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 As an unpublished (and therefore unproven) writer, agents aren’t going to want 100,000 words from me.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.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
"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:
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 ;)
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.
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 ;)
Friday, April 8, 2011
Guest Post: The Devil's in the (Setting) Details
By Becca Puglisi of The Bookshelf Muse.
Settings are very important to me. Most of my love affairs with books and movies tie directly into where the characters lived, laughed, and suffered: Green Gables, Toad Hall, the Nostromo, Braveheart's Scotland. So when it comes to choosing or creating a setting for a project, I put a lot of thought into it.
Why is the setting so important? Because the character is strongly connected to it, whether positively or negatively, and any emotional connection that your character has will also create a connection with readers. Bilbo loved Hobbiton like it was a person instead of a place, and so we loved it and wanted it to endure for his sake. The Nostromo, the spaceship from the original Alien movie, was cluttered, narrow, and claustrophobic, and Ripley and her crew were stuck in there with an acid-bleeding, face-sucking monster that could be hiding in any of a million crevices. We wanted her to escape that ship almost as much as she did. The settings in these examples were key to helping the reader connect with the character. When choosing a setting, make sure your character connects with it, and your reader will, too.
But what then? Settings, by nature, are spacious and consist of a gajillion minute details, all of which you couldn't possibly and shouldn't ever include. So how do you decide which details to highlight in your story?
1. Details should be necessary. This should go without saying, but it's important to choose only details that are necessary to the scene or purpose you're trying to achieve. It's a hard line to walk. Too little description, and your reader is lost and confused. Too much, and they're skimming ahead, trying to end the pain. To find the right balance, ask yourself these questions: What's the purpose of this scene? What details need to be shared to accomplish this? Stick to those details and you'll achieve the goal of choosing the necessary details.
2. Details should do double-duty. A setting description should tell the reader about the character's surroundings, but it should also do more, like reveal the character's personality, mood, or biggest fear, foreshadow dire events to come, or provide a symbol that will reinforce a theme throughout the story. If you let your descriptions do double-duty, you'll have ample opportunities throughout the story to drop interesting tidbits here and there that will show your reader exactly where in the world the character is while revealing a little something else along with it.
3. Details should be specific. The shelf in Laura Ingalls Wilder's house didn't hold vague, nameless knick-knacks; the china shepherdess and a brown-and-white dog stood there, items that were especially dear to Laura because of their whimsy. They represented frivolity, and possibly expense, and were among the few impractical items in the house. I remembered those knick-knacks without having to look them up because they were specific and memorable. You don't want to be overly specific with every detail, or the story becomes an inventory of beautifully-described but pointless items. Pick a few substantial details in the scene and make them memorable.
I wish I could put all of this together to create the perfect piece of description, but the planets aren't aligned just so and I'm out of Mountain Dew. So to illustrate perfection, I'll let To Kill a Mockingbird do it for me:
Somehow [Maycomb] was hotter back then: a black dog suffered on a summer's day; bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of the live oaks on the square. Men's stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon, after their three-o'clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.
There you have it. Great setting description, foreshadowing, and symbolism, all in only 64 words.
Now, I don't pretend to be an expert at writing description; if I was, I'd probably be a bestselling, Pulitzer-prize winning author along with Harper Lee. But the ideas above are a pretty good for a jumping-off point. Apply them and see if they don't give your settings a boost in the right direction.
Settings are very important to me. Most of my love affairs with books and movies tie directly into where the characters lived, laughed, and suffered: Green Gables, Toad Hall, the Nostromo, Braveheart's Scotland. So when it comes to choosing or creating a setting for a project, I put a lot of thought into it.
Why is the setting so important? Because the character is strongly connected to it, whether positively or negatively, and any emotional connection that your character has will also create a connection with readers. Bilbo loved Hobbiton like it was a person instead of a place, and so we loved it and wanted it to endure for his sake. The Nostromo, the spaceship from the original Alien movie, was cluttered, narrow, and claustrophobic, and Ripley and her crew were stuck in there with an acid-bleeding, face-sucking monster that could be hiding in any of a million crevices. We wanted her to escape that ship almost as much as she did. The settings in these examples were key to helping the reader connect with the character. When choosing a setting, make sure your character connects with it, and your reader will, too.
