“Building Better Plots” by Robert Kernen, part 31

We’ve arrived at the final post in this series!

Kernen ends his book by giving a short rundown on non-traditional plots. He has concentrated on the usual ways plots are constructed—and published—and those probably do garner the most attention and sales. It makes sense, though, to at least be familiar with other ways of working. The best writing often uses bits of this and some of that in striking ways. You can’t do that if you only know one way to do it.

The epistolary novel and different ways of manipulating time are the two ideas he spends a fair amount of time on. As usual, he offers examples of works that have used each method. He suggests trying various twists on traditional plot construction to see if a stronger story emerges and just to improve your writing chops. He also suggested, earlier, to take all the index cards you’ve written your plot on, mix them up, then lay them out to see what you get. For some people, that’s going to be pretty tough to do. Mess with my plot? How dare you!

Yeah, guys, that’s the idea. It’s surprisingly simple to work yourself into writer’s blocks just because you think various things have to happen in certain ways. Writing is a creative process, so get creative!

Kernen then gathers all the exercises and quizzes together at the end, so you can have the tools all in one place as you go through your projects. I find that helpful. After that, he includes a glossary which is equally helpful. Things like “allegory”, “catharsis”, and “resonance” are briefly explained, as well as concepts like “conflict” and “raising the stakes”. If you’re going to talk about how to do anything, you ought to be sure everybody means the same thing when they use various terms.

In all, this is a darn useful book. The novel I’m working on is not really traditional, but I’ve gained a lot from Kernen’s methods. I’ve come back to the original idea that Neal’s and Sandy’s growth are the main focus. In other words, the rock-n-roll part of the story is part of the framework, not the plot itself. It’s a part that readers can see sometimes, but the details don’t matter as much as how the characters react.

I’m convinced that because all writers have trouble with various parts of their projects from time to time, that writers of any level will benefit from this book.

I recently got two books for research and started reading one, Street Wars by Tom Hayden. I’ll post a review of that at some point, plus I plan to read one of the rock lit novels out there and review that. Also, a member of my local writers’ group showed me a book on “creating original characters” that looks intriguing, so that may be on my “to review” list.

Thanks for coming along with me and Bob Kernen on the safari through plotting my novel! The process has to be internalized now. Feel free to add insights, tips on what works for you, or comments on failed efforts. We learn even when something bombs!

pt 30 of Robert Kernen's "Building Better Plots"

Plot devices! Kernen says these are ways to focus the plot on the most important parts of characters’ lives, to clarify the context, or sharpen the story so that its fundamental meaning is well-defined—I like that. I think that’s just what I need to tackle the murky issue of Neal’s life during months-long tours.

The framing device. This is pretty much what it sounds like: circumstances and interactions happen at the start that we don’t fully understand, a narrator takes us back to where everything started and shows us how we got to that opening scene, and now we understand the connections and happenings. Kernen uses the example of the movie The Usual Suspects as one effective way the framing device has been used. I can see how some stories would gain excitement and tension from this device, but I don’t think it’s what my story needs.

The episodic plot. Kernen doesn’t really define this one, but says that this device is often used badly because the episodes are not well connected. He refers to Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. Each story is almost completely unrelated to the others. I personally think that something like the Tales remains popular partly because the society they show us is so different from what modern readers know. I do show glimpses of closed societies in Street Glass, but the differences are not as dramatic. Anyway, I don’t think an episodic form will work for my novel either.

The flashback. Yes, it’s true, the flashback is often a cliché. But the device can still have value if you use it right. Don’t stick one in just because you’ve thought of a clever way to ease into and out of it. The information you offer has to be important, and preferably, the flashback should be the best way to get that info out. Kernen relies on two movies for examples of this device, but I think that’s a failing. We’re talking about writing flashbacks so I’d much rather have an example of a book where that’s done well. I do have one flashback in an early chapter but I’m going to stop there. I think telling this story in a linear way will help readers experience the changes along with the characters.

Parallel stories. Kernen says you need balance and timing to pull this off. I can see how it could be tricky. You don’t want to confuse readers but parallel stories can add depth and tension. I could say that Sandy’s changes parallel Neal’s as the story progresses, though both characters change because of their interaction with each other. There’s no separation in time or location. I’m sure that many fiction pieces use more than one of these plot devices.

It occurs to me that my original pile of individual scenes could be considered an episodic plot form. As Kernen mentions can happen, they were too loosely connected in that form to make a coherent story.

Kernen points out that the way to use any plot device successfully is to let it happen. Trying to force something onto the characters never works. For example, the first couple of times I posted early chapters of Street Glass to Critique Circle, readers complained that Sandy seemed too nice. Why did he offer to help Neal, who had nearly killed him? Sandy only had one dimension and it wasn’t even an appropriate one for the situation.

In Art Edwards’ Rock And Roll Writing course through Basement Writing, we were challenged to get to know our characters better. I combined this with an exercise designed to help us create compelling characters. We were told to write about an alcoholic coming home for Thanksgiving. I discovered that Sandy had a cousin who resented his success and blamed him for her life falling apart; when she died, he shouldered the blame. With Neal, Sandy sees another young person whose life is out of control. By helping Neal, Sandy hopes to right a wrong and maybe put his cousin’s memory to rest. Now Sandy isn’t just Mr. Nice Guy, he has a personal reason for helping Neal. That background info comes out in a flashback.

Next post in this series is the last! I discuss the final sections of the book and wrap up my impressions of the whole work, and add some comments on other stuff coming down the pike for me.

“Building Better Plots”, part 29 by Robert Kernen

In chapter 9, Kernen gets into the nitty gritty of using the 3 x 5 index cards to complete my plot outline. He seems to expect that once I write out all my plot points, major and minor, and include blank cards for spots that I know need tweaking, I’ll be able to see and solve plot problems. He talks about writing the plot as fully as I can in outline format on a bunch of index cards then laying them out to study how the plot threads interact.

Well, okay, but I am not going to be able to fine tune my plot at that stage. I consider the nature of an outline to be an abbreviated form; therefore, I’m not going to see everything that needs tweaking or tossing until I flesh out each scene.

But that doesn’t mean using index cards is nonproductive. I cobbled together an outline on the computer, including spots where I’m unsure how to handle a scene, and adjusted the margins so I could fit individual plot points onto 3 x 5 cards. I haven’t printed them onto the cards yet because as I continue to read the book, I get possible ideas for spots where I’m stuck.

I do think that even without fine tuning my plot in outline form, being able to physically see what I do have all laid out in front of me will be helpful. I’ll get a good sense of how the major points fit together, and where subplots would be effective. I have enough of the plot to know that some areas are still weak.

Kernen suggests something to help in finding hidden connections: once you have the index cards printed out and in the order you think they should go, number them, then shuffle them like a deck of cards. Lay them out one at a time and see if any adjacent cards trigger new themes or make connections clear.

Yeah, I’m gonna pass on that, at least for now. I’ve already moved stuff around to the point of knowing which major points need to stay together and which are subject to being moved again. But I’ll keep the technique in mind in case I get stymied along the way.

