The Quinary Principles of Plot: Reveals & Twists

Reveals and twists are a great way to take a plot to the next level. Already, some of us are likely recalling specific books or movies that had jaw-dropping reveals or twists--the kind that stick with us for years, if not decades, after.

Over the last two months, I have been breaking down what a plot actually is and what it actually contains. . . .

In the primary principles, we covered goals, antagonists, conflicts, and consequences.

In the secondary principles, we covered progress, setbacks, costs, and turning points.

In the tertiary principles, we covered plans, gaps, and crises.

In the quaternary principles, we covered setups, payoffs, and connections.

And today we will be finishing up the series with two of my favorite things: reveals and twists.

Just as a warning, there will be spoilers from . . . Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Squid Game, and The Sixth Sense

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How Character Creates Context

I've been reading Dwight V. Swain's famous book, Techniques of the Selling Writer; published in 1965, it's kind of considered a classic in the writing world, and so far, I've been impressed with how his advice has held up. This book is most famous for Swain's approach to scene structure ("scene" and "sequel"--if you've heard of that) as well as what he calls motivation reaction units (or MRUs). But it covers plenty of other topics as well, one of which is context. 

Now, when I talk about context, I'm not talking about the year a story is written, who it is written by, or the climate of that time. Context in a story is all the information the audience needs to accurately interpret, understand, and assign value to, what is happening. It includes all the grounding and guiding information the audience may need, such as who the characters are or where it takes place, as well as any pertinent worldbuilding information, such as taboos of the time period or the rules of a magic system. This enables the audience to derive meaning from what is happening. 

When the audience lacks context, the story becomes very vague, which is a problem for several reasons. (See my post on vague vs. ambiguous for further reading.) If there is no context, there is almost no investment in the story, because the audience doesn't have access to the meaning of any of it. If they don't have access to any clear meaning, they are unable to care about what happens. Perhaps the only time where a lack of context works well is when writing teasers (which must always be short strictly because they lack context). An audience will not sit through a lack of context for very long.

Context will usually be supplied through the viewpoint character or narrator (and in most stories, these will be essentially the same, and usually be the protagonist). Whoever is telling the story, will convey the setup of a scene and slide in any important information--such as the laws of a dystopian society or why the Smith family who lives down the street matters. One thing newer writers need to be careful of, is to not make the context into subtext. Context = what the audience needs, to understand what is happening in the text itself. Subtext = additional information that is implied from the text. Context allows us to understand the text, which then allows us access to subtext.

In his book, Swain talks specifically about how character creates context, which is what I'd like to share with everyone today. 

As events unfold in a story, the reader needs to be able to assign value to whether what happened was good or bad. Say that a big rainstorm comes in the story, is that good or bad (or irrelevant)? What about a bombing raid? Good or bad?

As readers, we might bring some of our own experiences and opinions to the text, but in order to properly experience a story, we need to be able to assign value to events in the story. Some of that value will come from the potential consequences (stakes) of the event. But a lot of that value will come from the characters. 

If the character is suffering a drought, then a big rainstorm will be a blessing. If a character has her clothes hanging out to dry, then a big rainstorm will be a curse. 

"A thing matters only insofar as it relates to and affects and is judged by people. . . . We decide how significant a thing is by the way a particular somebody behaves when faced with a specific instance." - Dwight V. Swain. 

Without someone to orient us as to whether something is good or bad, we are just reading about events. 

Meaning and significance only take real effect when we know about the characters. As an audience, what we have to gain or lose from an event in a story, will be based on what the characters have to gain or lose and who we are rooting for. What the character wants (goal), what the character has to lose (stakes), and how the character feels about events (reaction) help readers assign meaning and interpretation to what happens (plot). Otherwise, it's just stuff happening. (And trust me, I've read passages of "just stuff happening" and it's not very interesting.)

Let's look at an example. Last week I saw the musical Annie. Early in the play, Annie tries and manages to escape from the orphanage . . .

Event: Sneaking out of the orphanage.