But what then? Settings, by nature, are spacious and consist of a gajillion minute details, all of which you couldn't possibly and shouldn't ever include. So how do you decide which details to highlight in your story?
1. Details should be necessary. This should go without saying, but it's important to choose only details that are necessary to the scene or purpose you're trying to achieve. It's a hard line to walk. Too little description, and your reader is lost and confused. Too much, and they're skimming ahead, trying to end the pain. To find the right balance, ask yourself these questions: What's the purpose of this scene? What details need to be shared to accomplish this? Stick to those details and you'll achieve the goal of choosing the necessary details.
2. Details should do double-duty. A setting description should tell the reader about the character's surroundings, but it should also do more, like reveal the character's personality, mood, or biggest fear, foreshadow dire events to come, or provide a symbol that will reinforce a theme throughout the story. If you let your descriptions do double-duty, you'll have ample opportunities throughout the story to drop interesting tidbits here and there that will show your reader exactly where in the world the character is while revealing a little something else along with it.
3. Details should be specific. The shelf in Laura Ingalls Wilder's house didn't hold vague, nameless knick-knacks; the china shepherdess and a brown-and-white dog stood there, items that were especially dear to Laura because of their whimsy. They represented frivolity, and possibly expense, and were among the few impractical items in the house. I remembered those knick-knacks without having to look them up because they were specific and memorable. You don't want to be overly specific with every detail, or the story becomes an inventory of beautifully-described but pointless items. Pick a few substantial details in the scene and make them memorable.
I wish I could put all of this together to create the perfect piece of description, but the planets aren't aligned just so and I'm out of Mountain Dew. So to illustrate perfection, I'll let To Kill a Mockingbird do it for me:
Somehow [Maycomb] was hotter back then: a black dog suffered on a summer's day; bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of the live oaks on the square. Men's stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon, after their three-o'clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.
There you have it. Great setting description, foreshadowing, and symbolism, all in only 64 words.
Now, I don't pretend to be an expert at writing description; if I was, I'd probably be a bestselling, Pulitzer-prize winning author along with Harper Lee. But the ideas above are a pretty good for a jumping-off point. Apply them and see if they don't give your settings a boost in the right direction.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
guest post by Becca!
The Owl is thrilled to announce that in one week, Becca Puglisi of the famous The Bookshelf Muse has agreed to guest post! As most (if not all) of my readers know, Becca and Angela have compiled one of the best writing resources on the web. Their group of thesauruses . . . thesauri . . . you know! pull together concepts that often have writers stumped, so we can jump start our brains.
I've asked Becca for a post on setting in fiction. Setting can make or break not just scenes, but by extension, your whole novel or short story. Yeah, characters and plot may be paramount, but if you under- or overdescribe your setting(s), or pick the wrong one, readers may be left with an uncomfortable feeling. Worse, they may put your book down and leave it there! Setting is not just a pretty vase of flowers in the background. Please join me next week for Becca's take on using setting effectively.
I've asked Becca for a post on setting in fiction. Setting can make or break not just scenes, but by extension, your whole novel or short story. Yeah, characters and plot may be paramount, but if you under- or overdescribe your setting(s), or pick the wrong one, readers may be left with an uncomfortable feeling. Worse, they may put your book down and leave it there! Setting is not just a pretty vase of flowers in the background. Please join me next week for Becca's take on using setting effectively.
"Building Better Plots" by Robert Kernen, part 11
Choosing a suitable obstacle (several, actually) completes my conflict and defines the core drama in the story, according to the book. Kernen’s right: the story of David vs. Goliath is timeless because the odds were stacked against David but he won. It’s not a boring tale. Questions to help make the best of obstacles:
1) “What would make the attainment of my character’s goal the most difficult?”
Back to my idea of chasing characters up a tree, throwing stones at them, then setting the tree on fire. Neal has several things thrown at him:
For Sandy, the answer is, again, more subtle. He finds that clearing his conscience isn’t as simple as he thought, and that he can’t go back to life as he knew it because Neal has irrevocably changed it. Helping somebody sometimes means giving up: your hold on them, some comfort in your own life.
2) “What is my character’s greatest weakness?”
