The novel rattles along towards its end. You’ve been with these characters for hundreds of pages, followed their stories for thousands of words. Now, at last, you’re in the final chapter. The drama and action are at their peak. The conclusion rushes up on the last page of the chapter, and…
What’s this? There’s more? I thought the story was over!
Epilogues are interesting creatures. On the one hand, they allow a “where are they now” recap of the stories of your characters, the opportunity to tie up loose ends. On the other, they take place after the principle action of the narrative, perhaps in an arbitrary or artificial fashion. Let’s take a look at these specimens in more detail, to see if there’s a right or wrong way to implement them or if they’re even necessary at all.
Epilogues Are Not Bad
Once you get to the end of the story’s major plot, there may be minor ones that still need to be resolved. And that resolution might not come right away. The major plot may require cleanup, say if the evil overlord’s exploding hideout set the nearby forest on fire or the police need to take statements and make a case that the hero was actually breaking the law and needs to serve time. The protagonist may need to disappear in the wake of that explosion, or maybe they won’t see their significant other until they get out of the slammer on good behavior. Yet you still want to resolve some things for them after that time period. Epilogues let you do that.
Putting these story points in an epilogue instead of an additional chapter indicates that this final part of the narrative is occurring outside of the timeline of the main plot. Readers spend a bit more time with characters, see the resolution of certain situations and get the opportunity to decompress after the experiences within the climax. If nothing else, it allows the writer to tie up loose ends.
Epilogues Are Not Good
Then again, if you have a lot of loose ends to tie up, maybe you need to rethink where those threads came from in the first place. Why tack on additional words after you resolve all the action? End on a high note, as they say. Less is more. Resolve what needs to be resolved and no more. Let the reader fill in the blanks themselves.
Also, epilogues can be arbitrary or even artificial. If you’re writing a novel, it’s already a long work. Do you really need to make it longer? Epilogues are also breeding grounds for things like sappy reconciliation, forced relationship resolution and groundwork for a sequel that may never come. At worst, they’re vestigial growths that operate like the human appendix: unnecessary and possibly poisonous to your creation.
Epilogues Are Both. Or Neither!
I think it might be a case-by-case basis. I see both the merits and flaws in an epilogue. I can understand cases where they might be necessary and cases where they serve no purpose other than lengthening the story or providing setup for future works. And as far as my own work is concerned — Citizen in the Wilds in this case — I’m on the fence.
What do my fellow writers think? Are epilogues good things from time to time? Or do all of them need to die in a fire?
One of the most wonderful and terrifying things about becoming a novelist is there’s no one “right way” to do it. It’s wonderful because it means anybody with writing talent (and some without) can do it, and it’s terrifying because it can be daunting to choose how to begin, where to go and what to do once you get there. Yahtzee Croshaw started out writing reviews of movies and games, short stories and freeware adventure games, and Mogworld is his first novel. After finishing it, I found myself hoping that it won’t be his last. With Sir Terry Pratchett ill and Douglas Adams dead for almost a decade, someone had to step up and fill the shoes of the sarcastic British genre novelist.
Jim is an apprentice wizard, studying arcane magic and thankful to be away from his fathers’ disgusting farm when his school is attacked by the neighboring war college. He’s killed, only to wake up sixty years later as a zombie under the command of a necromancer. It’s soon apparent that his world has become afflicted by some odd global condition that makes death a temporary inconvenience, but while some people wake up in a nearby church swathed in white robes when killed, Jim remains zombified. The prevailing sentiment among those still capable of coherent thought is that this condition needs to be fixed. Jim, however, could care less. Jim just wants to die permanently. Unfortunately, being an NPC in Mogworld, a massively multiplayer online game boasting revolutionary AI, this is easier said than done.
Yahtzee’s writing shows evidence of subscription to two of the biggest rules for good writing: “show don’t tell” and “less is more.” Tackling the first, Yahtzee is careful to never just have his characters spout their feelings verbatim. They are shown through the timbre of the conversation, their expressions and actions, the decisions they make and so on. Likewise, Yahtzee avoids the tendency of many, many modern comics with his “less is more” mentality, using running gags sparingly and instead using circumstance, intelligence and sarcasm to maintain a high level of humor throughout the book. And make no mistake, this book is very, very funny.
