Andromeda and More Stakes
Lots of writers have a problem figuring out what the actual stakes are (as opposed to the perceived stakes). Quick review: the actual stakes are what’s really at stake for the character; the perceived stakes are what the character currently thinks is at stake.
One reason for this is that “what the character and/or reader currently thinks is at stake” is generally, in fact, at stake. The peace of the Shire, and his own promise to Gandalf, are both things that matter to Frodo and that are “at stake” when he finally leaves to take the Ring to Rivendell; it’s just that in the grand scheme of things, there’s a lot more that is also at stake (like, the whole world), but that Frodo doesn’t know about yet.
In this example, the two stakes – the currently perceived stakes and the ultimate actual stakes – are on the same continuum. Saving The World and Saving The Shire are the same sort of action-adventure type goal; we’re not looking at Saving the Shire and then finding out that the actual stakes involve Getting the Girl. When the perceived and actual stakes are on the same continuum, it is a lot simpler for both reader and writer to follow the movement of the plot as the stakes rise and rise again, until the ultimate actual stakes are revealed.
If, however, the current/perceived stakes are one kind of thing and the ultimate/actual stakes are different, the writer has to be a lot clearer and more focused on the actual stakes a lot sooner, or the reader won’t follow the shift. If the reader has been cued to look for emotional stakes, like Getting the Girl, they may not recognize that the real stakes involve Catching the Murderer, and therefore they end up feeling unhappy and unsatisfied when the romantic plot they thought they were looking at seems to drop out of the book midway through.
Writers can have the same sort of problem. They’ve set up a lovely romantic situation, then realize their hero/heroine has no reason to be interested in the supposed love interest (or no obstacles whatever exist to their union), and they’re so busy looking at the non-romance plot that they don’t see that the real stakes involve temptation and the integrity of the main character. This is particularly common when a writer is facing an action-adventure situation in which the supposed protagonist “can’t do anything,” like the Andromeda-tied-to-the-rock incident people were discussing in the comments.
Andromeda is in peril of her life; that’s clearly a major thing that’s at stake for the character. But is it the most important thing that’s at stake for that character? If the writer is looking at a straight action-adventure story, maybe her life is the most important thing for Andromeda. It is, however, quite possible to imagine a story in which it isn’t – one where Andromeda is fighting an internal emotional battle or learning a personal lesson that is more important in some sense than getting killed by the dragon. Perhaps she has to be a volunteer in order for her sacrifice to save the kingdom, but she’s having trouble holding on to her willingness to die for others. Or perhaps she’s always been a spoiled, entitled brat and only realizes it when she’s hauled out and tied to the rock. I can picture a really moving story in which Andromeda is actually eaten by the dragon, but it’s still a triumph because she’s won her internal battle, even though no one else will ever know.
And then there’s the matter of timing: Andromeda tied helpless to the rock certainly looks like the climax of a story, but even in the original myth, it isn’t. The climax of the Andromeda story comes when her father tries to go back on his promise to marry her to the man who rescues her, and Perseus turns him and his court to stone with Medusa’s head; the climax of the Perseus story comes when he gets back home after his adventures, rescues his mother, and takes over the kingdom (or hands it off to someone else, depending on what version you have).
The writer who has a protagonist in a situation they can’t do anything about – tied to a rock waiting for rescue – may be looking at the beginning of a story, with the eventual actual stakes involving the consequences of the rescue. Those consequences can be action-adventure, raise-the-stakes consequences (Grendel’s mother is a bigger threat than Grendel, but she doesn’t show up until after Beowulf kills her son), or they can be on another continuum entirely (Andromeda dealing with the PTSD from being tied to the rock or survivor’s guilt from the court being turned to stone, or the difficulty of making her marriage to a stranger from a completely different culture work, or her personal development from the vain, shallow girl who was tied to the rock into, eventually, a woman of strength and wisdom). As long as the writer is only looking at Brave-Little-Tailor plots (because “dragon about to eat girl tied to rock” has action plot written all over it), he/she is unlikely to spot the potential Boy-Meets-Girl and Woman-Learns-Lesson possibilities, where “what’s at stake” is Andromeda’s marriage, her evolution into a better person, or her self-worth, all of which come after the rescue and all of which necessarily involve her “doing things.”
Strongly character-centered stories practically beg for the real stakes to be internal or emotional, even when they’re action-adventure stories on the surface. Unfortunately, action-adventure stakes are usually pretty clear and obviously important, and thus tend to have more mental weight for both writer and reader. This means that the writer has to either have a great intuitive sense of the internal/emotional stakes, or else pay more careful attention to figuring out what the internal/emotional stakes could be and whether they should be the ultimate/actual stakes for the main plot, or only a subplot. It also means that if the writer is going to start with something that looks like action-adventure (Andromeda tied to the rock), but intends the ultimate stakes to be on some other level, that writer needs to bring in hints and focus on the emotional/internal stuff very soon, as well as being very clear about both plot patterns. Because otherwise, the action-adventure that’s supposed to be a subplot can end up looking so important that it swamps the internal plot.
Next time, some thoughts on how one can keep things in balance and make it work.
