C. Aubrey Hall's Blog, page 37

Plotting Strategy: Multiple Viewpoints

Another aspect of plotting a novel is whether you're going to utilize one viewpoint or several. I began my career using a single, limited viewpoint. After I'd written and published about a half-dozen books, I ventured cautiously into the realm of switching viewpoint. I discovered that it was fun. Then I got carried away and jumped at random into the perspective of one or two minor characters just because I could.

At some point, however, I learned that there are valid and invalid reasons for shifting viewpoint. Valid in the sense of enhancing the storyline and developing the characters. Invalid in the sense of just sharing what all the characters were thinking or getting myself out of a boring plot segment.

Multiple viewpoints add subplots to your story. Each character chosen to carry a viewpoint is going to become the lesser protagonist of that subplot's storyline. That means that each viewpoint character will have a goal, will have an antagonist (who may well be the book's protagonist … confused yet?), and the subplot will be resolved in a small climax or showdown of its own.

Accordingly, if you're planning a book that will have several viewpoints, choose them wisely. Your main protagonist will carry the central story question, will drive the primary plot, and will be at the center of the most important action. Because of those duties, your main protagonist will get the most viewpoint pages.

Another viewpoint will probably be awarded to the main antagonist. This will enable you to set up or heighten threat to the protagonist. It will allow you to present the antagonist's motivations.

A third viewpoint might belong to an important secondary character, such as the love interest or a sidekick. This viewpoint allows you to shift away from the protagonist to follow the story and keep the action from pausing.

For example, say that your protagonist is ambushed in a dark alley and beaten unconscious. If we stay in only the protagonist's viewpoint, then the story remains on pause until the character wakes up.

But what if a bomb has been set? The deadline for the explosion is fast approaching. The protagonist managed to discover the location of the bomb and called his demolition expert just before he was knocked out. Now the story can shift to the perspective of the expert who's racing to the target and struggling to clip the wire just in the nick–pun intended–of time.

The key to juggling subplots and multiple points of view successfully is to limit their number to what you–and your story idea–can handle. Two to four viewpoints is generally sufficient. And if your story will work just fine without shifting perspective, then keep it in a single viewpoint. Your job as a writer will be much more manageable, the book will be less likely to split in focus, and the impact could well be more powerful.

Plotting for Character

If you're a regular follower of this blog, you know I'm a plot girl.

Gotta have a story question. Gotta have a protagonist's goal driving the story action. Gotta have a strong antagonist. Gotta have progressive conflict and story complication. Gotta build to a rip-roaring, action-packed story climax.

However, there are places in a novel where momentum is going to slow. Somewhere in the middle, the story wants to sag. We can call it any number of things: inertia, writer fatigue, bogging down … whatever suits your fancy.

My writing teacher, Jack Bickham, called the central portion of a novel "The Great Swampy Middle" because it's where so many inexperienced writers sink.

However, in our constant search for ways to mitigate this effect, we need to also understand that there are places in a novel where the momentum should slow. We should not constantly hammer the reader with action or intensity. Doing so lessens the effect and tires reader involvement.

Giving readers places to rest and process what's been happening is necessary. We don't want the pacing to stop. We want the pacing to change. We don't want the story to grow dull and boring. We want the story to become more layered.

One of the dramatic strategies that accomplishes this is picking a place where you deepen or develop character.

It consists of one or two scenes, maybe a transitional conversation between protagonist and mentor/confidant, and it doesn't really have more than a tenuous connection to the actual story question. It may relate more to a subplot; often it deals with the "inner" arc of change taking place inside the hero.

It could be lifted from the book without seriously affecting the plot.

So, in effect, story action pauses to allow the focus to be placed solely on characterization instead.

Plotting for character can enrich the story. If well done, it delights readers. Usually the ideal place to use it is somewhere in the middle portion of the plot, after an intense event or a long series of action. It peels away character masks and allows readers a glimpse of the individual's true character.

Be careful, however. The key to this technique's effectiveness lies in not over-using it. Too much plotting for character sinks the plot. The story can then devolve into character angst and navel-gazing.

Dramatic Strategy: Flashbacks

Suspense writer Robert Crais created a stoic tough character named Joe Pike. You may have read Crais's novels. If so, you'll be familiar with Pike, who has arrows tattooed on his upper arms. The arrows point forward. They are to remind Pike to always look forward, never back.

Same thing with plotting. Most readers of adventurous, plot-driven stories want to go forward. They want to follow a story's progression from start to finish. They want to see the next scene of conflict, experience the next rush of action and plot twists. They want to get on with it.

Inexperienced writers, by contrast, want to look back. They have pages and pages of background, history, and explanation that they feel readers should know first in order to understand what's happening when the story begins.

Resist this urge.

Wise Walter Writer–a seasoned professional wordsmith–knows that it's best to align a story's plot with what readers want.

