When Creative Writing Takes on a Life of Its Own: The Tale Grows in the Telling

July 17, 2024July 16, 2024 / Elliot Chan / Leave a comment

When J.R.R. Tolkien started working on The Lord of the Rings [Amazon], he thought it would be a straightforward sequel to The Hobbit [Amazon]. What began as a continuation of Bilbo Baggins’ adventures turned into an epic saga filled with new races and vast, unexplored lands.

George R.R. Martin experienced something similar with his A Song of Ice and Fire [Amazon] series. He initially envisioned a trilogy, but as he wrote, the story expanded into a massive, sprawling narrative with countless plots, rich histories, and a large cast of characters. It’s a story he has yet to finish—come on, George!

These legendary authors show us that sometimes, no matter how well we plan, our stories have a mind of their own. As we pour our thoughts onto the page and let our creativity run wild, something magical and sometimes maddening happens—the tale grows in the telling.

But what does that mean, exactly? It’s when your story expands beyond your initial vision, which often stems from a character, an event, or a theme. This organic growth can be a sign of your creativity flourishing, but it can also lead to a narrative that feels unwieldy and unfocused.

When you want a story to have a structured hero’s journey, a neatly tied-up beginning, middle, and end, and a fast-paced narrative, letting your story grow in the telling can be a bad thing.

But I love Tolkien and Martin. Creating something as expansive, rich in characters, and full of unpredictability as their worlds is what I aspire to do. It’s all about finding the right balance—allowing the tale to grow in the telling while staying the course and not getting too sidetracked. Tolkien and Martin definitely got sidetracked, telling stories about characters that don’t even influence the main plot but add another layer that the audience wasn’t previously invested in.

For example, while the main story of A Song of Ice and Fire focuses on the battle for the Iron Throne and the threat of the White Walkers, Martin decides to split A Feast for Crows and A Dance of Dragons, allowing the events in each book to happen simultaneously. This allowed Martin to introduce a whole batch of point of view characters that branched off from the original story. This brought in characters such as Aegor Rivers.

While Aegor was a great topic for discussion in online forums, with all his backstory, his role in the Blackfyre Rebellion, his founding of the Golden Company, and all his personal vendettas and ambitions. But does he really impact the main plot? Does his story even matter in the context of the current struggle for the throne or to any of the other characters that we spent 3 books getting invested in?

Perhaps he didn’t belong in A Song of Ice and Fire. If Tolkien had written it, maybe he would have stuck him in the Appendices. Either way, as a writer, it’s all about deciding what you want to do with extraneous details that don’t impact the plot. Think, director’s cut or deleted scenes for a movie. To make an informed decision, the first thing you need to do is understand key aspects that can expand as your story develops.

Here are five common areas that will grow as you write:

Characters As you write, your characters may take on new dimensions. They might develop unexpected backstories, acquire new traits, or form relationships you hadn’t planned. A minor character might suddenly demand more attention, becoming central to the plot. In “A Song of Ice and Fire,” Theon Greyjoy starts as a relatively minor character, but as the series progresses he becomes a significant player in Westeros.
History The world you’ve created has a past, and as you write, you become an archaeologist digging up new discoveries. You might find yourself exploring the origins of a society, the lineage of a royal family, or ancient events that shape your current narrative. Tolkien delves deep into the history of Middle-earth, especially with the tales of Númenor and the ancient conflicts between Sauron and the free peoples. This rich history provides a backdrop, but it’s also a rabbit hole.
Subplots New subplots can emerge organically as you write. These secondary storylines can add depth to your story, providing additional layers of intrigue and conflict. The storyline of Brienne of Tarth’s quest to find Sansa is a compelling B-story to “A Song of Ice and Fire.” Her journey and personal code of honor compliments the political and military strategizing of the main plot. A palate cleanser between major events.
Themes As your story evolves, themes can deepen or shift. You might start with a simple exploration of love but find yourself delving into themes of sacrifice, betrayal, or remorse. While the initial theme in “The Lord of the Rings” might be the fight against evil, deeper themes such as the corrupting influence of power, the importance of friendship and loyalty, the dangers of industrialization on the natural world, and the possibility of redemption (as seen in characters like Gollum) emerge.
Settings The settings of your story might expand, with new locations coming into play. A single city could become a sprawling world with diverse regions, each with its own culture, unique history, political dynamics, and conflicts. “A Song of Ice and Fire” begins in Winterfell but soon expands to include the Wall, King’s Landing, the Free Cities of Essos, and places beyond the Narrow Sea.

