- February 28, 2013
62 Comments
- K.M. Weiland
- Posted in News
This week’s video offers some
pointers for avoiding dead-end events in your stories.
Video Transcript:
The term “episodic” is very rarely going to be a compliment when used in
reference to a novel. What it usually indicates is a herky-jerkiness to the
plot, a lack of cohesion, and an overall story arc that doesn’t pull together
into a concerted theme. Not exactly what most of us are striving for. What we
want is for the plot, the theme, and all the character arcs to come seamlessly
together and present a unified overall impression.
One of the ways we fail to accomplish that is by creating
dead-end events. Every moment in a story should matter to the overall plot. One
scene needs to affect the scene that follows. If you build up to a particular
event, only to have it fall flat and end up mattering not at all, you’re
essentially creating “episodes,” which, of course, are going to lend themselves
to this general feeling that the story as a whole is episodic.
As an example, let’s say one of your characters has a cancer
scare. He goes in for tests, the doctors hem and haw, and the character himself
is an emotional mess as he fears for his life. In other words, the suspense is
drawn out to the breaking point as readers hover over the pages, wondering if
this likable character is going to survive. And, then, suddenly, the tests come
back, the character’s fine, false alarm.
It may happen that way in real life, but in a story that
sort of thing just doesn’t work. You’ve drawn out reader emotions for no good
reason and disappointed them when the tension then dissipates without warning.
They’re not going to like that, and they’ll be much less likely to trust you
with the next suspenseful scene. But so long as you make sure every event
matters to the story, all’s well.
Tell me your opinion: How do you keep your story events from becoming episodic?
Related Posts: Increase Your Story’s Suspense With Breadcrumbs
Once authors grasp Scene* structure, the whole approach to
storytelling becomes clearer and more refined. At first blush, it can be a
subject that takes a while to fully grasp and, as a result, can spawn all kinds
of questions. But all you clever Wordplayers seem to have caught on without so
much as hitch. When I sent out a call for any final questions on Facebook and
Twitter, I received only two.
Tell me your opinion: Do you have any questions about Scene structure?
Related Posts: The Secrets to Story Structure: Your Questions Answered
How Many POVs Are Too Many?
How to Write a Novel in Two Sentences
_________________
Click the “Play” button to Listen to Audio Version (or subscribe to the Wordplay podcast in iTunes).
One asked for info on character arcs in a sequel, as
compared to a previous book. This, of course, refers to the “sequel” as the
term applies to follow-up stories in a series, and not to the sequel as the second half of the Scene. But it’s a good reminder
that this often confusing term pertains to two totally separate aspects of
storytelling.
The second question asked for examples of scenes and sequels from
popular stories. In answer to that, I’ll direct readers back to the previous
posts in the series, since practically every one demonstrates Scene structure from well-known books and movies.
In lieu of any other official questions, I thought I’d share
a few that were asked in the comments section at the end of previous posts in
the series. If you have a question that isn’t addressed here, please feel free
to ask it below!
Q. I try to stick to the mission-driven scene concept, trying to build each scene around the things my plot (or my character) needs to happen. But I have noticed that there are moments when certain scenes are meant to give an insight of the scene (the character-driven scene) and, in my experience, readers don’t usually get it and find those scenes unnecessary. I’m still wondering how to avoid that!—Meryl
A. Speaking
generally, “plot” Scenes are usually scenes
and “character” Scenes are usually sequels. Scenes
drive the action forward; sequels
allow characters and readers alike to absorb and react to what’s happened. That,
of course, is a gross generalization, but suffice it that a story can’t exist
without both. Plot and character, when done right, can never be extracted from
each other.
Q. How would you actually go about showing a scene instead of telling the scene?—JustSarah
A. Showing is all
about dramatization vs. summary (which is telling). You may find this post helpful.
Q. When structuring scenes, would it be considered tacky to give each scene sort of a premise sentence?—JustSarah
A. When it comes
to outlining, I highly recommend doing just that. If you can plot out each scene’s arc—goal, conflict, disaster—as
well as each sequel’s arc—reaction, dilemma, decision—you’ll be way ahead of the game in constructing a
solid plot from beginning to end. As for stating the Scene’s “premise” in the
text itself, that’s rarely a bad idea, since you always want readers to
understand any given Scene’s focus.
