Vince's story's journey: From Exile to Home, or vice versa?
Vince asked:
I have a 120,000 word paranormal called "Characters in a Romance" in which there is a cosmic black moment (explosion) and all the romance characters are blown out of their novels to all corners of the universe and they spend the rest of the book, like Dorothy in the "Wizard of Oz", trying to get back to their own novels.
They have many adventures along the way with their biggest problem being their inability to prove if they are real or fictional. Neither the real people, who were also blown up, nor the fictional characters are able to come up with a proof for determining who is real and who is fictional. Try to prove you're real.
They have many adventures along the way with their biggest problem being their inability to prove if they are real or fictional. Neither the real people, who were also blown up, nor the fictional characters are able to come up with a proof for determining who is real and who is fictional. Try to prove you're real.
What a great plot! I’m getting all sorts of resonances here
from post-modern themes about authorship and the uncertainty of “reality,” as
in Calvino, Ionesco, and more recently, Jasper Fforde in the Thursday Next
novels! I can see how this juxtaposition of “fiction” and “real” (especially
WITHIN a fiction!) will call into doubt the reliability of many philosophical
verities. I think the "proving you're real" is a great theme, but I better just deal with the basic journey today, as that's complex enough.
So to the journey question! I think the significant
challenge here is that you have several characters, and they probably each have
an individual journey (you know, from distrust to trust). So keep that in
mind—each probably has some individual journey to make within the overall
journey of everyone getting back to where they belong. (This might well come into play at the end of
the book, where perhaps some characters do make it back to their novels, but
others don’t—the individual journey might be a determiner of whether they make
it back or not. Possible example later down the page. J)
So you've set up that
as a group, they have this common journey of getting back to their rightful
places. I’m going to call that “home,” but I do need to point out that where
they started (in that book or on that world or whatever) might not be where
they belong. That is, “home” isn’t
always home. Some characters might find another along the way.
A few thoughts:
1. When in the book does the explosion take place?
What I'm wondering is... when does their common journey start? That is, is the
actual start:
Journey starts before
the explosion: Knowing who you are and your place in reality
or--
Journey starts AFTER
the explosion: Not knowing who you are or where you belong in the great
scheme of things
The actual placement of the explosion will make a big
difference here. If you think in terms of turning points (I’m linking to an article I
wrote laying out my schema of turning points, but other analysts will have
a different order and terminology), the explosion could take place at the
"Inciting Incident", which is usually at the end of the first scene
or first chapter-- the first event to set in motion the overall plot.
But you might want to spend 3-4 chapters establishing them
in their ordinary worlds, and have the explosion happen as the second turning
point (External Conflict Emerges). In that case, the journey would start back
in the ordinary world, and so you might need to think more about what would
make the ordinary world different as a starting point than it will be as the
endpoint. That is, if the journey really starts “where I belong,” and then ends
“where I belong,” has it really been a journey? How can you make it more than a
circle?
You mentioned Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, and she does end
up right back where she started? What’s changed? Her attitude towards home,
right? She started out feeling that she didn’t belong at home, and ended up
knowing that’s where she belonged.
If you have the explosion take place later, so that the
journey starting point is clearly “home,” then you might consider that there’s
a journey in subtext under that “geographical” one. What’s that underlying
journey—which have to do with how they feel about home, and how home feels
about them! Think about those quest novels where the young protagonist starts
out as a loser in his hometown, leaves on the quest, and comes back a hero
because he’s brought back the Holy Grail or killed the dragon or whatever. That’s
a journey from “home” to “home,” but there’s been a marked change.
2. Does everyone make it back to where they started?
Think about using that question as a way to hint at the individual journeys
within the common journey. Some alternative answers:
a. Denny doesn’t get back home because he failed at some
essential task on the way.
b. Sandy
gets back home, but finds it no longer fits her, and she leaves again.
c. Leo almost makes it home, but sacrifices that goal so
that another can make it back.
d. Charlotte
almost gets back home, but when she’s on the brink of returning, realizes she
never did belong there, and decides not to go.
e. Paul fell in love with an outsider along the way, and decides
to stay with her rather than go home.
f. Rorie got sidetracked halfway through, ending up
somewhere else, and stayed to help them battle some evildoer, and loves it
there now and doesn’t want to leave to go back home.
g. Louie, unbeknownst to the others, is a bad guy and in
trying to sabotage everyone else getting back, ends up destroying himself.
In those cases, each of them has some other individual
journey, and that journey’s destination isn’t back to home. Even if “home” is
where they belong and they get back there, they might need to
learn/do/accomplish something else to finally reach the destination.
Anyway, I think you might just keep in mind that there is a
common journey (everyone getting back “home”), but each might have his/her own
journey, and that individual journey could determine who actually does get
home, and what alternatives the others might find.
What do you think? It’s a great story, I can tell already!
And because I’ve been spending too much time on Youtube, a
few “home” songs:
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9. Exposition Is Ammunition.
9. Exposition Is Ammunition.
Shakespeare is a master at doling out just enough information to keep us asking question-- and answering questions only after they're asked. Who is the Ghost? (Oh, it's the late king.) What does he want? (To talk to his son Hamlet.) What does he want of Hamlet? (Revenge.) Revenge for what? (He was murdered.)
And the most important information-- is this all true-- is left ungiven until much later in the play, so that reader can be in doubt just as Hamlet himself is.
"What you conceal is what you reveal." Keep that in mind. Withholding information (and letting the reader realize there's information being withheld) is a way of signifying something important is being hidden, and for presumably a good reason. We are much more tantalized by secrets than we are by facts.
EXAMPLE: In Robert Harris's Conclave, the world's cardinals meet to choose the next pope. Most of them are known to each other and immediately begin politicking and negotiating. But one is unknown, arriving at the last minute and without luggage. While this unlikely entrance is explained (Benitez might have been arrested at the airport if the government realized he was leaving), the author carefully sets up more questions.
Everyone at the conclave knows of Benitez-- he is famous for his resistance to fascism and his service to the poor in Africa-- but no one has ever met him. Additionally, one odd factoid is passed on by the maid that cleans his room-- he has not even opened the package of toiletries they provided for him. This seeming irrelevancy becomes a clue to the essential mystery of "Who is Cardinal Benitez?"
There has to be a payoff, of course. The "seeming irrelevancy" shouldn't actually be irrelevant, or the reader will feel cheated. And the withholding has to be done adroitly enough that the reader notices-- "Wait a minute. She was all set to put an offer in on that house. Then she saw the chandelier in the dining room, and changed her mind. What's the big deal about the chandelier?" But it can't be too obvious too early that this is a clue, or the reader will be too aware of the clumsiness of the intrusion. It's a balancing act, to be sure! It's probably best to set this up as you draft the earlier scenes, then refine the exposition/ammunition dynamic in revision.
Your turn! Look at your own story, and think about what revelations are important, and what the reader needs to know early in the story.
1. What is a major character trait you want to emphasize (like Hamlet's need for certainty before he can act)?
2. Are there any secrets the characters are keeping from each other? (For example, Hamlet doesn't realize that his father had been murdered.)
3. Look to the early scenes. What information can you hint at, but withhold, in order to focus the reader on some plot or character mystery?
4. It might help to look at stories you've enjoyed, and see how the exposition is handled, especially in the early scenes. What did the author withhold, and to what effect?
This edict comes from Robert
McKee, the great story doctor who works with major screenwriters. In his great text Story, McKee makes clear that adept use of exposition can take your story to a new level. “Skill in exposition means making it invisible. As the story progresses, the audience absorbs
all it needs to know effortlessly, even unconsciously.”
Exposition is just "information that the reader needs." Most exposition is handled right in the narration of scenes: We learn something about the setting, and we learn about something about the characters, and we learn something about the situation. But... the story is about action, not just exposition. You don't want to bog the reader down with historical detail, or the character's life story, or minutiae about the room.