Protagonist: Annie

Goal: Escape the orphanage, so she can find her parents

Stakes: If she finds her parents, she can be part of a loving family. If she doesn't find her parents, she'll live the next several years as an orphan under the mean Miss Hannigan (and probably never have a loving family). 

Reaction: Glad (and optimistic) to have escaped and to be looking for her parents

The event itself, "sneaking out of the orphanage," could be interpreted as a good thing or a bad thing. But it's Annie who equips us to properly identify it as a good thing. 

Because Annie is who we care about, and (furthermore) because we know her goal and the stakes tied to it, we view the fact she sneaks out of the orphanage as something successful, as something good. Her reaction strengthens that. Running away from the orphanage is progress. 

However, in contrast, if Miss Hannigan was the focal character, then the same event would be interpreted as something bad. Miss Hannigan's goal is to keep Annie from leaving. If Annie leaves, Miss Hannigan could get in trouble with the law. Annie sneaking out is a setback.

This is all in general, of course, because like all writing things, there are exceptions. It is possible to deviate the audience's experience from the protagonist's experience. After all, in A Christmas Carol, the audience isn't meant to share Scrooge's views on Christmas in the beginning. The narrator, tone, promises made, and simply our own cultural understandings may provide a context that is the exact opposite of the protagonist's experience. However, one may argue, that in some sense, we are being provided more than one "context" or interpretation of events. Scrooge's and our own. 

Also, if you have multiple viewpoint characters throughout your story, it may be that the protagonist of the story, may not be the "protagonist" of a particular scene. You may have a viewpoint character who acts as the focal character for the scene. 

So this can all get pretty messy, pretty fast. 

But notice in these examples, the audience is essentially being given multiple interpretations of the story's events. This creates ambiguity. Ambiguity happens when something has multiple interpretations. Vagueness happens when something has no clear interpretation. Ambiguity is fine and is often a great tool to use. Vagueness is often problematic, as it makes the text inaccessible to the audience. 

So having multiple entities create context for the audience is okay.  Having no entity create clear context is problematic--because the audience can't care about what happens, if they can't interpret it.

As you work on your writing this week, maybe make sure your scene has these things: 

A clear focal character

with a goal

that has stakes.

An event related to that goal

and the focal character's reaction to that event.

This will help draw your audience in, because they'll have context, which allows them to make meaningful interpretations. 

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5 Tricks that Help with Hooks

If you have been writing very long, you've probably heard the term "hook"--those sentences or tidbits of information that "hook" the reader and "reel" them into the story. It's important to have a hook in the opening, and years ago, I even did a whole post on coming up with a good first sentence. But today, I want to move beyond just opening lines. Because, really, to keep a reader, you should have more than an opening hook. Ideally, you should have hooks at ends and through middles--whether it's a scene, chapter, or a short story. Here are five things I've learned that can help with hooks, based off my own experience and off helping other writers as an editor. (As with everything in writing, there are exceptions, but here ya go.)

 Look Forward, Not Back

A surprisingly common trait with new writers, is they start a story and then look backwards, sometimes going directly into a flashback or even a summary of what happened before. Looking backwards is often a problem for a few reasons but the main one is that it takes immediacy and tension out of a story--because what's already happened has happened, and it's in the past and can't be changed.

In contrast, looking and thinking forward in a story can create more tension because it hasn't happened yet. Tension is the anticipation of what might happen. Therefore, it pulls the readers in and along and as such relates to crafting hooks. Looking forward is a particularly good hook for ending scenes or chapters--to entice the reader to start the next one.

Often (not always) hooks work by giving the audience something to dread or hope for. That doesn't need to be directly stated, but it can be. It might be straightforward, or it might be implied.

Here are some examples of using this to end a scene or chapter. Keep in mind that the context of what came before lends power behind it (we don't care about what could happen until we know what is happening), so they may not sound as riveting as one-liners here, but they illustrate the point.

Direct:

To her dread, their alliance only made things worse.

Indirect:

Of course my odds have not been very dependable as of late.

