Tag Archives: revision

Does your story have a plot?

plot chainEvery story has events. Stuff happens. But a group of events happening to the same people doesn’t necessarily constitute a “plot.” For a story to have a plot, the events must be related through cause-and-effect and build to a climax.

Do stories have to have a climax?

If you’re using a linear story structure, the short answer is yes. If you’re using a linear chronology within your story, the answer is double yes.

plot chain labeled
Most stories use a linear structure as well as a linear timeline—the events of the story occur in chronological order.

However, events merely happening in order doesn’t make a plot. The events must also be linked by cause and effect. For example, as E.M. Forster said,

The king died and then the queen died is a story. The king died, and then queen died of grief is a plot.

That little phrase, “of grief,” makes a world of difference. Our brains might fill in the causal link between the events of the first “story,” but that’s actually a logical fallacy (one of my faves: post hoc ergo propter hoc, after this therefore because of this). There could be any number of reasons why a couple might die in succession: perhaps they both had the plague or were hit by falling rocks. (Heck, in this single-sentence story, we don’t even know if the events happened close together!)

“Of grief” links the first and second events as cause and effect; it turns the two from coincident events into connected events. The next event occurs because of the previous one.

cadena rotaWithout this cause and effect link, the events of our story don’t build on one another. They don’t move a story forward. They’re just an account of people doing one thing, then another. At some point, a lack of cause-and-effect gets aggravating, since the events of the story don’t actually have logical relationships. They don’t have anything to do with one another except that they’re happening to the same characters.

Using cause and effect to build to a climax

Another integral part of any linear structure is the ultimate climax. Our plot events must be linked in cause-and-effect chains that build the intensity and stakes to the final, ultimate moment of confrontation between the protagonist and the antagonistic force (external, internal, natural, or any combination of the above).

Cape Disappointment is DisappointingI have read way too many stories that have a series of chronological events that may or may not be causally linked, but that never build to this ultimate moment of the climax. But the climax is indispensable in linear structure. It’s that moment that shows us what our characters are made of, what they’ve learned in our story, how they’ve grown. With the climax, we see the reason why every event in the story was significant. Without a climax, none of them are, and the story just sort of . . . stops. It’s the climax that ultimately gives our story meaning in a linear structure.

But my story jumps around in time.

Awesome! But a nonlinear timeline doesn’t exempt you from the requirements of telling a satisfying story with structure. The vast majority of stories use linear structure, even if they don’t use linear chronology.

Your jumping around in time narrative (time traveling or just nonlinear) can still build toward a climax. Movies like Memento and books such as the Mind Games series by Kiersten White play around with a linear timeline, interspersing scenes from the past. Those scenes from the past build tension and inform—but they don’t get in the way of building to a climax, the final confrontation.

Why structure

Good stories use structure; excellent stories use structure to their advantage. As brilliant author Jennifer Crusie puts it in a blog post that I’ve pondered for years:

Structure isn’t just a way to tell a story, it gives meaning to the story, it informs and intensifies the story, it says “This is what is important here, this is what you need to pay attention to.” Most of the time, most stories need linear structure[.]

Here’s a simple litmus test: if your story isn’t composed of events that are linked by cause-and-effect building to a final confrontation, you may not have a “plot.” Do you need one? If you want to sell commercial fiction and you aren’t a master of alternate story structures, usually.

The good news, however, is that you might be able to revise your way to one! Remember:the best way

Revision is your chance to make the events of your story make sense and carry significance for your character and your readers!

Photo credits: chain—Legozilla, broken chain—Javier, Cape Disappointment—Aaron, map image courtesy of The Journey 1972 (South America “addicted”), all via Flickr/CC

Upping your tension, scene-by-scene

In my presentation on structural self-editing, I mention that one column of the scene chart in particular helped to make my story better: the tension column. So when I stumbled across a post on how to use that tension column in my archives, I knew I had to share!