The trick is to determine what the readers need to know right now to understand just as much as you want them to understand. In the beginning of the story, especially, we might be tempted to explain too much, but we really need to give enough information that the readers are drawn into the story to find out the rest.
And about "ammunition"? Well, when and how we reveal information can lead to greater drama and reader involvement.
The trick is to determine what the readers need to know right now to understand just as much as you want them to understand. In the beginning of the story, especially, we might be tempted to explain too much, but we really need to give enough information that the readers are drawn into the story to find out the rest.
And about "ammunition"? Well, when and how we reveal information can lead to greater drama and reader involvement.
A famous example is the opening of Hamlet, the exchange between two minor characters that is sometimes called the world's first knock-knock joke.
BERNARDO Who's
there?
FRANCISCO Nay,
answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.
BERNARDO Long
live the king!
FRANCISCO Bernardo?
BERNARDO He.
FRANCISCO You
come most carefully upon your hour.
BERNARDO 'Tis
now struck twelve; get thee to bed, Francisco.
FRANCISCO For
this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.
Okay, it's not a very funny knock-knock joke! But in the very first lines, we get that they are standing watch, that it is winter, that it is night, and that this is a place where there is a king. That's all the readers need to know at this point. The most important bit of information is that last-- "I am sick at heart."
This poses the question in the readers' minds: Why is this sentry sick at heart?
Exposing some information but withholding other information leads to questions, and it's the desire to answer those questions that impel readers to read on. And later in this first act, there is another question set up-- why do they call for Horatio, a high-ranking courtier, and what is it they told him to get him to come?
That's explained (partly) by Shakespeare's laconic scene direction: Enter Ghost.
Shakespeare is a master at doling out just enough information to keep us asking question-- and answering questions only after they're asked. Who is the Ghost? (Oh, it's the late king.) What does he want? (To talk to his son Hamlet.) What does he want of Hamlet? (Revenge.) Revenge for what? (He was murdered.)
And the most important information-- is this all true-- is left ungiven until much later in the play, so that reader can be in doubt just as Hamlet himself is.
"What you conceal is what you reveal." Keep that in mind. Withholding information (and letting the reader realize there's information being withheld) is a way of signifying something important is being hidden, and for presumably a good reason. We are much more tantalized by secrets than we are by facts.
Everyone at the conclave knows of Benitez-- he is famous for his resistance to fascism and his service to the poor in Africa-- but no one has ever met him. Additionally, one odd factoid is passed on by the maid that cleans his room-- he has not even opened the package of toiletries they provided for him. This seeming irrelevancy becomes a clue to the essential mystery of "Who is Cardinal Benitez?"
There has to be a payoff, of course. The "seeming irrelevancy" shouldn't actually be irrelevant, or the reader will feel cheated. And the withholding has to be done adroitly enough that the reader notices-- "Wait a minute. She was all set to put an offer in on that house. Then she saw the chandelier in the dining room, and changed her mind. What's the big deal about the chandelier?" But it can't be too obvious too early that this is a clue, or the reader will be too aware of the clumsiness of the intrusion. It's a balancing act, to be sure! It's probably best to set this up as you draft the earlier scenes, then refine the exposition/ammunition dynamic in revision.
Your turn! Look at your own story, and think about what revelations are important, and what the reader needs to know early in the story.
1. What is a major character trait you want to emphasize (like Hamlet's need for certainty before he can act)?
2. Are there any secrets the characters are keeping from each other? (For example, Hamlet doesn't realize that his father had been murdered.)
3. Look to the early scenes. What information can you hint at, but withhold, in order to focus the reader on some plot or character mystery?
4. It might help to look at stories you've enjoyed, and see how the exposition is handled, especially in the early scenes. What did the author withhold, and to what effect?
8. Coincidence? Aim for "causation" instead.
8. Coincidence kills plausibility. Don’t let a
one-in-a-million event rescue your protagonist from trouble, or readers will
stop believing that this person is truly affecting the course of events.
But what if you NEED that to happen? Well, make it happen. don't just let coincidence take over. Use "cause-effect" to get from "I need" to "it happens."
EXAMPLE: in my book Poetic Justice, I needed John to meet Jessica early in the story so that they can start their alliance to save the Shakespeare manuscript from destruction. When I started writing that section, I had that they "just happened" to meet at a party and start talking about their mutual love of Shakespeare. But right away, I knew that was lame. So I backed up, and made this meeting be the effect of some cause-- in this case, John learns that Jessica might have access to the lost Shakespeare manuscript, and sets out to meet her. She might think she just happened to meet the one other person in England who knows about this manuscript... but in fact, he planned the whole encounter.
One real benefit of making a coincidence into "causation" is that your scenes will be a lot more interesting. I went from one scene of John just stumbling into her at a party, to three scenes, the first where he finds out about her connection to the manuscript, the second where he gets his sister-in-law to invite Jessica to the party, and the third where he plays the mysterious stranger at the party and persuades her to ally with him.
This also gave me plenty of opportunity to deepen characterization. I got to show John as so obsessive about his quest, that he'll track down this woman and then blackmail his own beloved sister-in-law to arrange the meeting. I also got to show that Jessica might have been tricked at first, but is smart enough to figure that out, and exact a few concessions from him.
Your turn!
Think of a coincidence in your plot as the opportunity to go deeper into your plot and character. Consider:
1. If you could not "just happen" to get this to happen, what would be needed to make it happen? If you need him to get somewhere to meet someone, why might he choose to go there?
2. How can you use this "causation" to show something deeper about this character?
3. Look to see if you need to go back several scenes to set this up, or to find a way to subtly explain to the reader how this happened.
7. Use Familiar "Clichés" in New Ways
7. Twist a cliché. Do something new with the
tried and the true. Use the clichéd plot not as something to reproduce
faithfully, but as a classic human drama to explore in a new way. Show
the human depth under the stereotype: the blonde bombshell who walks into the
private eye’s office is worried because her elderly neighbor won’t answer the
door.
Using the familiar conventions of your genre or story type will let you lull the readers into comfort... while the "twist" will jolt them into new excitement. You can juxtapose the old with the new to reveal facets of each. Just consider how vital an old story like Romeo and Juliet becomes when the basic plot is set in the tenements of New York (West Side Story), or is rendered in a new way (like my friend Judith Whitmore's graphic novel).
Example: JK Rowling's entire Harry Potter series twists many clichés of the late, lamented "boarding school dramas" which were popular in Britain in the mid-20th Century. (There were similar books in the US-- A Separate Peace being perhaps the most notable-- and I still see echoes of that old genre in newer books like The Goldfinch and Fates and Furies.) These books presented a static world with all sorts of expectations and rules, but above all were about children finding ways to belong-- in a world of children, with adults and especially parents as mere visitors or minor characters.
Rowling's twist was, of course, to make Hogwarts a boarding school for wizard and witch children. As exotic as that twist is, it gains more resonance by being juxtaposed against the familiar tropes of the boarding school stories-- the different "houses" with their common rooms, the sense of the school as a fortress against the outside world, the examinations and school supplies. Rowling makes great use of the school year as a time-setting-- each book in the series takes place in a year of Harry's schooling, so the first book is set during his first year at Hogwarts, and the last book in his final year before graduation.
Your turn! Think about your story and what basic category of fiction or story structure it might echo. This might not have anything to do with the actual genre of your story-- more about the structure. (For example, the Umberto Eco literary novel Name of the Rose used a format very similar to the Sherlock Holmes detective stories.) What movie or book or story or myth do you want sort of nagging at the reader's mind while reading your book? ("This story takes place in deep space, but you know, weirdly, I'm reminded of those surfer films of the early 60s!")
Now jot down a few "tropes" or "conventions" from the other category. You know-- "Those surfer movies always had bonfire parties at the end, and the main character was usually kind of shy and new at surfing, not one of the champions. And there was always a moment when he doubted himself, but found himself being encouraged by someone unlikely. Also, there were those strange long sequences where all the guys lovingly and lavishly polished their boards."
