Category: Editor Blogs

Echoed Cries: Character v. Plot

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            Echoed Cries by Jake Huebsch is a story from Periphery 50.  You can find it under the Archives tab or under Story of the Week.  The Periphery Blog is a blog about writing, narrative, art, and everything in between.

            We have all been there, watching a scary movie or reading a horror novel where we shout at the character, “Don’t go in there!” “Don’t open the door!” “Just run away!”  More than many other genres, horror struggles to balance character with plot.  Many times in order to produce a more frightening story, characters have to act in ways that put them in more danger.  The plot demands that characters make certain decisions in order to produce more fear.  It can be difficult for authors terrify if characters make rational decisions and call the police or simply run away when a monster or murderer comes for them.  The hallmark of great horror stories, however, is when characters are able to make believable decisions and the horror to still come from those actions.  How then, can authors balance character and plot in a horror story?  Huebsch has some answers his story Echoed Cries. 

            The first thing that struck me about the story was how tightly bound character motivation and uncovering the Beauvont’s secret are within the narrative.  Only the protagonist would have a good reason to be in the Beauvont mansion, and have reason to look critically at the portraits to discover the Beauvont secret.  The background of the story does an incredible job of allowing the reader to understand why the protagonist goes to the mansion, stays there even after he realizes something is amiss, and looks critically at the portraits.  If the protagonist was a thrill-seeking teen, the deep examination of the portraits, as well as remaining in the mansion, would come off as unsatisfying.  The protagonist has a job to do within the mansion.  He is staying in the mansion to restore the paintings, so it makes sense that he would be looking at them critically and then staying in the mansion despite his fear.  The protagonist’s character is designed in such a way to explain why he stays when others wouldn’t.  We aren’t shouting “Get out of the library!” because it makes sense for him to be there, and stay there.  Character isn’t overtaken by plot. 

            There is something to be said about horror stories that isolate characters.  We think of The Overlook Hotel from Steven King’s The Shining or the ship ‘Nostromo’ from Ridley Scott’s Alien, or any number of lakeside cabins or country manors a la The Turn of the Screw, Get Out, and so many others.  Isolating characters in a terrifying place makes sense for horror, but it is important to note that all of those stories work incredibly hard to set up why characters go to those locales.  King goes into great detail about why Jack Torrance wants to be the caretaker of the Overlook, and what spurns the family to live there.  Early lines within Alien show the crew’s commercial interests and how heavily money and bonus’ weight on their minds.  Character is emphasized in all of these examples before plot. 

            It becomes frustrating as a reader or viewer when authors have characters go to, or inhabit these frightening places when we would not.  It draws readers out of the text because characters that don’t make rational decisions no longer function as characters.  They become slaves to plot.  Slaves to plot do not demand empathy or sympathy when terrible things happen to them, because they own irrational actions  caused their downfall. 

            The 2017 It film, despite being a good movie, is filled with these poorly motivated actions.  When I saw It in theatres, during the movie someone shouted, “Stop following the balloon!”.  The frustrated viewer was of course talking about how the ‘Loser’s Club’ consistently puts themselves in avoidable situations where the rest of us wouldn’t.  Of course terrible things happen to the kids when they wander into sewers, or abandoned houses.  

            2017’s It also has an incredibly novel look at character action in the opening scene with Georgie and his lost boat.  The now famous scene of Georgie sticking his hand down the sewer is painful to watch.  I squirm just thinking about it.  No one should ever stick their arm down a sewer, and Georgie knows this.  The scene is so terrifying because we watch Georgie get convinced to do something we would never do.  It’s genius.  Character is at the center of Georgie’s actions.  He is a little kid able to be manipulated, and he is worried about his brother’s anger if he loses the boat.  We are yelling at the screen for Georgie to make a better decision, not a rational one.  That distinction is key. 

            I was really excited to find Echoed Cries within Periphery 50 because at this time of year, I always itch to watch scary movies and read horror novels. I was even more excited after I saw how well Huebsch set up the story.  Horror as a genre balances and incredible amount.  Character arcs, pacing, setting, and plot are all just as direly important in horror as they are elsewhere, but on top of all that, the author is trying to frighten the reader.  Sometimes that balance can come undone, which means horror authors have to be vigilant to keep character agency at the heart of the story.  It is no small feat, which is why Echoed Cries stands out to me. 

Badly Behaved Cephalopods: Why Perspective Matters

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Badly Behaved Cephalopods Lead to Amazing Occurrences by Madelyn Lemons, is a story from Periphery 55.  It can be found in our archives as well as under the story of the week tab.  The Periphery Blog is a blog about writing, narrative, art, and everything in between.

