First Pinch Point

In his book Story Engineering,  Larry Brooks offers six core competencies involved in writing an excellent novel. Competency Four, Structure, has four parts: The Set-up, The Response, The Attack, and the Resolution. Within these four parts are some major milestones. The milestones within the structure are: 

The opening scene or sequence of your story;

A hooking moment in the first twenty pages;

A setup inciting incident 

The First Plot Point, at approximately 20 to 25 percent through the story;

The First Pinch Point at about the three-eights mark, or precisely in the middle of part 2;

The context-shifting Midpoint, at precisely the middle of the story;

A Second Pinch Point, at about the five-eights mark, or in the middle of Part 3

The Second Plot Point, at about 75 percent through the story;

The final resolution scene or sequence

(This squeezy pinch is courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net)

Now that I've got the review out of the way, let's jump into the new stuff: The First Pinch Point. Brooks says, "After the First Plot Point, the obstacle to the hero's quest is always there. As the hero begins responding to his new quest, the antagonistic force tends to drop into the background. But soon or later the reader--if not the hero--needs to meet that antagonistic force again, to look in its eyes and understand what it wants and the power of that desire. That moment is called a pinch point."

Simply stated, it's a scene told from the POV of the antagonist, clearly showing what's he's up to, why he's against the hero, and just how utterly powerful the antagonist truly is. It's "an example, or a reminder, of the nature and implications of the antagonist force, that is not filtered by the hero's experience. The reader sees for herself in a direct form." If you're writing in first person and can't jump into the POV of the antagonist, then the hero needs a direct confrontation (in person, over the phone, via an intermediary henchmen, etc.) with the antagonist to show the reader what the antagonist is all about.

The Pinch Point can be simple, a quick peek, a brief scene. It can be one character reminding another character what's going on. It can be a kidnapper beating on his victim, or playing the victim's screams over the telephone for the hero to hear. Brooks says, in this case, simpler is better. Show how nasty the antagonist is, then move on.

The Pinch Point comes in the middle of Part 2, about three-eights of the way through the book. So, if you've got a 350-page novel, the First Pinch Point comes around page 131 or so. It doesn't have to be exactly on that page, but close to it. You might or might not need a scene to set up the Pinch Point--it's your choice. 

In The Da Vinci Code, "Langdon's search for answers finally leads him to the Knights Templar and their search for the Holy Grail. Which is precisely the heart and soul (an ironic way to put it, actually) of this story's antagonist force--the church's hiding of the nature and location of "the Holy Grail" and the willingness to kill to protect that secret." The assassin is the antagonistic force at this point. He's searching for the thing Langdon has already found, and will kill to get it back.

Just remember that the Plot Points shove the hero in a new direction. The Pinch Points show the antagonist doing everything in his power to get his own way, which is in direct opposition to the hero. 

I'll discuss Midpoint in my next post. Come on back, ya hear?

-Sonja

The First Plot Point Cont.

In his book Story Engineering,  Larry Brooks offers six core competencies involved in writing an excellent novel. Competency Four, Structure, has four parts: The Set-up, The Response, The Attack, and the Resolution. Within these four parts are some major milestones. This is all review, so look at previous posts if you're lost. The milestones within the structure are: 

• The opening scene or sequence of your story;
• A hooking moment in the first twenty pages;
• A setup inciting incident 
• The First Plot Point, at approximately 20 to 25 percent through the story;
• The First Pinch Point at about the three-eights mark, or precisely in the middle of part 2;
• The context-shifting Midpoint, at precisely the middle of the story;
• A Second Pinch Point, at about the five-eights mark, or in the middle of Part 3
• The Second Plot Point, at about 75 percent through the story;
• The final resolution scene or sequence

In my last post, I started digging into the First Plot Point (FPP). I'd like to expand more on those ideas today. The FPP is a major change in the hero's life that he MUST respond to. It could be huge, like hitting an iceberg or killing a man. It could be personal, like finding out his spouse is having an affair or a child dealing with drugs. It could be devastating, like a kidnapping. It could be subtle, like a lover's cold whisper. It doesn't have to be dark. Maybe your hero wins the lottery. Whatever it is, it will shove the hero into a quest, a need, that will have visible obstacles (antagonist) that seek the opposite outcome.

