10 Literary Lessons I Learned Sharing a Sci-fi Story to Substack

Note: I originally posted the story in four parts, but I edited all the parts into a single post for the sake of organization and ease of reading.

Two weeks ago, I took a big (for me) step and shared a science fiction story here on Substack. It was the first short story I’d shared with anyone since I’d truly embarrassed myself (several times) in a graduate fiction writing class 10 years ago.

The response to my new story was small but encouraging, and I’m proud of myself for posting.

But to be serious about improving my craft, I need to reflect, so here are the ten things I learned (spoilers included):

1. When I ask for feedback, clarify what I need.

A friend offered to review my story. He is a plot-focused writer and reader, but my story is character-focused. So at the exact point that I was pleased with how my main character was developing, he gave feedback that my story was stalling out.

I think we authors would prefer our reviewers to go in without bias or expectations so that we can see if our story hits right. But that only works if your reviewer has the same values as your target reader. If they aren’t a match, you’ll get advice that is confusing or irrelevant.

The fix is to clarify expectations or to find a reviewer who matches your audience. I more or less found the latter in my wife whose feedback perfectly cut to the heart of what my story needed without me having to ask for anything specific.

(On the other hand, my friend did give helpful plot-focused advice that helped me tune up a few things I hadn’t realized were problems. So maybe also don’t clarify what you need so that you can get help with your blind spots?)

2. Cut out all the walking.

My story is about a man walking across an empty Las Vegas to find a bookstore because I was curious about the question “What would I do if I were left alone in a city?” To answer that, I covered ALL the details like walking and directions and the number of granola bars in his bag. But both my friend and my wife said the story dragged at points.

I condensed the repetitive, time-consuming descriptions of walking. It didn’t hurt the story or keep me from exploring the question I’d asked in the first place. And it keeps the story hopping from important moment to important moment instead of slopping around in between.

3. Consider redemption.

My initial version ended with my main character wallowing in his grief and loneliness after he realized his quest was pointless. It was very postmodern (which I don’t say derogatorily), but my wife said she felt like I was building up to something that never came. She suggested I make my story a redemption instead of a tragedy, which I did.

Not every story needs redemption to work, but I think most do. There’s an unearthly power in the stories of Edmund and Eustace in The Chronicles of Narnia or Boromir and Gollum in The Lord of the Rings. And those four (and other redeemed characters) are usually the most interesting characters in their respective books.

I think the best example of a redemptive short story is one of my favorites: “A Good Man Is Hard to Find” by Flannery O’Connor. At the end, the acerbic, whiny, and deceitful grandmother (under extreme stress) reveals the kind, loving, and empathetic person she could have been all along for a split second. That moment changes the tenor of the entire story and serves as a thematic twist in a story that we thought was going to end in despair. The glimpse O’Connor shares is beautiful and startling.

My story is no “A Good Man . . .” and not all stories need redemption, but I can attest that my story became better when I considered a redemptive ending.

4. Character Arcs > Plots

Two things change in my story: the plot and the character.

The plot is this: (1) Man wants books so he can be smart. (2) Man looks for books but fails. (3) Man finds books.

The character arc: (1) Man thinks being alone will be better because he feels lonely, and he thinks it will bring him freedom. (2) Man tries to make loneliness work with surface-level success but only if he distracts himself with a silly quest. (3) Man realizes being alone makes him sad, so he returns to society, responsibility, and purpose.

One is more interesting, right? (Or at least is to me…)

I came away from this writing experience with less patience for stories where characters don’t change or develop. Yes, asteroids may destroy Las Vegas. Or aliens may attack earth. Or a super virus may give us all magical tails. But who cares if it is has no impact on the inner being of a single human character?

I think a really good example of a character-driven story is the new Quiet Place movie Day One. The alien invasion is literally just a backdrop for a character wanting to find peace as a disease kills her on the inside. And that movie is POWERFUL.

5. Keep non-story detritus simple.

I over-formatted my posts. I added buttons and text inviting people to click through to other parts of the story. And I added invites to subscribe (at Substack’s prompting).

Bleh…

I just want to write a story and share it. And when I look back at my posts, they look cluttered with hand-holding links and options. And why bother asking someone to subscribe at the beginning of the post before they’ve even read it?

I recognize the need for calls-to-action and subscribe buttons and links and what-not if you want to grow your newsletter, but honestly that stuff bores me, and distracts from the reader experience.

I’ll do what I must, but no more.

6. No one cares about my semi-encyclopedic knowledge of Las Vegas.

I’ve lived in Vegas for three years now, and I’ve learned a lot. So I wanted to show off my knowledge a bit and really make the setting come to life.

Turns out that gets old quickly.

In my early drafts, I over-described where things were and what living in Vegas was like. The description slowed the story down and distracted from both the plot and the character arc.

To fix this, I cut out or condensed much of my description and brought my word count down by about 8% or 500 words. Instead I focused on a few key descriptions that I’m really proud of and that do capture the apocalyptic Vegas setting well.

I’ll share them because I am, indeed, very proud of them:

“Las Vegas is like a treadmill when you walk it. You keep walking and walking, but nothing changes. More gray brick walls that go for half a mile before they turn a corner. A clone grocery store every third block. Lots of gas stations showing up in my flashlight (which I did invade for extra snacks sometimes that night). And a never ending road covered in dust so thick that it crunched like snow when I stepped on it.”