            A question I hear a lot about perspective in storytelling is, ‘when should an author choose the first-person perspective versus a third-person perspective?’  The best answer I can give is the story Badly Behaved Cephalopods Lead to Amazing Occurrences from Perphery 55 by Madelyn Lemons.  Lemons’ story relies heavily on character narration.  The main character Jim’s internal monologue not only sets the scene, works to characterize every character we meet in the story, but is damn funny the entire time.  Few stories we receive at Periphery are so effortlessly comedic, but more importantly, use that comedy for a very specific purpose. 

            Take a look at the opening paragraph of the story.  Notice all that it does simply using character voice.  How would this scene have been different if it was narrated in the third person?

Be an octopus research scientist you said. It would be fun, you said. No no, they can’t steal things. Absolutely not. They don’t memorize night guard patterns and steal fish from other exhibits. They don’t open their tanks, slip their grubby tentacles out, reach into your candy drawer, and steal your Almond Joy. Not them. Dumb fish, yes they are.

Everything you need to know about the entire story you get from the opening paragraph, and all of it comes directly from the character’s voice.  It is Jim’s opinions about Lenny’s actions that matter here.  Lemons could have easily told us about how Lenny has escaped in the past and Jimi is made about having to find him.  A flat description here would have worked well enough.  By seeing those events through Jim’s eyes, however, the reader understands so much more about both the events and Jim as a character.  The reader knows that the protagonist is an Octopus research scientist who is bitter about their job and sardonic to a fault.  The reader knows the antagonist is a clever octopus who’s exploits not only show how intelligent he is, building up a persona and background for the story itself, but also are able to deeply characterize Jim, and show his crass nature.  Only by seeing the world through Jim’s eyes is so much content able to be put into simple descriptions. 

            Another great example of how Lemons is able to use descriptions to deeply characterize Jim is how she describes ‘Bill’: “I’m pretty sure his name isn’t actually “Bill the orange fish man” or even “Bill” at all, but I’ve never actually talked to him”  Like Jim, the reader still knows nothing about Bill, but hears all that Jim thinks about him.  The comments about Bill’s outfit, the mocking nickname, work to push the story forward while at the same time working to characterize both men.  These comments show the reader how judgmental Jim is in a much more powerful way than if Lemons were to simply tell us. 

            Lemons never has to say that Jim is judgmental, or angry, or well versed in octopi because the reader is able to understand that simply through the work Jim’s point of view does.  The odd phrases like “ugly yellow linoleum” or “I know his pissy eyes when I see them” show how bitter Jim is about his job, surroundings, and having to find Lenny.  Comments like “Octopus vulgaris” and “he’s a cephalopod without the ability to even perceive sound the way humans do” show how much Jim knows about taxonomy and octopi without Lemons having to spend time telling the reader these things.  Through character voice, Lemons is able to be incredibly efficient with her prose, having each line pull a lot of weight and tell the reader many things.  A telling aspect of the story is that the first time Jim speaks is six pages into the story.  We don’t hear a word from his mouth and yet we know so much about him.  By the time he does speak, his actions and motivations are clear to the reader. 

            So far I have glossed over just how funny Jim’s narration is, and I don’t that that is fair when talking about all that Jim’s perspective is and does.  The line, “Oh no, bad idea don’t do it danger zone he’ll eat you Jesus Christ Lenny’s one mean little bastard when he wants to be-” can only work in its breathless terror because it comes from Jim.  Even in this joke though, Lemons is moving the story forward.  The reader, just like Jim, is watching Bill try to wrangle Lenny, and through Jim’s perspective the reader gets more information about it. 

            Why then is Lemons’ Badly Behaved Cephalopods Lead to Amazing Occurrences an answer to the question, ‘when should an author choose the first person perspective versus a third person perspective and why?’  Because the story doesn’t function without the character voice.  Every line in this story works in several ways either to describe the surroundings, characterize Jim, talk about Jim’s job, or characterize Lenny or Travis.  A story that relies so heavily on a character’s perspective demands to be told by it.  If a story does not, it shouldn’t be.  Madelyn Lemons shows us a wonderful example of that through Badly Behaved Cephalopods Lead to Amazing Occurrences

The Wolfhound: Why Syntax matters

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            The Wolfhound by Matt Nelson, is a story from Periphery 47.  It can be found in our archives as well as under the story of the week tab.  The Periphery Blog is a blog about writing, narrative, art, and everything in between.

            Something I look for when reading through Periphery submissions isn’t just a good story.  More than a sold structure, a well paced narrative, or engaging characters, what I look for is how authors use the structure of language to communicate.  Because there is basically unlimited variance in how even a single sentence can be written, that level of detail can work incredibly hard for the story, if only the author pays attention.  To me, much of the elegance of writing is that because how one goes about creating a story is so open, each decision has the ability to become meaningful.  Decisions don’t all have to be painstakingly thought over, but authors can play tricks and layer meaning into even minute choices that are astonishing.  The Wolfhound by Matt Nelson from Periphery 47, is exemplary of that attention to detail, and just how hard syntax can work to tell a story. 

