Larry Brooks's Blog, page 50

"The Help" – Isolating and Understanding the First "Pinch Point"

It has been pointed out that I tend to linger over my set-ups, both here on Storyfix and in my new book.  To pre-sell the point, ad nauseum. 

So let me get right to it today:

The First Pinch Point in "The Help" occurs on page 184 (of the trade paperback), which is the 35th percentile mark in the story.  It's when Miss Hilly casually announces over coffee and cards that she's going to publish her "Home Help Sanitation Initiative" in the local newspaper.

It's when she intends to institutionalize and legitimize racism in the community by imposing standards and consequences.

Not only is this Pinch Point very nearly perfectly placed (the optimal target placement is at the 36/37th percent mark, smack in the middle of Part 2 of a story), it's a classic example of its narrative mission. 

A pinch point allows the antagonistic force of the story roaring onto center stage to announce itself and remind us of its dark intentions and inherent threat to the hero's quest.  To stick it right into our face so that we may fear and loath that which the hero fears and loaths.

Everything else stops for a moment so the darkness can have the podium.

Let me say that again: the definition of both Pinch Points (the second is targeted for the 62/63rd percent mark, in the middle of Part 3) is to show the reader the threat, to show us what still stands in the way of the hero's intentions.

To allow us to comprehend what the hero must conquer and/or overcome. 

Pinch Points Seem to Puzzle People

(Note: I like the way that sounds.  Popping Ps all over the place.)

Or at least, they puzzle writers.  Readers get them right away, because they are as organic and natural a moment within a story as any in the narrative.  And because they are so natural, they tend to blend into the organic flow of a story… which, by definition, leaves it up to chance.

Not good.  You absolutely need to show us the bad guy's power and intentions, and it needs to happen in the right place at the right time in the story.

Maybe it's confusing because it's a movie term.  Or because First Pinch Point so closely alliterates with First Plot Point, which is a completely separate story milestone.

I first learned about pinch points in Syd Field's iconic book, Screenplay, and it's been easy to spot in both books and movies ever since.  Like, every successful book and movie. 

One of the reasons pinch points – once you know what they are — become easy to spot is that they can be, and often are, everywhere in a story.

In fact, they should be everywhere.

Every story has a hero.  Every hero has a journey, a quest, a problem to solve, a need to fulfill.  There are obstacles in the way of that quest, often (usually) embodied in the character of an antagonist, or the bad guy.  A pinch point is when the primary opposition to the hero's quest comes front and center in the story, showing itself to the hero and to us.

The suggested optimal placement is merely a guideline to allow you to optimize pacing and dramatic tension. 

If the hero is being chased by a bear, the bear will show up at the pinch point.  If the story is about an airplane crashing, something that reminds us we're about to crash will show up at the pinch point.  If the story is about trying to win back lost love, the pinch point is when the departed lover turns up in the arms of another.

The context for these moments is up to the author.  It can be virtually anything, and long as the core essence of it is there.

Such is the case in "The Help."  Pinch Points abound.

There's another pinch point a few pages before the "official" one described above.  Thus illustrating that you can pepper your story with many moments of antagonism… but regardless, you should still shoot for the whopper of a pinch point at the suggested target percentile mark.

A preliminary pinch point occurs when Miss Skeeter confesses that after several interviews with Aibileen she only has 12 words of transcription to show for it, all of them "yes ma'am."  A classic Pinch moment — it calls forth the primary challenge or risk of the hero's journey (Skeeter needing to get at least 12 maids into her book).  Skeeter's inability to get the maids to play ball is precisely what she's up against in Part 2, in contextual response to the First Plot Point (where the book project is born).

Another minor pinch occurs as Skeeter mails the first draft of the interviews to the editor in New York, prompting fear-driven nightmares.  It reminds us of what's in her way.

But, when you compare these examples, all of which appear in Part 2, it's easy to see that the most dangerous and meaningful of them is Miss Hilly's racist diatribe.  It's the highest level of antagonism in the whole story… and thus, it's not a coincidence that it appears very near the optimal target moment, which is in the middle of the story's second quartile.  It is THE First Pinch Point, architecturally-speaking.

The Rhetoric of the Pinch Point

Could you argue this is simply storytelling, that the mechanics and rhetoric of calling them pinch points, or anything else, is needlessly confusing or overly formulaic.  Sure, you could argue that (you could also argue that surgeons don't need a name for anesthesia, too, it's just "part of the process"). 

Then again, not every writer can rely on their dramatic instincts and sheer raw talent to build tension and generate pace optimally.  I'm hoping that all those who protest are, in fact, purely and rawly talented to the extent that they don't need to think about getting this done properly in their stories… but I doubt that's true.  Which is a shame, because it becomes an example of how limiting beliefs can hold you back.

Like everything else about story architecture, the intention isn't to make anyone right or wrong, it's to give you another way to think about how to make your story the best that it can be.

The rest of us… welcome to the next rung on the learning curve, where seatbelts and intuitive luck aren't necessary, and where your awareness of story architecture just might cut a decade or two out of your apprenticeship before you get it.

Because this is something you can learn and pursue, every bit as much as you can discover through blood, sweat and the tears of rejection.

Go ahead, pinch yourself.  You'll be glad you did.

Want more story architecture?  Check out my book, "Story Engineering: Mastering the Six Core Competencies of Successful Writing."

Thanks to Shane Arthur for the prompt that resulted in today's post.  Check out his website,  Writing Prompts, for some hands-on creative storytelling fun. 

 

"The Help" – Isolating and Understanding the First "Pinch Point" is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

Watch It Here, Right Now: The Movie Trailer for "The Help"

Check out the trailer for the upcoming movie adaptation of Kathryn Stockett's "The Help."  If you've come here looking for the latest in our deconstruction series, it's the post right before (shown below) this one.

This trailer is two and half minutes of pure fun, especially if you've read the novel and have been following this deconstruction.  All four parts of the novel are represented — a cool challenge, see if you can recognize them — as well as the implication of the two major plot points. At a glance it seems like a somewhat light treatment in comparison to the book, but the overall weight of the film is every bit as ambitious. 

The film opens in August.  Enjoy.

Watch It Here, Right Now: The Movie Trailer for "The Help" is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

"The Help" – Fighting the Good Fight in Part 3

(Long post today, but good stuff, I think.  There's a more personal message at the end, too, if you're a skimmer.)

The mission of the third quartile of a story (Part 3) is to show the hero proactively attacking what stands in the way of reaching of the goal, solving the problem, escaping the danger or whatever else the author has deviously plotted against them.

The mission of the second quartile of a story (Part 2) is to respond to – not attack, at least not in context to full disclosure of the nature of the antagonist or the stakes – that same opposition.  Which may or may not be fully exposed at the First Plot Point, which is the intersection of the Part 1 set-up and Part.

And of course, the mission of the first quartile of a story (Part 1) is to introduce and position the elements of a story before the game-changing, story-defining moment of the First Plot Point, which is where it all suddenly begins to matter.

Make no mistake, the First Plot Point is the single most important moment in a story, at least from an architectural, execution-dependent point of view.That said, it should be noted here that…

… as we press forward into a story, and if we've carefully and properly designed our story using the varying contexts, missions and milestones (either through planning or drafting), things actually seem to get easier as we go deeper and further.