The FPP means the hero's life has completely altered, and won't go back to the way it was before. The problem must be addressed. Ignoring it will only make things worse. In The Da Vinci Code, the FPP comes when someone is trying to kill Robert Langdon before he can figure out the truth. Langdon can't ignore the assassin. I guess he could, but then his life would end and the story would be over... 

The FPP should come 20-25 percent of the way through your novel. So, if yo've got a 350 pager, the FPP should fall between pages 70 and 87. That's the sweet spot. Too early, and you might not have enough set-up to make the reader really sympathize with your hero. Too late, and your reader may be bored before they get to the good stuff.

Once you've written the FPP, you've left Part 1: The Set-up and moved into Part 2: The Response. This isn't the time for the hero to be heroic. It's time for him to react to this new, scary, life-altering event/news/information. He'll seek shelter, seek allies, seek answers to burning questions. The reader needs time to digest this new stuff, to understand and identify with the decisions and actions the hero makes in those first tension-filled moments after the earth-shattering FPP.

I love this example Brooks offers: "If the airplane the hero is in loses an engine and begins spiraling to the ground, he screams. Then he prays. Then he comforts the person next to him. What the hero doesn't do is rush the cockpit and take over. That comes later. For now, the hero is still very human. And his reactions need to be in context to that humanity. It's Part 2, and the mission here is to show the hero's response."

When I first started playing with this structure, it seemed that Part 2 was too long. It's supposed to be a quarter of the book? And it's all Response to the FPP? I thought I couldn't drag it out that long, that my reader would get bored waiting for me to get around to Part 3, The Attack (which sounds like the exciting part). I was wrong. This structure really does work. Brooks explains it this way: you've just finished your scene/scenes that lay down the FPP. Now you'll have a scene or two where your hero "regroups, retreats, or otherwise takes stock of his options... if you have a scene that sets up the Pinch Point [I'll explain that in the next post]... then the Pinch Point itself... then a scene or two responding to the Pinch Point... followed by a few scenes leading up to the Midpoint scene..." [also to be explained later]. You've just covered most of the scenes needed in Part 2. That leaves you a scene or two to deal with a subplot issue, or foreshadow something coming in Part 3, or use a scene to slow down the pacing and let the reader breathe for a minute. With this method, you'll never wonder, "What do I write next?" You'll have a logical sequence already mapped out.

For those pantsers out there who hate to outline, there's still plenty of freedom within this method for flavorful surprises to pop up and make you take notice. These creative gems that you love so much don't have to mean the downfall of your structure, nor does planning your story mean the end of these exquisite revelations. It just means you don't have to worry about fixing things when you take a rabbit trail in the wrong direction. If you decide to take the rabbit trail that jumped out and caught your attention, just make sure it ends up back where you need to be. You've got several extra scenes to play with in Part 2, so feel free to use them exploring your creativity regarding the mess your hero finds himself in. 

My next post will cover the First Pinch Point. You won't want to miss it!

-Sonja

The First Plot Point

In his book Story Engineering,  Larry Brooks offers six core competencies involved in writing an excellent novel. I've covered all six competencies in the past month or so, but I want to dig further in Structure, the fourth competency. I've mentioned it before, but I'm a structure junkie, and this is the part of the book I loved the most. For a quick review, the four parts of the structure are The Set-up, The Response, The Attack, and the Resolution. But within these four parts are some major milestones. I want to look in-depth at these pieces and pick them apart.

First let me identify the milestones. I'm copying this out of the book:

• The opening scene or sequence of your story;
• A hooking moment in the first twenty pages;
• A setup inciting incident (optional, as the inciting incident can be the First Plot Point)
• The First Plot Point, at approximately 20 to 25 percent through the story;
• The First Pinch Point at about the three-eights mark, or precisely in the middle of part 2;
• The context-shifting Midpoint, at precisely the middle of the story;
• A Second Pinch Point, at about 75 percent through the story;
• The final resolution scene or sequence

The first four bulleted milestones fall in Part 1. The First Plot Point falls at the end of Part 1 and leads directly into Part 2. The First Pinch Point fall in Part 2. The Midpoint falls right at the end of Part 2/beginning of Part 3. The Second Pinch Point falls in Part 3, and the last bulleted point is in Part 4. Looks a bit convoluted all typed out like this, but it's not too hard. I'm assuming you understand importance of the opening scenes and the hook (establish the hero in his normal life, identify the stakes, set the hook, and foreshadow the antagonistic force). The inciting incident is that moment when the hero's ordinary life takes a serious jolt. He hasn't had to make a decision yet--he's just been interrupted.