            Let’s say that you are narrating a character running a long distance.  How could sentence structure show the passing of time, and the scattered thoughts of the runner?  Take a look at how Nelson narrates Patrick’s run.  

Sixteen miles now, pound, pound. I’m fucking tired. I’m golden as shit. These are the kinds of thoughts that run through your mind when you run; crazy thoughts. The runner’s high starts deep into the run; you say the strangest things. You laugh but it’s casual. When you run the senseless things rise to the surface and take some sort of form before dissipating like the sweat from your skin evaporating into the air.

The short sentences that begin the paragraph bounce around from thought to thought.  They jar the reader with their quick change of subject, while also matching the pounding footstep-rhythm established in the first sentence.  The scattered thoughts both underscore how tired Patrick is, but also hint at the distance he has run between thoughts.  How much time passed between the start of mile sixteen, and Patrick imagining thoughts sweating from his skin?  If each sentence perfectly flowed into the next, one could easily assume that they were one right after the other: a continuous flow of thoughts.  That is not the case.  The jarring distance between thoughts easily translates to the distance Patrick has run. 

            Notice the breathless semicolons that connect thoughts that wouldn’t otherwise make a great deal of sense next to each other.  I love the simple description of runner’s high as “I’m golden as shit”.  It is nonsensical, and seemingly random, but perfectly encapsulating the fatigued thoughts of mile sixteen.  The comment feels like an inside joke Patrick has with himself, that only really becomes funny when exhaustion has overcome you.  You don’t have to run sixteen miles to understand the wild thoughts that beat through the fatigue of running.  The clipping sentences, each with different thoughts, show the reader how tired Patrick is beyond Nelson simply saying so. 

            Through syntax alone, Nelson underscores the point of both how far Patrick has run, as well as how tired he is.  Through choices the author made, not about the narrative, nor the character, he was able to convey meaning through the construction of language. 

            Another example that shows just how well Nelson makes his points through syntax is the second sentence in the story

My sister Donna had already awoken, and sat at the kitchen table, wearing her small eyeglasses and Cinderella pajamas, pretending to read the National Geographic and actually sipping at a cup of coffee.

Donna shouldn’t be drinking coffee.  She knows this, and Patrick knows this.  It is something she does with a little bit of pride and little bit of shame.  It isn’t hard to picture her hiding the coffee mug behind the pages of the National Geographic magazine.  Nelson never says any of this.  What he does say, however, comes from his construction of the sentence.  Just as Donna is hiding her habit from Patrick so too, is Nelson hiding his description of it from the reader. 

            The first clause of the sentence, an independent clause, stand alone, almost like a cursory glance from Patrick.  The longer he looks, the more he sees, starting with where Donna is sitting, what she is wearing, what she is pretending to be doing, and finally what she is actually doing.  Nelson hides what is actually happening, within the sentence itself, and by doing so, tells the reader so much more about Donna and Patrick as characters, and their relationship as siblings. 

            I was talking with a friend recently, when she off-handedly said that no one under twenty-five knows how to use a semi-colon, and that struck me as odd.  Not simply because semi-colons are rarely useful in 280 character tweets, but because they are another tool for a writer to use.  Not knowing how to use a semi-colon would be like an artist not using a specific color.  (Though Semi-colons are admittedly the color terracotta of grammatical tools).  It’s not that writer’s need to use them, but simply knowing about all of the choices that go into the writing process allows authors to make more meaningful decisions about language.  And making meaningful decisions about language is the most specific definition I have ever heard about the term ‘Literature’

Crisscross Applesauce: How to Pull Off a Plot Twist

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            Crisscross Applesauce by Ashley Flaws is a story from Periphery 55 and can be found in the archives as well as the story of the week.  This post will be talking about how the story uses plot twists and foreshadowing.  If you have not read the story I would recommend that you do so before reading this.  You have been warned.  The Periphery Blog is a blog about writing, narrative, art, and everything in between.

            Crisscross Applesauce is the kind of story that made an editor get up on a table and shout about when it was first discussed before the Periphery staff.  It is the kind of story that sucker punches you in the gut on the fourth page; M. Night Shyamalan would weep hot tears that this wasn’t his idea.  Beneath the talk of Barbies and triple scoops of ice cream lays something dark, and I love it for that.  What I want to talk about this week is how Crisscross Applesauce uses foreshadowing and why its plot twist works. 