Of course, this is Yahtzee we’re talking about, so folks were probably expecting the humor. The existential angst, philosophical ramifications and metaphysical discussions, on the other hand, might catch some readers off-guard. The humor, in point of fact, begins to feel like something of a gateway drug. It’s the hook that pulls you into the story so Yahtzee can drive home what he’s really on about. The narrative goes some very dark places. It’s well done and presented in a very interesting way, so it wasn’t that jarring for me, but readers expecting the rapid-fire dirty jokes of Zero Punctuation may be filled with confusion.
If Mogworld has a flaw, it’s the decision Yahtzee made to write the novel in the first person. While it does draw in the reader and underscores the sort of immersion Yahtzee is always discussing in his reviews, there are a few moments where it feels less like Jim is his own character and more a mouthpiece for Yahtzee’s personal opinions and philosophies. Considering how much of Yahtzee’s voice and humor permeates the novel, Jim comes dangerously close to becoming an Author Avatar. Thankfully, as the novel goes on it feels more like Yahtzee is flirting with that distinction rather than being completely ignorant of it or knowingly crossing the line to speak to us directly about how silly or stupid we are to believe whatever we do that he does not. It’s gotta be hard to carry on a serious discussion on these subjects when your tongue is planted in your cheek, after all.
It’s really hard to hold a flaw this minor against the overall result when the humor is this funny, the characters this memorable and the jibes this cutting. For a novel, Mogworld is very good. As a first novel, it’s excellent, bordering on the fantastic. And for anybody out there struggling to put a novel together, it’s a challenge. Yahtzee got this written, edited and published while maintaining his web series and opening the Mana Bar. It puts the following question to other writers: “What’s your excuse?”
The Nentir Vale is a campaign setting provided to new players of Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition. It’s present in the Red Box and most of the starting materials. For a party almost all completely new to D&D and a DM re-familiarizing himself with the latest edition, it’s a great place to start a campaign. This will be an ongoing recollection of what happens to the party as they make their way through the Nentir Vale. Enjoy.
Trade caravans often travel the King’s Road in the Nentir Vale. With bandits, wild animals and monsters roaming unchecked throughout the countryside, traders attempting to bring much needed goods to the town of Fallcrest and beyond often welcome the company of adventurers. They’re not always paid, but even the most inexperienced sword or spell can ward off unwanted attention.
This was the situation on a sunny afternoon. Traevus, a wagonmaster coming north through Harkenwood, had a few young adventurers with him when his wagon was beset by goblins. The adventurers sprang to his defense and managed to drive the goblins off. A distant rider shook his fist in contempt of his failed minions and rode off. None of the travelers was seriously hurt. However, a valuable box was stolen from Traevus’ wagon, and he commissioned the adventurers to bring it back.
Andrasian wasn’t about to let thieves escape without facing justice. He also was looking forward to not being so close to so many humans. Their city-folk ways put him a bit ill at ease. He was a warrior of the wilds, and his simple greatsword thirsted for more blood of the wicked.
“Like my Dalish character in Dragon Age, but with a Y chromosome and actually nice to some people.” – Mike, Andy’s player
Melanie Good-Melons, on the other hand, couldn’t care less what the goblins stole or why. The offer of payment, however, persuaded her to join the party. A seer had seen Mel as an infant and predicted both her arcane inclination and her voluptuous body shape. Not one to hide her assets, Mel made it a point to wonder why Lyria wore such tight, dark leather. “The body is something that should be cherished,” she said, “instead of hidden in disgrace.”
“A magically voluptuous freelance adventurer with a taste for danger and minimal coverage.” – Eric, Mel’s player
Lyria, for her part, didn’t want these goblins giving honest thieves like her a bad name. Stealing from a fat nobleman who pissed on the peasantry was one thing, but stealing the goods of a struggling merchant just trying to make it as far as Fallcrest? She wasn’t having any of that. A lithe halfling that moved like a dancer and always had a dagger handy, Lyria seemed interested in the adventure as much for helping Traevus as for the promise of treasure.
“Think Bayonetta, only three feet tall.” – my comment on Danielle’s description of Lyria
The three interrogated one of the remaining goblins. Before expiring, the goblin confessed to the rather intimidating elf asking the questions that he came from a ruined, half-buried temple deep in the woods. Andrasian lead the ladies down the indicated path without incident. They came across the ruin and made their way inside, finding two corridors leading into the rock. They chose one and came across a surprise.