Then comes the First Plot Point (FPP), the most important part of the entire book. Without this FPP, there is no story. Here's Brooks' definition: "the moment when something enters the story in a manner that affects and alters the hero's status and plans and beliefs, forcing him to take action in response, and thus defining the contextual nature of the hero's experience from that point forward, now with tangible stakes and obvious opposition in place."  The hero will have to DO something. He has to react. (Did you just have that A-Ha Moment when you realize that Part 2 is called The Response because the hero has to respond to the FPP? Yeah!)

(This hero's choice does NOT constitute a First Plot Point. But she's brought to you courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net)

The FPP introduces a conflict into the hero's life that must be resolved, and there's opposition to whichever choice he makes. "The First Plot Point is the moment when everything changes. Even if there have already been changes before this point. Meaning imparts change because meaning drives motivation and connects to stakes. Meaning is why people will risk their lives, kill people, or run into a corner shrieking like a little girl. Without it, a plot twist is just a twist, not a plot point." When the hero's life, dreams, word view and inner demons are stirred with a pointy stick, suddenly it's all up for grabs.

There's so much more I want to say about this First Plot Point, so I'll cut off here at a decent length and continue the discussion next time. Any questions or comments so far?

-Sonja

A Writer's Voice

I'm still mining the book Story Engineering, by Larry Brooks for the good bits. He offers six core competencies of a great story. Today's blog post is brought to you by core competency six: Voice. Every writer has a voice. But is it good enough to get you published? I don't know. Let's see what Brooks has to say about it.

 (This voice courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net)

Brooks says the number one problem with voice is overwriting: too many adjectives and adverbs, not enough power verbs, and simply tries too hard. Trying to sound eloquent with fat sentences full of beauty and eloquence that just don't sound right. Trying to imitate your favorite author, but going too far. Brooks equates it to wearing a clown suit to the Oscars. He sums it up with this: "Less is more."

Once you've learned to pare down the prose and say exactly what you want to say, you're left with sentences that reveal you, the author. The way you string your words together, the similes and metaphors you choose, the attitude you convey, is all unique. That's your voice. It's what makes your writing sound like you and not some other writer. Even if you've unconsciously tried to imitate your favorite author, you will still read/sound like you. 

Brooks goes on to say that voice is the least challenging of the six core competencies. Why? Because it will flow naturally from the author once ego, fear, and/or overzealousness get out of the way. The key there is natural. Once your writing sounds natural, not contrived, then you've found your voice. Side note from me (though I am NOT an expert at any of this), your natural voice can sound different from piece to piece. For example, my writing voice in my fantasy novels is very different from my voice in my mystery/thriller novels. I'm the same author, but changing genres and POV makes them sound very different. That's not a bad thing--I've found my voice and I'm happy with it, and soon I will drag an agent and/or publisher to my way of thinking.

I've read lots of different books on developing voice, learning to edit and revise and polish, but here's the advice I found the most helpful (and I'm terribly sorry, but I can't remember who said it, so I can't give them credit): Find an author whose writing style you admire, then study it. Not just read, but study. Look at how they handle dialogue. Study the beats they use between dialogue. Diagram how they intersperse scenery or monologue or backstory into the current action. You will learn a ton by doing that. Take a few minutes to copy one of their pages--just type it onto your computer and pay attention to every word choice. After you've finished, bring up your work-in-progress and try to implement some of the things you've learned. You'll be surprised what you've picked up.

I've really gone off track, so let me get back to the book. Brooks offers this paradox: "It [voice] is at once the most likely of the elements that will bar you from the inner circle of the published, while being least among the criteria that allows you entry to it." What he means is that agents and publishers know within one page if your writing is professional enough to be published. They'll need a lot more than one page to see if you can create a great character, or pull off a great plot twist, or create a structurally sound story. But voice shows up immediately. "If it [the story] compels, if it flows or doesn't overwhelm, it passes muster as acceptable. And that's all that's required of voice."