Q. When I read about your POV change in the same scene my brain went berserk! Hauntings of don’t head hop played through my mind. I guess if you know the rules and break them, it is okay. When I wrote my first novel, I did many POV switches and was reprimanded constantly because of it. It had a similar feel to what you wrote. So why in some cases is it acceptable and at other times it isn’t? Is it only acceptable in the occasional scene? Or can you do it throughout a novel? I’d really like to know your view.—Michael Di Gesu
A. What you’re
seeing in the Scene I quoted from isn’t head hopping. Head hopping occurs
when you’re switching POVs (usually multiple times) within a single Scene
without any indication of a Scene break. If I had jumped into the second character’s head
without using the three asterisks to signal a Scene break, that would have been head hopping. The key to successful POV
switches is giving each POV a large chunk of time. In the Scene I’ve quoted
from, both characters’ POVs each received half the chapter. If, on the other
hand, I had switched back and forth every few paragraphs, that would have been
way too much hopping around, even with asterisks to signal the Scene breaks.
Q. I wanted to ask about where to place a sequel. Is it generally considered wise to open a book with a sequel? I’m contemplating opening this one character arc this way, but I’m not sure if it would leave them wondering, “Ok, so what are the characters reflecting about?”—JustSarah
A. Not that it can’t be done, but it’s absolutely
better not to open with a sequel.
Start with your character acting, hook readers in, then slow down to reflect.
***
And that brings us to the end of our series! I hope you’ve
enjoyed the last twelve weeks and found this journey into the finer points of
story structure to be enlightening and even empowering. Solid stories are built
on the minutiae of solid Scenes. If you can put together a Scene, you can write
a whole book, easy-peasy!
*For the purposes of this series, “Scene” with a capital S will refer to the scene in general (which can include in its definition the sequel). I’ll use a small s and italicize scene and sequel to refer to the two different types of Scenes.
Tell me your opinion: Do you have any questions about Scene structure?
Related Posts: The Secrets to Story Structure: Your Questions Answered
How Many POVs Are Too Many?
How to Write a Novel in Two Sentences
Click the “Play” button to Listen to Audio Version (or subscribe to the Wordplay podcast in iTunes).
- February 24, 2013
10 Comments
- K.M. Weiland
- Posted in Feature , hook , outlining , pov , premise sentence , scenes , sequels , Showing , story structure , structuring your story's scenes , Telling
This post is by Becke Martin Davis.
Reading Agatha Christie books at
an early age inspired me to learn French. Hercule Poirot was Belgian, not
French, but Christie’s books were sprinkled with enough French phrases to
intrigue me. I don’t recall if Poirot ever said, “Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose,” but it seems appropriate
here. The phrase, loosely translated, means, “The more things change, the more
they stay the same.”
In the year since I last wrote a
guest blog for Katie, a lot has changed in my life, including two biggies: I’ve
moved back to Chicago after 20 years in Cincinnati, and I’ve become a
grandmother. But other things have not
changed: I’m still a struggling, unpublished writer and I’m still in awe of
Dame Agatha Christie, whose sales of two to four billion books in over 100 countries—second
only to Shakespeare—earned her the title, “The Queen of Crime.”
What was Agatha Christie’s secret to success?
Last year, a rereading of Agatha
Christie’s Autobiography led me to
write a blog I called, “What Would Agatha Do?” I don’t want to bore you by
covering the same ground, but I recently saw a television special called The Agatha Christie Code, which I found fascinating. Forgive me if I drop in a few
lines of backstory (you might get an idea why I’m not published yet . . .).
I’m an
obsessive reader, and my favorite genres are mystery and romance. While
rereading some Agatha Christie books recently, it struck me that they were
about the same length as Harlequin category romances. Both as a reader and a
writer, I was astounded to make that connection. Unlike romances, Agatha
Christie’s mystery books are stocked with enough characters to fill a small
parlor—which frequently happened at the end of her books, when the detective
Explained All. In addition to the detective, the police officers the detective
would outsmart and the occasional sidekick, Christie’s books include enough
characters to keep readers guessing—and constantly revising their guesses—as
they attempt to figure out “whodunnit.” How did Agatha Christie flesh out so
many characters and drop so many clues with such a small word count?