Be More Specific, Not Vague

Tension and suspense comes from what could happen (which is looking forward), and thereby getting the audience to wonder and question the outcome. One way writers try to do this is by writing vaguely, which almost always has the opposite effect. They will think that by not telling what something is, what something can do, what could happen or could be, that they are getting the audience to wonder and question. But most of the time the opposite is true. If it's too vague, the audience has nothing concrete to grasp onto to wonder about. They can't anticipate because they don't know enough about what is going on.

Often the best hooks are more specific, not vague. Sure, they may not lay everything out on the page directly--I get that--but they at least suggest a possible outcome or problem, so that the audience has something, some line of thought or possibility to dread or hope for, for anticipation.

Sometimes I see this sort of problem happen when a POV character is unsure or indecisive about something, and then the writer tries to use that as a hook to get the reader to read on. It's okay to have your character be unsure or indecisive, but keep in mind that because there is no decision or knowledge, there is likely little anticipation. We can't predict what may happen, because we don't have a decision or the information to build off.

Instead, to write a great hook, you might want to have your character sound certain about something, even if the audience is not. In fact, sometimes it's even better that way, because that adds a new layer of tension--the audience is about to witness the character go confidently into uncertainty.

For hooks, it's better to have your character come to a wrong conclusion and look forward, then it is to have them be indecisive and therefore unable to look forward and create tension.

(Again, that's not to say you can't ever have indecisive characters, you can, but if you do, that means there needs to be something bigger and more prominent that is specific and decisive so you can build anticipation, and have their indecision make that bigger thing more dooming.)

I stood on the platform trying to decide whether to run for the water as Haymitch told me or take a chance and grab the bow and arrows near the cornucopia. 

vs.

There, resting on a mound of blanket rolls, is a silver sheath of arrows and a bow, already strung, waiting to engage. That's mine, I think. It's meant for me. I'm fast. . . . Haymitch has never seen me run.

The first example isn't wrong, but notice how having Katniss decisive over a wrong decision creates much greater anticipation.

Ambiguity > Vague

Related to the last section, but different. Ambiguity is not the same as vague. In ambiguity there is enough specificity, context, and knowledge that multiple outcomes fit the same setup. Vagueness is when there isn't enough specificity, context, or knowledge to confidently argue a specific outcome. I did a whole post on the difference and when to use each here, so I won't repeat all of it. Ambiguity works because it gives us enough to build off to anticipate outcomes. Readers read to find out which outcome takes place, not because they don't have enough info to predict any outcome.

In Catching Fire, the tributes hear twelve gongs in the arena. One character says, "Twelve, for midnight." Another says, "Or twelve districts." At that point in the story, the reader doesn't know which character (if either) is right, but each suggestion makes sense. The twelve gongs are ambiguous, and you have to keep reading to figure out which it is.

Use Promising Buzzwords

Tension isn't the only way a hook can work, but it's probably the most common, and you always need regular hooks of tension. But you can also add intrigue, or something intellectually stimulating, or make wonderful promises to the reader, or appeal to particular emotions more powerfully.

On a line-by-line basis (which is how hooks typically work), you can build or amplify those by using what I think of as "buzzwords." Sometimes what makes a good hook is the right word choice.

"Secret" is more powerful than "Unknown" for example. "Secret" has an extra buzz to it. We naturally want to know more.

If you think about what your audience picked up your book for, you can use related buzzwords to promise them that. If they picked up your book because it's about vampires, use that word in one of your early hooks. If they're hoping for romance, use words that appeal to a possible romance. If you are writing fantasy, use a hook that has words that foreshadow a sense of wonder.

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry.

Less is More

Stylistically, hooks are one or a few lines. Brevity often creates more of a punch. You want to leave the audience wanting more. After all, that's the whole point. You want the audience to continue anticipating, thinking, planning, and predicting, not necessarily the character. This means allowing the audience room to ponder and do some of the intellectual work on their own--don't do all the work for them on the page through the POV character. Leave enough room for subtext.