"Writing voice must be... earned. Discovered. Grown into. It must evolve into a signature cadence and tonality, with colors and nuances that imbue it with subtle energy and a textured essence of depth and humanity. Effortlessly, Simply. Cleanly. Without the slightest hue of purple. It must become something that is completely and totally yours."

You only get that by practicing. So close down your Internet connection or your RSS reader or whatever you're reading this on, open your work-in-progress, and get to work. 

-Sonja

Executing Scenes

I'm sifting through the book Story Engineering, by Larry Brooks and giving you the best stuff. He offers six core competencies of a great story. I've already covered 1-4 (check past posts to catch up). The fifth core competency is scene execution. Brooks uses the analogy of building a house: the writer is the architect, and core competencies 1-4 are the blueprints. Competency 6 (writer voice) is like the paint color. But number five is the primary tool in your toolbox for building all that you've blueprinted. Scenes are what hammers your story home.

 (This construction photo brought to you by freedigitalphotos.net).

"A long-form story... is a sequence of separate, discreet, yet dramatically connected scenes," Brooks says. They are the building blocks of your story. Without scenes, you have no story. This may clue you in to the importance of scenes.

Scenes can come in tons of different shapes, sizes, and colors, but they all have a few things in common. First, each scene has a beginning, middle, and end. Something is at stake within each scene, and that must be dramatically portrayed for the reader. If you have stakes but no drama, you have bored readers. If you have drama but no stakes, you have a meaningless scene. That's not to say there can't be exposition and narration within a scene, and if you include these things, that doesn't necessary mean your scene is boring. If the stakes are high enough and the reveal information juicy enough, even exposition can be exciting.

Scenes can be any length, from one page to several chapters. Chapter breaks, by the way, don't necessarily fall where scene breaks do. In fact, most chapter breaks happen at the most exciting part of the scene to guarantee the reader doesn't stick a bookmark in and turn on the TV (but that's a discussion for another time).

Scenes have a simple function: deliver a piece of story information. "Every scene has a mission to accomplish," Brooks says. It is "to move the story forward... optimally, each scene should contain only one such piece of exposition. The mission of each scene is to deliver a single, salient, important piece of the story to the reader." I'll admit, I sometimes use my scenes for double-duty, which can be a good thing, if done correctly. If my scene can move the story forward, reveal more characterization, and possibly foreshadow coming events, I feel like I've created a fantastic scene.

If you struggle with knowing whether you've created a successful scene or not, chapter 44 of the book has a checklist for you to go through. It's a list of questions that, if you can answer them all based only on the information contained in your scene, you're successful. If you stumble on some of the questions, you've got more work to do. I won't list those questions here because it's entire too long, and if you need it that much, you should buy the book.

That's enough about scene for now. Questions? Comments? Hints you'd like to share?

-Sonja

Structure Part 4: The Resolution

I'm digging through the book Story Engineering, by Larry Brooks and giving you the important bits. He offers six core competencies of a great story. I'm still working on the fourth core competency, Structure. Structure has four parts. I've already covered the first three parts, so go back if you need a refresher. Today I'm looking at Part 4: The Resolution.

In Part 4, no new information enters the story. "Everything the hero needs to know, to work with, or to work alongside (such as another character or resource) needs to have already been put in play. Part 4 shows how the hero summons the courage and growth to come forward with a solution to the problem, to reach the goal, to overcome inner obstacles in order to save the day or even the world, to attain the fame and riches associated with victory, and to generally beat down and conquer the story's antagonistic force." It's the ending.

Here's the important bit about this part: "The hero needs to be the primary catalyst in the resolution of the story." The sidekick or love interest cannot take center stage here and solve the problem, then turn the hero and say, "thanks for the help." The hero has to be the hero. He can't be rescued, he's the rescuer. He can end up dead at the end, but he had to have a the major part in the resolution before he kicked the bucket. Self-sacrifice is the highest act of honor, so dead heroes aren't out of the question. (Although it plays havoc with sequels.)

The hero went from orphan to wanderer to warrior. At the end, he's the martyr. He doesn't HAVE to die (most of the time they don't), but he does what needs to be done to reach the goal. He's willing to die if that's what it takes.

(This is Robert Langdon, the hero of The Da Vinci Code movie.)