Or course they do.  Because Part 3 is the natural evolution and outcome of all the stuff you've put into play in Parts 1 and 2.  If you've done that effectively, then the odds of suddenly realizing you don't know where you are, or where to go next are dramatically reduced.

And if that's where you find yourself, there is really only one ultimately effective solution: stop writing the story.  Now. 

If you were driving toward a cliff, and you knew it, you'd stop.  You'd change course.  In fact, you'd go back to where you made the wrong turn that led you toward the cliff and request – execute – a do-over.

It's time to go back to the story planning drawing board.  Whatever that means to you. 

The biggest mistake a writer can make, at this point, is to simply keep writing stuff – to drive off the cliff with hope that you'll somehow survive the fall – even though you're pretty such it doesn't feel right in context to what you've written up to this point.

Oh, you'll know.  By the time you get to Part 3, you'll know.

But it's unlikely you'll have to go that route, because unless you've pantsed your way into a corner (writer-speak for painting yourself into one) with your Parts 1 and 2 – or, your planning didn't work out as you'd hoped – odds are you've had Part 3 in the back of your mind, perhaps subconsciously, all along.

All of which, by the way, is generic story architecture stuff. 

As for "The Help," once again it plays right into the universal mission definition of the four parts of a story, all of which are different. 

In Part 3 of "The Help," each of the 51 scenes delivered within its ten chapters share this context of attack.  The characters know what they must do, and they set out to get 'er done.

Milly is now all in.  That Part 2 reactionary phase (her fear, her hesitance and cynicism, at least enough to give her a uniform) has been dealt with, the players are no longer fleeing, doubting or considering other choices… they're in.

The game has changed.  The essential dramatic question, which in Part 2 was "will Miss Skeeter get enough of the maids involved?"… to… "will the book get finished and published, and what will become of them when it does?"

They're attacking the problem, or if you prefer, the goal.  Proactively.  In full view of the impending consequences.

All of that was implied and lurking in the sub-text of Part 2, but in Part 3 it pushes its way to the forefront.  Not by some narrative accident, but through the author's intentions, beginning at Page 1 of the draft that was published.

Doesn't mean they'll starting succeeding right away, in fact they don't. 

In fact, the reason they don't is that the story is still building in tension and momentum and stakes in Part 3.  Only in a contextually new and different way.

This is a critical, empowering subtlety, folks.  One we need to embrace and practice.  One that doesn't often happen by accident.

This Part 3 shift and elevation of tension implies that the antagonist is also evolving, meeting the new vigor of the heroes in Part 3 with even darker, more compelling danger and consequential proactively of its own.

That, too, is a critical subtlety.  Actually, it's not a subtlety at all, come to think of it – it's the fuel that makes the story work.

In Part 3 of "The Help," Minnie and Aibileen align and support each other as part of the voice of Miss Skeeter's book.  Each of them, in doing so, comes closer to exposure and the dangers of their rebellion, which are for them bigger and more personal than the book (Miss Skeeter's) itself.  That collision of choices and consequences unfolds alongside the issue of Miss Skeeter's book, albeit because of it.

Sub-plots evolve in Part 3, but in context to the new urgency of the primary plot.  Minnie emerges as the stronger part of the liaison with her employer, Miss Celia (a white woman), thus juxtaposing the balance of power and soul beneath the skin of the culture in which they exist.

Skeeter realizes her new boyfriend is too steeped in the culture she is trying to expose.  This puts her family status in danger, as well as her social well-being.  Meanwhile, she's getting closer to the prize – a career as a published writer.

Toward the end of Part 3, in a major twist that demonstrates that you can insert all the curveballs you want apart from and in addition to those that become your plot and mid points, Skeeter learns the book will be published after all.

Which, because the consequences have just stepped up from if to when, lights a fuse in each of the character arcs.

Of course, no Part 3 would be complete without experiencing a power surge of threat and devious mechanism from the villain…

…  and Miss Hilly doesn't disappoint.  She succeeds in getting Skeeter fired from her newsletter gig, as well as putting her own maid in jail on trumped up charges.  Her potential for evil is clearer than ever, and thus, her threat to our beloved heroes, which is not remotely, accidentally or coincidentally relevant to the more personal exposure she is risking through the outing of Minnie's pie story.

The bad guy (Miss Hilly), you see, also has a goal, stakes and consequences.  It is what drives them, and it must be part of the narrative exposition.

If you haven't read the book, Millie's pie story is critical. 

It's a killer, both literal and metaphoric plot device that, after 397 pages of tension-building, suddenly and deliciously (no pun intended) jacks the stakes to a new, unexpected level.  For everyone.

Plot Point Two happens when that little kitty is let out of the bag.  Minnie reveals the Big Secret that went down between her and Miss Hilly, which, when presented to the world via her narrative in Skeeter's book, will rock both of their worlds. 

It becomes the centerpiece of the story's consequences.  The McGuffin, if you will.

In fact, it might just get Minnie killed.  Or at least, thrown in jail on yet more of Miss Hilly's lies.

Or it might, in fact, expose Miss Hilly for the pitiful human being that she is.  Which, after all this brilliant reader manipulation on the author's part, would be wonderful and gratifying.  Something to really root for.

Worth staying up all night for, in fact.  Which is precisely what happens.

The reader is there.  We must know what happens.  Not because it is inherently consequential – it's not, it's a bit sophomoric and is a bit of history without direct impact on anything at all other than reputations and karma – but because we, the readers, want it so desperately.

Make no mistake, the reason we care so much has as much to do with the architecture of the story as it does with its themes.

****

I'm planning a "walk the walk" experiment/promotion for July. 

With all this information and perspective on what makes a story work comes a bit of a challenge, and occasionally a calling out.  What have I done, as the purveyor of all this supposed expertise, to justify my claim to credibility?  Who am I to put all this stuff on the table and position it as definitely as I have?

If you've read some of the reviews of my writing book, "Story Engineering,"

you'll see the question posed there.  My enthusiasm for story architecture is as misunderstood as it is valid.  At least by some.

Anyhow – and without masking my intention to give my own novels a second life – I'll be offering the Kindle version of my novel, "Bait and Switch," for only 99 cents in the month of July.  Shortly thereafter I'll have the other three novels (which were published prior to Whisper of the Seventh Thunder, and is already available on Kindle or in trade paperback) up on Kindle, as well.

I confess, I'm hoping to become one of those miraculous case studies in the emergence of Kindle and other digital e-readers as a venue for established authors as well as new ones. 

My goal is to move 5000 copies of the book in the month of July… but for that to happen, I can use your help.  If you like it, please recommend it and or write about it.  People in the industry have told me the book deserves(ed) to be a bestseller (it was a critical home run), so let's see if the power of social media and the internet can make it so.

If I get feedback that it will be helpful, I'll also post a short series that deconstructs "Bait and Switch" from the author's point of view.

You can read a mid-story sample chapter from the book HERE.

The more we see it happen on the page, the more real it gets.

The novel, published in 2004, received a starred review from Publishers Weekly, rave reviews elsewhere, and PW selected it to their "Best Books of 2004" list (scroll down to the "Mass Market" category, where you'll see the cover image), as well as their "Best Overlooked Books of 2004" list, the only paperback so-named.

Hoping you'll help me make that last one an ironic moot point.

More on this promotion as it launches.  Thanks for your support.

"The Help" – Fighting the Good Fight in Part 3 is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

"The Help" – Part/Act 2 (Response) to the Mid-Point

"The Help" is nothing if not a book of architectural subtleties.  Because the major plot points in this story are primarily contextual in nature. 