What use can you make of the familiar events or themes from the old story type? Think about set-pieces (like the "singalong scene" in so many films... including in Casablanca, where the singalong is actually a verbal duel between the Resistance and the Nazis.) Also think about time-frames like the surfing season or an election, or clichés like "the makeover where the nerdy girl is transformed to a glamor-gal" and how you can twist that (the nerdy girl is transformed into a vampire, maybe). Just remember to use enough of the old so that the readers will appreciate your subversion of the cliché.
(Cover of Judith Whitmore's graphic "twisting" of Romeo and Juliet.)
6. Use the plot as the tunnel between the internal character and the external world.
6. Make the internal come external. Explore your
protagonist’s internal needs and values, and consider, how will this affect her
actions? The external events will cause internal change… and the internal
change will cause new external events.
Example: In Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris, Claire (the FBI recruit) is shown in the opening as both charismatic and alienated from her classmates. She is popular enough, but sticks to herself. Even with her mentor/teacher, she is withdrawn and withholding. The question is posed, why is she so closed? This question becomes more focused when she is assigned to interview a serial murderer who used to be a psychiatrist. His canny reverse-interrogation reveals that her past (as an abandoned child traumatized by a gory event and "thrown away" due to her sensitivity) made her close herself off from others. But it's that very mix of alienation and empathy-- distance and intimacy-- that makes her a good profiler. While at first she's drawn into Lecter's seductive distractions, she can use her ability to distance herself to figure out what he's hiding and what she needs to know.
What's important here is that her "internal"-- the inner conflicts and needs-- draw her to this work and make her especially skilled at it, and that the "external"-- the plot events-- force the internal conflict to the surface where it can be revealed and perhaps resolved.... and then help resolve the external conflict (the mystery or quest or whatever).
Your turn!
So what is the protagonist's role in the external story/plot?
He might be the investigator, the one who must find the truth.
He might be the contestant, the one who wants to win.
She might be the leader of the team.
She might be the one on the run from danger.
She might be the helper.
She might be the healer.
He might be the one who subverts the organization from the inside.
He might be the one who invents the machine.
She might be the mother of the king.
I always try to ask, What does he/she do in the plot that no one else can do? If she's the mother of the king, she's the only one who can persuade him to lift the tyranny established by his father.
If he's the one subverting the organization, it's because only he has the cyber-skills to hack into the encrypted files, AND the motivation to bring down the company.
Then go inside-- how did she get to be the sort of person would would be in this role? What about him made him want to acquire these skills, or made him good at this? (For example, he was a frightened, secretive child, who had to learn hidden ways to deal with abusers and bullies.) That's the "internal".
Now think about what 'internal' motivates the protagonist to get involved and stay involved now, despite the obstacles and dangers? Like - she was married off young to the king, and gave up her freedom in exchange for wealth and luxury... and only now understands that she is in a gilded prison and has learned to sympathize with others trapped in their lives.
If you can identify the protagonist's role in the external plot, and also define the "why" of the internal motivation, you'll be deepening your story. The events will become the tunnel from the internal character to the external world.
5. Pose a Question in the Opening
5. Lead readers to the story, but don’t drag them. Set up your
opening scenes so readers are led to ask story questions like “Who killed the
film director?” or “What will happen to John and Sue’s love when Sue
learns that John has been lying to her?” The posing of the questions, and
the desire to find the answers, keeps readers turning pages. That’s
called narrative drive. The story question is also an excellent tool to
help the writer keep on track.
Example: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone opens with the baby Harry, branded with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead, being delivered to relatives who are frightened of him and who refuse to tell him why. This causes the reader to ask why would an aunt and uncle fear a tiny child, and yet still take him in. One answer (that Harry is a wizard with magical skills) is presented fairly soon, but what happened to him, why he is scarred, and what he can do take years of book time, and six other books, to be fully explained.
Your turn! Consider your opening chapters. How can you set up questions for the reader to ask? Then, scouting ahead, you can consider where and when and how to answer them.
4. Plot = Change
4. The point of plot is change. The events should cause a
change in the protagonist’s inner life, to trade her original goal for a more
worthy one, to face a personal issue she’s ignored before, or to resolve a
longstanding internal conflict.
Example: In Stephen King's The Dark Tower series, Roland has long been determined not to care or love again. Through the events of the plot, he is forced to choose some unlikely allies to help him on his quest. After several battles, he learns to trust them. And in the end, it's his ability to love again that lets him complete his quest to reach the Dark Tower.
Your turn! Consider the progress of your plot events and how they change the protagonist. How is this character different in the end because of going through the plot events? What can he/she do in the end that was impossible in the beginning?
3. Goals and Getting Them, and Not Getting Them
3. Give the protagonist a goal, then take it away. The goal-driven
protagonist is an active protagonist, but if you just let the protagonist
achieve his goal, you’ll have a linear or two-dimensional plot. Have him
lose the goal, or sacrifice it, or achieve it and realize he doesn’t really
want it, and you’ll add the complication that makes this a real story.
Example: In Wizard of Oz, Dorothy has the goal of escaping from her boring Kansas farm and finding adventure. This goal impels her to take risks, meeting with the patent-medicine salesman (who later comes back as the Wizard) and daring the tornado to hurt her. She achieves her goal when the tornado whisks her off to the exotic land of Oz. But just coming up with a goal and attaining it makes for a linear plot! Instead, once she achieves her goal, she realizes it's not truly what she wants, and she forms the new goal of getting back home to Kansas-- a considerably more difficult quest!
Your turn! In the beginning of the story, what does your protagonist want to do or get? Think about why the character wants this goal, and what that indicates. Now should your character get the goal or not? Either way, what will the reader learn about this person from the getting or losing or sacrificing the goal?
2. Protagonist Power
2. Your protagonist should save the day (or destroy it). Protagonist is the “first
actor”, the character most active in the story. Most importantly, he or she should be the one who resolves the conflict in the climactic scene. No one else
should solve the mystery, or discover the secret, or arrive just in time to save
the day. The plot should force the protagonist to make choices and take
actions, and the course of plot events should change in response to those
choices and actions.
Example: In Casablanca, Rick overcomes his alienation and with cunning and duress, gets Ilsa and her husband Laszlo safely on the plane out of Nazi territory. His sacrifice (he loves Ilsa) shows that he has reached the destination of his journey to affiliation and commitment. This is reinforced when, after he kills the Nazi major, he and his friend Renault join the Resistance, fully committing to the cause.
Your turn! Look at the climax towards the end of your story, that big exciting scene where the main external conflict (like the Nazis' attempt to send Laszlo to a concentration camp) is resolved. What can your protagonist do to resolve the conflict? How does this action show that the main character has reached the end of the character journey (like Rick's journey from alienation to commitment).
1. Cause and Effect in Plotting.
Plausible plotting starts with cause and effect. Make sure each step in
your plot has a causative event, and one of more effects. Character actions
should be caused by some motivation, and should have some effect on the plot. In fact, a good way to outline your plot is to list the 6-10 major plot events (the "turning points"), and then identify the cause of each event, and the effect of each event. That way you'll create a frame
of cause and effect, like this:
Cause-
Event-
Effect-
Then you can see how each of the events flows into the next
to create the overall plot.
Cause: Jane is so afraid that she blew the SATs that the
next morning she runs away from home.
Event-- She joins the circus and learns to do
trick-horse-riding.
Then look at that big event and after it jot down the EFFECT
of the event-- internal and/or external.
EFFECT: At the circus she is befriended by the bearded lady
and realizes looks aren't everything.
And/or:
The ringmaster notices her talent and suggests that she
become a full-time employee and travel with them.
Then go on to the next turning point event.
Then when you're done, you'll have The Cause, The Event, and
The Effect-
- a whole string of them.
Example: In the start of Wizard of Oz, Dorothy sensibly takes shelter from the tornado. But
of course, the tornado is going to take her to Oz, so she has to get out of the
tornado shelter, right? Notice though that the writer didn’t just have her run
out of the shelter; rather her beloved dog escapes, and she runs out to save
him— the best motivation! This “cause/effect” doesn’t just force the plot
forward, but deepens the characterization: We now know more about what matters
most to Dorothy.
