Tag Archives: sequel

Technique

Varying the tension level to keep your readers’ interest

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This entry is part 25 of 26 in the series Tension, suspense and surprise

Or, How writing is like spicy mac

A couple weeks ago, my family went out to lunch. We got a side of macaroni and cheese that was advertised, correctly, as having a little kick to it. The spice was too much for the kids, so my husband and I ended up eating almost all of the macaroni and cheese.

Macaroni and Cheese @ Seersucker RestaurantThe first few bites were really tasty (and I’m really picky about mac’n’cheese). Within a few bites, the spice began to set in. It wasn’t too spicy—no tears, no runny noses—but I could see why my kids needed water.

But once we were halfway through our meal, my husband and I both realized that we weren’t really tasting the mac or the cheese. After a while, all you could taste was the spice.

Early on in our writing, we usually learn early on that we need tension and conflict in our scenes. Tension, suspense and conflict are vital, and few people will read fiction without that “spice.”

However, sometimes it’s easy to go overboard on this vital element. At the climax, we’ll probably have a long passage of high-tension scenes, but if every scene of the book features world! threatening! consequences!, all you can taste is the spice—and the book feels just as one-note as if every scene had no tension at all.

Spice isn’t the spice of life—it’s variety. So change up the tension levels in your scenes.

Ten ways to change up the tension in your scenes

Flatline1. Use humor. A joke can reduce the tension in a scene, or just give the readers a break from unremitting THE WHOLE PLANET WILL DIE!!! drama.

2. Switch storylines. Changing to another group of characters doing something else often helps to vary the tension level. This also works in reverse—if the tension gets too low in one storyline, switch to another, then change back to a point where something more interesting is happening.

3. Bump up your character’s proactivity. Maybe your characters aren’t facing chase scene after chase scene, but they’ve been kidnapped and they’re being dragged around the country, and they’re freaking out the whole time. That level of tension, that helpless response, makes the tension (and the characters!) seem one-note. Don’t let your characters just wring their hands and whine. Do something!

4. Change your character’s goal. If we’ve had five scenes in a row of your characters trying to do the exact same thing, and encountering the same problem, or the same level of problems, something’s got to change. (You know what they say about the definition of insanity?)

5. Change the source of the threat. Maybe your last eight scenes have been at a 7 on the tension scale. You might be able to bump some of them up

6. Use dramatic irony. Dramatic irony is when the audience knows something the characters don’t, usually something that will pull the rug from under the characters. If you have scenes from the antagonist’s POV, for example, you can set up dramatic irony (and switch to that storyline to intercut the tension).

7. Have your characters reach a goal. Throughout the book, we mostly try to frustrate our characters’ goals because it increases the suspense and tension. To change things up, have them accomplish something—it could be something small, like retrieving an important artifact, or it could be something major, like defeating the bad guy (who turns out to be only a minor villain).

8. Give us a campfire scene. Let the characters celebrate and relax, if only for a minute. Especially good after a victory that turns out to be false.

9. Use a sequel. You may not have the time or place to have a celebration scene right now, but if your character has a minute, he or she might be able to go through the stages of an emotional reaction to the action, naturally a bit lower in tension.

10. Show the recovery. You’ve got hearts racing, stomachs clenching and palms sweating (dude, gesture clichés). But do your characters ever stop doing those things? Do they strive to (or just naturally) get their visceral responses under control? Take a deep breath, take a look around, take a minute to reorient your goals before you plunge in again.

Again, tension is absolutely vital to a novel—but having all your scenes with equally high tension is just as stultifying as all scenes with low tension. We don’t want every bite of our meal to taste like plain noodle or like plain spice. Vary the tension of your stories to create a truly engaging taste reading experience.

How else can you vary the tension in your scenes?

Photo credits
Macaroni and cheese by David Berkowitz
Flatline by Myles Grant
both via Flickr/CC

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Technique

Secret sauce: scene structure

This entry is part 6 of 16 in the series Spilling the secret sauce

Just like stories have structure, scenes have a specific structure, too. Story structure can help make sure your scenes matter; scene structure helps your scenes make sense. Your overall story might be on course, but if your scenes meander, readers will still feel lost.

Scene structure

In his aptly-named book Scene & Structure, Jack Bickham delves into the scene structure proposed by Dwight Swain. The basic structure of any scene, Bickham says, is Goal – Conflict – Disaster.

The Goal is the POV character’s goal at the start of the scene, for just that scene. (More about this later in the series!) The Conflict is what happens as the character pursues the Goal and meets resistance—dialogue, movement, pursuit, etc. The Conflict builds to the climax of the scene—the Disaster, when the character’s goal is frustrated.