Writing by the numbers?
Thomas Jefferson said, “The most
valuable of all talents is that of never using two words when one will do,” and
Dame Agatha seems to have mastered that talent. I may have noted Agatha
Christie’s talent for packing a lot into relatively short books, but a team of
professional linguists in England took their curiosity about Dame Agatha’s way
with words to a whole new level. As discussed in The Agatha Christie Code, linguistic
experts from three British universities believe a mathematical formula can be
used to explain her phenomenal success. One report notes:
Christie uses literary techniques mirroring those employed by hypnotherapists and psychologists, which have a mesmeric effect on readers. It could mean the structure of her novels creates physiochemical responses which cause people to seek them out again and again.
Another report summarized the findings featured in The Agatha
Christie Code. Dr. Pernilla Danielsson focused on Christie’s use of plain
language, noting her use of “said” almost exclusively, and her use of common,
everyday language, which leaves readers free to focus on the plot. Another of
the researchers, Dr. Richard Forsyth, looked for patterns in her writing, to
see if it was possible to predict whodunnit. He made several discoveries about
her books that Dame Agatha was probably not even aware of:
- If book is less than 55,000 words, it’s nearly always a female killer
- If book is over 71,000 words, nearly always a male killer
- Kind of transport first used in book: road=female, air or water=male
- Lot of “a” and not many “I” probably male
Secret formula vs. good writing
While the scientific methods
reportedly used in this research have been questioned (and extensively mocked)
in print and online, I still find it interesting. Many of the writing
techniques mentioned in the television special would be easily recognizable to
anyone who writes for a living. The PR team promoting the show hyped it up, but
basically they were describing good writing.
I realize today’s sophisticated
readers may find Agatha Christie a little tame. Some even describe her writing
as “cardboard.” But for someone who only started writing on a dare from her sister,
Agatha Christie still managed to outsell Conan Doyle and just about everyone
else writing in her time—or anytime. There may not be an actual Christie
“code,” algorithm, or magical formula, but if there’s a magic formula to becoming a bestseller, it would be
worth a fortune. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are soon TV shows called The
J.K. Rowling Code or Fifty Shades of Code.
I’m not saying it’s impossible,
but so far it seems these scientists are mining fool’s gold. As a struggling writer, I’d
rather believe Agatha Christie just had a way with words. Cardboard? Not to me.
I’ve read about a million of her words, and I’m not bored yet.
About the Author: Becke Martin Davis is
multi-published in non-fiction but is still a struggling fiction writer. This
year, three of her short stories, written as Becke Martin, appeared in the Ohio
Valley RWA’s Christmas anthology Home for the Holidays. She is part of the Romance University team, moderates Barnes & Noble’s Mystery Forum, and is completing her second term as vice president
of the Ohio Valley Chapter of RWA.
Tell me your opinion: Do you think there can be a formula to writing success?
Related Posts: The Benefits of Saying Less
- February 22, 2013
25 Comments
- K.M. Weiland
- Posted in Feature , story structure , Writing Life
This week’s video cautions
against having good characters turn bad just to provide an interesting plot
twist.
Video Transcript:
As we discussed in last week’s video, authors are always trying to come up with
ways to keep readers guessing, particularly as the “unexpected” element of the
ending comes into play. We always want to catch readers a little off guard. We
don’t want them to have everything figured out before the ending. So we try to
come up with surprising twists. One twist we sometimes consider is that of
having a seemingly good character turn out to be not-so-good. This could either
be the result of wanting to explore the gray areas of morality in a character’s
arc, or it could it be an attempt to keep readers from guessing the true bad
guy until the very end.
The former is very rarely going to be a problem, especially
if it’s done in a thoughtful and exploratory way that gives readers something
to chew on after they’ve finished the book. But we have to be careful when we
take a good character and suddenly reveal that, whoops, he’s actually horrible
and evil. This may well surprise readers—but probably not in a good way. If
you’ve led readers to like a character, they’re going to like the character. Imagine that! So when you pull the rug out from
under them and turn that likable character into someone evil, there’s a good chance
readers may feel betrayed.