I think that changes. Early on, I’d say Neal’s greatest weakness is his lack of self-confidence. Because he doesn’t think, deep down, that he’s worth all the attention he’s now getting, he sabotages his efforts at improving his life. Later, he can’t let go of a need for revenge that takes him to the brink of murder.
Sandy’s weakness is his fear of losing people he cares the most about. It leads him to almost strangle his friendship with Neal; it causes a rift with two girlfriends, the second rift being bigger.
Tune in next time for the last two questions, and conflict types.
1) “What would make the attainment of my character’s goal the most difficult?”
Back to my idea of chasing characters up a tree, throwing stones at them, then setting the tree on fire. Neal has several things thrown at him:
- his ex-gang tries to off him more than once;
- they murder his kids and their mothers;
- he comes this close to giving up on rehab;
- he completes rehab but relapses;
- he faces prejudice from some of the people he has to work with;
- he’s drawn back to the barrio he grew up in despite trying to forget about his background;
- he fights against Sandy’s attempts to control him;
- he meets up with his mother who abandoned him at age ten;
- he confronts his previously unknown biological father, who knew he wound up in a gang and did nothing to help;
- he has to revert to gangbanger tactics to keep his friends safe;
- he feels responsible for his girlfriend’s death.
For Sandy, the answer is, again, more subtle. He finds that clearing his conscience isn’t as simple as he thought, and that he can’t go back to life as he knew it because Neal has irrevocably changed it. Helping somebody sometimes means giving up: your hold on them, some comfort in your own life.
2) “What is my character’s greatest weakness?”
I think that changes. Early on, I’d say Neal’s greatest weakness is his lack of self-confidence. Because he doesn’t think, deep down, that he’s worth all the attention he’s now getting, he sabotages his efforts at improving his life. Later, he can’t let go of a need for revenge that takes him to the brink of murder.
Sandy’s weakness is his fear of losing people he cares the most about. It leads him to almost strangle his friendship with Neal; it causes a rift with two girlfriends, the second rift being bigger.
Tune in next time for the last two questions, and conflict types.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Robert Kernen's "Building Better Plots", part 10
According to Kernen, I need to know my main character’s psychological goal as well as his physical goal. He uses the example of Moby Dick. Ahab’s physical goal is to kill the white whale, and his psychological goal is to have revenge on the creature who took his leg. Without a clear understanding of why my character wants to reach his goal, I will wind up with either a thin plot or my character will reach his goal well before I wanted the climax to happen.
That makes sense. I have two main characters so I need to look at both of them.
Neal’s physical goal is to get out of the gang and stay out. His psychological goal is to escape the feeling of fate, the feeling that he has no say in his future. Sandy’s physical goal . . . is less obvious to me. I know that he wants two things in the beginning of the story: to lessen his guilt over two deaths, and to help somebody who—nah, any way I look at it, it comes back to Neal reminding Sandy of both things:
- how his friend Greg’s life was cut short because of crazy behavior exacerbated by drug use,
- and his cousin Renee’s death from alcoholism. Sandy feels especially guilty over this because Renee blamed him for her life turning out bad.
Fixing Neal’s problems would be like fixing Renee’s and Greg’s, though Sandy soon realizes Neal is worth helping for his own sake. Not sure if my difficulty pinning down Sandy’s goals is a failing of that part of the plot, or of my ability to describe it.
Kernen does say I need to make the physical or the psychological goal clear to readers, so maybe I don’t need to spell out both of those for Sandy just yet. Nah, if I don’t have it straight in my own head, how is his part in the whole story going to make sense?
So far, Kernen doesn’t address the possibility of goals changing during the novel. Sandy starts out wanting something selfish (to stop feeling guilty) but because he chooses a non-selfish way to do it, he sees the value of helping somebody for that person’s own sake.
I could say that Sandy’s physical goal is to set Neal up with tutors and a job, then go back to life as usual. Or is that more of an expectation than a goal? So far, no matter how I look at it, what Sandy wants is simply to stop feeling guilty and to set Neal up to improve his life. In early chapters, readers won’t know yet that Sandy’s plans don’t work out the way he hopes. Are those two goals enough to keep readers interested?
Well, if I’m that doubtful, probably not! Ugh. I’ll continue reading; maybe I’ll find something that will help me sort this.
