that matters, and it will only matter to the reader if we are engaged with said character. For those of us who think the Little Mermaid is a spoiled brat (I mean a princess who sings a song about “I want more” because she doesn’t have enough things can really turn a person off) we probably won’t feel wonder, but if one reads her plight a little more deeply in that she’s not fulfilled with the life she has, and so is looking to another world to find that meaning or fulfillment – it is that sense of wonder for another place that is drawing her to the surface. She wouldn’t care about shoes that fit … she has wonder for shoes, any shoes…because she has a tail.
As a viewer engaged, I feel her wonder because I care about her … not the object or thing that expresses wonder … that is only on the surface. I’d like to juxtapose the Little Mermaid with a person who desires to fulfill their life by looking to the surface/material objects: her plight in our world for me is like someone who buys a Mercedes, instead of a dinglehopper, in order to feel special … to feel something of self worth by getting attention because he has a mundane personality, and rather than go deeper and explore who he is and feel that gut-wrenching pain of change, he swipes a card and hopes for attention from others. At the end of the day, I don’t think readers and viewers care about the Mercedes (regardless of whether it is an S-class or a ‘C’heap-class), our sense of wonder comes from what that Mercedes means to our character and how it will affect or change his life.
This is why in the Hans Christian Anderson version the Little Mermaid, she kills herself to save another: because she learned about self-sacrifice, found a deeper meaning by going to the surface. In the Disney version, she makes a surfacist decision based on a sense of wonder. In truth, I’ve never seen anyone live ‘happily ever after’ by marrying someone they saw while on the keel of a boat. But hey, there’s my sense of wonder for you.
Wonderful reply! “New eyes.” I like that.
If you define wonder differently than me, if it is a different sort of experience to you, what’s wrong with that? The conditions that create wonder in your readers will come about in a different way, that’s all.
We all want to experience wonder as we read, however it is produced. Thanks for such a thoughtful comment. More of an essay unto itself, really. Wonderful.
Good morning, Don. What a wonder-full essay, and timely for me. We went whale watching yesterday with the kids and the grands. For an hour we watched the horizon, searching for the tell-tale blow. The marine biologist, Maura, explained what to look for: birds flying low over an area, or the blow (a mixture of air and water). We go every year, so I knew what to expect. I watched children get restless, adults begin to chatter. The sun and the sea, the lulling motion of the boat. Then, the noise halted by a plume of mist followed collective gasps, the ‘oohs’ as the gorgeous fin whale rose and dove. Wonder.
Awe. And an unexpected sense of smallness miles from shore, amidst the thrill of witnessing such beauty.
I was caught by the idea of knowing we might or might not see a whale (we saw three) yet the possibility existed. Maybe even the probability. Yet the moment it happened it seemed astounding. Miraculous.
Your words add insight to the experience, a tangible way to get it on the page. Thanks!
I have seen whales far out in the Atlantic and they are indeed a wonder. (In touch soon, Deb!)
Cool!