When I was kid, there was a Buzz Lightyear spin-off movie that gave Buzz a funny sidekick/partner. He was kinda
Han Solo-ish, so naturally I loved him. He died in a spectacular explosion, it
was very sad, and then suddenly it turns out that it was a fake and he was
actually working for the evil Zurg all along. I think I threw my popcorn at the
TV. So, suffice it to say, that if you’re going to the trouble of making
readers like a character, you’re always going to want to think twice about
turning him into a baddie. And, if you do, you’re probably going to want to let
readers watch his downfall, rather
than just springing it on them.
Tell me your opinion: Is the identity of your antagonist evident from the beginning? Why or why not?
Related Posts: Why the Devil Makes a Boring Bad Guy
- February 20, 2013
24 Comments
- K.M. Weiland
- Posted in antagonist , Characters , Feature , plot twist
Sequels*, even
more than scenes, offer all kinds of
flexibility. In large part, this flexibility is what can make sequels difficult to quantify
in stories. Unlike the scene, sequels can be so subtle they blend
right into the scenery. This can sometimes lead authors to believe sequels aren’t as important as scenes, but their flexibility in no way eliminates their necessity. For
every scene, there must be a sequel, even if it isn’t immediately
recognizable.
_________________
Click the “Play” button to Listen to Audio Version (or subscribe to the Wordplay podcast in iTunes).
To help you realize the possibilities of the sequel, let’s take a look at some of the
common variations.
Variations on the Sequel Reaction
· The reaction is
“ongoing.”
You may find you need to allow your character to react to
events as they happen, instead of all
at once after the scene. To some extent, characters will always be
reacting throughout a scene. If one
character throws his milk in another’s face, it won’t make sense for the second
character to delay his reaction. If nothing else, his internal narrative will
tell readers how he felt about the unasked for milk bath. By the time you reach
the sequel proper, you may have
already shared the character’s initial reaction with readers. You may choose to
develop that reaction further, or you may decide you’ve covered it fully enough
and can move right on to the dilemma.
· The reaction is
delayed.
If the character must overcome his dilemma with a split-second
decision, you probably won’t have time to explore his reaction in immediate
depth. Let’s say your character is faced by a life-threatening disaster. The
baddie shoved him off a cliff, and he’s hanging by his fingernails to a spindly
root. Letting him hang there while you spend two pages musing on his terror,
hopelessness, and general annoyance at the bad guy’s inconsiderateness is going
to bring your story to a screeching halt—not to mention giving that root more
than enough time to break. Realistically, your hero is going to have to react
to the dilemma and decide on a course of action in a matter of seconds. No
problem with that, but you’re always going to want to try to return to the
moment later on, in a quieter setting, and record your character’s reaction.
· The reaction includes
a flashback.
The meditative quality of the flashback means it will be
much more at home within the sequel
than the scene. The flashback itself,
depending on its length, may take on the structure of a scene (goal, conflict, disaster), but because it is a memory of
something that happened previously, it will usually fit best within the
introspection of the sequel’s
reaction phase.
Variations on the Sequel Dilemma and Decision
· The decision ends up
being a dead end.
The sequel may include “half scenes,” in which the character makes a decision and
puts the goal into action, only to have it go nowhere. If you flesh this out, the dead-end goal may take the form of a scene disaster. But if you choose to summarize it, it can serve to
lengthen the dilemma/decision section. After regrouping from the dead-end decision, the
character will decide upon a new goal and the next scene will progress.
Variations on the Sequel as a Whole
· The sequel can take place in a matter of
seconds.
If the character’s original goal is foiled by a disaster, he may need to immediately react, take stock of the dilemma, make a new decision,
and enact the new goal right away. When the entire sequel takes place on such a short timeline, you won’t have any need to dwell on
each of its elements. Make sure the reaction, dilemma, and decision are clear,
either explicitly or from the context, then move on.
· The sequel can take half a sentence or
several chapters.
The length of your sequel
will control your story’s pacing. Longer sequels
will slow down the pacing and reinforce plausibility. They can go on for
chapters, if necessary. Shorter sequels
will keep the scenes’ action rolling
and allow the story to move with greater speed. If the logical sequence of
events calls for it or if you’re merely trying to amp up your story’s pacing,
you may want to shorten the sequel to
a mere sentence or two.
· The sequel’s sections can be disproportionate.
