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My Philosophy
I aim to teach others how to write with intention and control. To me, this often means bringing things we notice from the subconscious experience of reading and writing into the conscious part of the mind, learning how they work, and mastering them, so that we can write our best stories.
When writing a story, selecting strong symbolism, motifs, and image systems can empower any narrative and bring themes home to the audience in a more tangible, even archetypal way. Yet for many authors, symbolism can be an afterthought (if it’s even a thought at all). And some instructors in the writing community actually caution against putting it in a story intentionally. But like with most writing elements, that’s usually only dangerous if you don’t know what you are doing.
As a "young" writer, I admit I was easily impressed when authors used symbols and motifs--that they put in that degree of thought into the concrete world of their stories. But a few years into my own journey, I realized as a writer, I had to pick content for the concrete world regardless, so rather than pick something random, why not take a second and pick something meaningful? Something symbolic? Next time you go to grab something random, consider if choosing something symbolic would be more impactful instead. (But always use good judgment—anything taken too far can become annoying.)
In many stories, what the protagonist wants and what the protagonist needs will be two different things.
In Soul, Joe wants to return to his body and pursue his jazz career so his life won't be meaningless. What he needs is to appreciate that the act of living itself gives life meaning.
In Zootopia, what Judy wants is to become a bunny cop to defy prejudice and make the world a better place. What she needs, is to confront the prejudice within herself to make the world a better place.
In The Hunger Games, Katniss is tempted by the want to win the Games by being a survivalist at any cost. What she needs is to hold onto the idea that you must be willing to sacrifice yourself--the only way to truly beat the Games, without being a piece in them.
Whether or not you realize it, your protagonist likely has a want vs. need struggle as well.
One problem, however, is that, like many writing concepts, the want vs. need concept can be difficult to "see" and grasp, at first.
This is in part because it can be explained from four different angles.
Today, I have gathered the four different angles into one article.
If you haven't fully nailed down the want vs. need concept, then I recommend you read through these approaches and find which one makes the most sense to you, and use that.
If you fully understand the want vs. need concept, then reading through the other angles may deepen your comprehension of it.
In any case, what I don'twant is for you to get confused because you don't get all the angles. In reality, you only need to understand one angle to utilize this. It's okay to ignore the rest.
Most of us have heard of the thematic statement--the argument or point the story is making about life. But every thematic statement has an opposing worldview. The anti-thematic statement. When we understand what the anti-thematic statement is and how it functions, we can craft better themes. Which means we can craft better plots. And craft better characters. Because all three interweave as the holy trinity of writing 😉.
What is the Anti-thematic Statement?
The thematic statement is the truth the story is arguing.
Disney's Frozen: We must be open to be loved authentically (that might mean we get hurt, but some love is worth the hurt).
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling: Love is the most powerful force in the world.
M. Night Shyamalan's Glass: We must believe we are extraordinary, so we can do the extraordinary.
(Yes, I'm using Glass. Yes, I know a lot of people don't like it because it broke plot rules, but that doesn't mean its thematic components don't work.)
But for every argument, there is an opposing argument. For every truth, there is a lie. This is the anti-thematic statement, which is a type of false thematic statement. (I like to use "anti-thematic statement" in this case, because we are talking about the direct opposite of the thematic statement, specifically.)
Here are the anti-thematic statements of the same stories.
Disney's Frozen: We must be closed off and isolated from others to be authentic and safe, otherwise there is hurt, including hurting loved ones.
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling: Hatred is the most powerful force in the world (alternatively, love is the weakest).
M. Night Shyamalan's Glass: You must believe you are ordinary, because you must only do the ordinary.
Every story makes a statement about life. The anti-thematic statement is the opposite of that.
Often we think of surprising audiences with large twists and turns, with thrilling midpoints or shocking losses, but bringing surprise into smaller story pieces, like interactions and beats, can sometimes be equally satisfying in their own way.
They also hook and reel in readers, which is always a plus.
In Story by Robert McKee, McKee talks about the importance of "the gap." The gap is that space between what the character expects to happen and what actually does happen. Sounds simple and obvious, right?
But many writers don't consider how to fully utilize this on the small scale. Every character wants something pretty much all of the time. They may be hungry, so they go to a drive-through, expecting to order. She may be going to a friend's house to tell them she just got engaged, expecting to share that excitement. He might be wanting to ace a test for college.
