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Class Excerpt: On Story Basics and Ways into Stories

Freytag's pyramid
Freytag’s pyramid
I’m finishing up the Moving from Idea to Draft class, or rather finishing up the writing phase and still need to shoot a couple dozen little videos, ugh. But I wanted to share this from the introduction to the class because I thought it might be useful for some people plus maybe tantalize a few into trying one of my on-demand or live classes.

I begin with some basics of story mechanics. Quite probably much of it will be familiar — feel free to skim if you feel like you’ve heard all of this before.

A basic part of a story is its arc. The arc, graphed out, is a roughly slanted triangle, with the slope on the lefthand side usually significantly longer. I’ve provided a diagram of it, also called Freytag’s pyramid, or sometimes his triangle.

The X axis of that diagram is story tension; the Y axis is the story over time. As the storyline progresses, while there may be momentary lulls or dips in tension, the movement is upward. Tension is increased by things like complications, reversals, and raising the stakes.

But more than that, something in the story must change. The problem must be resolved in some fashion, even if it’s only to show that there is no resolution. The change provides the resolution; without it, we have only a scene or static moment, which is generally an unsatisfying thing for a reader. Often (I might go so far as to say usually) there are two changes, an internal one inside the protagonist and the external one taking place around the protagonist.

The change can, in some circumstances, take place outside the story by occurring in the reader’s understanding of the story. What seems innocent (or vile) at the outset turns out to be the opposite. This sort of subtle change can be beautiful when it works. If you look at Rachel Swirsky’s “If You Were a Dinosaur, My Love“ for example, you can see this sort of shift at work as we learn more about the circumstances behind the story and move from light-hearted to deeply sad in a story whose emotional core is — for me at least — the power of fantasy as a temporary escape, but only a temporary one. This sort of change, taken as far as it can go, is a twist ending and is best suited to flash fiction, but it can and does work at greater length, as with Ian Banks’ The Wasp Factory (I don’t want to spoil the ending, but urge you to find the book and read it if you haven’t.)

Do you need to understand what will change before you begin to write the story? No. But some story origins will have signs and clues leading to the change, while others will require you step back and consider it in various ways before moving on.

There are multiple forms in which an idea for a story can present itself to a writer. What I’ve done is try to present each, along with examples drawn from my own and other authors’ writings, with some tips and tricks for expanding them into a complete story.

Ways into a story are separated into structures, fragments, and directives. I’ve split them into these groups for the purpose of talking about them more easily, but each group has similarities of approach and possible issues that may make it useful to, after finishing an overall group, spend some time thinking about the material and trying to apply it to one or more stories before moving on.

  • Structures include plot, technique, stealing from other writers, culturally determined structure, and conceits/devices. These are the paint-by-numbers kits of the writing world, or at least they are ways to start a story that give you a great deal to work with.
  • Fragments may yield considerably less information. They include characters, dialogue, setting, scene, beginning, ending, title, images, or objects.
  • Directives give you little information but are more about the form in which you will shape the story: its flavor or flair, if you will. They include narrators, point of view, historical moments, concepts/issues, emotion, imitation or tribute, theme anthology, research, genre, and collaboration.

No matter what your starting point, at some point in the process of writing, you will need to think about the emotional core of your story, its heart. You can think of this as the “message” of the story overall, what it (not you) is trying to say about the art of being a self-aware, autonomous creature. That can vary, but examples are:

  • Life is complicated
  • You can’t always get what you want (but if you try real hard you can get what you need.)
  • It’s important not to lie (or insert the ethic of your choice).
  • Economics affects circumstances.
  • Karma is a bitch.
  • Etc.

You may not know this core going into the story, you may not know it in the middle of the writing or even at the very end. But before the story can be called finished, you need to figure it out.

The point at which you figure it out will affect your writing process. You may even use it as your starting point. I can only think of one time I’ve done this, which was the story “Elsewhere, Within, Elsewhen”, which I wrote for the anthology Beyond the Sun. I had been thinking about the idea that people accumulated grudges and slights and that sometimes those got in the way of communication and even healthy living. I took that idea and literalized the metaphor by creating creatures who consisted of such layers and turned out to have entirely different entities at their heart.

The point at which you realize the emotional core is the point at which it will begin helping you organize the story. It often happens to me that I do not reach the stage at which I think about this until after the first draft is done. In that case, this is part of the rewrite process, and involves my going back and reading the story in order to try to figure this out.

These are often the stories that are the most self-revelatory, because the moment we as author understand the message of a story, we begin constructing plausible deniability. Stories that are raw and full of emotion are rarely understood until after the fact of their construction, in my experience, unless you are deliberately sitting down to write about a painful experience in order to process and/or explore it.

Once you know the heart of a story, though, you know what to remove or add, because you can tell what’s getting in the way of the heart of things, and where it is not getting communicated sufficiently clearly.