Instead of goblins, the trio encountered a cadre of kobolds wandering the halls of a section of the temple. The kobolds chatted amongst themselves as to how to deal with the intruders. Not wanting to betray that she speaks the language of dragons, Lyria kept quiet as Andrasian asked to be taken to their leader. The kobolds’ master turned out to be, rather than the disgruntled rider, a fledgling white dragon named Farallax.
Farallax told the trio that he saw the temple as his, and the human who they’d seen, Malareth, was an intruder. If they drove Malareth and his goblin cohorts out, he’d reward them. Considering he was both sitting on a pile of treasure and looked poised to wipe the floor with the party if they refused, the adventurers agreed. The dragon pointed to a door that would take them to Malareth.
Beyond the dragon’s lair was a storage area where goblins milled about. The trio sprang into action. Andrasian met the goblins head-on, Lyria snuck and danced around the fight looking for the best angle at which to stab a given opponent, and magic missiles flew from Mel’s fingertips. A hulking bugbear with a nasty-looking greataxe entered the fray. It took a coordinated effort between the three adventurers to deal with the captain of Malareth’s guard, but despite being bloodied and bruised, Andrasian found the heft of the bugbear’s axe rather satisfying, resolving to take it with him.
Malareth’s lair was a dark laboratory full of bubbling vials, moldy books and a few skeletal servants. Out of the corner lumbered a stitched-together monstrosity, a huge zombie that was not likely to fit through a standard door. Malareth dismissively told his servants to deal with the intruders. Mel’s spells kept the zombie at bay, pushing it back and causing it to tear the arm from one of Malareth’s skeletons in its rage. Andrasian’s new axe hewed into bone. Lyria played with her opponents, often slipping in for the killing blow as the fighter’s strength put them off-balance. Malareth’s dark powers often froze the adventurers in their tracks and repaired the damage to his minions. For a while, the fight could have gone either way.
Then Lyria leaped onto the shoulders of the zombie and stabbed it in the base of the skull, severing the connection between its rotting brain and animated muscles. The beast toppled to the floor in a heap of body parts, the magic animating it draining away and its stitches coming undone. Malareth stood alone against the party, and despite his affinity for the magic of death, he was no match for them. Melanie eagerly claimed his staff for her own.
The box that had been stolen from Traevus sat on the necromancer’s table. It contained an immaculate skull that radiated dark energy. The trio discussed the possible ramifications of this on their way out. Farallax thanked them for taking care of the pesky human, reached into his pile of gold and treasure, and pulled out a suit of leathers for Lyria. The party found their way back to Traevus, who explained the artifact was being taken to a monastery deep in the mountains where it could be destroyed or, at the very least, kept safe.
Satisfied for now with that explanation and paid for their service, the trio of adventures kept the rest of the trip incident-free all the way to Fallcrest…
Last night was a little different. Normally on Sunday nights I stay at home with my feet up and possibly lacking a pair of pants, and every other week I twiddle my thumbs while I wait for Classholes time to come around. Not last night, though. About mid-afternoon I put on pants and sallied forth to a friend & co-worker’s house for something a little different. We opened the Red Box.
I never had the red box myself, as a kid. I got into D&D around 2nd Edition, and I had just about wrapped my mind around the nuances and algorithms of THAC0 when 3rd Edition was announced. Naturally, I was frustrated. How dare TSR take away all the complicated algebraic formulae we’d burned lean tissue to memorize! Between 3rd Edition and Star Wars Special Edition, fans had plenty to be butthurt about. 4th Edition, released just two years ago, has been met with a great deal of similar ire from those steadfastly devoted to 3.5, people who’ve turned up their noses at anything new coming out of Wizards of the Coast and opting to play Pathfinder instead.
And now comes the Red Box. D&D for beginners. Hurt butts everywhere.
So when we opened up the box, we found the following:
Bag of dice. Off to a good start.
A two-sided, glossy map with two outdoor locations on one side and an indoor temple/dungeon/really big house on the other. Good for a couple of adventures, sure, but I suspect that unless you slice up the interior locations to be rearranged and thus ruin the outdoor maps, it might get old after a while.
Cardboard counters for heroes, monsters and Action Points. I have to admit, this was really nice. Coupled with the map, a lot of the guesswork and ambiguity is taken out of combat. Yes, there’s something charming about “picturing it in your mind,” but at the same time knowing where you stand in relation to which hulking monstrosity at any given moment is a good thing both as a player and as a DM. For folks just starting out, this is pretty ideal. Painted miniatures and custom maps can come in time, provided you have some to spare. To say nothing of money for pewter and paints.