In chapter 10, Kernen talks about the movie Rain Man and how the physical road traveled by the brothers is a metaphor for several things, as well as a simple and effective way to physically move the characters. This is encouraging. In my own story, Neal travels roads of various lengths which mirror his personal development. He eventually journeys around the world and always comes home to the same city, but a different neighborhood than where he grew up. Psychologically, he becomes more of a well-rounded person though he still has tendencies that make him wonder how much he’s really changed.

Kernen’s certainly right that having unifying elements throughout a story help give it depth and power. He refers to how James Michener uses places essentially as characters in his novels, and how that enriches the entire tale. Okay, I don’t expect that I’m going to write something that will be compared to Michener, but it’s a good point.

In a more distant way, Los Angeles might be seen as a character in Street Glass, or maybe several characters. Some neighborhoods shape the lives of residents and hold them there, while other areas encourage freedom. Neal’s basic personality was formed in the barrio—once he gets out of that stagnant atmosphere, how much is he able to change himself, and change society?

This is fun! I like thinking about broad themes. It gives me a sense of direction not just for the characters, but the story as a whole.

Next post: breaking down the usual ways to work a plot. Part 30 is the penultimate segment in this series!

“Building Better Plots” by Robert Kernen, part 28

Kernen’s idea for using 3x5 cards to list scenes and plot points seems to be a good idea. Since I’m well along in the plot process though, I’ll have to tweak his method. He says not to worry if you feel that some scenes or plot points need to be connected but you don’t know how yet; just put in one or more blank cards as placeholders.

He has a series of questions to help you decide if something’s missing in your plot. For example, how’s the level of tension; are major plot points spaced properly; and is something needed to keep or perfect the overall story’s pacing.

These and the other questions are not ones I feel capable of answering. If I knew those things, I wouldn’t need help with plotting. But then, I’ve never worked with an editor or agent, so maybe once that happens I’ll gain new skills that will allow me to see those issues myself. I’ll keep my fingers crossed J

As I create more scenes for major plot points, I’ll become aware of the story’s rhythm? Well, Robert, I’m not so sure, because I’ve worked through dozens of complete scenes since beginning this adventure, and I haven’t any idea of how the pacing or the rhythm are. The more I read about “how to write”, the more I feel that some of the things I’m “supposed to” be aware of are things that my subconscious may know, but my conscious brain just doesn’t have the room.

I think I understand what Kernen means by plot points being spaced properly. Major scenes shouldn’t happen too close together or too far apart because that will feel stilted and unnatural.

I guess what I’m having the biggest problem with as I go through this book is that it’s aimed at a huge group of writers (as in, anybody who buys the book). The best thing about having a teacher or editor work with you is that they focus on your story. They give advice for your issues. So, I’m very much looking forward to the new online writing course I’ve started.

I’ve interrupted my process with Kernen’s book because this online course came up. It’s called “Laws of Motion: Plotting the Compelling Story” and it’s through Writer U on Yahoo! groups. The instructor is Laura Baker. So far, I like the course because Laura is forcing the students to focus on what’s really important for our plots. Unpublished and therefore inexperienced writers (like me) have a tendency to think everything should be included in our plots. But like Kernen says, not every idea needs to go in. We need help deciding exactly what it is we’re trying to say, and the best way to say it.

An interesting idea that Baker puts forward is that the main character’s basic nature drives his choice of actions, which drive the plot. She forced me to pin down one protagonist; it was easy enough to say that Neal goes through the biggest changes and causes the most important plot points to happen. What’s harder is identifying his basic nature. Baker suggested that it could be he fears being vulnerable. While that’s true, I do feel that alone doesn’t adequately describe his basic nature. Like people in real life, Neal is complex and he sometimes acts in contradictory ways. But I’m far from done with the course!

In my next post on “Building Better Plots”, James Michener makes an appearance, in a sense!

Robert Kernen’s “Building Better Plots”, part 27

Well, regardless of who’s right about the definition of “interpolation”, Kernen says something pretty helpful about how to solve plot gaps. He says to put plot points on an arc, wherever you think it makes the most sense for each scene to fall. If you have two scenes that you don’t know how to bridge, consider the plot arc they form. What characters are necessary to move the plot to that empty place? You want to raise the tension a little from the previous scene, but not so much that readers are jarred.

If you have a blank space following two scenes, think about those two scenes. Look at the plot arc. What elements do you need to build tension and drama that will reach the next scene? What will raise the tension a bit from the last scene? What subplot needs development?

These are all great hints to help me get past that block of “what happens during these world tours.”

Kernen suggests using 3 x 5 index cards to write your plot points, because the cards are small enough to move around very easily yet are roomy enough to write a fair amount of scene information. He says the biggest problem he’s found with computer outline programs is that he can’t see the whole plot on a single screen, and that’s something I’ve thought about before.

If you aren’t bothered by how much you can see on a computer screen, and you find a program that lets you move plot information around to your satisfaction, run wild. I love computers (though I do wish programs were more customizable and I wish “in the background” online stuff really would be in the *background*), but for fiction writing, I need to see the whole picture as well as the parts. Currently my outline is just a straight listing of events in a word processing document because that’s a simple format I can manipulate, but it does have that visual limitation.

You guys born and raised in the digital age, don’t knock pen and paper! There was even a time when people didn’t leave the house with a phone. The authors of classic fiction from the 1800s wrote their drafts either in longhand or on a manual typewriter. The simplicity of paper has advantages. And besides, if you never hold a brand-new *book* in your hands, you miss that unique and special scent that whispers, “Fresh paper, just feel how soft I am, ahhh, a new story!”

Of course, one could argue that paper books are not ecologically sound, but that’s beyond my little blog. Which, ironically, is totally digital.

Anyway: Remember that writing advice is just that: guidance, suggestions. If you find a way of doing any part of the process that gets you to the end product better, go with that. No two writers work exactly alike. I am finding a bunch of advice that does work well for me, however, so it makes sense to start with that and adapt as you find necessary. Chances are you already have occasional “writer’s block” or “dry spells” or whatever, so don’t add to your stress by thinking that this or that method is the only way.

Having done a first draft, and therefore collected a large number of scenes big and small, I’ll need to adapt Kernen’s suggestions for working with a 3 x 5 card system. But, I’ll read through the section on using the cards and I’ll get back to you with thoughts on how I (and maybe you) can use the system.

Robert Kernen’s “Building Better Plots”, part 26

I’m a little annoyed with Kernen’s chapter on constructing an outline. Funny, that’s what I’ve been waiting for, and he starts out telling me some things he’s already mentioned, and telling me other things too cryptic to be of use.

He says that to build an outline, I should decide how the story ends and start there. Well, he’s previously given exercises on plots, so by now I have a bunch of plot points that span the novel. He tells me to focus on the climax scene and list all the elements that need to converge in that moment: which characters need to be present (I’ve done that) and which points need to be cemented in that scene. Well, but I won’t know *all* of them until I know how the story plays out. Unexpected themes and plot twists happen while I’m capturing scenes, so I can’t project that far ahead.