Your
turn! Be tough on yourself. J Consider your own plot.
Find an event that “just happens” , like “he just happens to stumble and break
his leg.” Now how can you change that to something that is “caused” by another
plot event sequence, and “motivated” for the character? For example, “He is
running for a touchdown in his company’s pickup game, because he wants to
impress the boss.”
You might
find just identifying the problem event will inspire you to find a good
cause/effect sequence!
13 Prime Principles of Plot
- Plausible plotting starts with cause and effect. Make sure each step in your plot has a causative event, and one of more effects. Character actions should be caused by some motivation, and should have some effect on the plot.
- Your protagonist should save the day (or destroy it). Protagonist is the “first actor”, the character most active in the story. Most importantly, he should be the one who resolves the conflict in the climactic scene. No one else should solve the mystery, or discover the secret, or arrive just in time to save the day. The plot should force the protagonist to make choices and take actions, and the course of plot events should change in response to those choices and actions.
- Give the protagonist a goal, then take it away. The goal-driven protagonist is an active protagonist, but if you just let the protagonist achieve his goal, you’ll have a linear or two-dimensional plot. Have him lose the goal, or sacrifice it, or achieve it and realize he doesn’t really want it, and you’ll add the complication that makes this a real story.
- The point of plot is change. The events should cause a change in the protagonist’s inner life, to trade her original goal for a more worthy one, to face a personal issue she’s ignored before, or to resolve a longstanding internal conflict.
- Lead readers to the story, but don’t drag them. Set up your opening scenes so readers are led to ask story questions like “Who killed the film director?” or “What will happen to John and Sue’s love when Sue learns that John has been lying to her?” The posing of the questions, and the desire to find the answers, keeps readers turning pages. That’s called narrative drive. The story question is also an excellent tool to help the writer keep on track.
- Make the internal come external. Explore your protagonist’s internal needs and values, and consider, how will this affect her actions? The external events will cause internal change… and the internal change will cause new external events.
- Twist a cliché. Do something new with the tried and the true. Use the clichéd plot not as something to reproduce faithfully, but as a classic human drama to explore in a new way. Show the human depth under the stereotype: the blonde bombshell who walks into the private eye’s office is worried because her elderly neighbor won’t answer the door.
- Coincidence kills plausibility. Don’t let a one-in-a-million event rescue your protagonist from trouble, or readers will stop believing that this person is truly affecting the course of events.
- “Exposition is ammunition.” Tell the readers what they need to know, but only when they need to know it, and in the most powerful way. Make them beg for it. An essential question for all plots, but especially mystery/suspense plots, is “What should the readers know, and when should they know it?” Ask that every time you’re set to impart some extra information about the characters or events. Don’t tell so much so early that the reader has no reason to keep on reading.
- Less is more. Don’t dilute the power of your story by layering on too many conflicts and motivations, or featuring too many secondary characters and viewpoints. Instead, focus on strengthening what you have.
- Center each scene. Build it around some irrevocable event that changes the plot, and your pacing problems will vanish; readers won’t be able to skip because they’ll miss something important.
- Find the excitement in every scene. Aim for the strongest, most dramatic events that are plausible within the world of your plot and your characters. For example, your heroine breaking in to an office and reading a file is more dramatic than her just overhearing the same information– but use this only if your heroine is the sort who would, under these extreme circumstances, break in to an office.
- Always go back to character. The plot should show how these particular people with these particular strengths and values and conflicts react under stress or when pursuing a goal. You’ll lose readers as soon as they sense you’re forcing your characters to behave in a way that fits the plot instead of their personalities and needs.
Braiding the Character with the Plot
THE CHARACTER JOURNEY
Alicia Rasley
Today, I’d like to talk about one powerful way to shape your plot—around
the character journey. This will make you more productive because you will have
this major plot theme in mind as you design scenes. How does this event further
the character’s journey? will be the question you keep in mind as you plot the
scenes!
If you think of the plot
as the protagonist's journey, you can overcome a lot of the Fear of Plotting.
So let’s talk about the journey, and then connect it to the parts of the plot.
WHAT IS HIS/HER JOURNEY?
Think of the plot as the
journey of this character to a new place in life... to some growth or change or
understanding. In most popular fiction, this journey will be towards something
more positive-- she will be a better person in the end than she was in the
beginning. (In a tragedy, it will be from good to bad, or bad to worse, as with
Hamlet.)
Through the events of
the plot and her own choices, the character will have grown towards greater
awareness or greater strength or a better relationship with her family--
something positive. (Of course, there will be some books where the
"growth" will be negative-- she starts out innocent and becomes
corrupt, for example.) Before this series of events happened, she couldn't
become that "new self," but afterwards, through the changes she has
had to make because of the plot, she has changed within. Oh, yeah, she's also
solved that mystery or won that gold medal or lost the contest or got a new
job... whatever the external change is you've got planned.
There's a continual
in-and-out between external and internal here-- the external events cause
internal changes, which allow her to grow in a way that makes it more likely
she'll resolve the external conflict. So one thing you'll want to identify is
what you think your protagonist's journey is towards-- how he needs to grow and
change. If you write inspirational fiction, you are probably already doing
this, because you believe in the power of spiritual and emotional change.
Here are some generic
journeys.
Some Protagonist
Journeys:
Mystery to truth
Fear to courage
Doubt to decision
(Hamlet)
Revenge to justice
Sin to redemption
Isolation to alliance
Denial of fate to
acceptance of fate (Oedipus)
Ambition to destruction
(Macbeth)
Exile to home (Odyssey)
Delusion to realization
Self-delusion to
self-knowledge
Deception to truth
Innocence to corruption
Naivete to disillusion
Naivete to intelligence
Smugness to humility
(King Lear)
Alienation to
reconciliation
Guilt to amends
Shame to self-acceptance
Self-deception to
self-awareness
Obsession to balance
Here are some more
detailed examples of actual protagonist journeys:
John starts out wanting
revenge against the man who killed his father. The plot journey teaches him,
however, that the situation was far more complicated than he imagined, and that
vengeance might only destroy his own soul. So he ends up, instead of killing
the man, turning him into the police. He travels from revenge to justice.
Charity needs to be
needed in the beginning of the book. That's how she knows she's loved, because
her loved ones need her. She has to learn that she can be loved for who she is
and not just what she does. So her journey is from giving-for-love to
giving-into-love.
Plotting the Three Acts
through the Character Journey
Most stories break into
three sections or “acts”:
Act I. Set upAct II. Rising Action
Act III. Climax and Resolution
In my historical
mystery, Natasha starts out avoiding the past, and ends up accepting the past.
Of course, other things happen (she falls in love with a “frenemy” and together
they solve a murder), but the major emotional change that allows everything else
is from her avoidance of the past to her acceptance of the past.
Here’s how that plays
out in the events of the plot:
Act 1: The past
confronts Natasha, when a Russian servant from her childhood arrives at the
inn. She avoids him.
Act 2: The past rises
up: The servant is murdered that night, and Natasha is the most likely suspect,
as she is the only other Russian person at the inn.
Act 3: In order to solve
the murder, Natasha must finally relive and describe the traumatic event when
she last saw the servant, during Napoleon’s invasion of their home country.
See how the beginning
and end of the journey can be spread across the three acts of the plot.
In Act 1, the starting
point of the journey is shown when Natasha specifically avoids the past in the
form of the old servant.
Note: The reader can’t guess the starting point of the journey without a bit of
help from you! So look at your first or second scene. Can you show the
character at the starting place somehow?
Example: To show a character starting at “lack of trust,” you could have Tom in the first scene
following the security guard around and making sure that the locks are indeed
all locked. Then in the inciting incident, he could suspect that Sadie is lying
when she warns him to stay home from work Tuesday.
