For this week's #TuesdayTip, I am going to explore the difference between TV and novels.
My wife and I enjoy a good mini-series. The sort of thing that consists of 4 to 6 episodes, each 45-60 minutes long. Sometimes they are adaptations of novels and other times original stories.
Now, before we start, I am a novelist NOT a screenwriter. I have no direct insight into the world of TV making, so these are purely my own uninformed observations.
I Don't Remember That Happening.
A common complaint made of TV adaptations of existing novels is that the TV show differs from the original.
Common variations include:

• Parts of the original novel missing / new material added.
• The casting of actors that don't resemble the character as described (this can be explicit, where they have openly contradicted the description in the book, or more subjective where readers had an impression of what a character was like and found themselves surprised at the casting choice).
• Changing the dialogue.
• Excising/adding/merging characters.
• Changing parts of the plot.
• Re-ordering the plot.
• Changing the ending.

Opinions vary on whether a particular TV adaption is better or worse than the source material, or just a different way to enjoy the story. Typically it's subjective and a matter of opinion. The only comment I'm prepared to make on this thorny topic is that Amazon Studios' Harry Bosch and Jack Reacher adaptations are in my opinion excellent. They aren't slavish retellings of the original novels. They aren't better or worse than the books. Instead they are their own version and I can enjoy both the books and the TV series alongside each other without feeling it necessary to compare and contrast.
Speaking to friends that have had books adapted for TV, the author rarely gets much of a say. Some big-name authors such as Michael Connelly may get to help executive produce the series, but most authors don't.
Some authors actually adapt the book themselves. But again, you will usually find differences.
The reason is quite simple: TV and books are very different forms of media. TV productions are constrained by budget, time available to broadcast the story, availability of suitable actors and what can be practically shown on screen. Furthermore, there is a need to split a TV series into discrete episodes, each roughly the same length and each with a cliff hanger. Although novels have turning points and cliff hangers that serve as natural breakpoints, where a reader can put the book down but is keen to return, they are rarely conveniently spread out. I notice that some streaming services have experimented with different lengths for each episode, so that the story's telling isn't dictated by the need for an ad break or the length of a TV slot, but I think it'll be a long time before that becomes the norm, if ever.
There are also other, less tangible differences. For example what about inner monologues or character's thoughts? The Jack Reacher shown in Amazon's Reacher series is rather more chatty than the one portrayed in Lee Child's original novels. He has to be, because Reacher in the novels rarely speaks out loud. Instead we get a running commentary of his thought processes. That's easy on the page; for the small screen, we need either a voice-over or another character that he can speak with. What about conversations via phone messages? Some TV shows do this really well, others make a bit of a mess of it, with viewers struggling to read the messages on screen, and thus missing important information.
Another difficulty faced by TV series, is that it is sometimes easier to hide something on the page than on the screen. I recently read a book where a whole chapter appears to be told from the perspective of a particular type of person. The big twist at the end of that chapter (and it is a stroke of genius) is that it is actually being told by a completely different type of person. I can't see any way of filming that without giving away that twist within the first two seconds of the camera panning across. If it is ever made for the screen, that scene will have to be rewritten or cut (fortunately, there's enough in the rest of that book to make it worth filming anyway).
That's Not How I Would Have Done It.
One of the things about being a writer is that you often find yourself analysing another writer's choices. I can't stress enough that it is rarely about thinking, "I could have done that better". Rather it is about the direction that your own imagination went at a crucial point in the story, and how it differed from the author's. In fact, sometimes it's the exact opposite to feeling superior. I've lost count of the number of times I've read or watched something and thought "Damn, that's good! I'd never have come up with that in a million years".
When watching TV, I often have that feeling and I realise that it's probably because I am thinking as a novelist. If I was writing the story, I would have my character go and do X or think Y. But then, when I think about it, I realise that the decision made by the screenwriter is far better suited to the screen than my idea, which would work better on the page.
Don't Diss The Screen.
Looking back over the previous two sections, I am uncomfortably aware that what I have written fuels those who smugly proclaim "of course books are always better than TV". I've never been happy with that argument. TV and novels are both complementary and discrete forms of entertainment and you can't make such a sweeping statement.
So to redress the balance, here are some of the advantages that TV has over novels.