So everyone wants something, and most people will be taking some form of action to get it. As your character takes that action, think about what they expect, then consider how the result could be different. Maybe your character is trying to order at the drive-through, but no one is responding (a result different than expected), so then what do they do? They take an escalating action. Maybe they raise their voice at the microphone, once, then twice. Suddenly, someone comes on . . . who sounds like they are dying. Now the character needs to think about and take another action, which has another expectation, which could offer another gap.
But not all gaps need to be that drastic. Maybe your character shows up at her friend's house and rings the doorbell, expecting to be let in, like usual. But when her friend opens the door, she blocks the way, and it looks like she's been crying. Unexpected result. Or maybe your character shows up to the testing center, but as he sits down, realizes it's actually an open book test . . . and he didn't bring his.
For the last year or so, I've been revisiting Disney movies, including Frozen. Guess what? This sort of thing happens all the time.
Kristoff: [laughs] More like this way [makes her point higher] <--unexpected
[Characters walking through snowy setting]
Anna: I never knew winter could be so beautiful. <--unexpected
Unknown voice: Yeah, it really is beautiful, isn't it? <--unexpected
[Anna and Kristoff look around mildly confused]
[Unknown voice keeps talking and then walks behind Anna and Kristoff as a living snowman, Olaf] <--unexpected
[Anna sees him and kicks him. His head comes off and he's still talking happily.] <--unexpected
Kristoff: You're creepy.
[After tossing the head back and forth, Anna throws it at the snowman, who falls and then gets back up . . . with his head upside down] <--unexpected
Olaf: Wait, what am I looking at right now? Why are you hanging off the earth like a bat? <--unexpected, for Olaf
[After some talking, Anna gives Olaf a carrot nose . . . which she accidentally pushes in too far so it's out the back of his head] <--unexpected
Anna: Are you okay?
Olaf: Are you kidding me? I . . . am wonderful! I've always wanted a nose! It's so cute. It's like a little baby unicorn. <--unexpected
[Anna smashes the back of the carrot in, so his nose is way bigger] <--unexpected, for Olaf
Olaf: Oh. I love it even more! <--unexpected
Olaf: Alright, so let's start this thing over. Hi, everyone. I'm Olaf, and I like warm hugs! <--unexpected
Anna: [in recognition] Olaf? That's right! Olaf. <--unexpected, for Olaf
Olaf: And you are . . . ?
Anna: I'm Anna.
Olaf: And who's the funky looking donkey over there? <--unexpected
Anna: That's Sven.
Olaf: Uh-huh, and who's the reindeer? <--unexpected
Anna: . . . Sven. <--unexpected, for Olaf
Olaf: Oh, okay, make things easier for me. <--unexpected (in subtext)
[Sven tries to eat Olaf's carrot nose] <--unexpected, for Olaf
Olaf: Ah, look at him trying to kiss my nose! I like you too! <--unexpected
Anna: Olaf, did Elsa build you?
Olaf: Yeah, why?
[Kistoff takes off Olaf's arm and begins inspecting it] <--unexpected
Anna: Do you know where she is?
Olaf: Yeah, why? <--note that the repeating why here sort of plays with expectation in a way
Anna: Do you think you could show us the way?
Olaf: Yeah, why?
[Kristoff playing with Olaf's removed stick arm]
Kristoff: How does this work?
[Arm slaps him] <--unexpected
Olaf: Stop it, Sven! <--unexpected
Olaf: Trying to focus here. Yeah why? <--unexpected (the repeat, "yeah why," needs focus?)
Kristoff: I'll tell you why. We need Elsa to bring back summer. <--unexpected, for Olaf
Olaf: Summer? Oh, I don't know why, but I've always loved the idea of summer, and sun, and all things hot! <--unexpected
Kristoff: Really? I'm guessing you don't have much experience with heat. <--unexpected, for Olaf
Olaf: (cheerfully) Nope!
You'll notice in this scene that the gap isn't just about the viewpoint character. Every character wants something, even Sven, who wants a carrot (and he doesn't get the result he wants when Olaf reacts). There can also be a gap with the audience and what they expect. Often this is the same as the viewpoint character, but those two things can deviate.
Sure, sometimes the characters do get what they want or expect, and sometimes that's necessary for progression, but you'll notice scenes and interactions are much more interesting, even entertaining, if reality doesn't meet expectation most of the time. If you can turn and twist even beats, the audience will be surprised and thrilled on the small scale over and over again.
To do this, it's important to remember a few things:
- The unexpected result should usually be more powerful or different than expected.
- If it's less powerful than what is expected, it should quickly be followed up by something new and surprising.