They always are contextual in nature – that's the primary mission of story milestones – but in many books and films they're also loud and self-announcing.  

At the typical First Plot Point, for example, storms hit, doctors announce fatal diagnoses, lotteries are won, affairs commenced, divorces filed, kids go to college leaving an empty nest couple do deal with each other… whatever… the story is literally spun in a new direction after being set up in the first quartile.

Not so in this book.  The story just seems to purr along, a slice of life and a peek into some dark corners told via vignettes and moments.  And yet, precisely because of this subtlety, seeking a full understanding of precisely how the author's chosen plot milestones work becomes a powerful storytelling lesson.

The milestones are all there.  Just as much as if someone, perhaps a courageous woman, had dared take a seat in the front of a bus in 1943.

Now that's a plot point… but in another story.

On page 104 of the trade paperback edition of "The Help," at the end of Chapter 6, the author reveals the First Plot Point: Miss Skeeter admits to herself (and thus, to us) that she will write a book about the maids of Jackson and the racially-influenced realities that define their lives.  That the notion just graduated to an intention. 

And that it's happening not just for her career, but because it has something important to tell the world.  The centerpiece, the primary mechanical McGuffin of the story – the book – is now on the table. 

Everything prior to this moment had merely been a set-up for it.

It creates a mission for Skeeter, and thus for the maids. 

That mission is rendered empathetic – something we can root for – by virtue of the way Part 1 (the set-up) unfolds, via deep characterizations, thematic resonance and the presentation of a set of world views in dire need of examination and change.

The reader cares about the book at this point.  Any earlier and that caring wouldn't have legs.  Any later and the story would have lagged.

Because of Part 1, consequences are in play the moment the First Plot Point lights the fuse of the rest of the story.  The story kicks into another gear and and never looks back.

We are now thrust into Part 2 of the story.

While it feels smooth in the reading, the context of this story is now completely different.  A shift in purpose has occurred.  Everything that happens from this point on relates to, in some way, what was put into play at the First Plot Point – Skeeter's book.

Everything that takes place going forward, either directly or indirectly, is a response to this new context. 

Part 2 consists of 1o chapters and 51 short, mission-driven scenes. 

Not all of them go straight at a character-specific response to the new context;  indeed, some Part 2 scenes seek to create deeper stakes and consequences.  But the primary heroic journey has now been launched, and thus, any deepening of the stakes are, by definition, in context to the new thrust of the story – the book. 

Which, we should remind ourselves, wasn't in play in Part 1.

And thus, even those seemingly peripheral scenes are themselves a response to the First Plot Point and the context shift it delivers.

Let's look at what happens in Part 2 and examine how they are response to the unfolding birth of Skeeter's book and the roles of the women who conspire with her to write it.  

Notice how the exposition in Part 2 continues to deepen the dramatic tension, ratchet up the stakes and unpeel yet more layers of characterization.  Nothing is solved, things only get darker and more urgent. 

Skeeter needs to nail down Aibileen's involvement in the project.  But fear is in the way – fear of losing her job, fear of rocking the community boat, fear of something unspeakable.  This is all in context to – in response to – Skeeter's proposed book.

Meanwhile the sub-plot of Skeeter's prospective date launches.  These scenes, too (which at a glance don't seem to relate to her book), are in context to her inner journey (which took a sharp turn at the FPP), because not everything that is normal and expected in her life as a well-off young white woman in Jackson is under the spotlight of a new awareness on her part. 

Which is directly connected to her book and driven by the same character arc.

We see Miss Hilly's truly ugly moral compass and the blackness of her soul.  It's good to ramp up the villain's repulsion factor in Part 2, and thus, in context to what Skeeter is up to, becomes important to the reader's investment.  Because not only do we root for Skeeter's book and the women who are writing it, but we're rooting for Miss Hilly to go down in flames.

Sub-plots are everywhere in Part 2. 

Minny and Miss Celia are doing a power struggle dance with an underlying dark secret.  Minny has an unhappy home life to return to every day.  Miss Skeeter is fetching library books on both sides of the racial issue and delivering them to Aibileen, fueling her passion for the project they share.  All of these sub-plots are contextually related to the primary dramatic device of the story – the book.

At much urging Minnie joins the team, albeit reluctantly.  She becomes the voice of fear and cynicism that defines the entire tone of the times. This is part of the unfolding dramatic tension: will Skeeter get enough maids involved?  Will the risks surface in ugly ways?  Will Skeeter finish in time?  What will become of her, and the maids, if she does?

In Chapter 15 a piece of actual history drops into the story: Medgar Evans is murdered by white racists on his own porch, just around the corner from where our maids live.  Shot in cold blood.  The community's reaction, the response of the maids and the attempt to sweep it under the rug on the part of the white women villains only deepens the reader's investment in the success of Miss Skeeter's book.

And all of it is because of, and in context to, the moment when the book project was born and committed to in Skeeter's heart and mind.

The book is what the story is about on a narrative (Plot Point One is almost always an unveiling of what a story is about in a dramatic sense). 

The racial issues are what the book is about on a thematic level.  Keep them separate, but allow one to help drive the other.

The Mid-Point comes at the end of Chapter 16.

And it's subtle.  Easy to miss.  But impossible to ignore if you are looking for story architecture.  It feels like a natural evolution of things… but it's not.  Its placement is intentional, downright architectural.

The author could have brought in the Medgar Evans murder at any time in the story.  Or not at all.  But she's used it in "The Help" as the catalyst for her Mid-Point, because it changes the context of everything. 

The murder isn't the Mid-Point.  That happens when the characters are suddenly aware of a new context for their journey because of it.

Remember the mission of the Mid-Point…

… to add something to the story that serves as a parting of the narrative curtain – for either the hero(es), the reader, or both – in such a way that the story transitions from response-mode into attack-mode.

There are two elements that, when taken together, give us our Mid-Point in this story.

First, the black church gathers to voice their concern over the Evans murder and what it means for their community.  Their lives are in danger in a way they weren't before.  The implication: something must be done about it.

The unspoken – because nobody knows about the involvement of the maids at this point – is that if their participation is ever exposed their lives would be in grave danger.   And we know that Miss Hilly is capable of going to that extent.

The stakes just went up.  The risk – and the necessity – of Skeeter's book is orders of magnitude more significant and important.

The other element of the Mid-Point is when one of the most resistant of the maids, Yule May (who worked for Miss Hilly), tells Aibileen that she wants in.  She wants to be among the maids who are telling their story to the world.

And because her employer is the most heinous racist in town (or least in this book), her stakes carry the most risk of all.

Until this moment, one of the points of dramatic tension was Skeeter's ability to get enough maids involved to meet the publisher's deadline, which was moved up (because of the impending Martin Luther King march) suddenly.

But now it's on. 

Skeeter has her maids.  They all have their unified purpose and a shared mission.

And the villains have even more ammunition and an implied willingness to do whatever is necessary to silence dissent.

What happens from this point on has a new context.  It's now all Part 3 attack mode, but with the same sense of subtlety that defines the rest of the novel.  The requisite Part 2 responding is done, the Part 3 proactive forward movement to get it done is underway, and in the face of even more risk and more significant stakes than before.

Thanks to Donna Lodge for the summarized chapter breakdown, which was of great help to me in doing this analysis.