“I could see the casino towers that were still standing. From this angle, the Strip looked like someone with bad teeth smiling. Some casinos were missing or burned out. It was kind of sad to think about.”

“You don’t understand, but when it’s over 110 degrees and windy in Vegas, the whole day is just like looking into a hair dryer pointed right at your face.”

The next story I write, I’m going to try for fewer but higher value descriptions. I think an image or two that sticks with a person is worth more than trying to convert every picture of a scene into its constituent thousand words.

7. Find my Mrs. Brown.

In “Science Fiction and Mrs. Brown,” Ursula K. Le Guin complains of authors who write Sci-fi exclusively about larger-than-life heroes who save all the faceless, nameless masses of normal people.

She wants to see “Characters. Round, solid, knobby. Human beings, with angles and protuberances to them, hard parts and soft parts, depths and heights.”

Again, this is why I like The Quiet Place: Day One. It’s about a couple of normal people and their personal journeys during and in spite of an alien invasion. Cloverfield is another alien-invasion movie like this. They’re strong contrast to movies like Independence Day in which the camera follows the world’s top scientists, leaders, and pilots as they heroically save the rest of us panicking, rioting, ignorant schlubs—the normal people.

*I’m using this GIF sarcastically…

I want to write more stories about normal people (or at least the normal parts of people who seem extraordinary), not because I want to be rElAtEaBlE but because seeing normal people change and grow and overcome or fall is what’s interesting to me and to the readers who I wish to write for.

8. I don’t write in a vacuum.

I think the hard part about wanting to write “art” is the temptation to put self-expression and one’s artistic vision on a pedestal above all other goals.

After writing “Vegas Man,” I feel slightly less inclined in that direction.

I’ve realized that my main theme—the pointlessness of being isolated—applies to creating art. Art isn’t a solitary venture in which only the creative process matters. The art has to be shown to someone else for it to fulfill its purpose.

So you have to balance self-expression and artistic vision and all that with audience awareness. You want your audience to understand your story. To enjoy it. To grow from it. To feel something, right? Otherwise, what’s the point of sharing it?

I think some will read that and fear I’m suggesting we compromise our artistic integrity to please the masses.

Not by a long shot.

Authors who write to please the masses just give people what they want.

That’s Independence Day. “Let them see explosions! Let them see aliens! Let them see F-16’s exploding! Let them eat cake…”

After writing “Vegas Man,” I have renewed my commitment to write to help my audience feel something. I want to serve them on a deeper level. And, sure, my own artistic vision points the direction I’ll go and safeguards me from self-commodification. But I’m not an island. And if my art can’t impact someone, why bother?

9. Fewer posts, please.

I came to Substack excited about serial fiction with romantic daydreams about Charles Dickensing it up in here. And after publishing “Vegas Man,” I’m less excited about creating or reading serial fiction.

I published “Vegas Man” in four installments because I thought . . .

1. I’ll get more views.

2. I won’t scare readers off with a 6,000 word story.

To the first, I’ve gotten 650 views from all four posts, but who cares? It has changed my life not at all besides tempting me to vanity. (It’s hilarious that 650 views is all that it takes.)

The more sobering number is that while my first post received 250 views, my last only received 137. That’s quite a few people who were not hooked by my incredible prose.

Or . . . who didn’t want to wait for installments. If I had the story on hand, I should have just delivered it.

To the second, I think there’s merit to not wanting to scare readers with a giant post.

If I’m skimming Substack, and I see that a post is a 10-minute read, I’m more likely to save it for later and to go find a 5-minute post to read.

(I’m just lazy like that.)

But maybe most fiction readers are different? And is compromising the reading experience by stretching it out worth the lessened reader experience for those who are committed?

Seems like maybe I compromised out of fear instead of just letting those who would enjoy it enjoy it.

So I’m going to resist the temptation to serialize for serialization’s sake. Instead, it’s time to research and experiment with what makes the best reader experience for my unique audience.

10. Just publish it already.

This story sat in Google Docs for a long time.

I think I had this mythical idea that if I waited long enough, all the ideas for improving it would come to me and it would age like fine wine, and I’d end up with a magical, award-winning story.

Vanity, vanity.

At this stage in my craft journey, I need to be focusing on quantity and practice.

I’m no Hemingway or O’Connor or Le Guin . . . yet. And I’m not going to become one waiting for inspiration. Time to go out and develop skills. And the best way to do that is to actually write.

So for my next story, I’m going to be quicker to publish it once I’ve squeezed all the practice I can out of it. Then I’ll move on to practicing on the next one.

Maybe one day the stakes will be higher and I’ll have the skills to warrant obsessing over a single story, but the only way to climb that mountain is to actually climb it. So here I go.

Thanks for reading past the dragon!

Sometimes a listicle is the easy way out of writing a serious essay, but I’m proud of this one regardless. Reflecting on a mixed-success experience gives that experience new value. You just have to stay grateful for the process and listen to what you learn.

Do you have a book on writing craft you’d recommend? My ThriftBooks wishlist needs to get bigger. I’m currently reading On Becoming a Novelist by John Gardner.