When you’re editing yourself, it can be hard to see which of your scenes are low in tension. For tension, a scene-level edit is a definite must. For each scene, ask yourself:

  • Character’s goal: Is it clearly stated or irrefutably implied? (That scene goal in the scene chart thing? Yep. Plus, a scene chart and/or spreadsheet is a really convenient here.)
  • Bring on the conflict: Can/should I cut to where the conflict for that goal starts? Is that the worst conflict I could use here?
  • Bring out the conflict: Have I stated why this is a difficult/delicate situation?
  • Length: Is the scene an appropriate length for its significance? (That applies to both word count and the passage of time in the scene.)
  • Setting: Could another setting lend more tension to this scene?
  • Purpose: Does this move the story forward? Is my reason for having this scene good enough to justify this scene, or any scene at all?
  • Ending: Does the scene end with a disaster for my POV character’s goal? Do we cut away at the worst possible moment, something that will induce the reader to find out what happens next?
  • Finally, rating: as Noah Lukeman recommends in The Plot Thickens, rate the scene tension on a scale of 1 to 10.

Another method here is to read the story backwards, scene-by-scene. Or, I guess, you could jump around as long as you made sure you covered everything. That way, you know each scene will stand on its own—but if you change anything important, especially near the beginning, you’ll just have to go through and fix all that again. (Which can cut both ways, of course.)

Of course, this whole method requires brutal honesty. No rating a scene higher because your heroine gets off a few zingers, no keeping a scene that doesn’t serve any real purpose because it has that beautiful paragraph that it took you a month to write. Cut and paste your favorite parts (or the whole scene) into another document and you never have to actually “lose” anything.

Finding and fixing low tension scenes is just the beginning of making sure your story keeps your readers hooked. Tomorrow we’ll look at finding problems with the overarching suspense in your story. (Gulp!)

What do you think? What do you look for to find low-tension scenes?

Photo credit: Samuraijohnny

More structural self-editing resources

Yesterday I shared my presentation on structural self-editing from the 2014 LDStorymakers conference, and today I’m sharing some more resources on the subject—enough to keep you busy for quite a while!

Books I referenced

Blog posts

Other resources

Seven-point story structure by Dan Wells on YouTube—each video is about 10 minutes

What are your favorite resources on story structure?

Tomorrow: my presentation on gesture crutches!

 

Structural self-editing!

Last week was the 2014 LDStorymakers conference. I truly can’t pick a “best” moment—it was all fantastic, especially being with my “people.” But definitely among the top 10 would be teaching classes!

Friday at the LDStorymakers writing conference, I taught a class on structural self-editing. I managed to get through all the material and sound fairly coherent, I hope—but the best part was how many people wanted to learn more about the topic! Every seat was full and many wonderful people were willing to sit on the floor and crane their necks.

IF YOU WERE IN THE CLASS AND DID NOT GET THE EMAIL SIGNUP SHEET TO RECEIVE CLASS FILES, PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT BELOW! I don’t think the signup made it even halfway around the room, and I do really want to share the class files with you! I’ll send the files out this week, but with so many people signed up I’ll have to send out the files in batches.

More about the class:

After a first draft, do you have a solid story or . . . not quite? A structural edit enables you to refine your individual scenes and guide your work on the highest level. Discover how to build strong narrative structure, create a resonant theme, and craft an unputdownable story through the structural self-editing process. Before you start polishing your prose, tap into the power of these vital editing tools to get your whole novel on the right course.

If you couldn’t make it the conference, you can check out my Prezi presentation below:

Tomorrow, I’ll be sharing more resources on structural self-editing!

Subplot caveats

This entry is part 5 of 7 in the series Subplots

Subplots can be tricky little devils, eh? If you’ve already determined your subplots are definitely necessary (or you made them that indispensable) and they’re not trying to take over your story, here are a few things to look out for when using a subplot.

subplots series. Photo by Pacific Northwest National Laboratory

Mirroring subplots

When using a subplot to mirror the main character’s journey, one danger is to make the subplot superfluous by too closely mirroring the main plot. A second identical plot doesn’t add anything to the book.

Fix it: Brainstorm ways to differentiate the plots, such as:

  • How can I show something unique about the main/secondary character through this subplot?
  • How can I refine or clarify the main plot/theme through this subplot?
  • How can I foreshadow the main plot without giving it away in this subplot?

With mirroring subplots, however, it’s also possible to go too far the other direction. Remember that the purpose of a mirroring subplot is to reinforce a part of the main story: the character’s internal journey, the external plot, characterization, etc. If we mirror that piece of the main story, but cast it in a contradictory light, we’re undercutting our main story instead of reinforcing it.

For example, if we’re mirroring the main character’s arc, but the secondary character does the “wrong” thing, refuses to grow, we can’t reward them by giving them what they want. That doesn’t show the main character that their path to growth is a good thing!

