back-to-school for writers: creating languages

Fellow writer and blog reader Megs Payne graciously agreed to write this guest post about creating languages. Thanks, Megs, for providing us with such a thorough and thoughtful approach to building a language!

The Quick and Messy Way to Make a Language

by Megs Payne

Crafting a language is like writing a story. It can be a short story, novella, or a novel. When devising my very first created language, Vas’her, it took years to conceptualize, draft it, edit, and finally fully revise it. I’m still working on it. That is a novel, or series of novels even. When it came time to write a short story as a Christmas gift a few months away, I knew I didn’t have that sort of time.

Tatan took me three weeks.

This is the quick and messy way to make a language.

Step One: Conceptualizing

There are three main aspects of conceptualizing your language.

In order for the language to add value to your story, it must be tied to the culture and characters. For a fabulous description of how to consider the final result desired, check out Juliette Wade’s article on the matter.

The language should have an overall feeling or idea that keeps you on track as you write it. “A language is the soul of its people,” says Holly Lisle. This core idea must and will affect how its speakers think. Tatan is a cohesive language, completely built off of a single table of concepts and roots that is expanded only systematically. It differentiates between making and creating. Vas’her includes only a single negative word—“no”—and makes use of meaning over sound in its core alphabet.

From the very beginning, you should decide how your language makes use of syntax and morphology. Syntax refers to the rules for putting words together into complete sentences, whereas morphology refers to how to expand the meanings of words with affixes and declensions. Whether your language conjugates practically nothing (as Vas’her) or absolutely everything (as Tatan), you will have to come up with almost the same number of rules. For story languages, however, I recommend going with a fusional language and leaning towards more morphological rules. Vas’her was written in three years. Tatan was written in three weeks. Using the same method.

Step Two: Drafting

This is the stage where you get down the bones of your language. A language’s framework, or skeleton, is composed of how it categorizes things: people, space, time, number, ideas. There are five primary tables I always like to know up front.

Grammatical gender is not the same as biological gender, though it can be based on it. Gender is the way language categorizes people (and often everything else) and reflects the way its speakers categorize people. Latin languages use masculine and feminine. Several African languages use deity, human, and animal. Vardin, a language I’m currently writing, uses the four social positions. Tatan uses parent, peer/sibling, child, and unmarked. Just remember: the more genders you use, the more work you have ahead of you, especially if you include case.

Ideas and their application are handled by grammatical case (morphology). Is a gift received and the receiver of the gift grammatically identical? In English, pretty much, and it’s the objective case. In other languages, these are considered to be very different and take the accusative and dative cases, respectively. You can have a case for an object in motion, something that belongs to someone, something that was used in an action. In short, for anything you want.

Singular and plural are not the only numbers either. Number can included a partitive plural, a collective plural, dual, triple, or any other specific number. In Tatan, every word can be easily affixed to be of a certain number, though a simple plural can also be called.

Space is a cultural concept. In some cultures, personal space is not the norm (thinking of India, here). In others, six feet may be barely enough. Being close could mean intimacy, as in English, or it could mean rudeness. In Tatan, the idea of space as relationships is magnified. To draw near is to become close emotionally; to put distance between is considered openly hostile. The terms for going on a journey frequently avoid any mention of distance, no matter how far the destination. Also keep in mind whether there is anything different about direction, such as west and east or even up and down. A spacefaring race will have quite a different concept of space.

Another cultural concept enshrined in language is time. Grammatical tense is only one place this shows up. In English, time is conceived of as linear and generally traveling from left to right. In some cultures, it’s viewed as vertical or in a circle. In some languages, time is never mentioned unless necessary, as in Vas’her, or is viewed as happening in the past and also now or in the future and also now. The ways a character views time affects more than just language and it’s important to make sure they match.

Finally, check back over your culture and determine if there is any other point that is integral to your characters. In Tatan, the concept of blood is vital. To be blooded is to belong to the culture. To be blooded is to be an adult. To be blooded is to have conquered in some battle, whether that be between men or in childbirth. It’s how they define themselves versus outsiders. It’s in the personal pronouns table. There’s one for the unblooded and one for the blooded. Look at your overall language concept again if you need ideas.