In The Da Vinci Code, "Langdon solves all the riddles that define this book with his brilliant powers of deduction. This is his heroism--he is the guy who solves the puzzle and uncovers the truth, and then steps into the role of advocate for and champion of that truth as the authorities close in."

Part 4 is takes up 25% of the book, or the last 75 pages. Again, that's not set in stone, but it's a guideline. If you take more than that, it's okay. If you take 100 or more, that's too many and your Second Plot Point fell at the wrong spot.

That concludes this brief outline of the four parts. There's a lot more detail in the book, and I'd love to dig into more of it, but first I want to get back to the six core competencies and finish outlining them. Then I'll come back and hit this structure thing harder, as it's my favorite part of the book and I'm a structure junkie. I've already discussed the first four competencies (Concept, Character, Theme, and Story Structure). Five and six are Scene Execution and Writing Voice. Come on back for this exciting stuff.

-Sonja

Outlining for Pantsers by Guest Blogger Cyndi Bishop

I am delighted to present a guest blogger today, my critique partner and friend Cyndi Bishop. First I'll introduce her, then you can read her wonderful words of wisdom. Here she is:

Here's her impressive bio:

Cyndi Bishop lives in the Seattle, WA, area with her husband and dog. She writes and maintains house full time, as well as crocheting, knitting, and watching enough movies to make her a walking IMDb. She has had several articles published by Focus on the Family, but her real focus is novels, especially in the genres of sci-fi, fantasy, and adventure. 

Here are Cyndi's thoughts on Outlining for Pantsers: 

Sonja has often referred to the difference between the writers who plan, outline, and develop the entire story before even starting word one versus the writers who simply sit down and start writing with little to no plan (referred to as ‘pantsers,’ from the phrase ‘by the seat of your pants’). While she is a planner, I am a pantser.

 

I used to be a die-hard pantser. My old writing process involved simply pushing characters forward (without any real direction) until I could come up with a direction to point them. This resulted in everything going in repetitive circles before finally reaching the end. The result was clunky and even annoying to read.

 

Still, I resisted the idea of outlining. See, there’s an aspect to being a pantser (pantsing? I don’t think so) that is as addictive as brownie sundaes. When I wrote, new ideas sprang to life from nowhere – and not just at the plot level, either. A particular line of dialogue would spark a new plot point or draw out a character trait that I’d never considered before. A seemingly meaningless detail I’d thrown in for flavor in one chapter would become a hinge point for a major scene later. I delighted in watching my story take on a life of its own.

 

Outlining, on the other hand, felt restrictive. Like I was telling the story where it had to go ahead of time with no freedom for these little details to take life and bring new direction. I hated it.

 

Until I needed it.

 

I was stuck near the end of my novel, going in circles. I finally opened a new document and scribbled down ideas until I came up with a rough map for how to get to the final climax from where I was. And voila! I was no longer stuck. 

I’m still not interested in heavily-detailed outlining. I frequently don’t even know character backstories when I start. But now I outline. It’s not formal. It resembles listening to a ten-year-old kid describing his favorite movie. And new ideas still come to life and blossom organically through the process. But as soon as the spark dies down, I have a structure to return to. I’m a pantser who no longer gets trapped in circles.

 

Whether you’re a planner or a pantser, a little flexibility along the spectrum can go a long way to improve your writing. Good luck!

 

-Cyndi

Structure Part 3: The Attack

I'm sifting through the book Story Engineering, by Larry Brooks and giving you the best stuff. He offers six core competencies of a great story. I'm still working on the fourth core competency, Structure. Structure has four parts. I've already covered Parts 1 and 2. Today I'm looking at Part 3: The Attack.

By this time, the hero has been stumbling around, running away, acting scared, clueless, trying to figure out what went wrong and how he'll fix it. He was responding. Now it's time for him to fix it. This is Part 3: The Attack. He's going to get proactive and courageous and ingenious. He's going to attack the problem before him. He's going to start addressing those inner demons that hold him back. He's going to need to change, deep in his core, if he's going to have a prayer at conquering his outer problems. In Part 3, our undaunted hero will find his courage, get creative, and move forward. 