• Description. A good novelist can fire the imagination with beautiful descriptions of a scene, a landscape or a character. They can conjure up images in the reader's mind. But they need to do so concisely to keep the pace brisk and they can't keep returning to that description without becoming repetitive or slowing things down. Furthermore, a surprising number of people have a condition called aphantasia - an inability to visualise images in their mind's eye. TV on the other hand is a visual medium. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and it's undoubtedly true. A skilled cinematographer can convey a whole scene with a single sweep of the camera, freeing up the screenwriter to get on with telling the story.
• Sound. Again, TV is also an aural medium. Dialogue is more than just words, and whilst a good novelist can describe the nuances of speech it can be difficult to convey the subtle undercurrents. In the second episode of season three of Star Trek: Picard, there is a huge revelation (I'm not going to spoil it). The entire scene is communicated with nothing more than the changing expressions on the actors' faces. The viewer experiences the same dawning revelation as the character. It is a sublime piece of TV. In a novel, the revelation would have to be explicitly stated on the page. It could be done of course, but I feel it would have been a poor second best.
• Atmosphere. A good writer can conjure atmosphere. But again, a skilled cinematographer and sound designer can convey in just a couple of seconds what a novelist might need two paragraphs for. Well-chosen music can manipulate the viewer's emotions, and isn't that manipulation what it's all about?
• Background. By this I mean what's happening behind a character, perhaps something they are unaware of. In a book, we need to tell the reader everything that happens. We are often told as writers 'show don't tell'. TV can often have an advantage here. Imagine a scene in a restaurant, where two characters are having a private conversation. That conversation is overheard by someone at the next table and then used against them. In a book, the writer has to figure out how to tell us that happened. There are a dozen ways to do this of course, but they require an explicit acknowledgment of what took place. In TV, the characters can finish their conversation and the camera can zoom out and reveal the eavesdropper with a cunning look on their face. Obviously there are situations where a novelist has the upper hand, as they can delay revealing that there was a third person there until later in the book. This is another example of where the two media can have different strengths and weaknesses when telling a story, and how the same story may need to be told differently on the screen and page.

What do you think about the screen versus the page? Can you think of any examples where the same story is told differently, yet both are as good as one another?
As always, feel free to comment here or on social media.
If you are a writer with a tip to share, or fancy writing a fictional interview between you and one of your characters, please feel free to email me.
Until next time,
Paul.

This week's #TuesdayTip is inspired, in part, by the epic conclusion of the BBC drama, Happy Valley. First off, rest easy that there won't be any spoilers!
It occurred to me as I watched the series that one of the key strengths is the characterisation, in particular the way in which even the worst characters have qualities that make the readers empathise with them.
I've written before about how protagonists (the 'hero') and antagonists (the 'baddie') can often be two sides of the same coin, and how the same character can switch between the two (Tip#113). Today, I want to focus on the antagonist and discuss why the most memorable 'bad guys' have positive traits interwoven between the evil.
It's very easy to write a pantomime villain - a character that is all bad. They have no redeeming qualities, and the audience loves to hiss and boo as they make their entrance. But I find that one-sided approach to be ultimately unsatisfying.
Human beings are complex creatures. We accept that no person is wholly good. We all have flaws, some big, some small. Dig deep enough into your personal heroes and you'll find aspects of their personality or things that they have done that you disagree with. Similarly, the tabloid newspapers are experts at presenting killers and rapists as monsters with no redeemable qualities. But look beneath the surface (sometimes very deep, admittedly), and you will always find something that is good or likeable about that person. It doesn't excuse their actions, but it is there.
Furthermore, it is this contrast that often makes them more scary. How often have you heard shocked neighbours describing the quiet man at number 42 who turned out to be a serial killer as 'an ordinary family man'? Aside from the uneasiness from realising that evil-doers often hide in plain sight, the juxtaposition of a person who outwardly appears affectionate towards friends and families with an individual that is capable of great cruelty, magnifies the horror we feel at what they do. That contrast amplifies the impact of their crimes.
In Happy Valley, the writer Sally Wainwright, and actor James Norton, crafted a memorable antagonist that kept millions of viewers hooked for three seasons, spread over almost a decade. Tommy Lee Royce was capable of tremendous cruelty and violence. Yet in the final episodes he evolved from a wicked bogey monster to a complex, damaged individual. Many viewers were left discomfited by the fact that whilst none of his actions could be justified, they could be understood on some level. They found themselves feeling a degree of sympathy towards him, that means he will linger in their consciousness long after the series has ended.
Humanising The Bad Guy.
As writers, we want our characters to not only leap off the page through cleverly-crafted descriptions and memorable actions, but we also want our readers to experience emotion as they read about them. In the case of our antagonists, we want the over-riding feeling to be negative. But if we truly want them to feel authentic and to make them memorable, we need to tap into that inner contradiction that human beings are both good and evil. In other words, we need to humanise them.
Now first of all, humanising is not the same as condoning. Empathising with a character is not the same as forgiving them. Hitler was no less evil because he was a vegetarian who loved his dogs.
So how can we humanise our antagonists to make them more rounded, memorable and effective villains?
To do so, you need to give them traits that we can empathise with, or motives and desires that we can understand (and perhaps even agree with, even if we would never countenance how they set about to achieve them).
The first tranche of Marvel comic book movies built towards an epic showdown between the Avengers and Thanos, a god-like creature who, with a snap of his fingers killed 50% of all living beings. Evil incarnate.
Yet look at his motives: to simplify greatly, he believed that the universe was being destroyed by over-population. His drastic solution was to halve the number of lifeforms. Few would agree with his methods, but his goal, the protection of the universe, was on one level laudable. Fundamentally, he believed he was making a sacrifice for the greater good. Add to that his love for his adopted daughters and you have a character that is a lot more memorable than at first glance.
Back on Earth, I was faced with a conundrum when writing The Common Enemy, the fourth full-length novel in my DCI Warren Jones series. The victim in this book was the leader of a far-right extremist party. Tommy Meegan was racist, homophobic and violent, as were his friends. However, I needed the reader to empathise with the victim, otherwise they wouldn't care if Warren brought his killer to justice or not. They didn't have to like him, or agree with him, but they did need to see him as a human being.
You can do this for your own characters in a number of ways.