Although this series has placed equal emphasis on all three parts of
the sequel to allow us to fully study
them, the reaction, dilemma, and decision won’t always be given
equal weight.
Sometimes you’ll want to spend more time on the reaction, sometimes more on the
dilemma. Some dilemmas and decisions will be so clear from the
context that you won’t even need to mention them outright. What’s important is
that all three sections are there, even if you don’t flesh them out in the
text.
· The sequel’s sections can be included out of
order.
You’re not going to want to do this one very often, but you
can mix up the sequel if you need to.
Sometimes logic may require you to delay the reaction until after
the character has already faced his dilemma. For example, if an elephant stomps
on his foot, he’s probably going to act before he can put his reaction into mental words. You’re still including all of the elements within the same section (in contrast to the previously mentioned variation, in which the reaction is moved to an entirely new section), just rearranging them.
· The sequel is interrupted by a new scene.
Your character may have returned to base after a disastrous
battle. He may be knee deep in his reaction phase—mourning his dead comrades—and
just getting ready to face the dilemma—figuring out what dirty
turncoat leaked the battle plans—when, surprise!,
the bad guys launch an attack on the base. Your character suddenly has new
priorities and goals. Your reasons for doing this may have been to postpone the
dilemma about the turncoat, to ramp up the pacing and stakes, or even to
keep readers a little off balance.
Once you have a solid grasp on the elements of the sequel, you’re free to play around with
them to your heart’s content. Mix and match, interrupt them with new scenes, smoosh them or stretch them—whatever
your story needs. The only solid requirement is that you know your character’s reaction, dilemma, and decision within each sequel and that you make those elements
clear to readers, either outright or by implication.
So there you have it! You’ve now learned the two parts of
the Scene and the three elements that compose those parts—the scene’s goal, conflict, and disaster and
the sequel’s reaction, dilemma, and
decision. You’ve learned how to build these elements into a solid Scene, which
will, in turn, create a solid story. You’ve figured out the variations that
will allow you to mold your Scenes to your story’s unique demands. And, in so
doing, you’ve gained a deeper understanding of what makes a story work on a
technical level. Welcome to the broad new world of conscious Scene structure!
Stay tuned: Next
week, I’ll be concluding the series with a post answering Frequently Asked Questions about Scene structure.
*For the purposes of this series, “Scene” with a capital S will refer to the scene in general (which can include in its definition the sequel). I’ll use a small s and italicize scene and sequel to refer to the two different types of Scenes.
Tell me your opinion: Can you think of a sequel variation in a popular book or movie?
Related Posts: How to Cut the Filler and Tighten Your Book
5 Reasons to Write Your Scene in Order (and 3 Not to)
Control Your Speed, Control Your Pacing
Tell me your opinion: Can you think of a sequel variation in a popular book or movie?
Related Posts: How to Cut the Filler and Tighten Your Book
5 Reasons to Write Your Scene in Order (and 3 Not to)
Control Your Speed, Control Your Pacing
Click the “Play” button to Listen to Audio Version (or subscribe to the Wordplay podcast in iTunes).
- February 17, 2013
8 Comments
- K.M. Weiland
- Posted in decision , dilemma , Feature , goal , reaction , scenes , sequels , story structure , structuring your story's scenes , SYN
This
guest post is by Bryan Hutchinson.
Sometimes I want to give up.
Sometimes I don’t want to write anymore. And sometimes I do give up and stop
writing.
Have you been there? Stuck and filled
with doubt.
Seth Godin has a great term called The
Dip for when you’re in a temporary setback, when you are ready to give up
and decide to either quit, or stick. But there’s another dip, which is more
about internal self-doubt, which I like to call the pit. For many of us, it is a
very real place we fall into when we feel “lesser-than,” confused and exhausted
from doubt, to the point of giving up.
The pit is deep, dark, cold, and
damp. It’s not a place I want to be, and yet, I’ve found myself there more
often than I would like.
It’s good that it’s not a nice
place to be, because if it was pleasant, I might not climb back out, maybe you
wouldn’t either.
Wanting to give up hurts because
you know deep down, you want to continue, to strive and do your best. But for
whatever reason, something is making you doubt yourself, and if you are not
prepared, you can feel defeated.
For me this happens for different
reasons at different times, and to a degree it is predictable, but still not
easy to climb out of.