As you can see, these additions made the two epic sagas more captivating and engaging. It opens up more questions for the audience, enticing them to learn more. The key is finding that balance between intriguing and overwhelming. You must stick up for what you want to hold and at the same time not be afraid to cut when you need to.

But even when you cut, it doesn’t mean it needs to be deleted forever. Still we can learn from Tolkien and Martin.

Tolkien’s world-building in “The Lord of the Rings” laid the foundation for The Silmarillion [Amazon], a compendium of myths and legends that detail the ancient history of Middle-earth. Similarly, Martin’s extensive lore in “A Song of Ice and Fire” led to companion books like Fire & Blood [Amazon], which chronicles the history of the Targaryen dynasty from its inception in Valyria to its conquest and rule over Westeros.

In addition to “Fire & Blood,” Martin expanded his world with A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms [Amazon], a collection of three novellas following the adventures of Dunk (Ser Duncan the Tall) and his squire, Egg (the future King Aegon). Set nearly a century before “A Game of Thrones,” these stories provide a glimpse into a different era of Westeros.

And Tolkien had his fair share of companion novels as well including Beren and Lúthien [Amazon] and The Children of Húrin [Amazon], both of which were published posthumously.

What is written is never wasted. What is written can stand the test of time. So, when you trim your work, when you prune the gardens, don’t just throw away the discarded bits. They may be beautiful flowers worthy of a different venue, a different vase.

Extract subplots or character backstories that don’t fit your main narrative and develop them into standalone short stories. These can provide additional context and depth to your main work. Compile them as a collection or publish them independently. Short stories are also a great way to attract a new audience or re-engage old ones.

Use the expanded history and settings as lore to enrich your world-building. This can serve as background information that deepens the reader’s immersion. Build a Wiki for your world and open it up for dialogue, that is what good history does.

When the tale grows in the telling, it can lead to some of the most beautiful and unexpected moments in your writing. It’s a dance between structure and spontaneity, between planning and discovery. Embrace this growth, shape it, and let it enhance your story.

Having your world unfurl freely, as Tolkien and Martin did, allows you to create from a place of passion and authenticity. Even if the audience’s expectations aren’t fully met, the creative satisfaction you gain from exploring your story in depth can be invaluable. In the end, it’s your creative journey. Trust yourself, trust the process, and remember that every twist and turn is part of the adventure. Happy writing!

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What Does “That’s Deep” Mean?

April 25, 2020April 24, 2020 / Elliot Chan / Leave a comment

“There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was a light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.” — J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

When Peter read that passage from one of his favorite books, he paused for a moment and processed the words on the page. On the surface, it was merely describing what Samwise Gamgee saw and how it made him feel.

Through the cloudy gloom, up upon the mountains, he saw a white star — and that star gave him hope because it shone through all the darkness.

Yet, there was something more. Something underneath the literal. To which it made him say out loud, “Wow… that’s deep.”

But what did he mean? Why did that passage out of the thousands of passages in the trilogy stop him? Or better yet, how did it stop him?

The phrase “that’s deep” when we hear it in a literal sense, sounds like someone’s talking about the ocean floor. While that might sometimes be the case, what Peter meant when he said that’s deep was that the writing was profound. So in order for us to understand what makes something deep, we must understand what makes something profound.

The word profound has many definitions, but the one we will be relying on is this one: going far beneath what is superficial, external, or obvious.

Yes, Sam Gamgee saw the star — but it was what the star represented that made the passage profound. It was so beautiful that it smote his heart and even looking at all the destruction, he had hope. Perhaps we have all been where Sam Gamgee was — not literally, not Mt Doom — but we have all been in a situation where we felt as though we were ready to surrender. There were moments where we felt hopeless.

Peter certainly did. He was neck-deep in student debt and looking for employment in the entertainment industry. Of course, the world was not looking for another filmmaker, and any project he wanted to get off the ground was consistently met with rejections. He was in the clouds on the dark tor, ready to quit.

But the star, a light of high beauty can never be dimmed by the shadow. The shadow in Peter’s world was the debt. No matter how deep he falls into debt, his love for filmmaking and storytelling will never die. The star was his passion and when looking up upon it, he remembered the feeling he got when he premiered his first student film in high school. The audience laughed and cheered. It was what he loved doing. It made him happy. It fulfilled him. It kept him warm and made him feel as though life, his little life, was worth living. And that life — that will to live — hangs so high above the debt, that he knew poverty would never make him hate his passion. For he was living for his passion, not for his debt.

