What Is Story?

by S.A. Spencer

Here is how Dwight V. Swain describes story in Techniques of the Selling Writer: story details how a character handles threats to his/her safety, either psychological or physical.

By the First Act, usually at the inciting event, first plot point, or trigger, “it begins when desire bumps into opposition, and your focal character commits himself to fight for what he wants.” (Swain)

This sets up the story question or story problem. For the more commercially minded writers, it’s the reason people will buy the book. For a literary approach, it’s the main question that the story answers, and is based on the hero’s goal. Here is an example; can Jude free the people of Heka from the evil ruler?

A meaningful story not only includes the story question, but also a relating theme, message, or overall idea: freedom, power, love. Theme focuses the story question and directs the lead’s actions. How would Jude behave given a theme “whoever has the most power wins” vs. “the meek shall inherit Heka”?

In the Second Act, conflict, suspense, and tension unfold in scene after scene. The hero pursues short-term goals through the main story conflict. He fights obstacles leading to setbacks, intensifying and reaching a point when he realizes his character flaw is the problem.

In Act Three, with renewed focus, he confronts the antagonist in the climax. K.M. Weiland writes in Structuring Your Novel Workbook, “It’s the moment when the two speeding trains driven by the protagonist and antagonist collide in a single, unforgettable scene.”

On to resolution. Swain writes, “Climax gives final, conclusive proof of what your focal character deserves. Resolution sets forth what he gets.”

What is your definition of a story?

Subplot Inception

This week neither Ashley nor Kathleen could remember whose turn it was to post. Thusly they have developed their new segment “Work it Out Commentary, with Ashley and Kathleen.” This week Ashley and Kathleen play with the idea of subplots.

 

You know something, Ashley? I friggin love subplots. They are like bacon on sandwiches to me. Sure, you can have too much, but honestly, the line between not enough and too much is pretty wide.

 

I do love me a good subplot. I just finished a re-read a Deathly Hallows and Rowling is a master of this. I really enjoyed her “hey look over here!” approach. Just when you get a piece of information relative to one of the subplots something happens in the main plot, or just in the scene and you completely forget to think through what you just learned. It really kept me from figuring things out too early.

The Gospel According to George Costanza

I recently made a discovery that has been devastating to my writing productivity; my local CBS affiliate airs back-to-back episodes of Seinfeld in the evening.

As if that weren’t bad enough, sometimes they even air it in multiple blocks. One night, they aired six episodes in a row. Six! Guess how much writing I got done that night?

But yet, if we pay close attention, I believe we writers can learn a great deal from Seinfeld. For starters, it was a brilliantly written show. Consider its structure: virtually every single episode weaves together four different plots, one for each of the main characters. True, sometimes each story is self-contained, but more often than not they come together in a big payoff moment (or several). Its characters are considered to be among the most memorable and beloved in television history. (Okay, maybe not beloved, but memorable for sure). Plus, the show is practically a how-to guide on writing quick, witty dialog.

Most impressive for me, though, is how mundane and commonplace the conflicts usually are. In fact, that was the whole charm of the show. It was a “show about nothing.” An entire episode where all they’re doing is waiting to be seated at a Chinese restaurant? Sure. How about aimlessly meandering around a parking lot searching for their car? Why not? The point is this: the subject matter of a story matters far, far less than the manner in which it’s handled. Compelling characters and skillful writing can make even the most trivial conflicts engaging. Conversely, lackluster characters and weak writing can render large-scale conflicts — even intergalactic warfare (Star Wars: The Phantom Menace) — boring. It’s all in the execution.

Last week, I watched one of my all-time favorite episodes (for the record, I have 180 all-time favorite episodes): “The Opposite.” After a day of self-reflection, George Costanza decides that every decision he’s ever made has been the wrong one. He vows, from that point forward, to take every instinct he has and do the exact opposite. If you haven’t seen it, I won’t spoil the fun for you. But it got me thinking. I’ve been in a bit of a rut with my writing lately. I’ve been outlining, brainstorming, drawing up character sheets, and yet, there are still some barriers I can’t seem to break through. So what if, just for a weekend, I took the complete opposite approach? Opened up a word processor and all-out pantsed my way through a few thousand words?