That's why you'll seldom see Walter Writer crafting a flashback at all, and he'll never insert one early in a story.

In the middle of a book, however, Walter may want a subplot to come in or he may want to deepen characterization. If he presents background for his protagonist, he knows that dramatizing a portion of it in a scene will be more effective than a dry summary in narrative.

In such a case, the flashback serves an effective purpose.

Writers should signal clearly that the story is jumping to a past event. Use a space break and write obvious transitions, such as …

Thinking back to that summer day three years ago, Julie remembered how she'd been stirring supper in a skillet on the stove when Steve walked in. "I want a divorce," he said. "You can have the house. I'm taking the car and the dog. That's it. I don't want to discuss anything."

The scene can then play out, with Julie and Steve in conflict. At the scene's conclusion, another transition should indicate that we're leaving the flashback–the story's past–for the story's present.

After Steve left, Julie stood there, sobbing while the hamburger and onions charred in the skillet. That night, she'd packed a suitcase and fled the house, never to return … until now. As she drove slowly up the gravel driveway and parked, she knew the years of absence couldn't buffer her from what was coming next. Getting out of the car, she stared up at the dusty windows and sagging porch, her memories still colliding between pain and a steely determination not to be hurt again.

Now, let's consider an author who relies heavily on flashbacks to illustrate character back story. Jennifer Chiaverini's highly successful series of Elm Creek quilting novels are character-driven. However, because her focus is on the inner arc of change in her characters and because the resolutions of her books hinge on the story people coming to grips with their pasts, the flashbacks become more like plotlines. They work for the kind of inward story Chiaverini is creating.

For most straightforward plots dealing with external conflict, limit flashbacks to one or two key points in the story's progression. For plots derived primarily from character growth, flashbacks can be used much more heavily to enrich the unfolding drama.

Dramatic Strategy: Subplots

Just when you think you have enough to juggle in keeping your protagonist and antagonist in conflict against each other from story start to story finish–here's another aspect to consider. Adding subplots can lengthen your story, can develop characters, can add dimension, and can help you fill out an otherwise thin story.

The trick to effectively using subplots is to plan exactly where and when they'll appear and conclude.

Tip #1: A subplot should never be equal to the main plotline.

You don't want two parallel stories spanning the entire manuscript. Sooner or later every writer is tempted to attempt this, and it so seldom comes off. The problem is that you end up with a split focus, no clear protagonist, no clear antagonist, and no way to effectively end the story.

Tip #2: Limit the number of subplots to what you can handle.

Keep in mind that each subplot has its own smaller story arc with a protagonist, antagonist, and climax that will answer its story question. How many can you manage without forgetting or neglecting them? What is the intended length of your story? How many viewpoints do you need to convey the story fully?

If you are writing a short novel of, say, less than 75,000 words, you probably have room for only one subplot, possibly two, in addition to the main one.

If you are writing in a single viewpoint, then you may want to limit the subplot to the protagonist's internal problem–the growth or arc of change the character will experience as a result of dealing with the central plot's issues.

A longer book, with multiple points of view, has room to accommodate several subplots if you wish. Just keep each one at a different level of importance.

Tip #3: Stagger the placement of the subplots.

Subplots don't enter the story at the very beginning, parallel the central plot, and end at the story's climax. Instead, a very short subplot might open the story–if there's a good reason to delay the introduction of the main story question. Such a small subplot might end by chapter three, for example. The opening of Dick Francis's novel, ODDS AGAINST, deals with the protagonist being shot and having to recover, answer police questions, and visit a crime scene to identify the victim as the man who shot him. It's only because the protagonist is injured that he's willing to get involved in the central story.

On the other hand, a subplot might not appear until the book's middle. Let's say it's a romantic subplot for Simon Spy, our protagonist. Maybe he's waiting for the convoy of missiles to reach the terrorist camp. Rather than let the book sag, Simon's dalliance with a local beauty turns far more serious than he expected, further complicating his mission. The resolution of this subplot may not be resolved until just after the story's climax, as part of the poetic justice dealt out.

Writing Tip #4: Make the start and finish of a subplot count.

Writing strategy deals with how a writer chooses to intersect major and minor plotlines. Where will those intersections occur? You want to make sure they happen at key turning points. They should inject new life into a sagging story, create plot twists, prevent the story from becoming predictable, and maximize the reader's entertainment.

Dramatic Strategy III: Changing Things Around

If you follow the Dwight Swain/Jack Bickham school of thought regarding writing technique, then you know that the basic foundation of fiction plotting involves alternating scenes and sequels dovetailing together in a smooth progression of story.

However, once you've gotten the hang of writing scenes and sequels, you'll find yourself confronted by its one big drawback:  predictability. Savvy writers, therefore, keep their readers guessing by mixing the order of these dramatic units.

How?