Finally, the easiest way I have to nail down all these structural constructs is to simply build a table of the personal pronouns. I do this because even in nongender languages, some genders usually show up on the pronouns table. It’s an easy way to see if you’ve missed anything and if you’ve included the absolute maximum categorization available to nouns.

Step Three: Layering

The good news is that if all you want is how to make your characters sound like their language, you’re just about done. If you actually want to put some flesh on it though, add more than just a handful of vocabulary words to your story, then there’s a little more work to do.

This is where you get into syntax, regardless of whether it was your big point. Decide what word orders are acceptable. If you had a heyday using case, you really don’t have to select one. But if there’s a preferred one anyway, make a note. Consider how to deal with nested clauses, if statements, and complex sentences. Also think about whether word order or mere inflection is used to note questions. All of this should appear in your rendered English dialogue.

Decide how your language references previously mentioned items. Vas’her has a system much more complex than ‘it.’ They can reference ‘it’ for inanimate objects, ‘this’ for the previous idea or person, and ‘that’ for the idea or person mentioned before ‘this.’ In short, this will translate well in dialogue and gives more depth to the language.

Finally, I must point out stress. This is an oft-overlooked point. Words have stress. English has borrowed so many words from other language, that where its words are emphasized is all over the map. Most languages are not. In Tatan, I not only developed an extremely consistent stress pattern, I used it to increase my available meanings. Verb tense and several cases are changed by simply moving the accent mark (á) to another syllable.

Step Four: Polishing

Deciding on the sounds of your language, its phonology, is easier if you already have some words that sound right. When I began developing Tatan in earnest, I had several names (Daigan, Cautan, Ashreh, Ashikah, Shikai) and words (kinaté, rhaná) to go on.

First, I figured out why I had two k sounds, then promptly discarded bothering about it again. If you don’t have a reason for using two different letters, DON’T. Ever. No matter how tempting.

Second, I made a list of all the sounds currently included and which ones I could not do without. Do not include any letters that you don’t have a word for. Ever. No matter how tempting. Nobody knows your alphabet anyway until well after the story’s published, so you can add it later if you find a word that needs it. (For more on why, see Holly Lisle’s language course.)

At this point, you’re just looking for a feel for what sounds right.

Go back to your stress rules. Consider how having a certain syllable stressed can shift pronunciation. Apply these consistently across your vocabulary. In Tatan, this resulted both in some irregular words and some words based on the same root being spelled and pronounced differently. This is because irregularities are initially produced when rules conflict.

Deciding on how to put those sounds on paper is why it’s so important to limit yourself. Throw out any grand ideas on forcing readers to pronounce words a certain way. They won’t. You’re going to have to get creative with your spelling.

First of all, note that American English and other English is mostly different in how vowels are pronounced. Use lengthening or shortening letters, like ‘h,’ to get the sound you want. For example: Sahlorih is a strange spelling sure, but it was the only way I could get it to be pronounced with a word final short ‘i.’ English doesn’t do that.

Second, use accent marks consistently. Generally, English uses accents to note stress, so recognize that when you decide to apply them. It will make a word final ‘e’ audible and generally gain you the long pronunciation of the vowel.

Step Five: Revising

Change your mind any time you want, just like with a book. You can always revise later. Well… Until you’re published.

For more resources, try: Zompist’s Language Construction Kit, Essays on Language Design, Holly Lisle’s Create a Language Clinic, Juliette Wade’s blog, and How to Create a Language

back-to-school for writers: creating maps

You’ve heard the joke: If there is a map on the front of the book, expect to be dragged to each and every location marked on it. A map has practically become a fantasy novel cliche.

That doesn’t minimize just how useful maps are to both readers and writers.

The fantasy I’m reading nowadays doesn’t have a map. Characters casually refer to countries, provinces and cities, and there is no handy visual reference to see how these places relate to each other. The result: I’m lost and disoriented in a world out of someone’s imagination. And that translates to a nagging discomfort that distracts me from the story itself.