I gave it a try. And I ended up writing about 15,000 words total. Almost all of them are garbage, and I hit a roadblock that stopped me in my tracks. But during the speed-writing process, I was able to answer almost all the nagging questions from my outline. My characters are more fleshed out, and I have a better sense of what direction I want to take my story in. I even have — get this — an ending planned now! Imagine that.

This coming week, I plan on returning to my scene outlines, brainstorms, character interviews, and structuring. The plotter approach seems to be working for me, and I’ve been happy overall with the results. But I’ve learned that plotting and pantsing are not mutually exclusive. Combining the two approaches, and switching from one to the other when you’re stuck, can help you get past some of those pesky plotholes.

Or, to put it another way, this post has been a long-winded justification for how much time I’ve spent watching reruns of a twenty-year-old sitcom.

…I think I hear the bass riff now…

Giddyup,
C. Theuner

My Outlining Method, Part I: The Scene

by C. Theuner

The area I struggle with the most as a writer is story structure. I tend to do very little (if any) planning before jumping right into the first draft, since I’ve always preferred to just put my characters on paper and let them take the story away. It’s great fun for me, as I get to see these people I’ve created come to life before my eyes. Unfortunately, the result is usually a meandering story in which subplots spiral into irrelevant tangents, and I often write myself into corners which force me to either backtrack or abandon the project altogether.

So I’ve been experimenting with different outlining methods. I scoured every book Audible had on the subject (not many, though I highly recommend Story Structure: The Key to Successful Fiction by William Bernhardt). I read every article I could get my hands on. Some of my critique partners shared their methods (including fellow WIPer Pat). In my search for the perfect outlining method, I learned what should have been apparent from the start; there isn’t one. Outlining is as much a personal process as writing is, and consequently, no two authors work exactly the same. Some even manage just fine without outlining. As I know from experience, I do not fit into this category.

“A story to me means a plot where there is some surprise.”

by    D.M. Gutierrez

A story to me means a plot where there is some surprise. Because that is how life is–full of surprises.     —Isaac Bashevis Singer

Singer

Surprises! I love surprises!

I’ve decided that my love of surprises is why I am a pantser. What’s a pantser, you say? Well, it’s a writer who ‘flies by the seat of her pants,” in other words, NOT a plotter. I have nothing against plotting; I just can’t seem to do it. Even when I stand at my giant whiteboard and try to draw diagrams and flow charts and timelines, I end up throwing the dry erase marker back into the tray in disgust. I could not figure out why this kept happening.

But now I know.

I want SURPRISES!

Reading a book is fun for me because there are surprises behind every corner. Will the murderer turn out to be the movie star, the professor, the millionaire or his wife? Will the aliens who land on Earth be friendly or fry the ambassador to a crisp? Why does the dog tag that Australian Shepherd is wearing keep changing? Will that crazy kid Booker ever jump across that chasm? Just what surprise is next in store for me!

I like surprises (or figuring out the surprises) so much that I like to surprise myself with my own writing. Sure, Sylvellin Sending has an ending, but how are Syl and Frisal going to get there? Is she going to run afoul of some madman on the road? Be captured by rogue soldiers? Get locked in a burning barn? Will Herames lure Frisal far out onto a partially frozen lake? What about Wex? Is he going to be shot by a jealous husband? Or tracked down by a Swifter and turned over to the Prophetice? Will Hearst keep Dorcosta safe? Will J’uun run away to Laluna?

Who knows?!

I don’t.

It bubbles up while I’m writing. I think my brain must process things while I’m not paying any attention and then spits them out during a chat sprint or late at night (like right now) while I’m writing or rewriting. And then, later, I read what I wrote, and I think, “Wow, what a surprise!”

If I were a plotter, that wouldn’t happen, I don’t think. Outlines feel too constraining to me. But maybe I’m wrong?
If you are a pantser, why do you think you swing that way? If you’re a plotter, same question. I’ve written a bit on this before, but the subject never gets old, in my opinion.

 

 

So? Surprise me!