Step 1: Write your rough draft in scene/sequel/scene/sequel/scene/sequel pattern. Keep everything steady and on track from start to finish.

Step 2: In revision, once you've determined that your plot is solid and you've plugged any holes, then determine where the story seems to bog down a bit or where it becomes ho-hum. Look for extra-long sequels or scenes that end without a setback or set a weak hook. These danger points need jazzing up.

Step 3: Buy yourself two packs of 3 X 5 index cards in two different colors. Number and summarize each scene on one color of cards. Number and summarize each sequel on the other color. Pin them up on a wall or spread them across a long table. This will help distance you from your story so that you can think about it more objectively. Flag the danger spots with a marker or a Post-It.

Step 4: If you want to amp up the excitement at a certain section of the novel, then remove or compress the sequels between a pair of important scenes. Let your protagonist start to react, but the events of the story crowd in and the sequel is deferred. Doing this between two or three scenes will create what's known as a SCENE CLUSTER. It carries the same effect as a BIG SCENE.

Step 5: When you defer sequels in order to keep the action exciting and intense, then know that you will need to write a long sequel that spans reaction to the whole scene cluster. John D. MacDonald is a master of this technique, and his Travis McGee novels are worth study.

Step 6: You can eliminate a weak scene by keeping the sequel that sets it up, then remove the scene and "jump" forward in the story's action to a more exciting point. A simple paragraph of narrative summary can "fold back" to inform readers of what happened in the scene that didn't play.

This sampling of tactics will keep your story less predictable and far more exciting to read. When you shift the dramatic pattern this way, you're controlling reader response while providing maximum entertainment value.

Dramatic Strategy II: Size 'Em Up

All scenes are not alike. They should not be the same length or intensity. That's because scene size depends on the stakes and motivations of the characters.

These two factors support the degree of conflict there will be. For example: if the stakes are low, conflict will be minimal.

Example:  Johnny wants ice cream. That's a specific goal. What would motivate anyone to oppose this?

Option 1: Maybe the opponent for this scene is Johnny's sister. Sissy doesn't want Johnny to have the ice cream. WHY? Because there's only one serving of ice cream, and Sissy wants it for herself.

If the ice cream is simply dessert, the stakes are low. Conflict between these characters will be petty and/or forced.

If the ice cream is the only food in the house, the stakes become higher. See the difference?

Option 2: Sissy doesn't want Johnny to have ice cream because he's just been diagnosed with diabetes, and she wants him to stick to his new diet. Now the stakes are more interesting, and her motivation is one of love and concern.

Option 3: Sissy is sociopathic, jealous, and nursing a long grudge against some imaginary wrong. She forces Johnny to ingest ice cream in an effort to plunge him into a life-threatening coma.

If you're writing about option 1a, the low stakes require the scene to be brief or omitted.

If you're writing about option 1b, the somewhat higher stakes require the scene to be small-to-medium length.

If you're writing about option 2, the strong stakes require the scene to be medium to long.

Does option 3 seem too extreme and over the top for you? Perhaps it is. Consider, however, the plot of Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?, a classic horror thriller dealing with out-of-control sibling rivalry. Jane was a child star who got all the attention while her older sister Blanche was ignored. When the sisters grew up, however, Jane's career faded and Blanche became an acting star until she was crippled in an accident. Now the sisters live together in a twisted mess of hatred and resentment of each other.

Blanche (left) being slapped by her sister Jane in WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE?, a 1962 Warner Bros. film starring Bette Davis and Joan Crawford. Image courtesy of Warner Bros.

In option 3, if Sissy is trying to murder Johnny and make it look like an accident, the stakes are huge and the scene will be intense, long, and filled with conflict.

Big scenes should be positioned at key turning points in a novel's length. There will be one in the center of the book. There will be at least one in the book's climax. Often there's one within the first five chapters of the story as well.

Big scenes offer high conflict, huge stakes, and intense–possibly bitter–conflict. They're long because the strongly motivated characters won't quit. And a big scene usually ends in a powerful disaster for the scene protagonist.

Writing Tip: When injecting several big scenes into your story, make sure that each of these scenes progressively tops those preceding it. In other words, don't start your story with your largest scene. Build as you go, so that your first big scene is strong, your middle big scene is a doozy, and your final big scene is fantastic.

Dramatic Strategy I

In its simplest, most basic structure, plot is an alternating construction of scene + sequel + scene + sequel + scene + etc. The two dramatic units dovetail closely together and will keep the story action advancing in a plausible and exciting way from start to finish.

However, that kind of plot can become too linear, too predictable. Consequently, it can become boring.

So writers should draw on other techniques to enhance and enrich their stories.

We have at our disposal, a number of these strategies, including:

*big versus small scenes

*variant ordering of scenes and sequels

*subplots

*flashbacks

*plotting for character

*multiple points of view

You can change up your plot structure by using only one of these possible strategies, or–depending on the type of story you're writing–you can employ them all.