Next up: an analysis of Part 3 of "The Help."

"The Help" – Part/Act 2 (Response) to the Mid-Point is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

More "Help"… Coming Soon

Patience.  Don't have enough of it.  Appreciate it when see it. 

Love it when I'm on the receiving end of it.

We're in the middle of our deconstruction series on "The Help."  Last post on this was Tuesday.  It's Friday, high time for the next installment.

But… this series got interrupted by an important family birthday (mine), and a few other details of reality that I'll spare you.

So today I'm just recognizing and explaining and apologizing for the gap here, and stating for the record that the next post in the series will be available on Sunday evening (for a Monday morning email feed).

Thanks for your patience.  If you're new here, this gives you time to catch up on the previous entries in this series. 

I wish you all a great writing weekend.  L.

Image credit: Krypto, via Fickr.

More "Help"… Coming Soon is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

"The Help" –Context and Concept

I sat down this afternoon to write a post about the second quartile of "The Help," better known as Part 2 (Act 2, or the first half of it, for screenwriters), which in story architecture is labeled The Response.

Bears slipping in right here… response to what?  Answer: the First Plot Point, as set up in the first quartile of the story.  Which in this book was Miss Skeeter's realization that she absolutely must write her book about the maids of Jackson, Mississippi.  That it is going to happen, that it has morphed from a notion into an intention.

Everything in Part 2, for all the characters, is in context to responding to that critical Plot Point One milestone.

Right there, for me, things got sketchy. 

And it's important to acknowledge why, because it's precisely what happens when we are writing a story and do not have all four of the requisite story elements – concept, character, theme and structure – at the forefront of our thinking.

Because nothing really works until all four are swimming in the same lane.

What might that unfortunate consequence be?  Answer: writing without a complete and full contextual understanding of our own story.  This is a huge realization for a writer… both in terms of understanding what makes a story work, and recognizing what it is we are searching for as we plan or draft our stories.

In fact, I believe it's the most important thing a writer can learn in their entire growth experience: the artful mixing and melding and rendering of the contextual power of the four elements of story.

When we write a story we are, from the moment idea dawns, searching for the moment when all four of those elements manifest and then melt into each other.  When that happens, the other two core competencies – scene execution and writing voice – suddenly become a magical experience.

Stories that don't work are stories that don't achieve that moment of melding.

Getting back to my little dilemma… I realized that in writing about Part 2 at this stage in this series about "The Help," without acknowledging the higher level of conceptual context of this story, rendered the exploration shallow and without linkage to the big picture.

And the Big Picture is the point.

And so, instead, before we go further into structure, today I'm writing about The Concept of "The Help."

Which, like all concepts, drives everything in the story, because it creates context for everything in the story.

It doesn't matter when and how The Concept crystallizes – and we have no real idea when and how it did for Kathryn Stockett — what matters is that a powerful concept does, in fact, sooner or later appear and become the energizing narrative fuel for the story. 

You can begin with it, which is an outcome of story planning, or you can draft away until The Concept announces itself.  In which case – and this is perfectly okay – one then needs to revise or even start over so that the story, as revised, unfolds in context to it.

Huge stuff.  Critical writer awareness.  It's a make or break level skill-set.

The Concept in "The Help"

It's Miss Skeeter's book.  Call it a McGuffin, a plot device, or a metaphor.  It's the concept. 

Everything else – the strong characters, the heavy themes – is without purpose until this concept applies.  Without that concept, or at least another concept equally as catalytic (a critical thing to recognize about a great concept, because its power as a catalyst for the other three story elements of character, theme and structure is its primary mission), this story goes nowhere.  Because it has nowhere to go.

The concept creates the journey.   The reason for the story at an expositional level.  It identifies a need, a quest, a problem to solve, darkness to avoid, all with stakes hanging in the balance. 

Otherwise, this book is just a bunch of short vignettes about maids working in the homes of clueless and often heartless employers, and a woman named Miss Skeeter realizing that something is deeply wrong with this picture.

Concept becomes the purpose of structure. 

Structure is the narrative device that drives the concept forward into exposition, with a beginning (the Part 2 set-up)… middle (Parts 2 and 3, separated by a context-shifting Mid-Point)… and an ending (Part 4).

Those are generic, universal, eternal and always effective.  In "The Help," they are rendered perfectly, and are what gives this story a means by which the huge themes and strong characters have purpose and a chance to strut their stuff.

Without a concept, it's just journalism.

Concept vs. Idea in "The Help"

Before concept there is often an idea.  Many writers do not differentiate between the two, even though in execution they have evolved their idea into a concept by adding dramatic tension – a "what if?" to it.

Kathryn Stockett tells us, in the author's note after the story concludes, that her idea for this book came when she realized that it never occurred to her to ask her beloved childhood maid what it was like to be black in that time and place, what it was like to live with and work with a white family who, despite fairness and caring, never thought to regard her as an equal, and who lived with different expectations and rules on the other side of town.

Wouldn't it make for an interesting book to explore this?  To right these wrongs by acknowledging them.  That was Kathryn Stockett's starting point.  It was pure theme, with the implication of characters… and nothing else. 

Every story begins with one of the four story elements, or, less often, with a vision for a scene.  In Stockett's case, "The Help" began with theme.  The need to shine a light on what happened.

The author knew she needed to give the characters something to do.  A framework on which to hang these themes.  Something that presented risk, had options, had opposition, and with stakes hanging in the balance.

Miss Skeeter's book was that concept.

What if a socially-connected white woman secretly worked with the black maids in a 1962 racially-prejudiced Southern town to write a book about their experiences, good and bad, as employees and often second-class citizens in the eyes of their employers?

That single question defines the concept.  And whatever "what if?" questions ensued from it defined the novel itself.

As it always does.

As you read "The Help" through a writer's eye, be sure to notice how the context of this concept begins on page one and influences each and every scene thereafter.  How, without it, none of this happens.

And notice how the First Plot Point is where the concept of this story really kicks in.  It is almost always the point at which the conceptual thrust of the story either ignites or takes a major shift, creating context for all that follows.

The same fundamentals apply to your story, as well.  What's your concept, and how does it create a platform for your other story elements – character, theme and structure – to fully explode into the minds and hearts of your readers?

What journey are you launching for your characters?  And thus, for your readers?

The answer to that question is the key to writing a great story.

Hope you don't me sharing some good news… since Amazon.com selected my book ("Story Engineering") as part of their summer reading promotion, it has remained the #1 Kindle bestseller in three separate writing and fiction writing categories.  Thanks for your support, this is largely because of Storyfix readers.

If you haven't considered it, you can read about it HERE.  With my thanks.

"The Help" –Context and Concept is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

A Guest Post About the Discovery of Story Structure, and The Matrix

We take this quick timeout from our series on "The Help" to offer the stage to Shane Arthur, who runs a cool website (click HERE) called "Creative Copy Challenge." 

You may want in on this: he invites people to offer ten random, interesting words, then readers respond with a sort of flash fiction short (very) story that somehow uses them in the narrative.  Shane is also a very astute student of storytelling and — largely because of what you'll read here — a budding bestselling author.

The Matrix Moment of Story Engineering

by Shane Arthur

Imagine this: You're at a bookstore. The clerk bags your book, hands you the receipt and smiles at you like a proud father.  He reminds you someone, but you can't grab onto it at the moment. 