A crucial point about this is that sometimes it can take time, and it’s very hard to force it. Usually you should let it steep a while. It’s my belief that your unconscious mind takes some time to turn it around and consider it from a few angles before delivering up something worthwhile. You can force it through focused timed writings, sitting down and just writing within constraints, but you will do a lot of thrashing around creating superfluous verbiage that you cannot use in the final version of the story.

Want more of this sort of thing? Check out The Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers.

22 Responses

  1. One of the things I like about Sheri S Tepper’s novels is that the right-hand slope is incredibly steep. Three pages from the end, you’re still not sure of the outcome.

    I hate those books where the plot or crisis gets resolved and then the author takes 50 pages or more to tie off all the loose ends.

    Keep that slope good and steep please.

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"(On the writing F&SF workshop) Wanted to crow and say thanks: the first story I wrote after taking your class was my very first sale. Coincidence? nah….thanks so much."

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Notes From Michael Stackpole's "How To Write a Novel in 21 Days"

Michael Stackpole
Michael Stackpole
These are my notes from the presentation at MidSouthCon 30, 2012m which was great. I suggest taking it from Michael rather than using these notes, which are a poor substitute at best. You can find the CD on his website. That said, here are the notes. I should say that they’re less about how to write a novel in 21 days than how to plan a novel in 21 days through a series of exercises intended to increase knowledge of character, world, and plot.

Overall
Writing is a skill – like any other skill, you get better and more efficient at it. Successful writers write steadily. Don’t worry about speed. Think of every word written down as one closer to your goal.

Writing is also a cyclical process. Ideas are generated and get fed back in. Don’t sweat the messiness as this process is underway because readers will never see anything but the final results. No first draft will be perfect.

Day One
Describe one character with 5-7 single sentences that each describe him/her/it in a specific area, such as their love life, education, current situation, occupation, hobbies, problems, etc.

Day Two
For each of your sentences, write two more sentences that each on it, creating a paragraph about each area of description.

Day Three
Write a single sentence about each life area that runs counter to the previous sentiment. For example, a paragraph about how the character really wants children might have a sentence about how they’re sterile. A paragraph about how they’re happily married might merit a sentence about feeling attracted to the new office manager at work.


Day Four
Write two more sentences expanding on each of the negative sentences from the previous day. You should end up with five (Michael said overachievers can go as high as seven) life areas with two paragraphs describing each. The discrepancy between the two paragraphs creates conflict, which is needed to create story.

Day Five
Repeat Days 1-4 for a second character, who doesn’t have to be involved with the first. They should be characters that interact in a story but are not protagonist and antagonist.

Day Six
For each character, think about short and long term life goals. Write down two short and one long for the character. Bonus points if some goals conflict. This part provides insight plus other stuff for the character to do.

Day Seven
Look at both characters and chart out the obstacles and fears in their life that keeps them from attaining their goals. These are problems you will have to engineer a way past.

Day Eight
Repeat steps 1-4, 6, & 7 for a third character. This lets you think about the characters in terms of a triad, rather than a pair. Interactions between pairs are predictable and low energy, so the new possibilities created by a third character help keep a story high energy.

Day Nine
This day’s devoted to developing a character’s voice. You want each character to have a unique voice. The more you know about a character, the easier it is to write, because some decisions have been made already. Write a letter (no minimum or maximum length) from one character to another doing one of the following: a) asking for help, b) warning them about something, c) apologizing, or 4) explaining something. The text of the note should demonstrate vulnerability on the part of the character writing it. Once it’s written, think about the physical appearance it will take when delivered to another character, which will provide additional insight.

Day Ten
Write a scene consisting of dialogue only (with no attributions) which is a conversation between the letter writer and its recipient. Because there are no attributions, you will need to make sure each character’s voice is differentiated enough that you can tell who’s speaking. Ways to do so: establish level of education, use jargon from their background or job, use verbal tics, etc. Make as long as appropriate, but should prbably be at least a page.

Day Eleven
Revisit the scene where the previous day’s dialogue takes place and write it from the point of view of a third character who can see what the people speaking to each other are doing, but cannot hear what they are doing. The intent is to achieve better-nuanced dialogue, and to move towards showing, rather than tellings, which makes a reader think for themself, thus engaging them, rather than spoon-feeding them facts.

Day Twelve
Now we’re starting on world and setting. Think about what roots these characters in the world? What is in the character is a reflection of the world they grew up in. You may end up adjusting the original profiles at this point. That’s okay. Do this for each character.

Day Thirteen
Think about how the world helps or hinders each character’s achievement of their goals. Is this a friendly nurturing world or a harsh one? The world’s tone determines how hard characters will have to work to achieve their goals.

Day Fourteen
Ask what happens to the world if the characters succeed in attaining their life goals? How would it change? Ask the same question about what happens if they fail. This tells you how strongly the world will resist what they’re doing. Ask – how logical is it for the world to notice what the character is doing and push back?

Day Fifteen
Write a brief scene for each character. Pick one of the following: 1) describe that character’s sanctuary/happy place/safe haven. Where are they most at home? Describe through the character’s eyes. Do this for each character. 2) Take a place where all the characters will be at the same time. Look at the details of the surrounging and see what each of them think of it. Then describe the place from all three characters’ points of view.