I suspect there’s a boatload of themes, metaphors and motifs in Street Glass, because they intertwine and some are subtle. Aren’t those terms synonymous in this context? I know many of the themes I want to explore, but as I see it after having done a first draft, some of them are *felt* rather than *heard* in the climax, to use a music comparison/metaphor/trope/thing.

For example, by the time I get to the scene with Neal and his mother Lola where they talk about his past and his future, readers should realize that Neal feels his past is smothering him without my having to be blatant about it. It’s a gradual build-up.

Neal struggled to make a good life once he got away from the gang. Attempts on his life were made. He overcame racial and social prejudice. He gave up a safe, private life to co-run a public, non-profit group that works to prevent kids from turning to drugs and gangs. He thought that at long last, his past no longer had a hold on him.

But then he’s caught in a riot and picked up by cops who think he’s just another troublemaker because he looks the part. He’s tossed in a holding cell with gangbangers and miscellaneous rabble-rousers. That’s bad enough. Then his biological father Tony (whom Neal hates) shows up. A brawl breaks out in the holding cell, and Neal is handcuffed, his ankles are chained together and he’s tossed onto a plane. He winds up clear across the country, where he doesn’t know anybody. He’s now battered and at the mercy of a father who has already made it clear that his only interest in Neal is to get money from him.

Locked in a lightless room, Lola visits him, the mother who abandoned him as a child. By this point, readers should realize that when I say he finds it hard to get enough air, it’s not just because there are no windows. Realizing that Lola is the only person who can free him makes everything worse. When Neal gets his hands on Tony and nearly strangles him, readers should understand why.

So I guess I’ve already got the bones of the climax scene. I know generally what leads up to it.

This is kind of funny: Kernen says that one way to bridge the gap between the inciting incident and the climax is through interpolation, which he defines as “predicting the location of something by knowing two points, one on either side of it.” But the dictionary in my word processor defines it as to “insert something into something else: to add one thing, often an unnecessary item, between the existing parts of something else.”

Contradictory information even at the most basic level! I’ll say it yet again — people wonder why writers drink!

Coming up: the physical side of outlines, and I don’t mean the “word” part.

Bob Kernen's "Building Better Plots", part 25

This comment scares me. A “vast, complete knowledge of the world in which you are working will help you to avoid making poor decisions or untenable leaps of logic.” I get the point that the more the writer knows about the universe she/he is writing in, the better the story will be, but I’ve also read comments from published authors who say that a particular plot point or theme didn’t appear until the story was being written.

As in most (if not all) writing advice, I guess it depends on the specifics of your story and maybe somewhat on your way of working. All this “it depends” can get annoying. After all, why read advice if it can’t help you with specifics? It does, but you have to think about it. I’ve signed up for my third writing course so I do believe in getting advice. I’ll have to look at what I’m being told and see how it applies to my situation. Yes, sigh all you want, learning how to write well is cerebral and usually not quick.

I’ve discovered that just because most of the characters in my WIP have been in my head for a few decades, I didn’t necessarily *know* them. When I wrote out exploratory scenes and filled out character profiles, I discovered things I had no idea about. I knew Sandy liked his Ferrari, but I didn’t realize that when he got his first one, he went tearing all over the county and wound up in the Angeles Forest where he smashed into a guard rail. Despite his main quirk of being naïve, this also shows he does sometimes take chances. So, it is in fact realistic that he wants to take a chance on helping Neal.

My only concern is the idea that getting to know characters can be done in a few writing sessions. Maybe some people can work that way, but I think what worked for me are the dozens of scenes I wrote over a few years. Every new situation I explored showed more of each character’s personality. The characters evolved one way, but I realized that wasn’t realistic, and so I had to change things up. The guys in the band, originally, were too nice to each other. Sure, they’re friends, but they spend so much time together that it’s natural for nerves to fray and arguments to explode.

At first, it felt wrong to introduce a bunch of changes. I didn’t want to change characters’ fundamental natures. Now that I’ve had time to adjust to that idea, I see that I’ve simply enhanced their personalities. I always knew that Eric came from a religious family that he felt was too restrictive, and then I discovered that his family ran a mission/soup kitchen in the Denver area. He saw a lot of the dark side of life there. Being front man for the band is how he distances himself from his past. Of the band members, he reacts the strongest to Neal showing up at the band’s house because of his own background.

I discovered Sandy had a relative who resented his success because she couldn’t seem to get her life together; he felt tremendous guilt when she died an alcoholic. That makes him more than just a nice guy trying to do a good deed for Neal, it gives him an emotional connection to Neal. Those are concepts a lot of people can relate to.

So don’t be afraid to change your characters to bring out drama and realism. Delve deep and see what happened in their childhood, teen years, and early working life. Take a seed idea, plant in a big pot, water with “what if”, and then let the result break out of the pot. Climb that beanstalk and see where you wind up. I’ll bet you have great fun!

When my series resumes, I’ll touch on themes and the climax.

"Building Better Plots" by Robert Kernen, part 24

Still grappling with the issue of those two world tours Neal comes along for, and how they should be represented in my manuscript. I’ve been stuck on the questions “What happens to the main characters during those tours? How can events during the tours advance the plot?” Maybe I’ve been stuck inside that “what happens?” box.

In chapter 7 Kernen says that “creating good plots is distilling a character’s life down to just the good stuff.” Recently, I’ve begun thinking that maybe it’s really not so important to show the details of those tours; maybe what I really need to show are the results, the impact on Neal’s character. Maybe some entries from his journal can be blended with interpersonal scenes that could happen anywhere in the world. That would allow me to focus on what happens between characters without having to fret over what goes on behind the scenes on tours.

“…Pull the noteworthy events together to become the major plot points of the story.” Ha! Really? But that’s sort of what I started out doing: only writing pivotal scenes involving the same set of characters. I didn’t think at all about how to bridge the scenes to make a coherent story.

I have a feeling Kernen is not telling me it’s okay to string together (mostly related) scenes and call it a novel. Darn.

Narrowing the scope of a story is one way to distill events. In my case, I’ve finally decided where the story should end, so where should it begin? I don’t think readers will be able to appreciate Neal’s changes unless they see what his life was like before he met Sandy. That’s not a failing on the readers’ part, it’s simple logic. So I can give a definite start point and end point now — yay!

I’m very interested in Kernen’s example of the movie Two for the Road. He says it’s about the disintegrating marriage of a couple, as shown through the prism of their yearly trip to the south of France. Viewers get to watch the couple without the distractions of friends or family, and they get to see how the couple changes over the course of the annual trip.

That’s a brilliant idea, if you want the focus of the story to be on the couple. I’m pretty much focusing on a couple too. Therefore, I should be able to show that while keeping other parts of their lives in the background. Theoretically, anyway!

I’m still needled by the idea that all of Neal’s experiences once he leaves the gang contribute to his development, and therefore need to be shown. But another little voice whispers that I should remember Kernen’s statement that not every idea, not even every good one, needs to be included. I need to keep the spotlight on what’s *important*.

Geez, this is slow. It’s late June and I’m not done with my plot. Well-crafted stories don’t write themselves! A look at any first draft will confirm that.