Contrasting subplots

A contrasting subplot shows the opposite sort of progress, growth or change as the main plot—for example, a secondary character exhibits the same weakness as the main character, but refuses to go on a journey to growth like the main character does.

To make sure this works in your subplot, be sure that:

  • The secondary character’s weakness is the same as or highly similar to the main character’s.
  • The secondary character does not go on a journey to growth, despite having the same opportunity.
  • When the secondary character refuses to grow, she reaps negative consequences.
  • The ultimate outcome for the character is negative.

This way the contrasting subplot reinforces the character’s arc.

Complicating subplots

When your subplot is affecting the main character, but the secondary characters aren’t growing or changing, you may have a complicating subplot. Personally, I’d double check to make sure you really want a complicating subplot rather than a mirroring or contrasting one, since those add extra depth.

One of the major dangers of complicating subplots is appearing superfluous. Make sure that your characters really affect the main plot and main characters, and nothing else could do the same job.

Conversely, you could be making your secondary characters or subplot work too hard—if they’re the only thing that propels the main plot or the main character, that could indicate a proactivity problem with the main parts of your book.

Meddling secondary characters are great for creating conflict in a book. But if your secondary characters are coming out of the woodwork to resolve all the main characters’ problems—without the protagonists really working for them—it feels like the main character is relying on a deus ex machina for resolution, rather than learning, growing and becoming a stronger person. And which of those would you rather read?

What are other common dangers of subplots?

Photo credit: Pacific Northwest National Laboratory

Maybe this novel thing is for me . . .

This entry is part 3 of 13 in the series All my novels

My first novel was inspired by a dream, written longhand, and typed up. I rearranged the elements of one chapter (making it a pretty cool partial flashback)—and that passed for editing. Naturally, when editing doesn’t take any time, I figured it I should start on my next novel as soon as I finished this one.

ideaI just needed an idea.

As any writer can tell you, ideas are cheap. I come across several every day. But very few of them actually inspire novels (it usually takes combining a few ideas to get to that level). As I approached the end of my first novel, I began to worry about the next one. Would I have any ideas? Did I only have one novel in me?

I think that insecurity comes back with every novel and every fallow period. I put immense pressure on myself to be “productive.” I’m almost always multitasking, even on a day “off.” But it’s okay to wait until you find an idea you’re really passionate about.

Fortunately, I had another dream, and once again I had the seeds of a novel.

The book stats

Title: Finally settled on Con Artist
Genre: Semi-historical romance (set in New York in 1974)
Inspiration: another dream
Writing dates: November 2007 – about August 2008. Well, the actual writing didn’t take all that time, but I’m not sure when I finished writing. I stopped editing in about August 2008, soon after my second child was born.
Length: ~70,000 words?
Elevator pitch: Aspiring artist Margaux might be living with a killer. The only person who can help her is Charlie, a handsome reporter—and the one person who could ruin Margaux’s future.

What I learned from writing this book

Uh, wow. I learned a lot from this book. In the course of writing, I was thinking about one character’s backstory, and it just popped into my head: he was divorced, and here’s why, and here’s his ex-wife, and here’s his son. That kind of “speaking” to me is still kind of rare, so it’s still one of my favorite moments about this book.

reenvision

This manuscript was also a big lesson for me in revision. I really didn’t like how the last third of the book or so ended, so I really began pulling it apart, tackling the events differently, rewriting and changing. Unfortunately, I never did get it to where I liked it okay.

This novel also brought me to my first critique group, which happened to be online. It was a very interesting setup, and it seemed to work well (though I moved on years ago, so I can’t really comment on how it’s working now). I made a good friend (hi, Marnee!) there, and learned a lot about characterization, motivations, character sympathy, etc. But that group also yielded my first experience with a toxic critique partner (not Marnee!).

Possibly the biggest effect this book had on my writing, though, was realizing that I needed to plot things out first. This book began to grow into a Winchester Mystery Story as I fixed problems pointed out by critique partners, while also rewriting and scrapping and revising and rewriting the last third of the book. Finally, I really couldn’t fix this, and I was beginning to hate the characters, the book, and writing.

Also, having just recently had a baby about the time I was drowning in edits, I was worried I would never be able to write a novel again. Fortunately, I proved myself wrong. (Next time!)

How about you? Are you a “convert” to plotting? Come share!