In Act 2, the
consequences of this starting point cause something to happen (usually in the
external plot). This something is usually negative in some way, because, of
course, we generally don’t change unless we have to! Natasha’s refusal to
explain about her past leads to her being suspected in the murder.
Note: Act 2 is about rising action or rising conflict, so the change event
should be strong enough to force a perhaps-recalcitrant character into making a
choice or action, not necessarily the right one—rising conflict can come from
the character making a stubbornly wrong choice, like Natasha refusing to
remember her past.
Examples: What rising conflict could come from Tom’s refusal to trust?
Because he refuses to
trust Sadie’s warning, he is captured by the bad guys.
External plot and internal
plot are most effective when braided together
|
Note: Remember that the external plot (like the mystery) and the
emotion/internal plot (the character journey) are most effective when they’re
braided together. So see if you can make the events take her towards her
destination, and her journey’s completion helping resolve the external plot.
Example: How can completing the character journey connect to the
climax—the solution to the external plot?
When Tom sees Sadie with
the kidnappers, he thinks at first that he was right all along—she’s
untrustworthy. But then when she whispers she’s here to help him, he lets
himself trust—and she helps him escape.
So let’s try that with
your own story:
Journeys imply conflict and
movement
|
Your protagonist is on a
journey. The plot is the vehicle that gets him/her there. Now it’s your turn!
Look back up at that list of protagonist journeys. There are MANY more
out there-- this is just a sample of sort of umbrella journey categories. You
can make up your own! Notice that the journeys imply conflict and movement of
some kind.
Brainstorm from these
questions:
2. What internal resonance does this have-- how does the journey change who this person is?
3. List a few steps your protagonist will have to take to complete this journey:
a. How is the starting point shown in Act 1?
b. In Act 2, what event(s) force the character into rising conflict around this journey issue?
c. In Act 3, how does the completion of the journey help this character resolve the external problem (and/or vice versa, how does resolving the external problem help the character complete the journey)?
4. Any other thoughts or questions about your character’s journey?
So how does this work in
your plot? If you think about your character’s journey, you’ll see ways to make
this journey affect the external plot (the mystery or competition or whatever).
Obviously, when the central character starts to change, how he acts and reacts
will change too.
Want to brainstorm your
character’s journey? Great! I want to create a free class in ways to plot with
character and characterize through plot. (Yes, I know I need a catchier tag!)
If you’d like to learn more about your own character’s journey, maybe help me
explore different facets of this topic, visit me here at my new character
journey blog. I’ll have a starting post, and you can comment to
that, asking about your own story or telling your character’s “From-to” path,
and maybe I can discuss that and make a post about it!
---
Alicia Rasley loves to
read, write, and talk about writing. Her plot book The Story Within explores the many ways
character and plot can interact to create deeper and more meaningful stories.
In her own writing,
Alicia has journeyed from Regencies to family sagas, and back again! Visit her
website at www.aliciarasleybooks.com, and her writing blog at www.edittorrent.blogspot.com.
Sign up for my email
newsletter for new Regency releases and get a free novella!
http://books.noisetrade.com/aliciarasley/the-wilder-heart
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Biography
Alicia
Rasley lives in Regency England-- well, no. She just writes about it! She lives
in the American Midwest, surrounded by books about Regency England. Her Regency
romances have won several awards, including the prestigious RITA for Best
Regency Romance. She has also written women's fiction, mystery, and non-fiction
books. She teaches writing online and at a state university, hoping to instill
the love of commas into today's college students.
She lives in Indiana with her husband Jeff, a philanthropist/writer
who does development work to benefit a remote Nepal
Amazon author page:
Twitter: @aliciaregency
Books
website. www.aliciarasleybooks.com
Pretty
England
Edittorrent blog:
http://www.edittorrent.blogspot.com.
If your story hasn't been rejected multiple times, start worrying! :)
 |
| Andy Warhol: REJECTED! |
Leigh Court (@LeighCourt3) posted this to encourage the discouraged!
Dan
Poynter’s website,
www.parapublishing.com…,
lists these 'famous rejections' -- a reminder to us all to keep doing what
we need to do to get our stories to readers.
REJECTED BY PUBLISHERS:
Richard Bach – Jonathan Livingston Seagull – 20 times
Joseph Heller - Catch-22 – 22 times (!)
Mary Higgins Clark – first short story – 40 times
Alex Haley – before Roots – 200 rejections
Robert Persig – Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance – 121 times
John Grisham – A Time to Kill – 15 publishers and 30 agents (he ended up publishing it himself)
Chicken Soup for the Soul – 33 times
Dr. Seuss – 24 times
Louis L’Amour – 200 rejections
Jack London – 600 before his first story
John Creasy – 774 rejections before selling his first story. He went on to write 564 books, using fourteen names.
Stephen King’s first four novels were rejected.
And of course: The first Harry Potter book was rejected by 12 publishers.
For those giving up on the whole rejection-factory of traditional publishing:
FAMOUS SELF-PUBLISHED BOOKS:
Remembrance of Things Past, by Marcel
Proust
Ulysses, by James Joyce
The Adventures of Peter Rabbit, by Beatrix
Potter
A Time to Kill, by John Grisham
The Elements of Style by William Strunk,
Jr. (and his student E. B. White)
Robert’s Rules of Order
FAMOUS AUTHORS WHO SELF-PUBLISHED
Gertrude Stein
Zane Grey
Upton Sinclair
Ezra Pound
Mark Twain
Edgar Rice Burroughs
Stephen Crane
Bernard Shaw
Anais Nin
Thomas Paine
Virginia Wolff
e.e. Cummings
Edgar Allen Poe
Rudyard Kipling
Henry David Thoreau
Benjamin Franklin
Walt Whitman
Alexandre Dumas
William E.B. DuBois
Beatrix Potter
Three-Act Structure: Unify with "Three Things"
Try this exercise if you're afraid your conflict is lagging!
This uses the 3-act Structure to organize your plot events into setup, rising conflict, resolution, and that structure provides propulsion and the progression of events within the story arc. Willy-nilly eventing won't build up the dramatic power that intensifies the emotion. In fact, effective plotting is all about cause and effect. Events matter because they cause something else to happen and something to change and the characters to feel. The accumulation of events is what propels the reader to read on, and organizing this cause/effect sequence into acts will help you build tension and cause change.
Three Acts:
Act 1 -- Set up conflict.Act 2 -- Make conflict rise.
Act 3 -- Make conflict explode, and then resolve it.
Try breaking these acts into 3 big events of ascending emotional risk: Examples-
3 times she needed help
3 times he got stuck
3 attempts to deal with the conflict
3 attempts to reach the goal
3 heartbreaks
3 secrets
3 lies
3 failures
3 betrayals
3 times she didn't ask for help
Just try it-- ascending risk, remember!
Then consider: What are the risks he/she is afraid of?
Why is this a risk?
What might this risk cause, and what might be caused by their trying to AVOID the risk?
THREE ACTS. THREE SECRETS.
For example, let's take one that is just full of emotion-- secrets. Three secrets.
Kept or revealed? Or both? Maybe the attempt to keep a secret leads to revelation.
Let's think of ascending risk --
Act 1: This sets up the first secret. She's an FBI agent, and she's sent undercover into a small town. So the first secret is that she's secretly an FBI agent.
There's not a lot of emotional risk in this secret because it's her job. But it sets in motion all the rest of the risks.
What does this cause? It causes her to be placed in this small town to investigate the local bank, and it causes her to have to take on a disguise—she's pretending to be a bank teller.
Act 2: The next secret comes when she meets and is drawn to the son of the bank president. This is just the sort of guy she despised when she was growing up, rich and polished and educated. But she's supposed to investigate his father, and she's supposed to be a bank teller who would be flattered by his intentions, so she has to keep the secret from him about who she is... and the secret from her boss that she's falling in love with one of the "targets".
What does this cause? She's getting deeper entrenched into deception. It's going to be far, far worse now when her secret is revealed. She's also becoming alienated from her job, from her old self, from the FBI, as she's not reporting her contact with Junior. Maybe she's even started lying to her boss, withholding information that could get Junior in trouble.