When you go home and peek inside the bag, you're astonished to find not one, but two books sitting there.

One is the book you bought; the other resembles the scene in The Matrix where Neo becomes The One and sees everything in zeros and ones.  It takes you a moment to realize, but this second book is a blueprint, the structural engineering of what makes the first book great.

The two books merge into one. And suddenly, you know everything.

You know that even if you take the blue pill and don't pursue your dream of writing books, you'll be a master observer of proper storytelling, not the mindless reader-drone you once were.

And you know that if you take the red pill and embrace this story engineering to its fullest, you'll have the necessary tools to transform yourself from a frustrated hopeful into a successful, published author. 

 

Interesting to imagine, no?  

 

Fantastic transformations will occur when you study story engineering.  Whether it's Larry's book or somewhere else (though it's tough to find this clearly somewhere else), it'll change your writing experience forever. 

 

I know, because I used to read books and see weird spacing between paragraphs and think they were … wait for it … just weird spacing between paragraphs.

 

Even after reading six or seven how-to-write books, I'm embarassed to admit my mind just didn't click that these were official markings of scene changes.  I knew the author had switched focus, but I had no idea of the structural significance of it.

 

Think about it; have you ever counted these scene changes and comtemplated their number, lengths, and overall effect on pacing, character development, and story? I never had until I participated in Larry's book deconstructions. I used to read just for fun.

 

Where I once saw interesting developments inside stories, I now see purposeful hooks, plot points, pinch points, and character and story arcs. Who knew each had a name?

 

Where I once saw random coincidences that reminded me of something I'd read earlier in a story, I now see skillful foreshadowing and revelation. 

 

Where I once thought how lucky an author was to have the ability to pull everything together, I now know luck was nowhere in the storytelling equation. Skilled, thoroughly crafted story planning was. And now I realize, planning isn't the real issue (though I'm with Larry on that issue… highly recommended), knowing is, and that if a pantser knows, they too can make it work.  

 

And where I once bought books to enjoy, I now buy books to enjoy on one hand, and learn from as a student of storytelling technique on the other. I love two-for-one steals.

 

I could mention a dozen more specifics as to how Story Engineering has heightened my understanding of storytelling, but I'll summarize my amazing journey with a quote from The Matrix …

 

 "I know Kung Fu!"

***

Writing a memoir?  Writers Digest is offering an online workshop on how its done.  I've taken several of these, and they put out a great experience.  Click HERE to learn more.

A Guest Post About the Discovery of Story Structure, and The Matrix is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

"The Help" – A Closer Look at the First Plot Point

There are a million heroic stories that unfolded – true and fictional – in the era during which racism in America was exposed, called out, reviled, and when forces began to align to fight it and create a level and more moral playing field. 

"The Help" is just one of them.  Which happened to become an iconic #1 bestseller that will go down alongside To Kill a Mockingbird as a literary touchstone on those issues.  As for the forthcoming movie (August)… hard to say.  The trailer looks a bit light, in my view, but I'm hopeful.  (The "movie-tie-in" paperback comes out June 28.)

In an earlier post in this series, tucked amidst a list of major story milestones and parts, we identified its First Plot Point. 

You might want to reference that post if you're new here, because the First Plot Point (which I believe is the most important moment in any story) always unfolds in context to the milestones, as well as the parts (blocks of exposition via scenes) separated by them.

In fact, it defines them, as well as igniting them.  All of them. 

Sometimes retroactively (which is why we need to know what a first Plot Point  looks like before we can effectively write the scenes leading up to it)…

… sometimes preliminarily (because everything that happens after it is because of it).

Kathryn Stockett's novel "The Help" is a great example of this playing out before our eyes. 

The First Plot Point happens on Page 104 of the paperback edition, when, after 103 pages of setting up characters… creating a world and a culture and the expectations and restrictions within them…foreshadowing… introducing a sub-text of unrest and tension… and calling the reader to a level of emotional involvement…

… when all of those things are in place…

… on Page 104 Miss Skeeter realizes she needs to write a book about it all.  One that interviews the black maids of 1962 Jackson, Mississippi and blows the lid off the façade of Americana to expose the inherent, heinous racism that defined the town and the people who lived there.

Prior to that moment the story was all characterization and, in effect, journalism. 

But Miss Skeeters's book changes everything, at least in a story-sensibility.

It creates danger and tension.  It creates a journey for everyone involved in the project.  It establishes a clear line in the sand, on one side of which are Miss Skeeter and the maids, and on the other side are the villains, led by the going-straight-to-hell-someday Miss Hilly.

Such a moment occurs, in some form (indeed, among a massive breadth of possible forms) in every successful novel or film.

A review of First Plot Point mission and criteria:

The First Plot Point is a new expositional element injected into a novel or movie, usually at about the 20 to 25 percent mark.  It takes the story to another level, often in a new direction with a twist or an unexpected turn. 

Somebody dies.  Somebody wins the lottery.  Somebody is fired or jilted.  War is declared.  The storm hits.  The ship sinks.  Hope is dashed.  Dreams die.  Lives are changed. 

Or not.

Sometimes the First Plot Point arrives with a whisper.  Just a subtle and shaded nuance, albeit one that changes everything that follows.

"The Help" is of the latter flavor of FPP.  Easy to miss if you aren't aware of the nature and purpose of the FPP – in other words, if you're a reader and not an author yourself.  Nobody dies.  Nobody kidnaps anybody.  Nobody is in any danger… yet.

But it changes everything for everybody.  It lights a fuse.  And this story is about the bomb at the other end of it.

The First Plot Point is not to be confused with an inciting incident… though it can be one.  Often there is an important preliminary inciting incident(s) that create(s) tension and launch(es) a certain level of dramatic tension and a path for the protagonist… but if it happens too early you can bet it's not really the first plot point after all.  Because something new lies in wait at the 20 to 25 percent neighborhood, and if a previous inciting incident changed everything for the hero, the true First Plot Point will do it again, and in a way that defines the remainder of the story.

Once you know what it is, and if you look closely, it's always there. 

There are exceptions out there (aren't there always?), but take careful note: they're pretty much all unpublished.

Rent a DVD tonight.  You'll see it happen.  Start clocking the film, and then somewhere between 18 and 26 minutes or so, the story will shift.  Change.  Twist.  Turn into something that has only been hinted at (foreshadowed) or promised prior to that moment.  It might be huge, like the Titanic hitting that iceberg, or it might just be a subtle shade of doubt on a new bride's face (which was the FPP in the movie 500 Days of Summer). 

Either way, everything that follows will be defined by that moment.

The primary thrust and mission of the First Plot Point is to launch the hero's story-specific quest or journey (sometimes an internal one), create a need or goal, or pose a problem, install stakes for it all, and expose an antagonistic force that creates obstacles the hero must overcome in order to complete the quest, solve the problem, achieve the goal, beat the bad guy, avoid bad things and/or allow good things to happen.

That's always the case.  If you doubt it or don't believe it, you will struggle as a writer. 

If you get it, if you master it, you will immediately be in the game.

I'm not saying you have to call it a first plot point… but you absolutely must engineer your story so that it has one, and in the right place for the right reasons.  It's as fundamental to long-form storytelling (novels and screenplays) as a hoop is to basketball and the net is to tennis.

Or antibiotics are to medicine.

The analogies are endless, and poignant.  The best way to wrap your head around this principle is to begin to see it executed in the books you read and the movies you watch.