Writing to Overcome Struggle
I grew up with undiagnosed ADHD and
dyslexia, so I’m used to being the underdog. For the longest time I didn’t feel
I was good enough. I wasn’t able to finish high school, because no one figured
out I had a learning disorder and ADHD. It would be years later when I was
finally diagnosed.
But despite my limitations,
somewhere deep inside of me I knew I wanted to be a writer.
When I write, I feel good. It is
when I am at peace and feel I am worth more than any diagnosis.
I don’t know why writing makes me
feel so good, but it does, and I am grateful for that.
But at the same time, writing can
also be difficult. At times, sharing my writing leads to hearing things I don’t
want to hear, criticisms that can be harsh and even feel mean. But, I write
anyway.
For years, I hid my writing from
the world because I believed I could not measure up. What can a high-school
dropout say that would matter? Who would listen?
In my twenties, I went through a
major depression lasting almost a decade. Eventually, I found help through a
wise, caring therapist. He helped me realize I was worth more than what the
educational system and teachers said I was. I found ways to learn on my own, and
since I never ran out of words, I discovered I had something of real value to
offer.
I believed I was “lesser-than”
for so many years, hiding my writing and other talents to protect myself from
living through more ridicule and defeat.
What finally helped me break free
from my depression was writing my memoir, One Boy’s Struggle. It was a therapeutic exercise my therapist suggested.
Initially, I had no intention of publishing it or sharing it with anyone.
When I finally finished writing my
memoir, I felt a great sense of relief. While writing had always been therapeutic
for me, the difference was the details I wrote about my life. In writing the
ugly, the bad and the good, I discovered I am a remarkable individual who found
ways to make his way in the world despite disadvantages.
Yes, I had to do things differently
and learn most things on my own. But when you have a burning desire to do
something, nothing and no one will be able to stop you.
The Remarkable You
If you have a burning desire to be
a writer, be a writer and don’t worry about what someone might say about your
writing. Sift. Take what’s positive from what people say. Learn from it and
leave everything else. Don’t take it personally. Just keep writing.
Sometimes I forget my own advice
when I feel overwhelmed, back in the bottom of the pit. Then I remind myself
how far I have come, and how much I have worked to get to where I am. I use
writing to tell my story to help me climb the damp walls back into the light.
Hopefully it will inspire others to do the same.
So whenever you find yourself
filled with doubt and you feel like giving up, remember what you have done to
get to where you are, the many challenges you’ve overcome. Think about all your
achievements. And remember you are a unique, remarkable individual. Write
anyway.
You can do it. You’re a writer.
About the Author: Motivational
and inspirational writer, Bryan Hutchinson is the author of several books,
including the highly acclaimed, bestselling One Boy’s Struggle: A Memoir. Bryan is also the author of two popular blogs ADDer World and Positive Writer, where he shares encouraging messages
with his readers. In his spare time Bryan enjoys exploring castles across
Europe with his wife, Joan Faith.
Tell me your opinion: How do you overcome your doubts about your writing?
Related Posts: The Good News? Writing Never Gets Any Easier
- February 15, 2013
27 Comments
- K.M. Weiland
- Posted in Feature , Inspiration , Writing Life
This week’s video talks about
the pitfalls of the always tempting twist endings.
Video Transcript: Most readers love them some good trick endings. How long have
people been talking about The Sting or
The Sixth Sense? And what author
among us wouldn’t like to replicate that kind of excitement and memorability?
But there is a big problem with trick endings. When they work, they’re amazing.
When they don’t work, they make readers grumpy and the authors look dumb.
This isn’t a problem that’s exclusive to stories with the
big, switcheroo, sucker-punch trick endings. To some extent, it can be a
problem in any story. If the ending is in any way going to be a surprise, you do not want readers to figure it out ahead
of time. The most obvious reason for this is that their figuring it out ruins
the surprise. But, more than that, it can ruin the whole book.
That may seem a smidge over-dramatic, but think about it.
Let’s use the mystery genre as an example. These are stories that almost always
feature a trick ending since the whole point is that the reader not know whodunit before the detective
figures it out. But savvy mystery readers are really hard to fool these days.
They read the clues just as quickly as the detective, and half the time they’re
going to solve the mystery before they finish the book.