The same holds true on the writer’s side as well, maybe even more so. A writer needs to be spatially oriented in her world, continent, country, village, castle keep or college campus, so she can plan her story and block her scenes accordingly. How long does it take to travel from Molemphis to Milemphos? Is there time for Anna and Di to argue about George’s intentions while they walk from their dorm building to their English class? What natural barriers lie between the warrior Thvor and the City of Rich Nubile Young Women? Can Palla escape out her bedroom window when assassins burst in from her dressing room, or  is she caught between the bed and the entrance to the garderobe?

Okay, so now that you’re convinced your story needs a map (*wink*), how do you go about creating one?

Well, for one, you start by checking out real maps. You can find physical and political maps here.  And the University of Texas Libraries site has tons of links and images of historical maps here (okay, I could get very lost happily following links on that one!).

You can also start your own collection of maps by hanging on to those free pamphlets you get when visiting attractions during your vacations. I’m jealously guarding the Mt. Desert Island map we brought home with us. Looking at the maps will give you an idea of what kinds of physical formations you can put on on your map. They’ll also give you a sense of naming conventions and (in city and village maps) of how human habitations are laid out (Where’s the mill? Where are the fields? Where would the castle keep be?).

Here are a few tips I’ve found useful when drawing maps:

* Pay attention to coastlines. Enjoy creating bays, inlets, coves, headlands, peninsulas and islands. I personally LOVE sand bars and land bridges.

* When drawing a map of a city, town or village, think long and hard about the reason the place came into existence. Was it the presence of mines, proximity to the river, a defensible position or the crossroads of major trade routes? Think about what the first buildings of the town would be and build the rest from there.

* Yes, we all make sure to put mountains, deserts, rivers and forests on our maps, but let’s not forget mesas and volcanoes and steppes and canyons. And by all means have castles and fortresses and towns, bu don’t forget mines and lighthouses and colleges.

All right, now you’re all gung-ho to draw your own fantasy map! Start here for a basic tutorial.

Still need inspiration? Here’s a blog dedicated to fantasy maps. And look, there’s even such a thing as a Cartographers’ Guild.

You can download fantasy mapmaking software AutoRealm for free.

And, if you’re stuck for story ideas, Holly Lisle shows you how to build a world around a map.

Do you draw maps for your stories? Any tips to share?

back-to-school for writers: research

Hello, September! Time for changing leaves, ripe-on-the-tree apples, cooler weather (once this heat wave breaks!)… and going back to school. Here in the Gale household, we’ve been doing school since the second week of August, but everyone else is finally catching up to us (slackers! *wink*). So, I thought it’d be fun to do a  continuing education series for writers this month.

As writers, we not only have to perfect our own craft, we also have to familiarize ourselves with the professions of others as needed. As worldbuilders and character developers, we find ourselves stepping into the roles of: linguists, physicists, forensic scientists, homicide detectives, medieval warriors, Roman soldiers, calligraphers and carpenters, and thousands more besides, including some that don’t actually exist–like dragon keepers, mages, xenobiologists, and more. And we need to do this accurately, in order to maintain the illusion of truth that is good storytelling.

So we have to do our research.

Sometimes the research is quick and easy, like when we need a minor factoid such as, say… oh, what kind of rock tin is found in. A simple Google or wikipedia search should suffice (looks like tin ore is found in igneous rocks). Other times, though, we need to immerse ourselves in a whole new culture, whether it is of a previous era of time, a madeup world, or a profession we have no real-world experience in.

Here’s my strategy for doing that kind of research. I start off on the Internet, to get a feel for my subject area and figure out what kinds of questions I should be asking. I’ll make a list of likely-looking books as resources. Preferably ones with pictures.

Then I’ll hit the library. If I’m a complete newbie to my research area, I’ll start out in the children’s section. Hey, I can benefit from the simple language and colorful pictures and cutaway diagrams. Once I get my basics down, I can move over to the same topic in the adult section. If my library doesn’t have a book I desperately want, I order it through interlibrary loan.

I’ll often go for biographies and memoirs to give me a sense of what everyday life in the culture I’m exploring is like. It also helps to visit museums and other places of interest. If I can’t hop on a plane and fly across the world (which is 99.99% of the time *grin*), I’ll look at coffee-table books or do an image search online for visuals. Many touristy spots also have good websites full of information like maps and virtual tours.