None of which do it better, or more clearly, than "The Help."

The instant Miss Skeeter realizes she will – that she must – write her book about the maids of Jackson, everything about this novel changes.

The acknowledgement of the moral compass that drives her decision to write the book suddenly informs all of her relationships.  To her mother, to her social group, to the maids, to her career plans, and to the prospect of a new romance.  Even to the memory of her beloved childhood family maid, Constantine (which becomes a sub-plot in this story, one that links tightly to the theme). 

These relationships are all different now, because all of these people in her life have a stance on this issue.  And in Miss Skeeter's mind, that stance defines them.

The maids, especially Aibileen and Minny, experience a shift in their world view.  They evolve from fear and safety to courage and purpose.  They suddenly have a ray of hope, never overstated in terms of changing the world, but on a higher level worthy – worth dying for, in fact – because it will expose the truth.

This opens the thematic can of worms that this novel represents.  What is worth risking your job, your safety, even your life, to expose, champion and speak for?  And does your answer to that question define you?

An immediate and multi-layered dramatic arc materializes the moment Miss Skeeter launches, in her own head, the intention to write that book. 

The stakes become relevant the moment the First Plot Point surfaces. 

Little Mae Mobley will grow up without love if Aibileen goes away, which she will if she's exposed as part of Miss Skeeter's project.  Minny will continue to hide and face inevitable wrath from Miss Hilly if she's exposed before she can shove her leveraged revenge in the woman's face.

And man, do we ever root for that. 

Notice how the roles of every character are defined by their contextual relationship to this central plot element – the book Miss Skeeter is writing.   Everything about these characters appears in this story for one purpose: to enrich the thematic context of the primary thrust of the narrative tension: the book.

The novel is about the book, in a dramatic sense. 

And the First Plot Point is the moment at which the book appears in the story.  It changes everything.  It creates context for everything.  It defines purpose, risk, and points everything and everybody in a new or shifted direction.

As it always does.

If you doubt the power of the FPP in this story, even when rendered as subtly as it is, ask yourself how this story would change if…

… you didn't have the level of emotional investment in Aibileen, Minny and Miss Skeeter before that FPP moment arrives.  Manifesting that investment is the primary purpose of a story's Part 1 (putting all the elements in place before lighting them on fire, or if they're by necessity already on fire, then before blowing them up).

And if you wait to long to show it, the story will lag and die before the reader gets there.  Timing is everything in dramatic narrative.  Without, the drama goes away.

Stay tuned for more posts in this deconstruction series about "The Help."

Meanwhile, if you want more basics on story architecture, my book, "Story Engineering: Mastering the Six Core Competencies of Successful Writing" is available.   In fact, Amazon is practically giving it away ($2.99) as a Kindle edition.

 

"The Help" – A Closer Look at the First Plot Point is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

"The Help" – Ripping Into The Opening Act

Part of a continuing series that deconstructs the mega-bestseller for the benefit of writers seeking to understand story structure and the dynamics of the six core competencies of successful storytelling.

In the last post we looked at the entirety of the structure of this novel, as divided into four contextually-driven parts, separated by three major milestones, and rendered powerful by virtue of a killer hook and brilliant execution.

All of it a textbook-perfect example of effective story architecture. 

In this post we'll look at the first of those four parts, which comprise the Part 1 "set-up" (equivalent to Act I in a film) that leads us to the First Plot Point, which – by definition – is where the story really kicks into gear.

The most critical thing writers need to understand about Part 1 – any Part 1, including yours – is that its highest calling is to introduce and set-up the story elements in such a way that when the First Plot Point arrives, it is backed and reinforced by stakes, emotional empathy, the shadow of an emerging antagonistic force, and foreshadowing of other elements that await down the road.

Timing and exposition here in Part 1 is everything.  Get too eager and you'll be serving up the main dish before the silverware shows up. 

Certainly, some seriously dramatic stuff can happen in getting there. 

Or not. 

In "The Help," the latter is a more apt description of how Kathryn Stockett sets up this story (the First Plot Point appears on Page 104,  right at the 20 percent mark).  It's all character introduction and backstory that drops us into the lives of three narrators.   

The mission of these scenes is clear: make us feel like we're there, and that we see dynamics that the characters cannot.  They feel them — and you can certainly make that feeling visceral — but for them it isn't a story yet, it's just their life.

The story is out to change their lives.  But we need to ease into it strategically, because we also know that what has to change, and why, is where the juice comes from.

The story best happens when the First Plot Point changes everything.  Before then, the story was just coming.

The First Act of this novel spans six chapters with 43 scenes.  

Each scene is separated by white space, and represents a change of setting, time or focus.  For example, the author will break away from a scene to show us a quick flashback from a character's childhood or home life – then back into a new scene.  Many of these are short, less than a page, while primary exposition scenes go as long as 20 pages or so.

This demonstrates mission-driven scene writing at its finest, which I believe is one of the most powerful principles in storytelling. 

The author also chose to write this book in present tense, which is always a risky call.  If you're considering it, I suggest you use this novel as a model on how to pull off such a complex and potentially toxic voice with seemingly the greatest of ease.   Just remember it's like experimental surgery… more patients die than live to tell the tale.  In this case, the patient went on to be rich and famous… it can happen.

You'll first notice this mission-driven technique early in the first chapter, at the bottom of page 2, when the narrator (Aibileen) cuts away from talking about the child she's caring for to tell us about her own child (a scene which, by the way, reverts back to past tense, which is why this is so hard to make work… next thing you know you'll need a scene in future tense and that'll cause all the clocks in all the bookstores on the planet to run backwards).  Both scenes have a characterization goal of showing us this woman's heart and her passion for the children in her care – important because it moves us to like and root for her going forward – but also an expositional-mission by setting-up the contextual factors that will come into play once this story really launches.

Could she have lumped them together?  Perhaps.  But that probably wouldn't have been effective (if nothing else for the mixing of tenses alone), or clear.  Mission-driven scenes go straight at one thing and one thing only, using the rest as context and sparse filler.

The First Plot Point arrives on Page 104, when Miss Skeeter realizes that she will write the book that will change the lives of all the players in this story.  Prior to that point… just a silly and dangerous idea.  One that nobody seems to like.

It is when a notion being pondered and explored turns into a plan and a commitment that a set-up evolves into a story.

Read Part 1 again.

Notice how everything – all six chapters, all 43 scenes – are contributing toward that First Plot Point moment.  Revealing backstory.  Giving it stakes.  Infusing it with tension and fear and anticipation.  How those 104 pages invest the reader in this moment as much as they set-up, in a mechanical sense, the participation of the players.

The average reader experiences this but probably doesn't realize what's going on at this structural level.  A writer, however, should strive to notice and then know it, because it is precisely what should happen in any effective story.

Notice also that the author delivers clean narrative POV symmetry in the first six chapters of her Part 1.  She has three narrators, each of which must be introduced and given their turn at the microphone.

There are two chapters for each of them.   Because all three points of view are critical to the set-up.  Each has her own sub-plot and sub-text unique unto themselves.

The story would not be as effective had we not come to know each of them, love them, empathize with them, root for them, feel their oppression and need, recognize the social pressures in play, sense the palpable fear of defying those pressures, and then anticipating that something is going to upset this apple cart.

That pretty much summarizes all that Part 1 – any Part 1 – sets out to accomplish, and in this case does with stellar effectiveness. 