Act 3: What's the final secret? It's probably her real identity, not just FBI, but her former identity. Maybe she's never told anyone that she grew up as "trailer trash," the daughter of a small-town prostitute or drug dealer. Her final secret is her shame, which has caused her all along to hide her past and her true self, to cut herself off from her old friends and her family, maybe even to make up a more generic and acceptable past.
(The big task would be—and I'm too brain-dead now to come up with an idea!—make the revelation of that secret in the start of Act 3 happen and affect the plot.)
REMEMBER TO TRY AND ASSEMBLE THIS IN "ASCENDING ORDER OF EMOTIONAL RISK." THE RISK OF THE LAST SHOULD BE THE GREATEST RISK TO THE CHARACTER'S EMOTIONAL SECURITY. SO IN THIS CASE, WE'RE SEEING THAT THE BIGGEST SECRET IS HER PAST, AND THE GREATEST DANGER IS SHAME.
Let's try another "Three Acts, Three Somethings."
Remember the film Casablanca? Rick is a symbol of the United States before Pearl Harbor, isolated, uninvolved, as the world crashes around him.
This is a tightly plotted story, and there are several "3 things", but the one I like to focus on is "Three Times Rick Refuses To Help." (Tip: To determine “ascending risk,” you want to ask after each of the 3 things: What is the risk? What does this cause?)
Act 1: Ugarte asks Rick for 2 things—to hold the letters of transit for the evening (he agrees), and later to help him escape from the police (Rick refuses this time).
What is the risk? There's some emotional risk from refusing to help—a few hours later, he drunkenly refers to it—but he can shrug it off as kind of a cost of doing business—sometimes, to run a successful saloon, you have to sacrifice a friend.
What does this cause? It's very important externally because with Ugarte dead, Rick is now stuck with these letters of transit, and as he says drily, "As long as I have them, I'll never be lonely." (I tell you, this film is SO well-written, because in fact, he is alone, and his loneliness is ended only because he has those damned letters of transit!)
Act 2: The news of his having the letters spreads, and he's approached by Victor Laszlo, a Resistance leader who will be arrested by the Gestapo if he can't get out of Casablanca. When L offers to buy the letters (which will get him and his wife to safety—do NOT ask why! Because, that's why. These are magic letters :), Rick refuses, and when asked why, says bitterly, "Ask your wife."
Much more emotional risk here! In refusing to help, he is acknowledging that the wife (Ilsa) hurt him earlier, and he's using this as a means of revenge. His hard-won isolationist wall is beginning to crumble. Also, weirdly, he's sort of letting himself hope that Laszlo will find out about the earlier affair and cast Ilsa out so that she will come to Rick again.
What does this cause? Well, one effect is, paradoxically, to reconcile Laszlo and Ilsa. She's been keeping the secret of the former affair (she'd thought L was dead), and this actually lets Laszlo understand what happened and gently indicate that he doesn't blame her. (This becomes a huge part of her conflict, actually, as she realizes she still loves both of them.)
For Rick, this causes him to get more and more involved in Ilsa's dire situation and make it that much clearer that he's still in love with her.
Act 3: Ilsa herself comes to him and asks for—no, demands—the letters of transit to save Laszlo so he can continue to fight the Nazis. She is so determined that she pulls a gun on him, and he is so determined to refuse to help her, that he invites her to shoot him. Rather than help her, he will commit suicide! Talk about emotional risk. Helping her would be worse than dying?
(She as always ends up acting with love, putting the gun down and confessing that she still loves him, and he ends up embracing her—this is one of the greatest scenes in the history of film.)
What is the risk? That he will fall in love with her again (as he does), that he will lose all his defenses, that he will be hurt again, that he will lose her. This ALL happens. (That is, sometimes the greatest emotional risk should explode.)
What does this cause? Rick’s refusal causes her to confess her love, and that leads to their tacit decision to use the letters of transit. But here's the amazing thing. Ilsa says to him, "You'll decide what's right? For all of us?" That is, she is telling him that whatever he decides to do, he has to help Laszlo to safety. (She assumes that he will give Laszlo one letter of transit, and she and Rick will escape together some other way. And you know what happens, or if you don't, go watch the film!!!!!)
The real result is Rick's return to the family of man, actually. He accepts responsibility for other people, and joins the war effort. He gives up his isolation and accepts the power of love.
Notice that a powerful place to put 'the thing' is close to the end of the act, so that its repercussions propel into the next act.
--------------
So look at your own story, and see if you can identify "Three Things", or invent them, and center each act upon this thing.
1. What is the "thing" in "Three Things" in your story? If you'd like to speculate about what this means, how it relates to a deep internal issue or theme (like Rick's refusal to help is an aspect of his fear of getting too involved again and getting hurt), have at it.
2. Where can you put some manifestation of "this thing" in each act?
For each occurrence, ask:
a. What is the emotional risk here (and remember to assemble these three in ascending risk)?
b. What does this thing cause to happen?
3. How can this thing near the end of the story (maybe the dark moment?) cause a great emotional change?
Quick Journey to Plot Exercise: Your Turn!
Quick Journey to Plot Exercise: Your Turn!
My books are character-driven, so I might say, "Oh, I never plot." But in fact, I've learned to do basic plotting by using a character journey as the big structural apparatus really helps. That is, very basically, what is my character's journey through the story? Like:
Indendence to affiliation
or
Distrust to trust
or
Innocence to corruption
or
Shame to self-acceptance
or where the character starts emotionally/psychologically and where she/he ends up. Chart the main steps involved:
Beginning: She is devoted to her independence in the first act, and I show that (how will the reader know this). She should probably be given the choice to accept help but refuse it.
End of act 1 (maybe around ch. 2): Something (what) happens that makes her independence more of a problem than a solution. (What happens and how does she react)
Act 2: Things heat up on the external plane and make her independence or self-reliance a REAL problem, and she gradually has to change in response to 3-4 events in the external plot. Some group or person should probably be giving her help, or trying to, or trying to get her to affiliate.
End of Act 2: In the crisis/dark moment, her need to be independent really complicates the external conflict, and she's in huge trouble (or she's about to lose her goal or lose something essential). In the dark moment, she has to choose to change and ask for help or something that compromises her independence but allows her to receive help from being affiliated with someone or some group.
Act 3: In the climactic scene, where the external plot resolves, her newfound willingness to accept help allows her to conquer whatever the main conflict in the outer plot is.
End of Act 3: Because she has now chosen to affiliate, she is more happy and safe, but also might keep her independence a bit by becoming not just a follower but a leader.
That is, you're going to have certain things happen in the external plot. If you have a sense of what the main character needs to learn and accomplish-- the journey's start and destination-- you can make each of those plot events push the character down that journey road.
I don't actually plot this out, even in as vestigial an outline as above, but I try to have a really good sense of where my character starts out, and how she'll react to each plot event given that starting point, and usually, of course, the basic endpoint is fairly obvious once I know how she's limited or damaged at the start.
I like to analyze other people's plots, but my own... I'll get bored if I outline too deeply. What I'd love to be wild and yet disciplined enough to do is to write wildly and freely in the first draft, and then use journey, outlining, and structure to revise it in a second draft.
Alicia
Sign up for my email newsletter for new Regency releases and get a free novella! http://books.noisetrade.com/aliciarasley/the-wilder-heart
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Quick Journey to Plot Exercise
Quick Journey to Plot Exercise: Your Turn!
My books are character-driven, so I might say, "Oh, I never plot." But in fact, I've learned to do basic plotting by using a character journey as the big structural apparatus really helps. That is, very basically, what is my character's journey through the story? Like:
Indendence to affiliation
or
Distrust to trust
or
Innocence to corruption
or
Shame to self-acceptance
or where the character starts emotionally/psychologically and where she/he
ends up. Chart the main steps involved:
Beginning: She is devoted to her independence in the first act, and I show
that (how will the reader know this). She should probably be given the choice to
accept help but refuse it.