Here’s something: “the contrast between where your protagonist begins and where he ends up is one of the key elements of good drama.”
Well, Sandy starts out assuming he can purge his demons by helping Neal, without upsetting his own routines. He winds up drawn into Neal’s life to the point of his own life being threatened. It goes beyond Sandy’s penchant for exerting control over people to protect them. I forgot about that. Sandy discovers he can’t just direct Neal from the sidelines, the way he’s done with other people. Okay, I guess this works then.
Next post: obstacles. Character obstacles, not just writer obstacles ;)
That makes sense. I have two main characters so I need to look at both of them.
Neal’s physical goal is to get out of the gang and stay out. His psychological goal is to escape the feeling of fate, the feeling that he has no say in his future. Sandy’s physical goal . . . is less obvious to me. I know that he wants two things in the beginning of the story: to lessen his guilt over two deaths, and to help somebody who—nah, any way I look at it, it comes back to Neal reminding Sandy of both things:
- how his friend Greg’s life was cut short because of crazy behavior exacerbated by drug use,
- and his cousin Renee’s death from alcoholism. Sandy feels especially guilty over this because Renee blamed him for her life turning out bad.
Fixing Neal’s problems would be like fixing Renee’s and Greg’s, though Sandy soon realizes Neal is worth helping for his own sake. Not sure if my difficulty pinning down Sandy’s goals is a failing of that part of the plot, or of my ability to describe it.
Kernen does say I need to make the physical or the psychological goal clear to readers, so maybe I don’t need to spell out both of those for Sandy just yet. Nah, if I don’t have it straight in my own head, how is his part in the whole story going to make sense?
So far, Kernen doesn’t address the possibility of goals changing during the novel. Sandy starts out wanting something selfish (to stop feeling guilty) but because he chooses a non-selfish way to do it, he sees the value of helping somebody for that person’s own sake.
I could say that Sandy’s physical goal is to set Neal up with tutors and a job, then go back to life as usual. Or is that more of an expectation than a goal? So far, no matter how I look at it, what Sandy wants is simply to stop feeling guilty and to set Neal up to improve his life. In early chapters, readers won’t know yet that Sandy’s plans don’t work out the way he hopes. Are those two goals enough to keep readers interested?
Well, if I’m that doubtful, probably not! Ugh. I’ll continue reading; maybe I’ll find something that will help me sort this.
Here’s something: “the contrast between where your protagonist begins and where he ends up is one of the key elements of good drama.”
Well, Sandy starts out assuming he can purge his demons by helping Neal, without upsetting his own routines. He winds up drawn into Neal’s life to the point of his own life being threatened. It goes beyond Sandy’s penchant for exerting control over people to protect them. I forgot about that. Sandy discovers he can’t just direct Neal from the sidelines, the way he’s done with other people. Okay, I guess this works then.
Next post: obstacles. Character obstacles, not just writer obstacles ;)
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
“Building Better Plots”, by Robert Kernen - part 9
I should be able to describe the conflict, the crisis, and the resolution in one sentence or a few words each? Because I’m a bunny person, the example of Kernen’s that I’ll use here is The Velveteen Rabbit.
Conflict: rabbit wants to be alive.
Crisis: rabbit sent to incinerator after child gets sick.
Resolution: rabbit learns that to be loved is to be alive.
Pretty simplistic, huh? Out of only that, a heartwarming tale grew. The way the story was told made me really care about that rabbit. Kernen says that writing out these phrases and keeping them in sight will help if I lose focus and give a “clear awareness of your plan.” Sooo, what do I come up with for those three elements?
Conflict: Neal wants to start a new life; Sandy wants to purge his demons.
Crisis: Neal feels unable to leave his old lifestyle behind; Sandy faces personal limitations.
Resolution: Neal accepts himself as he is; Sandy learns that caring sometimes means letting go.
How’s that? I’m not sure Sandy’s plot is enough. Maybe it’s just that Neal’s issues are more obvious and dramatic. When I think about drafts of Sandy’s important scenes, they feel pretty good. I’ll just keep in mind that his arc may need work, as I progress.