• Most powerfully, show that they are loved. Despite their failings, give them family and friends who enjoy spending time with them and miss them when they are absent.
• Show why they are loved. An easy way to do this is small acts of kindness or loyalty. Does your murderous, psychopathic serial killer do a bit of shopping for their elderly neighbour? Do they ring their grandmother or visit a dying relative every day without fail?
• Show that they can love. Maybe they have a family that they would do anything for? Or a beloved pet.
• Give them traits that make them likeable under the right circumstances. Ninety-nine per cent of the time, they are unlikeable. But do they have a sense of humour? Or everyday interests and hobbies and opinions that you or I may share? Hannibal Lecter is a charming, erudite and cultured individual. If it wasn't for his murderous impulses, I dare say he'd be enjoyable company at a dinner party.
• Give them flaws that the reader can empathise or sympathise with, because the reader shares them or knows others who do.
• Give them a motivation that we can understand (or perhaps even agree with to a certain extent). Do they kill for revenge (they or a loved one have been hurt)? Are they so obsessed with always being in control because they had a childhood where they felt powerless? Do they commit acts of violence because that is the only way they were taught how to solve a problem? Do they just want to share their inner pain with others, so they aren't alone?

How can you humanise your antagonist? Can you think of any good examples in fiction or real-life?
As always, feel free to comment here or on social media.
If you are a writer with a tip to share, or fancy writing a fictional interview between you and one of your characters, please feel free to email me.
Until next time,
All the best,
Paul

In the last #Tuesday Tip (Tip#119), I examined a debate regarding whether making your protagonist the target of a killer is an exciting plot device, or an over-used cliché. Today I want to look at another debate. The balance between backstory and plot.
This is probably more relevant to ongoing series than standalones, but it can apply to both.


A complaint that I've seen both in online discussion forums and reader reviews for particular books, is that readers felt there was too much of the characters' history and personal lives, and that they just wanted the detective to get on and catch the bad guy. They've picked up a mystery or thriller; they aren't interested in the lead detective's ongoing marital strife.
On the flipside, I've also seen readers enthusiastically talking about the characters' tangled private lives, and speculating about where things will go next. I have a few regular readers who are kind enough to message me about my books and ask for hints about what will happen to Warren and his wife Susan. Naturally, I politely thank them but keep my cards hidden.


Ordinarily, I usually suggest writers try and find a balance between the two - but really that advice is about as much use as a chocolate teapot. Because where is that balance? Every series is different. At the two ends of the spectrum, there are series where readers come back each time to see how their favourite characters - who are now more like friends - are getting on. The grisly murder at the heart of the book is almost an afterthought. Then there is the opposite end of the spectrum, where it's all about the mystery. The characters' private lives are an unwelcome distraction, and they are emotionally constipated.
Then there is everything in between.