End of act 1 (maybe around ch. 2): Something (what) happens that makes
her independence more of a problem than a solution. (What happens and how does
she react)
Act 2: Things heat up on the external plane and make her independence or
self-reliance a REAL problem, and she gradually has to change in response to 3-4
events in the external plot. Some group or person should probably be giving her
help, or trying to, or trying to get her to affiliate.
End of Act 2: In the crisis/dark moment, her need to be independent really
complicates the external conflict, and she's in huge trouble (or she's about to
lose her goal or lose something essential). In the dark moment, she has to
choose to change and ask for help or something that compromises her independence
but allows her to receive help from being affiliated with someone or some
group.
Act 3: In the climactic scene, where the external plot resolves, her
newfound willingness to accept help allows her to conquer whatever the main
conflict in the outer plot is.
End of Act 3: Because she has now chosen to affiliate, she is more happy
and safe, but also might keep her independence a bit by becoming not just a
follower but a leader.
That is, you're going to have certain things happen in the external plot.
If you have a sense of what the main character needs to learn and accomplish--
the journey's start and destination-- you can make each of those plot events push
the character down that journey road.
I don't actually plot this out, even in as vestigial an outline as above,
but I try to have a really good sense of where my character starts out, and how
she'll react to each plot event given that starting point, and usually, of
course, the basic endpoint is fairly obvious once I know how she's limited or
damaged at the start.
I like to analyze other people's plots, but my own... I'll get bored if I
outline too deeply. What I'd love to be wild and yet disciplined enough to do is
to write wildly and freely in the first draft, and then use journey, outlining, and
structure to revise it in a second draft.
Alicia
Sign up for my email newsletter for new Regency releases and
get a free novella! http://books.noisetrade.com/aliciarasley/the-wilder-heart
Sign up for my email newsletter for new craft-of-writing books and get a
free plotting article! http://books.noisetrade.com/aliciarasley/outline-your-novel-in-30-minutes
Journey Example: Innocence to Corruption: The Godfather-- Creating Motivation to Spur the Change
1) A negative journey (from innocence to corruption)
2) The need for a motivating event to give the character reason to change
The Godfather Trilogy (we'll only talk about #1 now) is a great American story, but in my view, it's also based a bit on the three great "ages of man" tragedies of Shakespeare:
1) Hamlet=The Godfather, with the young "prince" choosing to become corrupt in order to avenge his father's death.
2) Macbeth=Godfather II, as the now-middle-aged hero uses "justifiable murder" to further his ambition, and proves that absolute power absolutely corrupts.
3) King Lear=Godfather III, when the elderly king, drunk on his own egotism, ends up setting in motion the events that kill his beloved daughter.
In The Godfather I, Michael is the youngest son of the Godfather. His parents and his elder brothers work hard to shelter him from the "family business" of Mob crime. He starts out as something of an innocent prince, idealistic and heroic. He enlists in the Army in WWII and becomes a war hero. Our first sight of him is in his uniform at his sister's wedding. While around him are the decadence and dealmaking and violence of his family's business, Michael is shown as apart, pristine, with his lily-white girlfriend and his open disapproval of the influence-beggars who come to kiss his father's ring and beg for favors.
In the last scene, that same girlfriend, now his chastened and cynical wife, watches as violent men come to pay their respects to the new Godfather-- Michael, now so corrupt he has killed his sister's husband and lied about it to her face.
The first thing we should do when we're starting to plot is to identify the starting and ending point of the journey.
And the story events take the character from that start to that end.
The next big step is to think about what starts the change. After all, we tend to resist change. If being innocent all this time has been good for us, let us go to college and escape the family, gives us military medals and a blonde girlfriend, even earns us the approval of our doting parents and brothers-- why would we change? Why would we even consider moving from that blessed innocence to something as morally and physically dangerous as corruption? What would it take to force us off our intended path onto this new journey?
In Michael's case, it takes an assassination attempt on his father, the Mafia don.
Watch that scene (where Michael doesn't appear), and then the next, when Michael stands off the murderers coming to finish the job on his father. That provides the motivation for Michael to start to change. He learns that he still loves his father passionately enough to do anything to protect him-- and that he has no fear in facing possible death.
But that's just the first step on the journey. Michael hasn't done anything wrong. He hasn't committed any action that is morally wrong yet. He has the motivation for the change, and the will to change, but for greatest effectiveness, the story should show the choice to change. That happens here, when Michael starts plotting the retaliation against those who injured his father, to the amusement and eventual respect of his brothers.
And a decision by itself isn't a step on the journey. It takes an actual action, played out in a pivotal scene, as here when Michael enacts his planned revenge and shoots his father's enemies.
The most important aspect of using the character journey to plot is to PUT IT IN THE STORY. That is, have the steps of the journey take place in the story events and scenes. Show where the character starts in some clear way (Michael coming late to his family wedding, sitting apart with his blonde girlfriend, telling her disapprovingly about his father's violence). Show the motivation for change in some inciting event. Show the choice to start changing, and the essential first act, the irrevocable one that can't be undone.
Then the character journey will be an essential part of the plot, set forth in the story events-- creating not just reaction, but also character action, .
Anyone have a character on a negative journey? Let's discuss! I have a sense that for a basically good person to start turning bad, the motivating event should be pretty dramatic and intense. What do you think?
The Call to Action: Plotting The Early Event that Motivates the Character to Act
- I was discussing a friend's manuscript, and I suggested she pump up the "call to action." That's usually in the first chapters, and is where the protagonist is given the incentive to act. It doesn't have to be a big high-stakes event, or some insistent demand, but I think a good "call to action" (Vogler calls it the "call to adventure," which is more intriguing!) can entice the reader to keep reading and also launch the story into the second act of rising action.
- Stack. Get more than one big moment into the "call to action" scene. Start with the charm bracelet, have him call the parents, let the partner notice something-- all in one scene. Let the small event build into the larger revelation or realization that.... "this is different!"
8) Show the change soon. Again, don't be too gradual in the opening. (I think in the middle of the plot, you can probably take things more slowly and meticulously, but in the opening, you want to get underway.) The call to action changes things not three scenes later, but right now. If you can make the change clearly a result of his taking this unprecedented action, all the better. As soon as he agrees to keep the commissioner informed, he gets caught up in the plot-- the commissioner is "casually" calling him the very next morning.
9) Show the character having to change-- that is, how does this skein of events make his actions and/or attitude different right away? For example, he might be sort of flattered that the police commissioner is paying attention to him, but he knows that his captain won't approve, so when the commissioner calls, he lowers his voice and takes the phone into the hall so no one, not even his trusted partner, overhears.
10) Let this call to action open to a new world or a new opportunity. Say the police commissioner is grateful to be kept informed, and invites the detective to his club where the mayor and the judges hang out. Or the trail of clues leads to Los Angeles and he has to board a flight and leave the frozen Midwest for the beach.
11) Notice what you set up in the call to action scene and use that later in the book, to deepen characterization or develop new conflict or further the character journey. If you want him at the end of his journey to get back together with his ex-wife, for example, in the end, how can you let the call to action and aftermath set that up? Like instead of just abandoning the kids at daycare (not conducive to later getting back with ex!), he uses this as an opportunity to call her, get her to do the pickup, and... this is the important thing... promise her in exchange a nice dinner out. That last in the chain of actions will set up the much later "date" that resolves the romantic conflict.
Again, you're in control here. You're the one who determines what the event is, and how it first appears. You can turn up or down the emphasis. You can move the initiating event earlier or later. You can use dramatic or understated prose. You can select detail that adds to the suspense or narrows the focus. You can show the ripples of the event on the character's life and the setting. Challenge yourself to use the tools you've got to make this event a real call to action, for the reader as well as the character.
Alicia
Dana's cozy mystery, Distrust to Trust?
Dana's storyline is here.
Dana said: > lack of trust to trust, or secrecy to openness.