Sequel structure

A scene is followed by a sequel, which has its own structure. Bickham’s structure for the sequel is Emotion – Thought – Decision – Action (which leads to another scene). The Emotion is the initial response to the events of the scene and its Disaster. When the character moves past the initial emotion, they think through the events, their response and their options in the Thought phase. This ultimately leads to a Decision, which takes the character to another Action—setting a goal for them.

Not all the steps of the sequel are necessary. In fact, the sequel itself might not be necessary—depends on the pacing and whether the emotional reaction constitutes a change. I often find my sequels very brief, or rolled into the beginning of the next scene.

How does all this help make your story stronger?

Scene structure is a basic good practice. Like I said at the beginning, it keeps scenes from wandering, and our readers’ attention spans from doing the same. It clues readers in from the beginning that the following does impact the story, keeping them hooked through the action.

As Bickham says it, the scene goal poses a question—will s/he get what he’s after? The character then pursues that goal until the disaster answers the question, most often with either “yes, but” (she achieves her intermediate goal, but a larger goal might have to be sacrificed) or “no, and furthermore” (not only does he not accomplish what he wanted, but now there are more problems!).

Our sequels motivate the next action. If you need a character do to something that might seem crazy next, the sequel is the place to give him or her a good reason, and to show the thought process, setting up the next goal and action. This pattern makes our scenes causally linked (instead of casually linked)—creating a plot instead of a sequence of events.

Believe it or not, this pattern can become so ingrained that it’s second nature. You still want to check to make sure you have the basics (more on that next week), but scene structure is so prevalent in modern literature that once you notice it, it’s easy to mimic, even on a subconscious level.

What do you think? How does the structure of scenes and sequels influence your writing? Come share!

Photo by Tony Case

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Technique

Tension fix: Bring out internal conflicts

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This entry is part 17 of 26 in the series Tension, suspense and surprise

Sometimes, there’s nothing wrong with the scene set up: we’ve put Mitch into a situation where he would be uncomfortable, unsure of himself, or required to perform a monumental feat. And yet somehow, the scene still doesn’t get the reception we want. Critique partners note that the scene—a turning point for the character—drags.

We need this scene—so now what? Can’t they see how this situation would be stressful and tense for Mitch? Doesn’t that automatically imbue the scene with tension?

Uh, no. Not if we didn’t put that there. Yeah, even though we’d all spent 300 pages together, if the feelings we know Mitch would have weren’t on the page, readers won’t see it.

Simply introducing more more tension—more conflict—through the narration can increase the tension in a scene. If Mitch just sits there and takes this pivotal situation, the readers won’t be engaged in his change—and it won’t be as believable.

Camy Tang wrote an article about this, taken Donald Maass’s “tension on every page” axiom to the next level—tension in every line. She used a great before and after comparison of a cut scene from one of her novels—one without the “tension commentary” and one with (going for tension with a humorous tone).

Weaving in your character’s emotions and observations—whether they’re a “why me” comedic effect, a “not me!” suspense effect or a “can I do this” character effect—can help to increase the tension in a turning point scene.

But don’t beat your readers over the head with it. If this is the fourth scene in a row where your protagonist is battling his Inner Demon, we readers are probably familiar enough that the conflict doesn’t have to be mentioned in every paragraph. In fact, if this is the fourth scene in a row with the same inner conflict, it might be a good time to see if all of those scenes are really necessary. Also, too much internal monologue can slow down the action of a scene, so try for a balance.

What do you think? How can you bring out your characters’ internal conflicts more?

Photo by Penguincakes

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Technique

Tension fix: Start with a bang

This entry is part 16 of 26 in the series Tension, suspense and surprise

Yesterday, I said “if the character’s goal or purpose isn’t early in the scene, we can risk losing our readers.” I believe that’s true—but at the same time, I recognize that sometimes, it would make no sense for us to jump from the previous scene to the scene goal or start of the action without motivating the POV character properly.

This is one of those times where it’s vital to have a sequel—a “scene” where we focus on the character’s emotional reaction to the action of a scene. Most of the time, we tack these onto the end of the appropriate scene—but that’s not always going to work. Say, for example, we were in Jimmy’s head for the confession scene and his sequel—he tells Gina that they really can be together. Then we move on to Gina tearing up all his letters. Huh?

We need a sequel in Gina’s perspective to clarify her motivation. But starting her scene with half a page (or more) of her emotions and thoughts in reaction to the last action is . . . well, slow. (Especially if we just saw Jimmy’s emotions and thoughts on the same subject.)

So how do we make the reader understand? One great way to create tension is not to explain these actions—at first. The reader is taken aback by this interesting or inexplicable action—and they’re eager to not only find out what happens next, but to learn why this is happening now.

As James Scott Bell says in Revision And Self-Editing, you can “marble in” this sequel information through the beginning of the scene. As she rips up the letters, we have a natural reason for her to think about the last scene and to give us her response—and now we’re really compelled to find out.