            To me, the beauty of Crisscross Applesauce is how effortlessly it misdirects from the plot twist.  The quick succession of names on the first page of the story, of the girl’s Barbies, of the principle and school teacher, keeps a reader from focusing on the fact that you never get the main character’s name.  I didn’t realize the name is never given until much later in the editing process of edition 55 than I would like to admit.  That is how perfectly Crisscross Applesauce misdirects. 

            The most effective way Crisscross Applesauce misdirects is by framing the story from the perspective of a troubled child.  Details about a “Cool trick off the swing” to make her mother smile, or fantasizing about what it must be like to be seventeen, not only attach the reader to the main character, but stop them from picking up on what is really going on.  They also drown out the other details that could point the reader in the right direction like, “We have matching pigtails braids and the same pink dress on”  The framing also makes readers think differently of details that would otherwise hint at the twist.  Details such as how the twins have to “Talk really loud because Mom and Dad are yelling downstairs” makes the reader worry about the girls and their home life, long after it becomes apparent that her parents are yelling about her mental health.  As a first-time reader, I was much more concerned about the parent’s fight and how it affected the twins, than what the fight was about.  Flaws does a wonderful job of showing how much the fighting disturbs ‘the twins’ and making me care about that, rather than the hints put into the conversation. 

            From the first line of the story, the identity of the ‘twins’ is construed.  “I talk too much, that’s what my sister, Cali says”  The first thing the reader knows is not the name of the point-of-view character, but her sister.  Also From that line, the only thing the reader knows about the speaker, is what her sister thinks of her.  Immediately, the identity of both of characters is intertwined.  On top of that, little hints like how Flaws describes the girls playing with their dolls: “I saw him. He looked nice,” Cali makes Susie say” have an entirely different meaning when the main character makes Cali makes Susie say.  Early foreshadowing cements the twist in the story, making it seem more real and earned. 

            These details, of Cali crying and the speaker consoling her, become incredibly worrying, once the twist is revealed.  Most importantly, they don’t simply reframe the story in a new context, but shows the interiority of the main character.  That second point, of having a plot twist do something more than shock, is a key part of plot twists that is often forgotten.  A twist should be shocking, but it also should do something more than that.  Returning to our friend M. Night Shyamalan, the reason why the twist in The Sixth Sense is so good, is because it not only reframes the entire story, but the conversations between Cole and Malcolm show how Cole is caring about spirits, and gives insight into how Malcolm is unable to accept his own death  The twist gives great insight into both characters rather than simply shocking the viewer.  Crisscross Applesauce does the same thing.  Through Cali, the reader can understand how the main character is disturbed about her parents yelling.  The conversations between Cali and the main character show the internal resilience of a child, and how it can go wrong.  The twist also sheds light on a dysfunctional family, and how parents struggle to help their children. 

            Looking back at Crisscross Applesauce I wonder how many people figured out the twist before it was revealed.  I wonder if Flaws was laughing the whole time while writing this piece because she would be playing her reader like a fiddle.  I went from concerned to sympathetic to worried to horrified in the span of less than 1800 words. 

            Quentin Tarantino said in a 2005 interview about his movies, “I want to play you as an audience.  I want to be the conductor and you’re my orchestra.  There are sounds that I make you to make, and feelings I get you to feel, then I stop you from feeling those feelings, then I stop you from feeling that, and make you feel something else yet again.  If a director call pull that off, that is a real lucky audience member”  That is specifically what Flaws did in Crisscross Applesauce, and I’m still not over it. 

‘Japanese Woman’

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This week’s blog post comes from Emily Albers, the Art Director for Periphery 57. She discusses the piece ‘Japanese Woman’ by Agnes Jung that was featured in Periphery 56. The Periphery Blog is a blog about writing, narrative, art, and everything in between.

Artist Agnes Jung did not just deliver in her incredible line art and coloring for “Japanese Woman”, but in her ability to create a piece open to storytelling. 

What first caught my attention in this piece was the woman’s gaze. Unlike a traditional portrait, this woman is sitting very relaxed, with a look in her eye like she knows something the viewer doesn’t. Her traditional, red getup also juxtaposes the scenery around her, offset in blue. Her smirk and the bottles around her make me want to be in on the secret. 

From the artist’s bio:

Agnes Jung is attending an international school in Seoul, South Korea. Her inspiration comes from the people and places in her daily life. She also admires the director Wong Kar Wai and his use of color.

Looking at Jung’s work next to her favorite director’s work, I can see her inspiration. Kar Wai makes many artistic choices that reflect a similar atmosphere as “Japanese Woman”, such as block coloring and character posture.

I wanted to touch briefly on Jung because she is also one of several international submissions Periphery 56 received! We are incredibly excited that our Art and Literature Journal is reaching people all over the world. The fall submission window for Periphery 57 opens September 1st. We are so excited to see what you all send our way for the newest edition!