Sometimes, I don’t require knowledge so much as a skillset. My character may be a gardener or a glassblower. In order to get into that character’s head, I need to know how he does his job. In that case, I can visit a glassblowing factory or take a community course in gardening. There are lots of free or cheap events, workshops, and courses offered by various organizations on any number of topics.

The next step would be to consult an expert. I’d only do that after having done my legwork, so I can ask intelligent and specific questions, not basic ones that I could find the answers to by reading “So You Want to Be a [Insert Relevant Profession]” from the library.

So, that’s my approach to research. How about yours? Any tips to share?

In the meantime, here are some research tips you might find useful:

How to teach yourself anything in less than three months

Research in Pajamas: Five ways of researching online.

Need to brush up on calculus, musical theory or art history? Here’s a list of universities that offer free online DIY courses. Includes universities like MIT and Stanford.

10 Research Tips for Fiction Writers: Good tip about watching movies (and documentaries, too!) to get a feel for a time period.

A ton of research links for science fiction writers here. And more on finding credible academic research. Oh, oh, and a large compilation of links of interest to the researching writer.

What are some of your favorite places on the web to go to for research?

organizing your novel notes

Two nights ago I sat down to begin my typein (yay!). I brought out my scene cards, my story notebook, my story binder, and the first chapter of my marked-up ms. After looking at the sorry state of my worldbuilding notes—loose sheets of paper higgledy-piggledy crammed into my binder, scribbled lines amidst the plot details I had worked out (and abandoned)–I decided to collate them into a master document to have as a handy reference.

I used the Excel spreadsheet David made up for his NaNo project last year as a template. I divided it into several worksheets–People, Places, Time, Terminology, Artifacts, and Miscellaneous. Month names and the details of my weird lunar orbit went into the Time category. Places include all the district names I made up as I needed them; once I have them all I can come up with rough maps of the cities. Terminology is all the Quartz-specific words and expressions—kayan, roh-kayan, shah-kayan, and the like–with definitions. I’ll put descriptions of important items under Artifacts.

My plan is to plug in the worldbuilding details into the spreadsheet as I encounter them in the typein. The categories are flexible since every book requires me to keep track of different things. Season of Rains, for example, had a whole pantheon and many historical documents to keep straight.

How do you organize your worldbuilding notes?

Diana Pharoah Francis has some tips on keeping track of these kinds of story details.

Dear Brain

Dear Brain,

I’m very appreciative of the fact that you took time out of your busy schedule to plot out the last three scenes of Quartz for me. I thank you for all of the cool new insights into the magic system and the nifty little plot details you put in. I’m also really grateful that you mapped out that Rapunzel short story I’ve been stuck on for months.

For future reference, though: Could you please not do this in one massive planning session at midnight when I’m *trying* to fall asleep? I do have school the next day, you know. Feel free to ignore this request on Friday and Saturday nights.

Again, thanks for all your help!  You rock!

Love,

Me

ten drafts, or one?

Talk about being on opposite sides of the spectrum!: Does rewriting make your story better or worse?

Me, I fall somewhere in the middle. My first drafts are me trying to tell the story to myself. They’re the place where I can spend pages describing a forest scene, leap without any thought for logic or consistency to the moon in the next paragraph, follow enticing rabbit trails into Land of the Next Story, return to This Story by way of a dream sequence, change the hero’s eye color five times and inadvertently kill of the heroine’s siblings from one scene to the next. To me, they’re the raw material that I then pare and cut, mold and shape. I need a couple of good goes at the ms before it’s beta-ready.

And I know a lot of writers work similarly.

But, goodness! Ten drafts? Fifteen drafts? I’d spork my eyes if I had to go through that many drafts–and this is before editorial input. That many revisions would suck the soul out of the story and the joy out of my writing. Nuh-uh. I’d rather give the story its chance in the world, trunk it if it didn’t sell, and go write the next one.

Every writer is different. There are writers who produce quality work in one or two drafts, and others who need ten or fifteen. My takeaway from reading these two posts pretty much back-to-back is: do what works for you. Find your own way. Tweak other writers’ methods to suit yourself. Own the process.

Few writing “rules” are set in stone.

i am writer, hear me roar!