In itself, their figuring it all out isn’t the problem. The
problem is that, from that point on, the author is obliviously two steps behind
the reader. He’s still pretending no one knows what the heck is going on, which
means he’s also milking the drama and the mystery of it all for all it’s worth.
To a reader who’s already seen the light, that’s just annoying. So how do you
fix it? Well, aside from being aware of the problem, the best way to avoid it
is simply to write so incredible an ending that readers never do see it coming.
Tell me your opinion: Do you enjoy trick endings?
Related Posts: Are Happy Endings a Must?
- February 13, 2013
22 Comments
- K.M. Weiland
- Posted in endings , Feature , plot twist , SYN
Perhaps the most instinctive of all the Scene’s* building blocks
is the decision. This third and final piece of the sequel grows out of the character’s dilemma and leads right into
the next scene’s goal. The decision
is the little cattle prod on your story’s backside that keeps it moving.
Conceivably, your character could sit around contemplating his dilemmas for the
rest of his life. But good stories require forward motion, and the only way out
of a dilemma is to make a decision—whether it’s right or wrong.
1. To take action.
2. To not take action.
As always, the key to a good decision is making sure it is a direct result of the previous dilemma. A random, unrelated decision may
well keep the plot moving, but not in the straight line your readers want. If your character’s
dilemma is about what to make for dinner, his decision needs to be filet mignon
and lyonnaise potatoes—not to run down to the hospital and donate blood.
Options for Sequel Decisions
You’re not going to find a story technique that’s much more
straightforward than the sequel
decision. Basically, the options boil down to just two:
1. To take action.
2. To not take action.
Both are acceptable choices, but usually, you’re going to want
your character to make decisions that will force to him to act. You want a
character who causes thing to happen, not one who sits around and allows them to happen to him. That said, there will be moments when a character’s decision to refrain from
action will be just as important to the plot and just as revealing of his inner conflict as would be the most exciting of actions.
Your character’s specific decision will, of course, depend
entirely on the nature of his dilemma. His decision may be anything from I’m going to wear blue socks today to I’m going to sacrifice my life to save
everybody in that burning building. Whatever the case, it will translate
into a goal that will fit into one of the five categories we discussed in our
post on goals.
Long-Term Goal, Short-Term Decision
Often, your character’s dilemma won’t be one that can be
solved with a simple one-shot decision. In fact, you’ll want to actively avoid
too many simple dilemmas/decisions in a row. If the character is faced with one
easily solved problem after another, the story will take on a scattered, episodic
feel, and readers will be begin to doubt the insurmountability of the odds.
This is where the “long-term goal, short-term decision”
factor comes into play. If your character’s problem is how to marry that
cute neighbor girl, he’s going to be faced with many “mini” dilemmas along the
way to reaching his ultimate goal. In figuring out your sequel’s decision, look for the first step the character must take.
Maybe he does decide to marry the neighbor girl in that first sequel, but he also has to decide on a
much smaller, more plausible course of action. In this case, he decides to
apologize for yelling at the girl’s dog.
Obvious Decision or Long-Shot Decision?
Your character’s decisions will shape the plot. If all his
decisions are obvious and easily accomplished, the story will quickly lose
steam. You don’t want characters to consistently decide upon ridiculous or illogical courses of action. But you do want to keep the odds long and readers
guessing.
Our lovelorn hero’s most sensible course of action in trying
to marry the neighbor girl might be to simply ask her out. Nothing wrong with
that, and it could certainly lead to all kinds of interesting story
possibilities of its own. But we might be able to unearth some unexpected options by having him make a different decision. Maybe he decides to
serenade her outside her window. Maybe he decides to make himself forget all about her. Or maybe, like Anabel Simms in the classic movie Every Girl Should Be Married, he
investigates every aspect of the girl’s life in an attempt to casually infiltrate her routines.
To State the Decision or Not?
You’re always going to want to be able to put your
character’s decision into words. Write it down so you have something concrete to build
upon. But you may not want to actually state the decision outright in the story.
Often, the decision will be clear from either the preceding dilemma or the goal in the
next scene. Sometimes, the decision
won’t even be made until seconds before the character acts upon it, in which case it will meld with the goal.