This won't happen all on its own. He's going to need new information, new awareness, and that new stuff needs to come at the right time for our hero's evolution from wanderer to warrior. This element takes place at the Midpoint (halfway through the story, between Parts 2 and 3), and from then on, the story moves forward. "The Midpoint shakes things up, the plot thickens--the antagonistic force is moving forward, too--and what the hero thought would work isn't quite enough. He needs more. More courage. More creativity. A better plan."

That's what Part 3 is for.

(This warrior is brought to you by freedigitalphotos.net)

In The Da Vinci Code, Langdon discovers there is a "teacher" who can make things clear. "The retreat of Part 2 becomes the pursuit of this teacher, coincident with his continuing avoidance of the police. Langdon realizes (at the Midpoint) that the teacher is the means of understanding and ultimate salvation. After this Midpoint realization, he's no longer running or responding, he's attacking the problem."

The final piece of the puzzle arrives at the end of Part 3, the Second Plot Point (more on this later). Then everything changes again, and we're into Part 4, The Resolution. The Second Plot Point (SPP) falls 75% of the way through the book, so if your novel is 300 pages long, the SPP should fall around page 225. That's not set in stone, just a good guideline.

My next post is The Resolution, and you won't want to miss it. What good is a book without an ending, huh?

-Sonja

Structure Part 2: The Response

I'm picking through the book Story Engineering, by Larry Brooks and giving you the good stuff. He offers six core competencies of a great story. I'm still working on the fourth core competency, Structure. Structure has four parts. In my last post, I looked at Part One, Setup. Today I'm looking at Part 2, The Response.

Part 1 ended with the First Plot Point (FPP), that moment when the real destination of the story was revealed. It clearly defined who the hero was, what he wanted, what the stakes were, and identified the antagonistic force keeping the hero from achieving his mission. Now that the first part is over, the hero has a new set of goals: "survival, finding love, getting away from love gone bad, acquiring wealth, healing, attaining justice, stopping or catching the bad guys, preventing disaster, escaping danger, saving someone, saving the entire world, or anything else from the realm of human experience and dreams." It's a tall order, but someone's gotta do it.

(This hero image is courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net)

Whatever your hero needs, there will be someone or something opposing him. If you have no opposition, you have no story.

Part 2 is the hero's response to what happened in Part 1. He's not ready to attack the problem, he's merely reacting to it, through action, decision, or indecision. He's reacting to his new goals, new stakes, new obstacles that showed up at the FPP. "In Part 2, the hero is running, hiding, analyzing, observing, recalculating, planning, recruiting, or anything else required before moving forward. If you have your hero being too heroic here, being brilliant, already knocking heads with the bad guys (or some other dark force), it's too early."

In The Da Vinci Code (which I'll admit I didn't read, but I did watch the movie to see the four parts of story structure in action), Langdon spends all of Part 2 running from the cops who are chasing him. "It's all blind response," Brooks says, "without knowing who is after him or why, and therefore without a clue as to how he can turn the tables and begin to defend or attack, and expose the truth." That's what Part 3 is for.

"At the end of Part 2, just when the hero thinks he has it all figured out, when he has a plan, everything about Langdon's journey, and the reading experience, changes. This is the Midpoint of the story." (I'll cover that in a later post.) In this part, the hero is a wanderer, blinding staggering through oppositions and risks, not sure what to do next or where to go or who to speak with. He's not an orphan any longer. He now has a purpose, a quest, and an enemy.

Part 2 takes up about 100 pages of your story. The Midpoint occurs, yep, you guessed it, in the middle of your story. So if your novel is 300 pages long, the Midpoint should fall around page 150. It's okay to give and take, as the math's a bit forgiving, but that's a good general ballpark. Have I mixed enough metaphors?

The next post will cover Part 3: The Attack.

-Sonja

Structure Part 1: Setup

I'm knee deep in a discussion of the book Story Engineering, by Larry Brooks. He offers six core competencies of a great story. I'm still working on the fourth one, Structure. In my last post, I defined structure and offered the four parts. Today I want to look at the first part, Setup.

Part one makes up the first 20% of your story and has the crucial mission of setting everything up. There are several things it needs to accomplish. First, it needs to foreshadow the antagonist (or antagonist force, if it's not a single person). You don't SHOW your antagonist in this part, you just give a glimpse of him without explaining what he's up to. 

(This antagonistic force is brought to you courtesy of freedigitalphoto.net. Feel free to use her in your novel.)