He closed the book and placed it to the side. Peter, filled with hope and inspiration, his white star visible through the darkness, goes and picks up his camera and starts filming. He didn’t ask for permission. He didn’t ask for a budget. He didn’t go get approval or a permit. Like Sam, he’s focused on the twinkling star and not on the forsaken land beneath.

For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was a small passing thing.

We all have a Shadow — a capital problem that follows us — but Tolkien doesn’t make it obvious, he layers it with imagery and symbolism.

Imagery is vivid and descriptive language. It creates visuals in the reader’s mind by appealing to the senses. In this case, sight: “There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while.”

Symbolism is the use of characters, settings, or objects to present an abstract idea. It holds hidden meanings and requires some deeper thinking to identify. In this example, it was the star and the Shadow. “For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was a light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”

Of course, Tolkien didn’t have Peter in mind when he wrote the story. But by using imagery and symbolism, he was able to emotionally impact a wider audience and his writing has lasted generations. That is what profound writing can do. Profound writing transcends time and space. It captures what it is like to be human without ever stating the obvious, “here, this is what you have to do. These are the facts.” It lies not on the surface and requires the individual, with their own values and personal experiences, to dig underneath. And it’s the process of digging that makes a piece of writing deep.

Is there a profound passage of writing that really resonated with you? I’d love to read it, so please share it in the comments below. And if you’ve enjoyed this article, check out these two other posts in the series:

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Your laws are too ‘precious’

December 29, 2015December 21, 2015 / Elliot Chan / Leave a comment

Why comparison of the Turkish president to Gollum is as ridiculous as fantasy

By Elliot Chan, Opinions Editor
Formerly published in The Other Press. Dec. 9, 2015

In Turkey, insulting, mocking, or showing any dissension to the president is against the law. This case was proven when Bilgin Çiftçi, a Turkish doctor, created a meme of President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s face side by side, matching expressions with Gollum, the despicable character from The Lord of the Rings.

Çiftçi has since been fired from his job, but now the courts are determining the next order of action. Since the chief judge—apparently too busy—has never seen any of The Lord of the Ring films, he and the court is turning to some experts of Tolkien’s epic tale in order to determine whether or not the comparison is indeed an insult. The argument in defence of Çiftçi is that Gollum is a hero of the story and therefore the meme was not an insult, but rather a compliment.

Now, I’m going to break this whole situation into two parts.

First off, Gollum, although he redeems himself (in a sense) at the end of the saga, is not a hero of the trilogy. He is a vile creature that succumbed to greed. Gollum is a victim, for sure, but at no point was he a hero. He killed his best friend, Déagol. Gollum is the epitome of a self-destructive addict.

I know what you are thinking: he ended up destroying the One Ring, doesn’t that make him a good guy? No! Because he bit off Frodo’s finger in an outburst of voracity and fell off the edge of Mt. Doom. He had no intention of destroying the ring. While it was the ring that corrupted poor Smeagol and morphed him into Gollum, we cannot honestly say that Gollum is a hero.

The second part of the situation that must be addressed is how stupid the law is. This proves that freedom of speech, no matter how benign it is, is still a luxury in many parts of the world. Moreover, the inability of some to show any sense of humour is even more disturbing than the law itself. The fact that Tayyip didn’t just brush it off and accept the little ball busting is kind of funny, too. You’d think a man with power could poke fun at the fact that his looks are comparable to, say, Orlando Bloom.

Let’s be honest, Çiftçi was not trying to plot Erdoğan’s downfall. Even if he disliked the President, the mere comparison to Gollum did very little harm to the President’s persona. All it did was call attention to the fact that Erdoğan shared similar features to a fictional character—which he totally does! Perhaps Peter Jackson didn’t need to utilize CGI or Andy Serkis. He could have just cast Erdoğan.

I’m sure many in Turkey found the comparison uncanny, too. But when a country has a law that makes it incapable of processing a joke, then it is that country that becomes the joke. Imagine a Canada where we weren’t allowed to satirize our leaders. That wouldn’t be the free country we know and love. Turkey is a beautiful place, one I wish to visit one day, but with a law like that it sounds more like Mordor than Rivendell.