Does this sound contradictory when just a few paragraphs ago I talked about how you need to be specific and not vague?

You need to be more specific and less vague in order to give the audience enough to anticipate what could happen, but in crafting the hook itself, you don't need to spell out every detail on the page directly.

It's like I talked about in this article.

When structuring and actually writing the hook, you don't need to show us the entire cat in the bag all at once, you need to suggest that there is a cat in the bag (see how this relates to anticipation again?). Give the audience enough specificity and info to start down a conclusion on their own, by suggesting a paw or whisker (see how these are specific things?). There isn't tension in the inevitable. There is anticipation in suggestion.

Don't write us a big lengthy hook that gives us all the details and ramifications in 1 - 5 paragraphs. That's not going to feel like a hook. Instead simply say, "The timer began the countdown"--and through what you built up prior, the audience will naturally anticipate the ramifications (the work is happening inside them), and they'll want to continue.

Save length for dramatic moments--which should generally happen at climaxes of one sort or another, not rising actions and build-ups (when you need hooks most). (I talked about dramatic moments when I talked about structural pacing and purple prose.)

I almost fall out of the tree. The voice belongs to Peeta.

All rules and guidelines have exceptions, but these are five things that I've found to be helpful when crafting hooks. I hope they help you with yours. I'll probably talk about hooks some more in the future.

* Some examples came from The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins and Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling, and a few I made up.

Tone Example

At Storymakers I taught a class on tone. And last night I found a good example of how tone can affect everything and how you can control it by choosing the right emotional beats.

You can read an article I did all about tone here.

Here is Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone edited into movie trailers that illustrate seven different movie genres.

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5 Most Common Mistakes with Setting

A few weeks ago I was updating the Writing Tip Index, and was horrified when I realized I had nothing on setting. NOTHING! So I'll be slowly remedying that over time.

But today's post is rather straightforward and simple. I'm going to talk about some of the most common mistakes I see when it comes to handling setting.

Mistake #1

Perhaps the most common mistake I see with new writers is that there is essentially no setting.

The story opens up, usually with a conversation or a character thinking, and the writer literally does not tell the setting to the audience. This usually happens when the writer could care less about where the characters and plot are taking place, and may even argue that because it could take place anywhere, it doesn't matter where it is.

Other times the writer just assumes that the audience will assume by default that it's taking place in present day, in a home or office or school.

Sometimes the problem isn't that there is no setting whatsoever, but that the setting is vague--the writer doesn't give the audience enough of a setting or a clear picture of the setting.

Sure in some rare cases, you don't need a setting (excerpts from Ender's Game is often given as an example), but almost always, you need a setting--even when the scene isn't about the setting.

There should really be some sense of setting in every scene. Stories don't take place in a void. If it's not important to the story in that scene, find a way to squeeze it in.

Mistake #2

From there, sometimes writers overcompensate and put in too much setting.

Now, I think it's important to remember that some scenes are about setting. For example, in a wilderness survival story, you'll be dealing a lot with setting, because your character is trying to survive dehydration, freezing cold, and poisonous plants. Scenes where setting is a key player will naturally have more words spent on setting. In other scenes, setting is present but not as important.

It's sometimes helpful to look at the scene you are going to write and ask yourself what aspects are most important in it. That might help you keep it balanced.

But sometimes writers start learning about the importance of setting and imagery, and they get a little too carried away. They may describe everything, thinking that it will give the audience the most specific reading experience possible. Other times they describe parts of the setting in more detail than that part actually merits. Worse still is when they give a huge long history about the setting as an info-dump. Even if it's about the history, it's still an info-dump, folks.

I don't care how amazingly you can write setting, if you spend way more words on it than it deserves, it slows the pacing way down and it's a problem.

This may feel counter-intuitive to some people, particularly if you've mastered college creative writing, where much of the emphasis may be on imagery and trying to write beautifully. You need setting to write imagery, so sometimes what happens is people start overwriting setting.

Another aspect is that if you read "classics," they can often have a lot of setting. I once had a friend say that Tolkien could take pages describing a leaf in detail. So some writers today think that to be good means to be that descriptive.