Kernen also uses Gone With the Wind as an example of good plotting, but really, by choosing something as huge as the Civil War, half of Mitchell’s work was already done. That’s almost guaranteed to draw people in, especially once it’s personalized with Rhett and Scarlett. I use the 1992 Los Angeles riots, but that doesn’t have quite the same built-in impact. Well, maybe I’m selling the idea short.
I’m going to touch on why the riots were as much about class as race. Since readers will already have seen Neal deal with those issues, there should suspense and sympathy when the issues explode.
Regarding Gone With the Wind, Kernen says that readers are “compelled through the story by the vastness of what is at stake for the characters.” Put that way, I have a good grip on Neal’s part in the story. At times his life is in danger; to stay alive, he has to stay at least one step ahead of forces that have taken direct aim at him. Once we reach the crisis point, he also has to protect his friends and family members.
Sandy’s source of sympathy is, as I’ve said, less dramatic. At first he wants to clear up guilt over his cousin’s and his friend’s deaths, then he genuinely wants to --
Wait, that ties into the issue in post #6 of this series. It would be more believable if Sandy felt Neal had a clear goal for his future but needed help getting there. Just wanting a grocery store job doesn’t do it. Sure, on one hand, Neal might not aspire to something that you or I might; he didn’t have role models who took paths that might be open to him as well.
Neal will say something like, “I want to do X, but can’t afford the training.” Then Sandy can respond with, “I can’t set you up for that, but I can get you started in the business end of the music industry. You’ll learn skills you can take to a lot of places.”
I actually felt a piece of my plot puzzle fall into place.
Oh yeah, that’s why I want to write a novel: when ideas click, it’s so much fun!
Looming ahead, “what’s my motivation here?”
Conflict: rabbit wants to be alive.
Crisis: rabbit sent to incinerator after child gets sick.
Resolution: rabbit learns that to be loved is to be alive.
Pretty simplistic, huh? Out of only that, a heartwarming tale grew. The way the story was told made me really care about that rabbit. Kernen says that writing out these phrases and keeping them in sight will help if I lose focus and give a “clear awareness of your plan.” Sooo, what do I come up with for those three elements?
Conflict: Neal wants to start a new life; Sandy wants to purge his demons.
Crisis: Neal feels unable to leave his old lifestyle behind; Sandy faces personal limitations.
Resolution: Neal accepts himself as he is; Sandy learns that caring sometimes means letting go.
How’s that? I’m not sure Sandy’s plot is enough. Maybe it’s just that Neal’s issues are more obvious and dramatic. When I think about drafts of Sandy’s important scenes, they feel pretty good. I’ll just keep in mind that his arc may need work, as I progress.
Kernen also uses Gone With the Wind as an example of good plotting, but really, by choosing something as huge as the Civil War, half of Mitchell’s work was already done. That’s almost guaranteed to draw people in, especially once it’s personalized with Rhett and Scarlett. I use the 1992 Los Angeles riots, but that doesn’t have quite the same built-in impact. Well, maybe I’m selling the idea short.
I’m going to touch on why the riots were as much about class as race. Since readers will already have seen Neal deal with those issues, there should suspense and sympathy when the issues explode.
Regarding Gone With the Wind, Kernen says that readers are “compelled through the story by the vastness of what is at stake for the characters.” Put that way, I have a good grip on Neal’s part in the story. At times his life is in danger; to stay alive, he has to stay at least one step ahead of forces that have taken direct aim at him. Once we reach the crisis point, he also has to protect his friends and family members.
Sandy’s source of sympathy is, as I’ve said, less dramatic. At first he wants to clear up guilt over his cousin’s and his friend’s deaths, then he genuinely wants to --
Wait, that ties into the issue in post #6 of this series. It would be more believable if Sandy felt Neal had a clear goal for his future but needed help getting there. Just wanting a grocery store job doesn’t do it. Sure, on one hand, Neal might not aspire to something that you or I might; he didn’t have role models who took paths that might be open to him as well.
Neal will say something like, “I want to do X, but can’t afford the training.” Then Sandy can respond with, “I can’t set you up for that, but I can get you started in the business end of the music industry. You’ll learn skills you can take to a lot of places.”
I actually felt a piece of my plot puzzle fall into place.
Oh yeah, that’s why I want to write a novel: when ideas click, it’s so much fun!
Looming ahead, “what’s my motivation here?”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)