Day Sixteen
Now for structure and plotting, which is the toughest part. Write the back cover blurb for the novel (six sentences at most) and the one line description. This will help you figure out the core conflicts, which are the ones that should appear in this.

Day Seventeen
This is the toughest day. For every problem, understand the conflict and its resolution. Figure out the scenes necessary to show each. Most (many) will require the following: 1) a scene that shows there is a problem, which the character may or may not be aware of, 2) a scene that shows where the character realizes there is a problem, 3) a scene that gives your character a reason to want to solve that problem, 4) a scene or series of scenes showing the development of skills and resources necessary to solve the problem, 5) scene that shows the success of failure of this effort. Your’re creating 6-12 scenes for each problem and accumulating an inventory of scenes.

Day Eighteen
Now it’s time to arrange those scenes against the world timeline. Think of the world as another character and go through your scenes looking to see which create an event that would be noticed by the outside world. These events are fixed points in time. After you’ve done this for all the characters, look to see where events are taking place at the same time and might be combined in a single scene. Think of events as though you have to build sets for each and, much as they do in TV, be efficient and shoot as much footage in each point as you can, rather than having to redescribe and re-set the scene somewhere else.

Day Nineteen
Look at events and scenes and decide whether or not you need to add any scenes where characters react to events. If so, does the new scene create a new event that other characters might need to react to? You may have to go through several iterations of the Day 17-18-19 cycle, because this is how you pull the nobel together and make it live outside the characters.

Day Twenty
Each character should have an inventory of a dozen or so scenes that they’re in. Slot scenes into their chronological order, and bingo, you’ve generated an outline. An outline is to a novel as a map is to a really good road trip – as you write, you will discover new things to explore.

Day Twenty-one
Start writing! Don’t edit as you go, make a note if there’s a needed change, and save that for the editing process.

There you go!

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On Writing: Collaboration And Its Perils

Image showing story cards for collaborative science fiction novella Haunted, written by Cat Rambo and Bud Sparhawk.
One of the most interesting things about a collaboration is a chance to see your collaborator's process in action. Here are the story cards for "Haunted," which Bud brought with him to WorldCon so we could grab a table in the green room and go over them.
Collaborations can be a lot of fun. My first collaboration came about when Jeff VanderMeer asked if I’d be interested in working together on one and tossed me a 1500 word lump that would end up becoming “The Surgeon’s Tale.” That story remains among one of my favorite pieces of writing, in part because reading back through it evokes the pleasure of batting it back and forth, adding thousand or so word chunks each time, until it ended up in the land of the novelette. I think we managed to make the final result pretty seamless – I have trouble remembering who wrote some bits, although others stand out clearly in my head as Jeff’s or mine, because I remember first reading them or spinning them out.

I haven’t done that many. “Logic and Magic in the Time of the Boat Lift” with Ben Burgis resulted from Ben describing what he wanted to write a story about — Miami and were gators and coke dealers — at more than one Wiscon. I wrote the beginning and sent it his way, and the back and forth began. Now we’ve got a similar lump in process.

Gio Clairval and I just finished up a flash piece recently. One of the things I’ve done to encourage collaborations is stick a bunch of word lumps up in a Google doc and just shared the doc so people could take a look and see if anything sparked. She liked a piece I’d done based on an image of a female acrobat.

Right now Bud Sparhawk and I just finished the novella “Haunted,” which started as a short story and kept growing and growing and growing. Bud plots things out a bit more thoroughly than I do, and it’s been interesting so far. Here we worked in Scrivener and laid out a story arc in cards before really setting to writing. I enjoyed it, because I think we’ve got a killer idea, and some clever twists, and some things that will hit nostalgic sweetspots.

So here’s my advice on collaboration based on my experience, which is somewhere past utterly new at it and yet not in the range of people like Mercedes Lackey, Andre Norton, Mike Resnick, and countless more.

  • Pick a collaborator whose speed (roughly) matches yours. Bud was writing faster on ours, and I know there were several times where I was the holdup. Too much of that can get frustrating, as I’m sure he can attest.
  • Pick a collaborator who doesn’t take things too seriously (and don’t do that yourself). If someone has got something (real or imagined) at stake, the pressure may be uncomfortable.
  • Pick a collaborator who is flexible, and similarly be prepared yourself to sacrifice cherished ides, because you can always use them elsewhere.

Collaborative benefits include (for me, at least) new energy, someone to discuss a story with as it’s written, new insights into process, fresh ideas, and a kick in the butt to be productive.

Enjoy this writing advice and want more content like it? Check out the classes Cat gives via the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers, which offers both on-demand and live online writing classes for fantasy and science fiction writers from Cat and other authors, including Ann Leckie, Seanan McGuire, Fran Wilde and other talents! All classes include three free slots.

Prefer to opt for weekly interaction, advice, opportunities to ask questions, and access to the Chez Rambo Discord community and critique group? Check out Cat’s Patreon. Or sample her writing here.

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