This can be effective within scenes, too. I found a scene in my WIP where, halfway through, a minor character gave a two paragraph monologue to the hero to catch him (and us) up on her subplot. I’d interrupted the speech with the hero’s thought about the minor character’s habit to ramble, but still, the blocks of text were more than even I really wanted to read.

After she finished the speech, she went and retrieved a piece of evidence in a crime—a threat against her. I realized if I had the minor character hand him that evidence first, the readers would be pretty surprised—and now they want to know how she crossed the bad guys. Then her speech could keep the readers’ attention.

It can also be useful to pick up the pace (and increase suspense)—if a lot of our scenes are actually sequels, the story can slow down. If that’s not the appropriate pace for the story, ending scenes with disasters and combining sequels with the beginning of the next scene can also help speed up the action of the story.

Of course, this technique shouldn’t be used too often—we don’t want our readers to get whiplash from all those head-fakes. But it can be used to ramp up the tension at the beginning of a scene, and make the reader want to know about the emotional reaction that led the characters there.

What do you think? How do you handle necessary sequels? Do you use the “head-fake” explosion opening?

Photo by Rob

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Technique

Micro character arcs in sequels

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This entry is part 6 of 11 in the series character arcs

Yesterday, we talked about character arcs within scenes, and we mentioned that there are two different ways to handle them. The first kind uses scene structure to bring about the change. The second kind of change, however, doesn’t rely on scene structure because it doesn’t happen in a scene—it happens in a sequel. The Sequel is what comes after the scene—the emotional response. However, it also has a structure that can help with this kind of character arc.

Bickham’s structure for the sequel is Emotion – Thought – Decision – Action (which leads to another scene). The Emotion is the initial response to the events of the scene and its Disaster. When the character moves past the initial emotion, they think through the events, their response and their options in the Thought phase. This ultimately leads to a Decision, which takes the character to another Action.

Not all the steps of the sequel are necessary. In fact, the sequel itself might not be necessary—depends on the pacing and whether the emotional reaction constitutes a change. But when the character is going through a major change, we can spend a little more time here. And this is where we motivate the next action.

When an emotional change in the sequel follows the full steps of the sequence, we know that there’s a logical progression of the events of the sequel. By moving through these steps, we can lead the characters and the readers through the steps of the change and create a compelling, convincing change.

For example, if we need our character to go from shocked after the last disaster to furious in the sequel, we start with that initial emotional response—the shock. We don’t have to spend a long time exploring the shock, especially if that’s the kind of reaction you’d expect in light of the disaster. Once we create a vivid picture of the shock (and that’s a toughie, since it’s characterized by the absence of feeling, really), we can give the character a minute to get her bearings again.

Once she’s had some time to recover, she’s ready for the Thought phase. Here we can explore exactly why she’s so surprised—because, say, this revelation is something that the hero could have told her. It’s something she would understand and would have even made her happy, if he had just told her, and he knew that—but he’s chosen to lie to her about it the whole time they’ve known one another.

And that can lead us to the Decision. The Decision can be about the coming Action and set up the next scene—or it can be a further decision about the emotional response. You know what? He should have told her. How dare he not? And if he could lie about that, what else about their relationship was a lie?

And now she’s mad.

What do you think? How have you handled drastic emotional changes in sequels?

Photo by Dan Foy

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Technique

Micro character arcs in scenes

This entry is part 5 of 11 in the series character arcs

So far, we’ve looked at character arcs on a macro level—characters changing over the course of a story. At the beginning of the series, however, Deb pointed out that characters can also have arcs within a single scene, where they go from one emotion to another, possibly opposite, emotion.

Character emotions are always delicate things. It’s so easy as a writer to push the emotions a little harder than we should, so that they end up unnatural—especially in a delicate transition. Now, of course it’s always possible to use the events of the scene to create a very natural change in a character’s emotion—but it’s not the only way.

Jack Bickham delves into both kinds of changes in his book Scene & Structure. The first kind of change relies on external actions and scene structure. The basic structure of any scene, Bickham says, is Goal – Conflict – Disaster.

The Goal is the POV character’s goal at the start of the scene, for just that scene. (For a story and characters that feel purposeful and driven, have the character state the goal near the beginning of the scene.) The Conflict is what happens as the character pursues the Goal and meets resistance—dialogue, movement, pursuit, etc.

The Conflict builds to the climax of the scene—the Disaster, when the character’s goal is frustrated. Naturally, when the character is frustrated, s/he will have an emotional reaction—for example, she might go from hopeful or determined at the beginning of the scene to discouraged at the end.

So external events can obviously help to bring about a micro character arc. But there’s another way to show emotional change within a scene that we’ll look at tomorrow.

What do you think? How have you handled drastic emotional changes in scenes?

Photo by Tony Case

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