But here's the thing, and listen up because it's important, back when the "classics" were written, most people didn't travel all around the world, most people didn't have access to volumes and volumes about other locations--many times readers literally did not know what something looked or sounded like, so the writer needed to spend more time describing it. Audience members literally did not know what the West looked like, or what X species of leaf looked like, or what the southern dialect sounded like. There is actually an old genre called "local color" that was simply about capturing what a region was like to live in. Kate Chopin was known for her local color short stories. And reading about these places was all new and strange and wondrous to people.

Fast forward to today, and more than ever we know what other parts of the world is like, and if we don't we can just use the internet to look it up. I've never seen the Great Wall of China in person, but I know what it looks like. I don't need a two-page description of it. I know what a Southern accent sounds like, and I don't need you to write the dialect out exactly how it may sound. Thanks to technology and special effects, I even know what a dinosaur or a real black hole would look like.

Those things still should be described if they are in your story, but the point I'm making is that today we need to describe way less. And if you are going to try to write beautifully by describing everything about setting in detail, the average person is going to get bored and skip ahead or put down the book--they already have an idea of what things sound and look like.

Mistake #3

Third on the list is poor blocking. I already did a whole post on blocking several weeks ago, because it's really a topic in and of itself. But in case you are new here, missed it, or need a refresher, here is a summation.

Blocking is how your characters interact with objects and setting.

The main issue that crops up is continuity errors. For example, I might be reading a dialogue scene where the characters are talking while doing the dishes in the kitchen. At the end of the conversation I might read a line about how they went inside the house. Huh? Weren't they already in the house?

That one sounds a little obvious, but it can happen in subtler ways. For example, in one scene I might read the Jan goes to her bedroom on the main floor. Then later in the book, I read that she went upstairs to her bedroom. So which is it? Is her bedroom on the main floor or upstairs? When writing a whole novel that can be difficult to keep track of along with everything else.

Spatial vagueness is the other problem with blocking--not being clear where the characters are in relation to their setting, how close they are standing in relation to a tree or ditch, etc.

Now with blocking, you don't want to overcompensate and get too detailed with it. You want to describe enough. It should be clear when particularly important, but not overbearing.

Mistake #4

Using the same "set piece" in multiple scenes and describing it in detail every time.

This one is tricky to explain, because it really depends on how its handled. I did this big fat blog post to explain how to render reoccurring descriptions and details so that they don't become stagnant and boring, so you can describe a set piece multiple times, but almost always, in order to be successful at that, you need to follow those techniques I explained in the post: expand, deepen, or create motion.

On the other hand, you can use the same details every time to "tag" or "anchor" the subject in the reader's mind, so doing that isn't necessarily a wrong thing either.

What is a problem is when you don't understand those things and you re-describe the entire set in detail every time a scene takes place there. A lot of stories have scenes in bars, pubs, clubs, or "inns." Imagine having multiple scenes take place there and every time you start a scene there, you take several paragraphs to describe the place in detail, again.

It gets boring right?

If it's the first time that set piece is on the page, and it's somewhat important, you can maybe take a few paragraphs to describe it (alternatively, you can weave it into the actual scene, and which you choose may depend on pacing needs), but every time after that, you just need to hit a few details--"tags" or "anchors," something that's in motion, something new, or a specific aspect in more detail. You don't need to go through and re-describe it as if the audience has never seen it before.

If you are going to spend a couple of paragraphs describing something we've already seen, it needs to be different in some way--at least in the way the character sees and perceives it.

Mistake #5

No interactions with setting.

As I already mentioned, in some scenes setting is more important than others. But there is a problem if there is often no interaction with setting.

See, I talked about imagery a couple of weeks ago, and in order to really appeal to the senses, you need some setting. You can't feel rain if there is none. You can't smell freshly cut grass if there is none. Sure, you can get some imagery in from other characters and objects, but often imagery relates directly to setting.