Next time — write yourself a beanstalk!

pt 23 of "Building Better Plots", by Robert Kernen

At the end of Part 22, I said I’d be back with a clearer idea of where to end the story and what to include in what I will call the first book. I’m going to write it with enough stuff hinted at for the future that a second book will be possible.

Ending Book One is a matter of acceptance. My gut is telling me where the climax is. Trying to turn another scene into the climax will only mess things up for the reader. I still have to decide what to include in the resolution, but that can wait. I can live with that.

On to Part Two of Kernen’s book: Building the Plot. Kernen says that, over time, plot archetypes have developed. That makes sense, since there are character archetypes. I think plot archetypes are related to genre. He says that these archetypes help writers, because:

• they offer a solid foundation with a “sub-frame” on which to build the story (there are some things the writer won’t have to make up or research exhaustively);
• writers “can assume a certain body of knowledge on the part of the audience” (they’ve probably read similar stories and will be familiar with certain concepts).

Readers benefit from the patterns also because they can “more easily follow the story and understand the underpinnings of it.”

For the purposes of his book, he uses nine types:

Vengeance
Betrayal
Catastrophe
Pursuit
Rebellion
The quest
Ambition
Self-sacrifice
Rivalry

Kernen offers a list of criteria and examples of stories for each archetype, in addition to an in-depth discussion of each type and why they work so well. I like this approach, but I have a problem with some of the examples he uses. Some authors of “how-to” books for writers stress classic novels as resources, but frankly, I don’t think the classics are that much help. I need to know how to apply these lessons with modern writing conventions. I don’t want to hear, “Your writing would fit right in with Shakespeare’s contemporaries. But we don’t publish that.”

Maybe this is why successful authors are often asked “What do you like to read?” The masses of unpublished writers assume that if they want to write kind of like Stephen King, and King likes another particular writer, that writer must “know how to write.” Maybe that person’s style is a bit more accessible to us than King’s.

I started to worry about seeing so many of these archetypes throughout my own WIP, but Kernen seems to imply that’s a good thing. What a relief.

Next installment talks about keeping a spotlight on without using a wash over the whole stage. Now that’s an appropriate metaphor!

Bob Kernen's "Building Better Plots", part 22

In discussing how to construct an effective climax in chapter 5, Kernen says that when many authors reach that point in their stories, they’re tempted to throw in every additional problem they’ve thought of (and maybe couldn’t work in earlier).  They think that tossing in new stuff heightens the drama.  All that manages to happen is that the moment they’ve spent 75% of the novel building up to becomes muddy with so much happening, and readers trying to figure out where all this new stuff came from.

Sometimes writers will find new connections to earlier plot points when they’re working through the climax. Then, they put things in because it seems to add dimension to the climax. Usually that just results in the same confusion.

I need to sit with my outline and pinpoint the climax, because right now it could be either of these moments:

• Neal and his mother have a conversation about their lives
• Sandy and friends break Neal out of the place he’s locked up in and Neal tries to kill his father

Either could have enough emotional drama to be the climax.  I’m tending toward the second scene, however. But again, more stuff happens after that, and it’s absolutely critical to Neal’s character development. I am waffling over whether or not to include the scene where Neal confronts the mayor and shames him into agreeing to tour some of the barrios still scarred from  rioting. If I show some of the actual touring, that will illuminate the social theme of the novel as well as show the kind of man Neal’s grown into.

Decisions, decisions. What is the point of highest emotion? Where do the threads come together? I have to laugh. Kernen says that “not every idea, not even every good one, has a place in a given story”. Do I have to throw out some of my plot? I’m between a rock and a particularly hard place here, because this is my first effort at publication. If I had at least one successful thing out there, I would have a bit more leeway with how long the novel is. I could work on getting something else published first, but that would take additional months (if not years). The longer the themes in “Street Glass” go without light shed on them, the less interested people may be. 

Mainly though, I’ve spent the past two years on this project, and while I don’t feel that would become wasted time if I moved to something else, I have the momentum to keep going.

In order to sort this out, I’ve written a summary of the scene involving Neal and his parents, starting when Neal’s swept up in the L.A. rioting and ending at LaGuardia airport in New York City . In that short summary, I can easily sense rising tension, a climax, then a wrap-up. That’s disappointing, because so much could happen after that! Well, how necessary is that stuff?

I’ll adjourn here to hash this out on my own time. I *will* resolve the issue before the next post in this series. J

"Building Better Plots" by Robert Kernen, pt 21

Kernen compares writing to music, which really resonates with me. I’ve realized that point before. Each has its own sort of rhythm and guidelines; each requires its artists to tune in to their own creative process. Just as some musical effects are meant to be felt rather than heard, some writing effects are meant to impact readers subconsciously.

There’s “sledgehammer” writing and there’s metal music. There are stories you could describe as love songs, and there are ballads in music. Lots of similarities. As I’ve paid close attention to some songs with lyrics I particularly admire, I’ve come to realize how hard it must be to write a few lines that can only fill a 2 to 4 minute slot, leave room for music, yet impact listeners deeply. (Okay party songs are probably easier as far as lyrics, but then you’ve got to come up with punchy, edgy, or danceable music.) You think writing 70,000 coherent and striking words, put together in a unique way, is tough? Try to create a tiny story using form guidelines that fits into a 2 to 4 minute timeframe, has music with a strong hook, and present that in a unique way. And rhyme it, too! I’ve written things I think of as lyrics, though I’ve never written music, and I can tell you—sometimes (like fiction writing) it flows out of you already put together, other times you have to rehash and put everything back in the blender. Fiction writers haven’t cornered the market on doing something difficult with words.

I just needed to say that. It helps me feel connected to writers of various kinds. A lot of people have published books, some that might have benefited from further editing that became big sellers anyway, and a lot of people have written songs that don’t especially move me but get bunches of people up and dancing. If they can succeed, I can too. I’m putting effort into succeeding.

Anyway. Kernen says that just as musicians learn the time signature of a piece of music, writers can learn to “hear” the rhythm of their own stories. Finding that rhythm helps you to keep things moving forward and does help you find the best places to put plot points. I worried about having Neal at home for six months without the band, because I was afraid I didn’t have compelling enough plot points to carry that much time. I was afraid of breaking the rhythm by not having him continue to interact with the other major characters.

Then I realized that he doesn’t just sit there thinking the whole time, he interacts with other people. Plus, the band sort of shows up for radio interviews, then physically shows up when they decide to move to another house. Each appearance is brief but reminds readers what those characters are like.

Kernen suggests some exercises for finding fiction rhythm. Take several short stories, and write down each major plot point and when it occurs. Notice how much distance is between them, and the intensity of the points.

Move on to plays or novels. Make note of each major point, but before you reach the climax, try to predict when it’ll happen.

Take the same novel or play and try to tune in to its rhythm. See if you can figure out how the author controls the rhythm to keep readers on their toes and on the edge of their seats.

I recommend doing that. Having said that, I’m not going to do it right now, because I feel it would throw me off the rhythm of working on my plot. I’m in a groove now and I can sense that too long an interruption will spoil it. But it’s helpful to study successful works. Published authors continue to read, partly for that reason. They know they can always improve.