Character Sheets. It was nice of Wizards to toss these in, and on high-quality paper as well. That said, there’s something somewhat limiting about them. Granted, the contents of the Red Box aren’t intended to take the characters too far past level 2 (more on that later) but giving characters a bit more room to grow beyond the one side of a single character sheet isn’t a bad thing. On the other hand, the blank side of the sheet is great for sketches.
Power Cards. This is where a lot of the butthurt is going to come from when fans of 3.5 check this out. 4th Edition resolved to make things a bit more streamlined and free-flowing, especially in combat, and while this wasn’t necessarily implemented well on all sides — half the skills are gone, which dilutes the versatility of a character somewhat — the Power Cards are probably the best addition to the game. Instead of hunting through the Player’s Handbook or a supplemental guide to find the particulars of a given ability, a player has a set of cards giving the name of the ability or power, what it does and how often it can be used. And… apparently… this is a bad thing?
Player’s Book. This is probably my least favorite part of the new Red Box. Now, granted, I understand why Wizards put it together this way. It’s for the total beginner working solo to introduce themselves to D&D. But when you have a few people looking to try it out with ideas of what they want to play, hunting and picking the particulars of the watered-down character creation rules out of what is essentially a Choose Your Own Adventure book is a bit tedious. Again, I’m not ignorant as to why it is this way, and in terms of getting a kid started in D&D it’s a really neat way of doing it. It’s just not helpful to people starting together as a group, and it feels a little childish in presentation.
Dungeon Master’s Book. Tied into the Player’s Book as it is, there are some rough parts of the DMB. The transition into DMing is presented as a natural extension of the CYOA aspect of the Player’s Book, with an owner of the Red Box lending his or her Player’s Book to another interested player so they can generate their character. You could probably pass the PB around from player to player and let them figure things out on their own, but that’d be an evening in and of itself, more than likely. Other than that, though, I have to say the DMB is a really solid intro to DMing, which might be the biggest hurdle some people have to clear when it comes to D&D. Laying out an adventure, coordinating a dungeon’s encounters and handling things like experience, role-playing and treasure can be daunting when you first decide to try it. The Red Box’s DMB keeps things simple, walks you through rules procedures and even reminds you that the players’ choices are just as important as your dungeon and its denizens. As much as I felt the Player’s Book doesn’t help a party starting out, the DMB does that well, once you get over the rough transitional bits.
So there you have it. Those are the contents of the Red Box and my take on them. But how does it work with new players, or experienced ones for that matter?
When Stephen Colbert mentions someone or something of import on his show, he’s giving it “the Colbert Bump.” Even his constant assault upon Jon Stewart’s Rally to Restore Sanity draws attention to that event – which, by the way, I think I might be making time to attend. I’ll be bringing my indoor voice, as recommended.
Anyway, I thought I’d bring attention to a few of the resources I go to that keep me going in terms of writing and help me maintain sight of my goals.
Come on. This one’s a gimmie. Chuck has repeatedly and brilliantly given writing advice that’s head, shoulders and beard above anything I could say. In fact, I hear tell he’s working on a book of writing advice which is going to end up right next to my old-school Elements of Style. White & Strunk could probably use a drink, and if I know Chuck, his advice is likely to be soaked in gin.
The folks over at DSD primarily talk about crime fiction, but the advice they give on story structure, dialog and pace can often be applied no matter what genre you happen to be in. It’s a great collaboration of very smart folks that deserve some traffic and attention. Check them out!
Think that getting that book or article published is the route to fame, booze and floozies? Think again. The keepers of Genreality routinely give not only good writing advice but an inside look at the realities of getting into and staying in the publishing game. It’s an honest and unflinching look at both how to get into it and what you need to do to stay there. Recommended for anybody even remotely interested in getting paid to write fiction.
Between your red-hot manuscript and that elusive publishing contract is the query. You could have the next big thing sitting in your hands, a total Twilight-killer, but it won’t go anywhere without an effective query. There’s advice all over on what makes or breaks a query letter, but like understanding the inner workings of a frog, the best way to understand a query is to see one torn to bits. That’s where Query Shark comes in. You will see nearly 200 queries, some good and some terrible, with in-depth reasons as to why some lead to requests to read more and some yield only form rejections. You can even submit your own queries. IF YOU DARE.
What other sites do you guys use when you need writing advice?