The simple fact of the matter, is that you are never going to please everyone. That's life. I have read reviews of award-winning authors, lauded by readers and their peers, where somebody has given the book 3 stars and grumbled that it could have been half the length if only a good editor had cut the fluff about the detective's dying wife. There are also highly-regarded writers that have stood the test of time, that are criticised for the lack of characterisation in their books.
So I am going to give you one bit of advice:
Write what feels right; write what you want to read. Find your own balance.
By all means listen to constructive criticism from those you respect (over the years, my editors have variously told me to cut paragraphs that don't add to the main plot, or expand upon aspects of a character that readers may find interesting.) But ultimately, the balance between the solving of the crimes at the centre of my books and the trials and tribulations of DCI Warren Jones and his team at Middlesbury CID is what I feel comfortable with.


What are your views on plot vs backstory? As always feel free to share your thoughts in the comments or on social media.
Until next time,
Paul

I was recently an interested observer of a debate on a Facebook group about the practise of writers placing the main character of a series at the very heart of the action. Specifically, making the detective that series revolves around the target of a serial killer.
The original poster stated that they were sick and tired of reading books where it transpires that the bad guy was targeting the lead detective personally. They felt that it was an overused trope. And that got me thinking.
In my DCI Warren Jones series, I have made Warren the target in a couple of books. Given that the series currently runs to 12 entries, I don't think I've done it too often, but it is argued by some that there are series where it is becoming a bit of a cliché. So I thought it would make an interesting discussion point


Now first of all, there are series where the central theme is the detective's ongoing involvement with organised crime, or their shadowy past. In that case, whatever else is happening in that book, readers are probably going to want that story arc to advance. It's a central pillar that the series rests upon.
I think the criticism is aimed more at 'episodic series'. Series where the primary storyline is a different case each book, like individual episodes of a TV series. In which case, how realistic is it that the motive for the killer is to make the lead detective suffer? How realistic is it that more than one book involves different, unrelated culprits gunning for our hero?
It's a valid question. Can it be overused?

I guess there are Pros and Cons.
In favour of the practise, ask why the writer is doing it.
There is no denying that it can really raise the stakes. If the reader feels that the detective is in mortal peril, because they are the specific target of the killer, that can make the audience feel the tension more than endangering a character that they have only just met. It's even better if the killer has the detectives' loved ones in their sights.
This is because the reader might feel that the detective the series is named after is 'protected' - especially if they are back in the next book. But what about their spouse, or their children? I can think of a couple of series where the author actually killed off the most significant person in the protagonist's life. It was shocking and unexpected and it completely upended the status quo. One famous writer actually used the acknowledgments to direct readers to a letter, hidden on their website, where they confirmed that it wasn't sleight of hand. Yes, they really had killed off that character, and no, they wouldn't be coming back. Absolutely magnificent!
I can also think of another writer that supposedly killed someone off, only to bring them back a few books later and reveal that it was all a ruse. I don't think that worked as well.

On the other hand, the original poster in the social media debate made a valid point. It can become a cliché. They asserted that it was a sign of desperation or lazy story-telling. I don't hold much sympathy for that argument. I think that a writer can become somewhat over-enamoured with the device, since they are incredibly fun stories to write, but I see little evidence that it has become a fall back position for a writer short of ideas. I guess the biggest argument against it is that it is a little far-fetched. How often in real life would even the most well-known detective become the target of nutters and killers, who want to either murder them, or prove that they can beat them? Sure, it's fiction, and the suspension of disbelief is part and parcel of the genre, but if it happens more than a couple of times, that seems to be stretching things a little.

My personal view is that it is a very strong story-telling device, but one that should be used sparingly. One way to dodge this might be to shift the killer's focus to somebody close to your detective. Because of that, they become more embroiled in the case than they might normally. For example, rather than having the detective in the sights of the killer, because of something murky that happened in the past, why not make their sibling the target? This also has the added advantage that you can string readers along - will the killer succeed, leaving our hero devastated at their failure, or will they save the day?

What do you think? Over-used cliché, or a heart-stopping narrative choice?
As always, feel free to comment here or on social media.
Until next time,
Paul.