The rhythm of this blog series continues next time with thoughts on endings—when to apply the brakes to a runaway muse train.

pt 20 of Robert Kernen's "Building Better Plots"

Who’s seen the Bela Lugosi version of the movie Dracula? I absolutely love it. I’ve seen it a couple dozen times. Even though I know exactly what’s going to happen, I watch anyway, because of the way suspense is handled. Since it’s a visual medium, I feel the creepiness even when none of the characters talk. The physical set, gestures and expressions are exquisite. Lugosi’s “I never drink . . . wine” is in my top 3 list of favorite movie lines.

Way harder to do in a written medium. If we wanted to do something easy, we’d take up flower arranging. Kernen reminds us that suspense is necessary to a great dramatic story, but we have to be very careful with it. Too much suspense and readers feel continually on edge. Too little of course doesn’t work either. If you increase suspense at the wrong time, the natural flow of the story is interrupted and readers may be tossed out of the story. Back to juggling on that tightrope again.

Kernen says a couple very important things about suspense. “Creating suspense is all about revealing part of the picture . . . Knowing a little bit about a situation, an audience will almost always desire to know more . . .”

And: “Suspense is also the clever balance of timing. It is giving the audience a piece of information and then knowing just how long you can keep them waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Ways of doing this are the “time bomb”; the “puzzle”; and “truncating”, where you start a scene after some major event has happened or end the scene before that event occurs. An example of “truncating” is showing a couple in a heated argument and one pulls a gun. Then you cut to another scene where the character who was threatened is noticeably missing. Did the person get killed or not? Imagine the suspense if said character is your MC.

This is something I’ll have to work on a little at a time. I have some plot points that lend themselves to building suspense, but doing so I think isn’t something I can describe beforehand. It’s a very fine line. Some readers will “get it”, some will probably wish I’d hurry up, and some may think I’m going too fast. I won’t have specific examples for using suspense until I get to chapters where it’s relevant.

Kernen does recommend planting the seed of suspense that will carry readers to the climax early, even before the inciting incident. I can do that with Neal thinking about life with Trist outside of the gang, then dismissing the thought because he’ll never be free of the gang. Readers will remember that when Sandy offers to help Neal.

Also, the way I set up Neal’s eventual decision to leave the gang, I include a mention that the gang *will* try to kill him once they realize he’s left, so that bit of suspense always hangs over the characters and the readers.

That’s just one thread of tension. I’ll need to bring others out to keep readers immersed.

Ah, I thought of another example, using the “truncating” technique. I’ve discovered that Neal breaks out of rehab with his friend but then rethinks the move. I plan to drop the scene at that point, then switch to Sandy’s POV where he hears that Neal has returned to rehab.

Awesome. The more I read in Kernen’s book, the stronger my feeling gets that I’m solidly on the right track. But the devil is in the details, so I don’t expect everything to come easy from now on.

Next post, swinging to the rhythm.

Robert Kernen’s “Building Better Plots”, part 19

Exposition—that age-old demon who afflicts experienced writers as well as new ones. It’s like the stick that you realized was no good after all, so you threw it away. But look out! It’s a boomerang, and it whacked you in the noggin!

I see writers who haven’t shown their work to strangers much shovel in so much backstory and explanation that it reads more like stream of consciousness. I did it too, so I understand the impulse. Inexperienced writers seem convinced that readers need to know a whole bunch of stuff before they can fully appreciate the story. They don’t realize that when readers get caught up in a story, it’s because the plot—yes, this again—steadily moves forward. It doesn’t stop in the middle of running for your life, and say, “Well, pull up a chair, I want to tell you about the childhood of the guy who’s trying to kill you. And, well, about his parents’ upbringing too, because you can’t understand him without that.”

How about right now we run, and you talk later?

The idea of not dropping in chunks of backstory has been talked about in other places, so I won’t belabor it here. But I do like the way Kernen discusses it, so if you read his book, you won’t waste your time with this section. His main point, perhaps, is that in real life we get to know people gradually, often over a period of years. In fiction, you can mimic that by disclosing things about major characters a little at a time.

I am not fond of one thing he does: using “relevant revelations”.  Mentally I tripped over that a few times, and that interrupted the flow!

I do want to mention something else that Kernen touches on. Writing is not a straightforward depiction of reality. Even in a memoir, when you expect more realism than in fiction, you have to tweak *how* and *what* you say to fit the medium. Ever listen to somebody relating information in such a boring way that you covered up yawns as they droned on? You don’t want to make readers feel that way, because they’ll simply put your book down and leave it there.

My friend Ray writes plays. He doesn’t do comedies, but he is the funniest man east of the Mississippi. He can tell a story about the most dull and mundane thing, but spin it so you laugh so hard you literally can’t breathe. You have to make reality more interesting than it is. You have to compress some things, draw out others, talk about things from a different perspective.

What I like to say when I critique is, We write for readers, not other characters.

When I write a scene for the sheer fun of it, I let characters play freely off each other. I can follow the reasoning of their conversations, but people reading it would get lost in places. Every few days I work on the scene of Sandy’s wedding. It starts with him and Neal bouncing their particular quirks off each other. It helps me understand how both characters feel that day, but a lot of it wouldn’t go into a manuscript draft. Long sections *are only interesting to me*.

You gotta face it, champs. A story idea grabbed you, the characters burned themselves into your soul, and the whole thing won’t let you go. This is *good*, but nobody can feel it the way you do. So please, don’t drive potential readers crazy by telling them long paragraphs of stuff they really don’t care about.

It’s hard. I know. I am so in love with my characters that I could write hundreds of scenes without any plot at all and I’d still love it. But I won’t subject readers to that. Slowly, slowly, I’m learning to condense and delete. I don’t have to throw away that stuff because I do find it helpful, but look at it this way.

If you cut some stuff *from the manuscript* that helps you learn about your characters, the end product will look smooth as glass. Readers will think you were born with such an intuitive understanding of your characters and the writing process that writing well is easy for you.

Fiction writers are, after all, liars ;)

Next week: Another guest post, this time by retired Los Angeles police officer Kathy Bennett, who is anticipating the upcoming release of her first novel, "A Dozen Deadly Roses". You can read about it here: www.kathybennett.com/ I think a lot of writers are interested in the backstory of other writers who have made the enviable transformation to author, and Kathy will tell us a bit about what it took for her to reach that goal.

Part 18 of "Building Better Plots" and, well, a rant

In discussing the timing of major plot points, Kernen says that many of today’s movies are “like high-speed freight trains, careening violently from one explosive plot point to another, never giving the audience a chance to relax, reflect or recover”. He describes that as a “sledgehammer approach to storytelling”. I’m guessing producers use it to hide weak plots. I suppose that if all you want in a movie or novel is non-stop flash and bang, you won’t mind that approach. Personally, I prefer the books I read and most of the movies I see to offer insights as well. If you’ve read this far along my series on Kernen’s book, I bet you feel the same.

While plot points should continually move readers toward the climax of the tale, it’s okay to have some slower moments. That lets readers catch their breath and have events sink in, just like the characters. When readers can think about what happened, they can see how characters’ reactions make sense, adding to a feeling of realism. Of course, for that to work, your characters’ reactions actually have to make sense!