A few guidelines:
Don’t state the
decision outright if it is in any way repetitious or condescending to readers. If
the decision is clear from the context, it probably won’t require an outright explanation.
Do state the
decision outright if the act of deciding is just as important as the goal
(e.g., the decision is a turning point for the character).
Do state the decision
outright if you need a strong link between your sequel and the next scene
(e.g., several intervening Scenes separate the decision and the goal, and/or the
decision provides a strong end to the chapter.)
Questions to Ask About Your Sequel Decisions
Before you tie the ribbon on your sequel and call it a wrap, take a minute to double-check yourself
with the following questions:
1. Is your
decision an organic result of your dilemma?
2. Does your
decision lead into a strong goal?
3. If your
dilemma is a long-term problem, have you narrowed the decision down to the
first logical step in solving that problem?
4. Does your
decision solve the dilemma too easily
or does it lead to new complications, either because the character made the wrong decision
or because solving the dilemma created a new dilemma?
5. If your
character decides not to take action,
is this a logical and important step within the plot?
6. Is your
decision important enough to state outright in the sequel?
7. If you’ve
stated the decision outright, is it repetitious in light of either the
dilemma or the following goal?
Sequel Decisions in Action
What does this final building block of the sequel look like in action? Let’s take
one last peek at our books and movies:
Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen: The second chapter ends
with the Bennet women’s dilemma about how to meet up with Mr. Bingley. This dilemma
is, of course, the first step in the much larger story dilemma of how to get
Bingley to marry one of the girls. The decision is never stated outright, but
its implication (Mrs. Bennet will invite Bingley to dinner at the appropriate
time) is clear both from the dilemma and from the actual dispatch of the invitation
at the beginning of the next chapter.
It’s a Wonderful Life directed by Frank Capra: Clarence’s
dilemma is how to convince George he shouldn’t commit suicide in order to pay
off the accounting discrepancy with his life insurance. George’s offhand
comment about believing the people he cares about would be better off had he
never been born leads Clarence to his decision: he gets Joseph to make George’s
wish come true. The decision segues directly into the goal, which, easily
accomplished thanks to Joseph, segues right into the next scene’s conflict.
Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card: Ender’s dilemma about how to
get out of going to school turns into something much bigger when Graff and his
men show up at the house and give Ender the option of attending Battle School. Although
Ender’s ultimate decision to go with Graff effectually solves his sequel’s dilemma, it also introduces an
entirely new twist, which requires almost the entire chapter to explain and
reason through.
Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World directed by Peter
Weir: After discussing the battle with his officers, Captain Aubrey flies in the
face of their expectations and makes the surprising decision to remain in the Pacific,
refit the ship at sea, and then pursue the Acheron.
The outright statement of the decision is crucial since Aubrey’s taking
it upon himself to exceed his orders with this decision is more important at
this point than the actual goal itself. This decision will drive the entirety
of the plot, as well as Aubrey’s personal character arc.
You’ve now learned how to build an entire Scene, from scene (goal, conflict, disaster) to sequel (reaction, dilemma, decision). Put
one solid Scene upon another, and before you know it, you’ll have a story that’s
solid all the way through!
Stay tuned: Next
week, we’ll talk about Variations on the Sequel.
*For the purposes of this series, “Scene” with a capital S will refer to the scene in general (which can include in its definition the sequel). I’ll use a small s and italicize scene and sequel to refer to the two different types of Scenes.
Tell me your opinion: Was your protagonist’s latest decision clear from the context, or did you decide to state it outright in the text?
Related Posts: Never Give Your Characters What They Want
How to Use Scene Breaks to Cut the Fat
What Non-Fiction Authors Can Teach Novelists
_________________
Click the “Play” button to Listen to Audio Version (or subscribe to the Wordplay podcast in iTunes).
Tell me your opinion: Was your protagonist’s latest decision clear from the context, or did you decide to state it outright in the text?
Related Posts: Never Give Your Characters What They Want
How to Use Scene Breaks to Cut the Fat
What Non-Fiction Authors Can Teach Novelists
_________________
Click the “Play” button to Listen to Audio Version (or subscribe to the Wordplay podcast in iTunes).
- February 10, 2013
18 Comments
- K.M. Weiland
- Posted in decision , Feature , goals , scenes , sequels , story structure , structuring your story's scenes , SYN