Second, it needs to establish the stakes. You've got a sympathetic hero going about his (or her) daily life. Make the reader care about this hero, and they'll care what happens next. In the setup, the reader learns "what the hero has to lose, such as a family, a fortune, or some specific purpose in life." 

"Part 1 shouldn't fully explain the conflict in terms of how it affects the protagonist until near the end of the first part." You don't want to skimp on this set-up and jump too early into the main conflict. That's not to say there won't be conflict in the beginning. That'd be boring. "The more we empathize with what the hero has at stake--what he needs and wants in his life, and what trials and tribulations and opportunities he is facing before the arrival of the primary conflict--the more we care about him when all of that changes. The more the reader cares, the more effective the story will be."

The plot really gets moving at the end of Part 1. That's when the hero figures out what he's supposed to do to combat this foreshadowed protagonist. It's where meaning becomes clear to both the hero and the reader. That moment, at the end of Part 1, is called the First Plot Point (FPP). This is not the inciting incident, which hopefully occurred sometime before the FPP. The inciting incident is when something dramatic happens to the hero and incites what happens next.

Brooks offers an example from Thelma and Louise. Two women meet a guy in a bar. In the parking lot, he becomes aggressive. They shoot and kill him. It's not an accident, it's more anger-fueled self-defense. It incites a decision. They go back into the bar and argue about what they're going to do. Call the cops and give themselves in? Make a run for it? They need to make a decision.

The FPP in this movie is when they decide to run. The inciting incident led them to make a decision that would change their lives forever. They now have a new goal in life (outrun the police), it introduces the new obstacles in their way, and it defines the stakes of their journey.

"The purpose of Part 1 is to bring the character to that transition point through a series of scenes. Part 1 ends when the hero is made aware of the arrival of something new in his life, through decision, action, or off-stage news. It launches a new quest, a sudden need, a calling, a journey, which is soften something very scary or challenging. It is at this moment that something comes forward to create an obstacle. There is now something the hero needs to accomplish or achieve."

At the end of Part 1, the reader gets his first full view of the antagonist. That doesn't necessarily mean the hero or the reader fully understands the antagonist completely, but they definitely get a notion of what he or it is about. We understand what he wants and how he stands in direct opposition to the hero. That'd be conflict. 

Brooks likens the hero in Part 1 as an orphan, unsure of what will happen to him next. The reader will feel sympathy for him. "The quest you give the hero is what adopts him going forward. It gives him purpose and meaning, a life within the context of the story. An orphan has no mission, no need other than to survive the moment. His future is unknown, left to fate."

In a full-length 300-page novel, Part 1 should take up 50-100 pages. In The Da Vinci Code (which Brooks uses as an example through the entire book), Part 1 is a tense chase scene in the Louvre. The hero has no idea what's going on, who's chasing him or why, but he's running, right up the FPP. There's no meaning, just tension. It's all setup, dramatic tension, and uncertainty. 

Questions? Comments? Emotional responses from the pantsers who don't want anything to do with this?

The next post will be on Part 2: The Response. Same bat time, same bat channel. 

-Sonja

Story Structure

Story Engineering, by Larry Brooks, offers six core competencies of a great story. The fourth competency is structure. I'm not ashamed to admit I'm a structure junkie, and this was my favorite part of the book. It can be hazardous to the writing journey to focus only one of the six core competencies, so if you're struggling with structure, you might find this method liberating.

The author begins by saying that, "in today's commercial fiction market there are expectations and proven techniques that are accepted as fundamental principles, and if you want to publish your novel you will have to honor them." Even if you're a pantser (write by the seat of your pants with no outline) or a rebel (rules are for other people, not me), you still need to understand these structural expectations to get your writing noticed. 

The core of storytelling is conflict. If you have no conflict, you have no story. If you have no sympathetic character in that conflict, you have no story. If you have no structure for that sympathetic character in conflict, you still have no story. They work together. But HOW they work together is the fun part, and it can definitely be learned.

The beauty of structure is that you never have to ask yourself what happens next? If you've established your structure before you begin writing, you have a roadmap to follow. This is similar to an outline, but not quite the same thing. I'm an outliner, and the structure Brooks presents helped me modify my existing way of outlining to be more productive. But even if you're a pantser, there's still plenty of freedom in structuring without losing the creative energy you find in writing as you go. Beautiful works of architecture follow the basic structure of "a building" and still have plenty of art and creativity and function. So please don't dismiss structure without giving it a shot, first.