I have to laugh at how Kernen says to make sure each plot point keeps the story moving, doesn’t drop the tension altogether, yet sometimes gives everybody breathing space. Again, you want me to juggle 20 eggs while moving along a tightrope??

I seriously wonder how many published authors sit down with a half-formed outline and ask themselves if they have the right number of points that increase tension, the right amount of points that show characterization and just a bit of backstory, the right number of points that pull together subplots with the main plot, all while keeping most readers interested and never bored or feeling assaulted by things happening too fast.

This seems like a fair amount of subjectivism, to me. I’ve read many times how a manuscript was repeatedly passed up, only to be read by somebody at the office who doesn’t normally read manuscripts, who then brought it to the boss’ attention, who then bought the darn thing. Is it really worth spending so much of my time on something, when the people whose attention I try to catch may not feel like giving my work a second glance because they’re running late to meet their friend for lunch?

“Ahhh, this one’s in Courier New, I’m tired of looking at that font today. Toss that one out.”

“Damn, I couldn’t sleep last night. Toss this whole batch of submissions out.”

J.K. Rowling, as I understand it, got a lucky break. Somebody else in the office read her manuscript and said to the boss, “Hey, this is good, you need to read it.”

I bet J.K. didn’t sit at her computer and say, “Now do I have the plot points spaced properly?”  Sure, she had editorial help, but that was after the MS got accepted. Something about that first manuscript caught somebody’s attention.

I’d be happy with a fraction of Rowling’s readership. I’ve still got the “geis” feeling about my work in progress. Things need to be said, people need to be encouraged to think about a whole slew of stuff. It feels less like something I want to do than something that needs doing.

What about you? Do you think your project is worth slaving over a hot computer and braving the subjective weather in the publishing industry? What is that drives you to work it every chance you get, week after week? Is your WIP mainly to entertain people, or do you have a higher purpose? Or are you just doing it because it’s fun?

When we meet again, I’ll offer a perfectly acceptable reason for lying.

"Building Better Plots" by Robert Kernen, part 17

Kernen didn’t say I had to have 6 - 10 major plot points on my first effort at listing them. I have 20. Okay, so I need to cut! Actually, it’s a true miracle that my first pass had *only* 20. After a lot of hemming and hawing and gnashing of teeth, here are my 10 points:

1.  Spurred by a beating, and an outside offer of help from Sandy, Neal leaves his street gang.
2.  Neal finds his lovers and his kids, all murdered by the gang.
3.  Sandy admits to feeling responsible for the deaths of his cousin Renee and of his friend Greg.
4.  Neal gives up on drug rehab once, then realizes he has to try harder. Drugs continue to be one part of his past that he can’t seem to leave behind.
5.  Neal agrees to Sandy’s suggestion of starting a non-profit, and being an active and equal partner.
6.  Neal begins a life-changing relationship with Laurie. Her death sparks a serious falling-out with Sandy.
7.  Neal is caught in the Rodney King rioting, and is kidnapped by Tony Esteban, his biological father. While in captivity, Neal meets up with his mother, who abandoned him at age 10.
8.  Sandy struggles with the possibility that he can’t save Neal just as he couldn’t save Renee and Greg years earlier.
9.  Neal reverts to some gang-like behavior when Tony threatens his friends’ lives; Sandy and April fear how deep the reverting has gone.
10. Neal experiences his first tour as a member of the band. When he gets home, he’s frustrated by the lack of rebuilding after the riots and twists the mayor’s arm till he agrees to a tour of hard-hit barrios. (This point will probably change by the time my outline is finished.)

I cheated a bit by having more than one sentence for some points. I’m still not happy with this list, because I really feel I’ve left out big things that move the plot forward. Maybe professional agents and editors would come up with different points for me. At least it’s a starting place. I’m keeping my list of 20 points, because I think the two lists are important lessons in cutting.

And damn it, I feel like I’m giving my plot away here!  :P

Kernen says settings should be chosen with each scene in mind. He uses the example of Hamlet. The prince confronts his mother about her rush to marry Hamlet’s uncle, and he does it in his mother’s chamber—an intimate setting that amplifies Hamlet’s emotions, and is the same room where his mother slept with his father.

In my WIP, Neal and Sandy have their first confrontation—about staying with the gang or leaving—in the gang’s rattletrap hangout. In his comfort zone, Neal seems to hold all the cards in the scene. Sandy got himself lost and doesn’t know what neighborhood he’s in, yet he meets Neal’s belligerence head on. Suddenly Neal feels less sure of things, though he’s still in his own territory.

If that scene happened in Sandy’s neighborhood, the impact would be lessened. Some years later, Neal is kidnapped by his biological father, whom he’s only met recently. He’s hauled across the country in handcuffs and leg chains. He’s worse for wear, having been caught in the Rodney King rioting and been kicked around by cops. That’s all bad enough, because he’s treated like the gangbanger he thought he no longer was.

He’s in his father’s prison (a stinking, windowless room) with his ankles chained together, in pain from beatings. It’s here Neal faces his mother. She tells him he’s better than where he was born, but at that moment, all he knows is that he tried to get away from his past, and it’s swallowing him whole.

This scene would also have less impact on both characters and readers if it happened somewhere else. Plus, even minor scenes benefit from being in the right setting. See Becca’s *awesome* guest post for more on setting.

Next post—a bit of a rant about the sometimes hit-or-miss publishing industry. I learn something from my own rant J

Robert Kernen’s “Building Better Plots”, part 16

“Many writers construct stories without ever clearly identifying [major plot points] and without looking closely at how they propel the audience forward.”

Argument accepted. This has been my problem, as mentioned in the previous post in this series. I had a bunch of scenes, some related, some not, most written independently of each other. There’s more to a good novel than just a bunch of related scenes. The relationship must be *intimate*.

Kernen suggests identifying each major plot point in my story. For a novel, he says I should have 6 to 10 such points. Ihhhh, wow. That’s all? I’ve started a tentative outline for this draft; I have almost 2 pages and I’m still describing early stuff. Granted, some of what I’ve included is to jog my memory for when I actually get to the writing part, but apparently I’m now confronted with my another problem I’ve struggled with before: condensing. I have to understand the details of how characters get from point A to point B, and I have to include that in my outline so I know how to write each scene. However, that doesn't mean *all* of that is important for anybody else.

Kernen describes the objective of major plot points this way:

• How does this event advance the story?
• Does it lead the protagonist and the audience toward the climax?
• How does this event increase the tension and suspense of the story?
• How does this event affect the development of the characters?
• Where does this event need to lead the protagonist emotionally/mentally for the plot point to be successful?

Maybe I’ll copy those questions onto another sticky note for my computer screen. If you don’t have a program for sticky notes, a physical note will work.

Kernen then goes on to list some general examples of early, middle and late plot points, such as: the protagonist questioning the status quo; a secondary (and previously neutral) character showing herself to be an enemy; and the protagonist finding a hidden strength. As I read each of Kernen’s examples, I immediately think of scenes I’ve already written. On one hand, that seems good. On the other, I worry that I haven’t put those things in the best places. I guess I should think through what my major plot points are.