Good story line! I think one thing that characterizes “the cozy” is that the dead person isn’t well-liked, which opens up the list of suspects. (I think the implication is that almost anyone could commit murder given provocation, which isn’t very “cozy!” But it does make it more understandable if there’s no danger of the reader identifying with the victim.)
A couple thoughts, and please ignore anything that doesn’t work—I’m just tossing ideas out there:
1. Lack of trust to trust, or secrecy to openness? I think you’re right that this is about trust, and the secrecy is a sign of the lack of trust, and the openness at the end is a sign that she’s starting to trust. If you don’t mind, I would suggest that you make her little revelation at the end be more meaningful—not that she confides in any old co-worker, but that she has chosen to trust one (and that would probably be the most trustworthy one, like the Office Mom maybe who always brings flowers, or the Office Dad who organizes the softball team. That is, if her openness at the end is a sign of her willingness to attempt to trust, whom she chooses might be meaningful. She’s not going to end up a “trust-baby,” trusting any and all, right? So see if “who” can be a bit meaningful. (In a mystery-romance, of course, this could be the love-interest, but I don’t know if that’s an issue here.)
CONNECTIVITY=SIMPLIFY, SIMPLIFY, SIMPLIFY
2. The Happy Hour parallel scenes to start and end—that’s a good way to show the change in her. I think that kind of parallel "before and after" can subtly make it clear what has changed-- the scene situation and setting are the same, but the
It seems like you have several different “worlds” here:
The work environment (where/what), which provides the bracketing of before and after (Happy Hour) scenes.
The neighborhood, including Frank and Ebbe, and, significantly, the victim.
The bark park (and class?).
I’d suggest emphasizing what draws all this together (maybe it’s a smalltown or an area of a bigger town, and her friends at work could know Frank and Ebbe?). You have the bark park and class connected—one easy way to connect it to the neighborhood world, of course, is to put the park right there on the edge of the neighborhood, so that she can walk the dog to classes, and encounter neighbors along the way.
In fact, look for ways to connect the workplace with the rest of the book. I say this because you have her journey start and end at work (well, the Happy Hour, but with the coworkers). And notice most of the journey steps in between happen not at work, but in the neighborhood and dog class. That might feel a bit “unglued” because why when she chooses to trust, does she trust someone at work rather than the people who were there on her journey in the neighborhood and class? You probably make that work, but keep it in mind… is her journey just to trusting, or to find someone who has earned the trust and trust that person (Frank and Ebbe, maybe, or Sam, or someone in the class or neighborhood would have been “on the journey with her”.
Now you probably make this work just fine, but I always try, in a mystery novel, to simplify as much of the extraneous complication as I can. Mysteries are of course inherently complicated, as there’s a… uh… mystery at the heart. So sometimes it helps to streamline things by making connections between disconnected things so that the reader’s attention to detail isn’t scattered. Again, you might already be doing this all through the book!
HOW TO CONNECT?
But an example of “connecting” might be—the guest house in the neighborhood where she goes to live? Can that connect to her workplace, like a neighbor helps her get the job, or she finds out about the guest cottage from someone at work. Then she gets involved with Frank and Ebbe. She’s really going out of her way with them, which shows her innate goodness, and that’s good, but you might see if “connection” could make that more tightly into her journey, like Frank is a friend of her boss, or Ebbe used to work there years ago. That would also make it more plausible that Frank and Ebbe would trust her and feel emboldened to ask for and accept her help. (We know they don’t want the neighbor’s help.)Now one thing that could be a good connector of “neighborhood” and “Frank and Ebbe situation” is that when Frank is hurt, the neighbors rally round and kind of draw her into the campaign to help the elderly couple out. I say that because you have the neighbors rallying around Marcy later, so it would make sense that they would have as a group tried to help Frank, and drawn Marcy into doing this one part of that—the dog-walking and class.
So… you know, after all this, I notice that she might be moving from alienation to affiliation or independence to interdependence. Or maybe not, but let me just, as an illustration, show how an “alienation-affiliation” journey could work. (Trust and secrecy would be involved, but the big movement would be away from alienation—she’s able to trust because she feels affiliated at the end.)
THIS IS JUST AN EXAMPLE OF HOW THE SAME BASIC PLOTLINE COULD BE ADAPTED TO ANOTHER JOURNEY, ALIENATION TO AFFILIATION. YOURS IS A GOOD CHOICE, SO I DON’T MEAN THIS AS A RECOMMENDATION, JUST AN ILLUSTRATION!
If she’d start out “alienated,” she might be shown at the start as choosing to stay apart at work, refusing to go to Happy Hour at the nearby neighborhood pub, not just because her co-workers are there but because she’d probably encounter some neighbors too. (That would be an advantage of having the workplace close to the neighborhood.) She would instead go home alone to her lonely house, and feel secure, not lonely. Then she might go out in the evening for her walk which she takes for exercise, a brisk walk to the park and around it, and she might encounter Frank and Ebbe walking their rambunctious dog, and think about heading the other direction so she doesn’t have to talk (you can tell I’m one of those types of people… oh, no, here comes that chatty neighbor… can I get out of the encounter). But they greet her, and maybe the dog bounds up to her, and Frank says she should get a dog so that she’d have some company on her walk. And she could show her alienation by politely refusing (but she’s already taken a step away from alienation by stopping to talk to them maybe because she feels sorry for Frank or Ebbe).
THE INCITING INCIDENT
Then when Frank falls, maybe there’s an informal meeting that she decides not to go to (one last big attempt to stay alienated) where the neighbors all parcel out Help-FrankandEbbe chores. So one neighbor notices she’s not there and just knows she must want to help, and come by to ask for her to sign up for one task. She might consider refusing, but it would seem churlish (and maybe the lady neighbor is someone she works with, connecting to the workplace world). The nice neighbor might say that Lois volunteered to help with the dog, but Frank said no. (If you wanted to emphasize "trust," btw, you could have Frank say something like, "Marcy, I trust!") So Marcy gets stuck with the job that will force her to have to participate and come out of her isolation—the dog.
And then of course, dealing with the dog draws her more and more into affiliation—she bonds with the dog, she likes Frank and Ebbe, she has to keep consulting with the neighbors about what F and E need. Lois the pushy neighbor probably stops her and tries to give her “helpful” advice (the downside of greater affiliation is, of course, you have to deal with people you don’t like). The class is another great way to draw her into affiliation, because she’ll have to participate. And having her and the dog discover the body there, and the body is the pushy neighbor, well, that ties those bonds tighter. The police might expect her to be forthcoming about her neighbors’ comings and goings, or might see patterns that make her have to defend someone (like she might find herself defending Frank even if she’s not sure if he’s innocent).SIMILAR BUT SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT JOURNEY-- EMPHASIS, DETAIL, MOTIVATION
All the “closedness to openness” journeys are kind of similar, whether it’s independence to interdependence or distrust to trust or mystery to truth. The point is that the character starts out kind of tight and anxious—afraid to betray herself so she watches every word, afraid to get too close to someone because she doesn’t want them asking questions—and ends up more free and open. Those journeys are kind of parallel, so the difference will be in the details—if the starting point is “distrust,” you’d emphasize her refusal to trust herself/others in a Happy Hour situation, where if the starting point is “alienation,” you’d show her choice as choosing just to be alone. It’s a minor difference, but you can make it very precise just by her motivation at that moment at the start of the journey—why does she choose not to go to Happy Hour?
So… those are just some thoughts. I always do suggest looking for ways to connect whenever possible. Of course, we don’t want to end up with a story full of coincidental connections, but in a cozy, because of the “small” setting, it’s easy to make connections possible.
Great work so far! You really have a good sense of Marcy, and I love the idea that the dog is the instrument for drawing her out (or in).
Here’s an article I did, wow, from the copyright date it looks like almost 20 years ago. Anyway, it might be dated, but it’s about details and connections:
An article about connecting details:
http://www.aliciarasley.com/artg2.htm