(This photo, a non-formulaic work of architectural design, is brought to you by freedigitalphotos.net)

I like Brooks's analogy. Human beings all have the same structure: two arms, two legs, head, torso, etc. But no two human beings are alike. Even twins have differences. So just because you use a structure for creating your novel doesn't mean it turn out generic, or formulaic, or boring. Now, with all that out of the way, let's look at the structure as Brooks defines it.

Story structure has four parts: Setup, Response, Attack, and Resolution.

Wasn't that easy? I'll work on explaining those four parts in the coming posts, so stay tuned! You don't want to miss this fun and exciting stuff.

-Sonja

Implementing Theme

Story Engineering, by Larry Brooks, offers six core competencies of a great story. In my last post, I started discussing theme. I'd like to finish it off now and move on. Like I've said before, theme is difficult for me to understand, so I'm going to rely heavily on Mr. Brooks and his ideas for implementing theme.

Mr. Brooks says something very comforting on the first page of this chapter: "If you have complete control over the character arc... theme can sometimes take care of itself. You don't have to have an agenda to speak to the truth of life, you simply need to explore and illuminate the experiences of your characters and the consequences of their choices."

You've got to be careful to not turn your novel into a soapbox or a sermon, though. Hitting theme TOO hard will turn away readers faster than a roach sandwich. Think of theme as a continuum, a scale from 0 to 10. A zero has absolutely no theme (like the TV show Seinfeld). A 10 is outright propaganda, like something from L. Ron Hubbard (he's selling you his worldview). Exploration of theme would fall in the mid-zone, and that's exactly where you want to be. 

By exploring your character's feelings and experiences through the novel, you build theme. "If your hero learns a lesson or two over the course of your story, it stands to reason that the reader has been exposed to that very same lesson." For example, your hero abuses alcohol because he was abused as a child by alcoholic parents. In the story, he's got goals: He Must Save The Day. In order to do so, he must conquer his alcohol abuse problem. By exploring that inner demon, by showing the reader how the hero tries and fails and tries and fails and finally conquers, you've woven a theme into your novel. (Side note: having your hero wake up one day and decide to join AA would not do it. There's got to be a great motivator, a natural choice, some emotional or physical impetus, a lesson learned the hard way, that drives your hero to seek help. Don't make it too easy to conquer that inner problem, or the story will fall flat.)

In summary, "Simply having the hero explore and experience an issue, and then conquer the inner forces that would otherwise defeat him, becomes the execution of theme." 

I think we can all do that.

-Sonja

Defining Theme

 Larry Brooks's book, Story Engineering, offers six core competencies of a great story. I've covered the first two (concept and character). In my last post, I said my next post was going to be more about character. I've changed my mind. I'm skipping the rest of the stuff Mr. Brooks said about character and moving straight into the third core competency, which is theme. 

(This is a theme park. Not the same thing as theme. And my friend took this photo, so I don't have to pay a royalty for using someone else's pic of Disneyland. Isn't technology fabulous?)

For me, theme is trickiest of the core competencies. I have a hard time defining it in my own words. I have a hard time figuring it out when someone else uses their own words to define it. Mr. Brooks says theme is "what the story means. How it relates to reality and life in general. What it says about life and the infinite roster of issues, facets, challenges, and experiences it presents... theme is the relevance of your story to life...Theme is what makes you think," he continues, "what makes you feel... what will make [readers] remember it and treasure it." 

Theme is what the reader takes from the story.

I've heard many writers say that they don't worry about incorporating theme into their stories. They write what they write, and at the end, theme emerges. I'll admit I've done that very thing, mainly because I had no clue HOW to create a theme on purpose. My beta readers said they loved the theme of my book... and I have no clue it got in there, because I didn't consciously put it there. It just appeared, as if by magic.

It's not magic. I think, at some subconscious level, I must understand theme enough to make it emerge from my stories. The hard part is figuring out how that happened so I can do it again, and even more importantly, teach other writers how to do it. That's the topic of my next post, because that's what the next chapter is about. So stay tuned for "implementing theme."

Questions? Comments?

-Sonja