- Often the unexpected leads to a form of escalation. Notice how even Olaf wanting introductions creates a sort of rising action, up until he confuses both of the guys as "Sven" and the real Sven tries to bite his nose. In other situations, a sense of risk might escalate, as the character takes more and more actions to try to get what she wants.
- If it doesn't lead to escalation, it should probably lead to the character having to take a different action.
When starting a scene, consider these questions to help you play with the gap:
- What do each of my characters want?
- What does my audience expect?
- What would surprise them?
- How could their reaction open another gap?
Also:
- Am I meeting expectations too much?
- If I am meeting expectations, do any of those instances need to be
cut? Are they necessary information for the audience? For example, if my
character knocks on the door of her friend's house expecting to be let
in, and she is, right away, is that interaction meaningful? Or can I
start the scene already in the house?
Like every rule, these guidelines can be dangerous if taken to an extreme or misunderstood, but used appropriately, and they can really bring more power, surprise, and entertainment to your scenes.
Today I want to talk about a topic that for much of my life I could care less about--no really, I could care less about motifs. From me, they always got the metaphorical shoulder shrug. Like, who cares when there are so many other more important things to focus on in writing?
Turns out (as what often happens) I didn't care about them because I didn't fully understand them.
I also feel that part of this stems from the fact that I don't think we do a very good job teaching theme in our society.
It was only when I started really understanding theme, that I started caring about motifs.
Because no one told me growing up (unless I was asleep during that class somehow) that motifs are used in conjunction with theme.
I was only ever told that a motif was a recurring . . . thing in a story. The "thing" can be an object, an action, a word or phrase, a concept, a sound, a color, a--I think you get why I use the word "thing." But let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Instead, let's first start with a topic we are all familiar with: symbolism.
What Symbolism Actually is
I sometimes dislike the word "symbolism" because I feel like it implies the need to "decode" something, as if it's a secret message that you can only get if you are smart or "in the know."
I won't say it's never such a thing, but I will say that often that is not the actual point of symbolism.
Mostly, at its heart, I feel that symbolism is a means to communicate something abstract in a more concrete way (which as writers, is something many of us will be all too familiar with). . . .
Save the Cat! is one of the most popular modern story structures, used by filmmakers and novelists alike. I admit, out of the most popular story structures, this approach has not been my favorite, even though it's very effective and very famous. But the more time goes on, the more I've come to appreciate it.
Like all the other story structures, I feel like Save the Cat! has both strengths and weaknesses. As I explain the structure, I'll also be sharing my opinions on any concepts I feel could be refined and improved upon. Who am I to think I can do this? Well, I certainly don't have the same credentials of the creator of it, Blake Snyder! But I can back up everything I say, and you'll have to decide for yourself what you think.
But this structure is a great one to learn, in part because it works for so many writers and in part because it includes elements that other structures do not. Also, I know I have friends and followers who have probably had years more experience with it than I have, so I'd like to invite anyone who can refine our understanding of this structure to leave comments, should they so desire.
Again, I'll be referring to Spider-verse--not because I'm obsessed
with it, but because I want to again show
how the same story actually fits multiple structures--not one, as
so many tend to believe. (If I had known I was going to do all this
story structure stuff, I probably would have picked a different story,
but hey, it won an Academy Award, so yeah!) There is also a bigger point all these structure posts are building up to, which will eventually be on my blog, once I get all the groundwork done. If you are sick of this example, feel free to skip the Spider-verse sections, as you can still get the definitions of the structure.
This structure was developed by a screenwriter, and the title comes from a screenwriting method, where you show the hero saving a cat to make them more likeable, although the method is never in the structure itself (I think it stuck, because that's the title of the book it comes from). The numbers next to the terms represent what scene that term takes place in. If you
are writing a novel, you often have more wiggle room. But I've left them
as a guideline.
Is Save the Cat! really the last story structure you'll ever need (as the book claims)? I question that sometimes. But I'll let you decide for yourself. For now, let's appreciate and dig into this wonderful thing Blake Snyder created and decided to share to help all of us writers.
Hi, September C. Fawkes here. Sometimes I scare people with my enthusiasm for writing.
I have worked in the fiction-writing industry for 15 years, editing for both award-winning and best-selling authors as well as beginning writers. I'm also penning a YA fantasy series. I'm here to guide you on your own literary adventure. Read about me.
Some may say I need to get a social life. It'd be easier if my fictional one wasn't so interesting.