By the time Miss Skeeter confesses that the idea for her book is not going away, when she realizes that it is bigger than she is (which, again, is the First Plot Point), we know this is the path the story will take.  Because inherent to that path is the conflict, dramatic tension, character arc and thematic power that resides at the heart of any good story, and makes this one a home run on every level.

If this isn't clear, I recommend that you read the set-up again, and look for these mission-critical narrative outcomes.  It's all set-up, all of it manipulation of the reader's emotional investment in the characters and their feelings about the thematic issues at hand.

Let's review how the chapters contribute toward this mission.

In Chapter 1 we meet Aibileen. 

We see her heart as she truly loves the child in her care.  How she out-mothers the mother.  We meet her employer and feel the chill of the empty and shallow place in her soul.  We are immersed in the culture that defines the dynamics of these relationships. 

We also meet the story's narrative hero, Miss Skeeter, through Aibileen's eyes.  The primary plot device – telling the collective story of the maids in Jackson – is foreshadowed at that moment.  But there is already dramatic tension at work: Aibileen isn't too keen on being the voice that exposes the racism of the day.  She has a job, a family to care for, and a little white girl that needs her.

Aibileen is brought to life, and her life matters.  At the end of the chapter we learn that her employer is building a "colored bathroom" in the garage for her use, after which she will no longer be allowed to use the "family" faciities.

Chances are you felt your face flushing with outrage as you read that one. 

We are hooked.  The thematic gauntlet has been thrown down.  And a character we already root for is, we know, squarely in the crosshairs of a coming showdown. 

All of this in 13 pages.

Chapter Two…

… still told from Aibileen's POV, shows us more of this life while introducing us to her friend, Minny (also a maid, and soon to be a narrator herself in this story), and to the villain, Miss Hilly, who arrogantly represents the voice and ignorance of the culture's racial prejudice.

Chapter Three…

… switches to Minny, who has a different set of problems and stakes.  Miss Hilly is falsely accusing her of stealing silverware, the backstory of which tells us pretty much all we need to know about the nature of the antagonistic pressure in this story and the stakes they create for the heroes.

In Chapter Four we go deeper…

…  into Minny's world and point of view, including Aibileen's revelation that the white lady Miss Skeeter might want to write about how they're being treated by their employers.  At this point participating in such an expose would be unthinkable, thus creating and foreshadowing part of the story's conflict and resistance going forward.

Chapter Five introduces Miss Skeeter herself…

… who is the primary catalyst of the story and thus, by definition, its primary hero.  We look at her life as a well-off white girl cared for by a loving and well-loved black maid, Constantine, who we learn had mysteriously disappeared.

In this and in Chapter Six…

… we learn about Miss Hilly's intention to set Miss Skeeter up with her husband's stuffy cousin, as it's high time a nice girl settle down to make a home for a proper southern gentleman.   Meanwhile Skeeter has a different vision for her life – she wants to be a writer (which is a primary motivator for everything that happens – when personal motivation collides with conscience and outrage, stuff happens).

The Author's Narrative Strategy

In looking at the goals and missions of the scene in an effective Part 1, they can seem distant from the story itself.  They are outcomes, rather than narrative techniques.  They require a narrative strategy to be effective.

Stockett pops us in and out of moments and flashbacks just long enough to get a taste for the social dynamics at hand, and moreover, to feel the sub-text of prejudice, danger and injustice.  Some scenes play like little stories, complete with mirco-stakes and outcomes, others just offer a day-in-the-life that allows us to understand what and why those characters are feeling in the current spine of the story. 

Most importantly… this stuff can all be planned ahead of time.  It can be planned in terms of a sequence of missions that need to be accomplished for the story to drive forward, and it can be planned in terms of how to populate those missions with characters, action, dialogue and something at stake in the form of a micro-story.

But it doesn't have to be planned.  It can be pounded on and edited until the right combination of anecdotes, flashbacks and real-time moments achieve just the right pacing and level of exposition.  Not sure which approach Ms. Stockett used here (she declined my invitation to contribute to this series), but it doesn't matter – however you get there is a good thing.

But allow me to repeat, it can all be planned before you write a word.

These six chapters also effectively set up several sub-plots…

… that become influencing factors to the primary plotline.  Aibileen's relationship to little Mae Mobley, the daughter of her clueless employer, creates stakes in the face of her rocking any racial boats.  Minny's new employer is up to something odd, and is hiding a secret that will become the primary McGuffin later on in the story.  And Miss Skeeter juggles an awkward budding romance with the pursuit of a writing career, which includes a book deal from Random House if, and only if, she will send them something worth reading.

It is that last part, in context to Skeeter's goals at that point in her life, that create the spine of this story.  A book exposing the lives and employment dynamics of the black maids of 1962 Jackson, Mississippi would be a social time bomb, and if Kathryn can get the maids to help her at the risk of their jobs and even their personal safety, she will have precisely that on her hands.

When you read Part 1, notice how little airtime the book itself receives.  It's barely there at all, and when it is, its foreshadowing.  Why?  And yet the book is the sub-text all along, it is always there, waiting to emerge as the story's driving force and most critical mechanical element.

When you notice this – that it's not there until Page 104 – you'll then appreciate what you are noticing on the page: scenes that are fully dedicated to setting-up the First Plot Point moment and rendering it powerful and richly layered.

Nothing happens, nothing is resolved.   Rather, elements are launched, factors and dynamics are put into play.  It's all just set-up.

The Timing of the First Plot Point (on Page 104)

When you realize the sheer narrative bulk necessary to build these contextual elements with emotional resonance, it becomes clear why the First Plot Point can't come any earlier than it does.  Short-cutting the optimal insertion point would compromise the weight of the very things that make it work.

If Skeeter had launched her book with the maids as, say, the hook (at about page 25 or so), the underlying stakes and personal demons attached to the decision wouldn't have stood a chance to make an impact.  And their impact is everything in this story.

Test this in other stories you are reading, and in the movies you see.  You'll find this paradigm to be consistent and almost universally inflexible. 

And now, after seeing it called out an explained in "The Help,"  I'm hoping you'll see and understand why.

Amazon is practically giving it away: they've reduced the price of the Kindle version of my book, "Story Engineering: Mastering the Six Core Competencies of Successful Writing" – get ready for it – to just $2.99.

Six donuts, or the key to unlocking your writing dream.  I dunno.

Almost embarrassing.  Actually, the book was selected to be featured in Amazon's Kindle "Sunshine Days" Reading Promotion, as featured on their home page.  Or, you can go straight to the book's Kindle page HERE.

"The Help" – Ripping Into The Opening Act is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com

"The Help": Structure From 10,000 Feet

I'm a big fan of context.  It informs and empowers each moment of a story, and on several levels. 

It also informs life, but that's another series of posts.  Worth noting, however, how the principles that govern storytelling – structure, character, thematic weight, mission-driven exposition, even voice – are very much those that govern successful living, as well.

With storytelling, context is more than structural – it applies with equal power to all six core competencies – though this is indeed where we'll begin our deconstruction of Kathryn Stockett's bestseller, "The Help."

Because everything hangs on structure. 

Ms. Stockett may or may not have had any idea that her story aligned with anything at all in terms of structural principles.  Or she may be a raving story engineer, like me.

Doesn't matter.  The story works.  And these principles, planned or painfully extracted or intuitively graced or otherwise luckily in place, are always why.