In real life, we interact with setting, or it interacts with us. In my room typing this, I've watched the sky get lighter outside, seen joggers on the road, I can hear the filter of my aquarium going and the fan, and I can feel the softness of my blanket. It's mainly in the background, but it's there, and from time to time, I might look out the window at the joggers.

The setting can affect the scene. Having an important conversation late at night at a friend's house is much different than trying to have one at a grad night party.

Whether setting is more in the background or a focal point of your scene, consider how it may emphasize points and contribute to tone. Does it frustrate or help a goal?

Setting is often required to pull the reader into your story, so that they feel as if they are in it. Usually, it should be more than just a backdrop.


Do you see any other mistakes writers make with setting? Let me know in the comments :)

***

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Context vs. Subtext (Context Should Not Become Subtext)

Context First, Subtext Second

Subtext, especially good subtext, can be tricky to write. But in order to write good subtext, you need to have context first. And in order to do that, you need to understand the difference between them and where each one fits in storytelling.

Some writers make the mistake of trying to make the context into subtext. This is a problem for several reasons, one of the main being that it makes the story very vague. In vague writing, the audience can't really tell what is going on. Without proper context, they aren't sure how to interpret information and actions. Often, this sort of writing manifests when the writer is trying to follow the "show, don't tell" rule too religiously, which usually leads to writing that is too cinematic.

However, creating context does not necessarily mean you have to "tell" straight-out all the time. It can also come from taking advantage of connotations, words with specific feelings attached to them. With that said, though, it's impossible for most stories to have proper context without some telling.

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The Mechanics of Rendering Mysteries and Undercurrents—How to Withhold Info from the Reader Right

For months (years?) I've been saying I'm going to post the mechanics of writing mysteries. And today it's finally here! I'm a huge fan of stories that include a good mystery--if not as a main focus, as a side line. Last month, I did a whole post on crafting killer undercurrents. It's worth noting that the techniques needed to render mystery are the same techniques needed to create a strong undercurrent! Win-win!

In the future, I will be doing a post that argues that you absolutely can withhold important information from the reader (even if the viewpoint character knows it)--as long as you do it the right way. That article will reference this one for techniques.

Selecting the Experience You Want for Your Reader

Conscious Mysteries vs. Subconscious Mysteries (works for Undercurrents too)

There are different types of mysteries. A conscious mystery is one that (as you may have guessed) the reader is aware of. In whodunnit stories, the mystery comes from the reader (and protagonist) trying to figure out who the murderer is. It's on the page. The reader is very aware of it, and trying to solve it with the character. In the Harry Potter series, Harry trying to figure out who opened the Chamber of Secrets, who put his name in the Goblet of Fire, and what Malfoy is up to, are all conscious mysteries. The reader is actively looking for clues and hints in the text to find answers.

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Vague Vs. Ambiguous: Which are You Writing?

Imagine you sat down and started reading a story that opened like this.

"What are those people doing out here?"
"I don't know."
Poppy sighed and ran a hand through her hair. The woman was very old. Her sister took off her scarf and went inside.
"How many days until Wind Set Day?" the prophetess asked.
"Four, maybe five, perhaps," she said.

How many people are in the story? Two? Four? What's the setting? Since someone goes inside, we can assume the characters are outside of something, so they are probably outdoors, but we don't know for sure. And what does the sister go inside of? A house? A store? A box? What kind? What's "Wind Set Day"?

These are all things we can guess at, but we can't really get a picture of what is going on. It's vague. Unfortunately a lot of unpublished stories start this way. Later in this post, I'll go more into why new writers often make the mistake of starting like this and exactly how it works to create a problem. (And yes, of course, all rules are made to be broken).

Vague writing is like this picture. Its blurry. Unfocused. As a reader, we can't really tell what is going on.

While "vague" and "ambiguous" are often considered synonyms, in a lot of places in the writing world, they don't mean the same thing.

"Vague" deals with the story being out of focus and vapory. It's not quite anything.

"Ambiguity" happens when something in the story could mean multiple things--supported by evidence.

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