We'll deal with them separately in the posts to come.

Jump Off the Bridge

When your protagonist has reached a decision about his or her next course of action, it's important for that individual to take immediate action.

Stalling at this point accomplishes nothing except reader frustration. Yet I see this mistake repeated often in student fiction. Polly Protagonist has dried her tears, weighed her options, and decided what she'll do next.

Ah, good, thinks Rita Reader. Atta girl! You get out there and take action! Let's go!

Instead, in the hands of the unskilled writer, Polly Protagonist immediately calls her best friend and they yak in a bar for eight pages about how miserable they are.

Phooey!

What's happened to the plot? It's fizzled. All the building of the reader's anticipation during the sequel has been wasted effort.

Writing tip: Fiction isn't real life, where people talk and procrastinate in order to avoid taking risks.

Your protagonist must take action on the decision. Anything less is a disappointment. Too many disappointments in your story will crash it.

Also, when you don't write the action that should happen next, you'll find yourself losing your way. Stay on track.

This isn't to say that you can't be unpredictable in what's going to transpire. Plot twists can work beautifully here.

Just get your protagonist off the sequel bridge and back into scene action.

Plotting Sequel: Decisions, Decisions

The trouble with letting the story action pause while your character processes his or her problem is that the story has P-A-U-S-E-D.

It's not advancing.

How do you get the plot going again? By having your protagonist reach a decision.

The weighing of options has to reach an end. None of the choices should look attractive or easy, but the character must choose something to do next.

That decision should connect to the story goal, the overall objective. The decision should be a specific choice of the next course of action. It should acknowledge the motivation that lies behind it. It should point out the risks to the reader and share why the protagonist is going to take that risk anyway.

Then the reader can think, Go for it! I'm right there with you!

Reaching a decision is a critical turning point in the sequel because it signals to readers that the interlude is coming to an end. Action is about to follow.

This signal launches a feeling of anticipation or expectation in the reader. A plan has been laid. We've looked at the risks and dangers. We're going to try to circumvent them this way.

Okay, the reader thinks, so what's going to go wrong? How can we squeak past the danger point? What if we're caught? I have to keep reading. I can't put this book down now.

Reaching a decision is all about the protagonist forming a new goal for the scene that will come next.

You are, in effect, positioning the character for the conflict to come and positioning the reader to eagerly await it.

Spanning the Dilemma

In my previous post, I compared the component known as dilemma to the arching span of a bridge. I may not be using the precise architectural term, but by span I mean what visually lifts your eye across the stream or chasm–whatever the bridge is crossing.

Emotion is a foundation pillar. It stands rooted. It doesn't move. As long as the character is in a purely emotional state, the story is on "pause." It doesn't continue.

Dilemma, by contrast, is motion forward. We don't want to stall a story indefinitely. Dilemma gets the character going again. Not right away and not all at once, but it's progress.

Therefore, dilemma is the second element that goes into a sequel. It follows emotion. It doesn't precede it.

That's because people react emotionally first. When their feelings start to calm down, then they can think.

Dilemma is all about thinking through the problem at hand.

Writing principle: Dilemma is the logic of your plot.

WHAT?

Didn't I hammer logic in my last post? I hope not. My point was that logic has no place in character emotion. That doesn't mean that logic has no place in your story. Of course it does!

Dilemma is part of that connection between the dots of plot events. We get a character stirred up emotionally so that person will take action. But we have to devise stories that make sense and show reasonable amounts of cause and effect.

We don't want the protagonist pausing in the middle of stirring scene action to reason through the problem. So it's saved until the scene is over and until the viewpoint character has had a chance to vent some steam.

Because once the raging disappointment and heartbreak following a scene setback fade, our character can think. More importantly, our character should think.

Here's where Wally Writer can shoehorn plausibility and rationale into the story. No matter how improbable the plot truly is, it can be made to seem reasonable–or at least understandable–by adding the dilemma component to character reaction.

Dilemma is where Polly Protagonist dries her tears a little and starts considering what she will do next.

She does this under two criteria:

1) What is she going to do next based on what's just happened in the story, and

2) What is she going to do next in terms of her overall story goal?

Writing tip: When you're plotting, always remember where you're going.

Keep in mind the following points:

*What has your character just gone through?

*What has your character gone through in the story up to this point?

*How has any of that altered the goal or motivations of the character?

*What new plans will your character make as a result?

Writing principle: when you write dilemma you are working out your plot for yourself while making it seem that the character is formulating a new plan.

Formulating a plan means the protagonist is now ready psychologically to look forward to what he or she will try next in achieving the story goal.

Emotion and Dilemma dovetail together. Each–in its own way–supports the progression of the protagonist from disappointment to new determination.