It is HOT in here. Muggy hot. Stuffy hot from drawn shades and closed windows. Outside, it’s my-steering-wheel-is-going-to-burn-my-hands and the-pavement’s-going-to-melt and the-metal-is-going-to-take-off-my-skin HOT.

Yes, folks, we’re having a heat wave of temps in the mid-90s up here in Vermont.

I’ll wait while all you Florida and Arizona and other southern state people stop laughing.

Remember, we have no central air conditioning (thank God I insisted we install ceiling fans in every bedroom!). Our house is designed to trap heat (we can thank our Vermont winters for that). Our kids have been going about with flushed cheeks and heat-induced hair-trigger sensitivity. The Baron’s curls have been plastered to his head with sweat all day. I’m seriously considering cutting them off, poor child!

And still I revised. Got a whole new scene written, despite my laptop overheating and dying right in the middle. I feel victorious, the writer who triumphed over the weather, who did her writerly thing under less than optimum conditions, instead of filling up the bathtub with ice cubes and lying in it and insisting that no human body come within ten feet of her.

My friend Jo also got creative over the last day or two so she, too, could write.

Have you ever had to take drastic measures in order to write? Written a novel in 30-minute increments on a library computer? Scribbled flash fiction on a burp cloth while nursing twins? Let us know.  :)

summer school

I usually take summer off from serious writing, probably because seventeen years of schooling has ingrained in me the sanctity of summer vacations. This year, though, I hit the actual revising part of HTRYN at the beginning of June. Yes, folks, all of what I’ve been doing since January(!) has been prep work for this. Now I’m working with a hard copy of my manuscript, marking it up, writing out new scenes and all that fun stuff. Can’t stop now!

So, no summer vacation for me this year (but the kids are getting one–barring light school in math and reading–and I’m off the hook for prepping lessons, yay!). The Plan is to be done with the revision by the end of August. To keep myself honest, I’ll be posting weekly progress updates and I expect you guys to poke and prod me if I get lazy, k?

What about you? What are your summer projects?

using index cards to structure your novel

Line-editing comes easily to me. I can spend hours tweaking sentences, polishing description, making dialog snappier. All of which is akin to lovingly smoothing on the wallpaper while the roof leaks, the furnace belches carbon monoxide and a colony of rabid bats has taken residence in the attic. It’s harder to see the overall arc of my story, the structure of my novel, which was one of the reasons why I signed up for How To Revise Your Novel. I wanted to learn how to find and fix my big problems before I spent hours deciding which shade of off-white to paint the walls (Old Linen or Cream Yellow?), only to discover that the walls need to be knocked out so that the kitchen could be enlarged.

And one of the lovely little tricks I learned from HTRYN is writing one-line descriptions of my scenes on index cards. And now I have both a visual representation of my novel and the flexibility to try new structures by moving my scene cards around.

This was the study floor a while ago (I couldn’t leave  my cards down  for too long since I have three kids whose passage is heralded by gale-force (ha! note pun) winds):

I laid out my cards in chronological order, but also in three columns each representing a plot thread (innovatively called Main Plot, Subplot A and Subplot B). This way I could see where my main plot was stretched thin, when there was overlap, where there was too large a cluster of scenes that only dealt with one subplot. To see my novel like this was a huge help to me. I can lay out my novel in so many different ways using colored scene cards–based on POV, location, subplots, the presence of certain characters.

For further reading:

Holly Lisle’ has a workshop for using index cards to come up with a plot in the first place. More on plotting using index cards here and here.

so, yesterday I wrote

I haven’t written a lick of original fiction since–*squints into the misty past*–I worked on Rainbird last fall (*gasp*!). This year, I’ve funneled all my storytelling efforts into revising Quartz using the HTRYN course, and diligently beat down any other contenders for my writing time with a big thick stick.

I blame spring for what happened yesterday. Something in me just wanted new birth, to have a chance to grow into tentative life, to bloom into something small and shy, or big and showy…

So I started with a fairy tale to twist, a first scene, two characters and the glimmerings of a setting (city! rain-slicked, domes and towers striped like candy), and started writing. It was hesitant writing, full of fits and starts, long-unused muscles figuring things out all over again.

This story might go somewhere magical, or go nowhere at all, but the beauty of it is that there is no pressure. I love it. :)