I am kind of confused as to exactly what counts as major in my own project. For example, everything starts after Neal leaves his street gang, but is that the first plot point? Without Sandy’s involvement, Neal wouldn’t have made that move. Those two characters interact with each other for the rest of the novel. Is Sandy’s offer of help the first plot point, or should it be included in Neal’s action?

• Spurred by a beating, and an outside offer of help, Neal leaves his gang.

Or is it:

• Sandy offers to help Neal. (Is that a hair I need to split now?)
• Neal leaves his gang.

— then additional points that show how those two continue to feed off each other? Wait, here’s a clue. My plot points should ideally pull off several goals, and the strongest ones will have an intersection of forces. I should bring together setting, characters, current subplots, and the timing.

What Kernen doesn’t mention is that the relationship among these elements has to be clear to me at all times, but when they first show up, readers may not recognize them as important. That’s okay, because it allows for “ah ha” moments. “This character tried to sabotage her sister’s job interview. Ah ha, that’s why she said, during the birthday party days before, that sometimes you have to take fate into your own hands. She actually hates her sister.”

Okay. I’m off to mull over my plot points. I’ll have a report next time.

Coming up — Kernen didn’t say I had to have 6 - 10 major plot points on my *first effort* at listing them.  I have 20. :D

Part 15 of Robert Kernen's "Building Better Plots"

“Each plot point should build upon the one before it to create a gradually growing cumulative effect.”  There’s a concept.  Novels I thought were great had that impact partly because I saw how each new major plot point grew out of things that came before.  Some things were surprises, but even those made sense.  Without points C, D, and E, plot point F would never happen. 

Characters’ personalities play into it as well.  One of the things I love about Katherine Kurtz’ novels is that I can see how and why characters act and react as they do.  Person A hears that something happened and goes postal, and Person B gets killed.  Person C hears the same news but reacts by getting a group together to talk about how to respond to the event.  At the meeting, they decide to do something that Person B could have warned them will be disastrous, but because Person B is now dead, disaster is *not* averted.

Things link together, like falling dominoes.

I’ve had trouble with this, because up until January 2009, I had bunches of scenes that were written mostly independently of each other.  I wrote during the first six months of that year with a better sense of things happening based on what came before, but I still didn’t have a coherent sense of *plot*.

And yet, the further along I got, there were times when I’d think, Hey, X could happen now, because that’s logical after U, V, and W happened.  Once I hit on Neal getting caught in the 1992 Los Angeles rioting and kidnapped by his biological father, I had a strong sense of holding a gift in my hands.  Frankly, when I wrote the first draft of that scene, I didn’t think at all about what might happen afterward.  I had no idea that scene would become pivotal.  It crystallizes everything Neal has been through up to that point.

So I believe in writing “by the seat of one’s pants”.  Yet, for the fantasy short story I’m also working on, I’ve been fanatic about planning major things out and having a ton of backstory that isn’t intended to make it directly into the plot.  I guess I’m the writerly equivalent of ambidextrous.  I’m sure I’m not the only one.  Stories can be like snowflakes: no two alike, from planning to finished product.
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Kernen defines plot beats as “distinct movements of the plot, or individual sequences that make up discreet pieces of the story”.  These beats should be like short stories that are linked to create the novel.  Each should have rising action, a climax, and a resolution.

This is supposed to make it easier for the writer to handle all the plot points and subplots, but also offers breaks from all the drama for readers.  I see the wisdom in that, but wow, really?  I’m expected to plot out short story arcs that always bring me closer to the Grand Climax?  You want me to juggle twenty eggs *while* walking a tightrope??

And people wonder why writers drink.

I’m not sure those little arcs are *always* necessary.  I wish my WIP was an action or adventure piece, where the protagonist has to get from physical Point A to physical Point Z.  It’s got to be easier to move toward the climax in every chapter when your characters have to physically travel.

Would you believe I’ve read over this post to see if it has a stated goal and then moves toward that goal?  Plotting out blog posts??  My muse says that’s good, but I just think I’m fried. ;)

Next time . . . If you were a major plot point, what would you look like?

"Building Better Plots" by Robert Kernen, part 14

“How long the [inciting] incident lasts is just as important as when it occurs.”  This too is something I’ve seen in a few stories on Critique Circle.  The writer wants to be subtle about their Inciting Incident, and stretches it out over three or four scenes.  Well, being too subtle for my own good is something I was guilty of myself, and maybe still am.  I will say that for the Inciting Incident for my Work In Progress, “Street Glass”, I’ve always known it’d be something obvious.  Originally it was the scene between Sandy and Neal where Neal holds a knife against Sandy’s throat but Sandy doesn’t wimp out.  Instead, he offers to help.  Surprised that somebody takes him seriously, Neal thinks about the offer.

Critting and being critted made me realize that I need to show a bit of how Neal got to the point of being able to accept help.  Neal handcuffs Sandy, takes his wallet, and scares the crap out of him by pressing a blade against his throat and demanding that Sandy beg for his life.  Then Neal hauls him to his gang’s hangout where the gang’s shot caller (leader) terrifies him again.  After exchanging words, Neal again threatens to slit Sandy’s throat.  Why would somebody like that care about hearing “I want to help you”?  He seems pretty happy robbing and threatening people.

While I’m at it, I also need to show why Sandy wants to help somebody like that, but that’s a separate issue.

That’s why I have to show Neal’s personality and mindset before that all happens.  I might do that by adding a scene with him and Trist, who is Coyote’s (the shot caller) girlfriend.  Neal’s got a love/hate relationship with her, and a short (page or less) scene with her would show Neal’s humanity.  Then, when Coyote pounds him, readers will feel the unfairness of the beat-down.  They’ll understand that Neal feels completely helpless when he meets Sandy, and that’s why he behaves so brutally.

But that’s not the Inciting Incident, that’s set-up.  Geez, do you guys ever feel overwhelmed by categories and descriptions and labels?  I do sometimes, but kept to a reasonable level, they are helpful.  If I can pull it off properly, by the time Sandy offers to help Neal, readers will wonder if he’ll accept or if he’s given up on his life.  Then, when he accepts, readers should realize there’s a long road ahead.

And again, this should all happen pretty quick.  I’m thinking that by the end of chapter two, Sandy should be in the gang’s hangout, and he should already have had one conversation with Neal.  I’ve got a lot to get to once Neal breaks with the gang.

Kernen warns us not to make the Inciting Incident so dramatic and intense that everything else feels like an anticlimax.  That’s something I hadn’t considered.  For example, if Neal tries to stand up for himself when Coyotes thumps him but other gang members join Coyote in beating him, Trist makes a move to break it up but gets punched too, then somebody bursts in saying a rival gang is on their way waving semi-automatics, readers will feel let down when Neal and Sandy talk.  Oh, give up the gang? they’ll ask.  But that’s the exciting part!

Instead, by making the beat-down between just two characters, giving Neal only minor injuries, and keeping it to three or four paragraphs, I keep the focus on the Inciting Incident.  I don’t set the bar so high that the rest of the story reads like afterthoughts.