Let the context-setting begin.  (All page numbers refer to the trade paperback edition of the novel; any percentages quoted apply to both the hardcover and the paperback.)

The Hook

The mission of a hook is to grab the reader early – very early – by establishing dramatic tension or posing a question (a can of worms) that compels further interest and promises a rewarding ride.  Sometimes it's huge, sometimes more subtle. 

In "The Help," the hook is directly theme-related and therefore somewhat subtle.  Either way, it announces that this story will push your buttons.  That this story is important.

As hooks go, pushing someone's buttons relative to world view and personal belief systems almost always throws open the door to a killer story.  John Irving did it in "The Cider House Rules," Dan Brown did it in "The DaVinci Code," and Kathryn Stockett has done it in "The Help."

Take note: all three were iconic #1 bestsellers.

In "The Help" the hook happens at the end of the first chapter, which is a great place for a hook in any story.  In case you missed it, it happens again at the end of the second chapter, bookending the first hook.

It's on Page 13, in the final sentence.  Notice that we've had an entire chapter of setting up the emotional resonance of this moment, including meeting a compelling narrator who we already care about, and a villain who we already dislike.  The hook is when the reader is clear that the pivotal issue of this story involves a bigoted young white woman in 1962 Jackson Mississippi who yields more to social pressure than her own social programming to announce that she intends to build a "colored bathroom" for her maid.

Because it just is no longer acceptable that the maid use the "white bathroom," which is the only bathroom in the house.

We're hooked.  On a macro-level because of the size of that universal can of worms.  And on a character-level because we learn this through the narrative point of view of a woman who has already shown us her humanity.

The mission of the first scene/chapter is to set this hook.

The First Plot Point

In looking at any First Plot Point, it's critical to remember that the moment has already been set-up in the previous chapters, or about 20 to 25 percent of the story's length.  It almost always changes the plot (in many cases it begins the plot), but more importantly it defines the forthcoming landscape of dramatic tension while defining stakes and a direction for the hero's resultant/responding quest, need or journey.

In "The Help," we have three almost-equal protagonists by the time we get to the First Plot Point.  When it hits, it changes the story for all three.

The First Plot Point in "The Help" occurs on page 104 (nearly the exact 20thpercentile of the story), at the end Chapter Six, as narrated by Miss Skeeter.  (This book presents an interesting dynamic: one hero is Miss Skeeter, but three heroic protagonists with almost equal weight in her, Aibeleen and Minny; but it is Skeeter's decisions and actions that provide the tension and momentum of the story.) 

By now the world view and pre-PP1 life of each character has been established (stakes), as have the issues and potential responses that will drive the story post PP1.  Only when something changes, when an opportunity is recognized or seized, or when the hero steps through a portal of no return, does the story change.

Which is the primary mission of the Plot Point One moment.  In "The Help," this is when Miss Skeeter realizes that she must and will write her book about the lives of the maids in Jackson, Mississippi.  Until that moment it has been nothing other than a vague notion, a scary idea, and a seemingly impossible dream.  As long as it remained in that space it wasn't dangerous.  The moment it became real, it became The Story. 

Nothing is the same for any of these characters once this fuse has been lit.  Classic PP1.

The story really begins here.  Everything prior to this moment has been a set-up for it, and for what happens after it.

The Mid-Point

Mission of the Mid-Point: to pull back the curtain of awareness for the hero, the reader, or both, with the insertion of new information that has already been in play as in influencing dynamic of the story, but is now exposed on one of those levels.  If the hero is party to this new awareness, it alters her/his experience going forward.

In "The Help," the Mid-Point occurs on page 248 (the 48th percentile), or in the pages just preceding it.  Once again context is critical to understanding how and why this new information changes and empowers the story. 

Until now the other maids (besides Aibileen and Minny) are in resistance to contributing to Skeeter's book.  At this point there are new stakes on the table: Medgar Evans has been murdered by local racial bigots, and Miss Hilly (who is among them in an oh-so-proper but nonetheless lethal way, at least in spirit) is closing in on Minny's secret (her employment with Miss Celia).

On page 248, the most resistant and vocal of the other maids, Yule May, quietly tells Aibileen that she wants in.  Which means they'll all want in, for reasons that are bigger than their fears.  That it is worth the risk. 

Miss Skeeter's book is now alive and dangerous… and inevitable.

The Second Plot Point

This occurs on page 398 (the 77th percentile), when the Big Secret is let out of the bag.  If you've read the book you know what it was: the nature of the pie Minny baked for Hilly, the pie that was as metaphoric as it was catalytic to the story.

That moment changes everything.  It jacks the stakes.  It accelerates pace and tension.  The end of the fuse is right around the corner.  The consequences take on new fear and danger.  The resolution, the inevitable, forces the characters to take action and face those consequences like never before.

And because we've been moved to care for them so much, the destiny of these characters is something we, the readers, find ourselves deeply invested in.

Which is why this story works so well. 

The Conclusion

Structurally speaking, the end of a book is a milestone that is defined by all that has conspired to bring it about.  And thus, it stands apart from generic criteria or standards other than the need to convey some level of closure, meaning and emotion.

The ending of "The Help" was always going to be a sticky wicket, as Ms. Sockett couldn't realistically show these women single-handedly solving global or even race issues and absolving prejudice in the South through their actions.  No, the ending always had to be personal, and perhaps, something that was the first of many quiet dominos toppling in what would end up being an important cultural shift.For us, as writers seeking to learn, the conclusion might be this: "The Help" is a great story, and for reasons that are now clearer than before.

If that hook wasn't as universal and personal – if it wasn't as weighty – it wouldn't have worked so well.  The hook becomes the theme itself.

If she hadn't seen and felt the fear and resistance of the maids, and thus the weight of the stakes, we wouldn't have cared about Miss Skeeter's decision – indeed, her need – to write this book for the right reasons.  If the FPP had come to0 early it would have compromised this essence, and had it come too late the story would have been marking time unnecessarily.

The FPP occurs at the 20th to 25th percentile for a reason.  We just saw it work in full glory in this book.

The Mid-Point is a tool that facilitates dramatic tension, without which the book doesn't work as well.  We needed to experience the resistance of the maids and Skeeter's quest to figure out if and how the expose might happen.  And then we needed to get on with it once it was determined that it was.  Inserting this shift in the middle of a story ensures a balanced flow of dramatic tension.

The story needed something mechanical, in addition to the thematic, to facilitate a big ending.  Something other than Skeeter's book actually selling and coming out, much to the humiliation of the white women of Jackson.  It needed to be more.  Readers (us, not the women of Jackson) needed the visceral satisfaction of seeing Miss Hilly get nailed to the wall.  That justice was facilitated by Plot Point Two, which, had it came later, would have compromise the anticipation of it, and had it came too soon, would linger in a false sense of lost pacing.

The timing of these milestones aren't arbitrary.  They are proven.  Like physics.  They are what they are.  

"The Help" allows us to see how and why they work.

Next up: Analyzing the Part 1 "set-up" of this story.

When we're done deconstructing all four parts, we'll look at how togethey they deliver on the essential Six Core Competencies of successful storytelling.

Click HERE if you'd like more grounding on the underlying principles of structure and core competencies being discussed in this analysis.

"The Help": Structure From 10,000 Feet is a post from: Larry Brooks at storyfix.com