I like to compare writing well to walking a tightrope.  Performers who really do that practice long, long hours.  You can’t expect to juggle six or ten things without practicing, either.  Rewriting, editing, and revising really do have to happen.  I’ve been working on this project for a solid two years now, and I’m not done yet.  That’s fine.  I could probably find somebody to publish a less-than-good effort, because I’ve read some not-very-good books.  But why do that?  I want to touch people, to move them, to make them think, and that doesn’t happen with half-assed efforts.

Next entry . . . Juggling eggs while tightrope walking.

Robert Kernen’s “Building Better Plots”, part 13

Incite: provoke, inflame, ignite.  These suggest the sense of intensity necessary, I think, for the moment that sends a main character off on the road through the novel.  It doesn’t *have* to be something as dramatic as a beat-down by a street gang, but it should grab readers and pull them right into the story.  It’s pretty much the first thing we notice when we pick up a new book and open it. Okay, maybe *first* we notice the main character, but doesn’t meeting that person make you think, “Why am I reading about you?  What do you *do*?”

Before I start reading Kernen’s chapter 3 “Inciting Incident”, I’ll state that for Neal, his beat-down by his gang’s leader is the action that crystallizes his need to get out of the gang.  That prepares him to grab a way out when it presents itself.  We’ll see if I change my view after reading the chapter.

Kernen does say the Inciting Incident should happen a short way into the story rather than on page one, but this book was published in 1999 and that statement may reflect an attitude that’s passed.  But that’s not a huge issue, really.  As an unpublished (and therefore unproven) writer, agents aren’t going to want 100,000 words from me.  I have a fair amount of plot to spin out so my Incident needs to happen fairly quick.  My most recent draft has the beating start in paragraph one, though I could conceivably move that down a bit so readers can meet Neal before he gets thumped.  That might make it easier for readers to sympathize.

Reading a few paragraphs along, I can compare the Incident to, let’s say, a hammer floating in space.  When that hapless astronaut first takes his hand off it, it just sort of hovers there.  There’s nothing to move it forward.  But then the astronaut creates an Inciting Incident by bumping the hammer, and it spins off recklessly into the starlit gloom stretching out before it.  It’ll keep going until a fleck of space dust bumps it again, sending it in another direction.

*sigh* If I had the head for science, I’d write sci-fi.  I love to read it though.  C.J. Cherryh, Andre Norton, yeah.  Space opera is as close as I can get.

Ooops, sorry.  Bit of ADD there.  Kernen says that many writers wait too long to get to their Incident, because of that issue referred to a few posts back: inexperienced writers feel they have to introduce the Main Character fully, explain why he’s in that particular room, what his hopes and dreams are, why readers should identify and sympathize with him, build suspense by hinting that Something Big really is right on the threshold, and generally talk too much.

I want to spend a minute on this, because it’s important.  As I crit stories on Critique Circle, I see this problem come up often.  I did it too, so I understand the impulse to over-explain.  We want to make sure our readers “get it”.  We don’t realize that the best way to make sure of that is through word choice, and leaving stuff out.  That’s the inexperienced stage.

If you set up the Incident, and plot points that come after, properly and pay close - obsessive - attention to word choice, and readers *will* get it.  Think about novels you are totally in love with.  I bet you feel that way because they grabbed you, kept you interested, didn’t bore you, moved the plot along without making you stop to admire the scenery, and by the end, had you hyperventilating for more.

You need some distance from your own work in order to see what should stay and what should go.  I’m terrible with reducing my plot to short sentences, such as for a synopsis.  Everything is important; haven’t I been working on only including stuff that’s important?  If I leave out any action or reaction for a synopsis, then why is it in the manuscript?

It’s really not contradictory.  The purpose of a synopsis is different than that of a manuscript.  In a synopsis, we don’t need to know *why* stuff happened, only that it did.  If we want to know why, we can read the manuscript.

I’ve pre-empted myself by going off on a tangent.  Another bout of ADD.  Next post will get to the elements of a good Inciting Incident.

"Building Better Plots" by Robert Kernen, part 12

Questions to help make the best of obstacles:
3) “What is my character’s greatest fear?  To draw the most depth from your protagonists, they must face their greatest fears.”
Interesting question.  How are fears different from weaknesses?  Couldn’t fears be weaknesses?  What is Neal most afraid of?  I know that what makes him angriest is being treated like dirt.  Maybe his fear is that he’ll never really have a say in how he lives.  Maybe that’s why he reacts so intensely when his biological father kidnaps him, because he faces his biggest fear and the thing that makes him angriest.

That plays into his friendship with Sandy.  Neal values their friendship very much but is sick of people telling him what to do.

Wait, did I screw up?  I listed Sandy’s fear under weakness!  But no, I really think in his case, they’re the same.

4) “What is my character’s greatest strength?”
Neal turns his biggest weakness into his biggest strength.  He grows into his role as co-founder of a non-profit group, to the point of getting the mayor of Los Angeles to do what he wants.  He accepts who he really is.

I used to think Sandy was as clear-cut as Neal, but I realized I didn’t know him as well.  I think Sandy’s greatest strength is his selflessness.  That sounds cheesy, but it’s a real human quality.  He gradually realizes Neal needs to make his own mistakes but that doesn’t mean Sandy can’t support him.  He learns that by giving his girlfriend room to breathe, she’s more likely to stay around.  He lets both her and Neal do what they need to, to be true to themselves.

Next comes a discussion of the four types of conflict:
A)  protagonist vs. antagonist - pretty straightforward;
B)  protagonist vs. nature - yeah, it’s just what you think, though keep in mind that it’s hard to do when you don’t have a sentient being for your main character to react against;
C)  protagonist vs. society - this rings my bell!  It’s the main type of conflict in “Street Glass”;
D)  protagonist vs. self - the classic struggle against one’s own nature.

Kernen says you should have at least two types in your works to add depth and realism.  I’m encouraged, because I can see all four in my WIP. 
A)  Neal’s biological father is a no-nonsense villain, though he doesn’t show his hand till the second half of the story;
B)  a fire caused by hot Santa Ana winds takes the life of Neal’s girlfriend, leading to the meltdown of his friendship with Sandy;
C)  this is the big one!
D)  the struggle of the:

• ex-addict fighting cravings;
• ex-gangbanger against old habits;
• more-or-less average guy unable to quite believe he deserves the good things that happen to him.

These last three descriptions are all of the same character.

Sandy’s a hard character for me to pin down, because while he’s certainly a major character, he doesn’t undergo the most drastic changes.  Neal occasionally acts as antagonist toward him.  The fire destroys the band’s house so that affects Sandy to some degree.  Rather than fight against society, Sandy attempts to improve it.  I’d say “protagonist vs. self” applies the most to Sandy because the problems he faces all stem from either his naiveté or his urge to control.

Awesome.  I really feel I’m on the right track.  However, I don’t think the hard work is all behind me.  For one thing, I’m only on chapter 2 of 11!

Next post addresses the inciting incident, and involves an astronaut ;)