Photo credits: idea (lightbulb)—Juliette;
re-envision original series by Briana Zimmers via Flickr/CC

Secret sauce: Behold, the scene chart!

This entry is part 7 of 16 in the series Spilling the secret sauce

There are probably as many ways to edit a story as there are to write one. One of my favorite tools has been a scene chart, inspired by a post on Edittorrent.

The original post suggested creating index cards for each scene, listing a number of important features—everything from where and when the scene is set, to first and last lines, to “promises” made to the reader, to important details like descriptions. Then you could move the index cards around to resequence events or scenes, or play with the story without hurting your MS.

Like many of the commentators on the post, however, I used a spreadsheet to do this in a very small space. I also combined this with probably the most important thing I learned from Jack Bickham’s Scene & Structure—the structure of a scene and the importance of a scene goal—for the character, not just me as a writer. (More on scene goals next week!)

So here’s an example of the kind of scene chart I used, partially filled in for an imaginary story (anybody recognize the plot? Hint: it’s from an old card game). I didn’t use all of these columns myself (and if any of them aren’t clear, feel free to ask what I mean).

I liked this technique so well, I’ve used it on almost everything I’ve written since the first time I used it, more than four years ago. I can use it to make sure the vital elements of every scene are present.

Checking for these elements is a very powerful tool. It makes sure that:

  • Each scene is vital to your story
  • Each scene has direction and purpose
  • Each scene keeps your reader engaged and interested
  • The story is consistent in its details
  • There are no loose threads or forgotten promises

We’ll talk more about how the scene chart helps with some of these elements over the next couple weeks.

What do you think? Do you use a form of scene charts? What’s your favorite high-level editing technique?

Photo credit: Aaron Brown

Secret sauce: Re-vision

This entry is part 3 of 16 in the series Spilling the secret sauce

For a long time, I did NOT understand the concept of “revision.” I’d edit, sure, but I guess I labored under the belief that “real” writers had perfect words fall out of their heads in the perfect order and once you’ve finished a copy edit, you’re done.

Ha. Hahaha. Ha.

Virtually no writer publishes a first draft. Virtually no writer publishes a first draft that they’ve only spitshined.

reenvisionAnd it wasn’t until I really dug in to understand that revision can (and often should) mean re-envisioning your story that I really began to be a better writer—a publishable writer. Author Natalie Whipple knows where I’m coming from, as she lists “I wish I took editing seriously” as one of the things she wished she’d done differently in her writing journey:

I spent way too long doing edits that did not cut it. Sadly, it wasn’t until my 8th book that I really learned how to revise. Before that, I would do as little as humanly possible to satisfy my crit partners’ concerns. I never made big enough changes, never believed I NEEDED to make bigger changes. It was only when I really dug in, saw my story as malleable, that I truly improved.

Amen, sister.

Frequently when I get critiqued or judged, I fall prey to the natural tendency to get defensive of my work (getting better with regular practice at getting critiqued!). Granted, all suggestions won’t work for your story, you know your story best, and sometimes critique partners can be just plain toxic. But even bad advice can make our story better when it makes us take another look at our story with a critical eye, when we recognize that just because we wrote it that way, it might not be the best way.

Wait, what?

Just because you wrote it one way doesn’t mean it’s the best way. We should always consider if there’s a better way to say what we’re saying.

I see people defend weak writing by saying, “But it’s my character’s voice.” Honestly, I think a lot of the time what they’re really thinking is that “I wrote it that way, so it’s right.” Maybe so—but could you write it better?

This issue runs much deeper than just word choice and voice: to make your work as good as possible, you may have to re-envision the novel itself. Is this characterization right? Could this theme be stronger? Is there a better sequence for these events—and are they even the right events?

This subject is probably more appropriate for a series of its own, or a hands-on class, but here are a few of the things I think of when really trying to re-envision my story:

  • What is the theme of this story? What does the character learn as a result of the story? How does s/he change?
  • How can I show and apply that change in the course of the story?
  • Does the story overall work? Are there plot holes or unsupported incidents?
  • Characters. Oh, characters.
  • Do all the scenes and events of the story support the theme?
  • Are all the scenes and events of the story necessary, and do they move it forward?

Is this hard? Is it worth it? YES and DOUBLE YES. Can you do it all by yourself? Maybe—but impartial critiques aimed at helping you tell your story in the best way possible can also be an invaluable tool. Even after you’ve re-envisioned your novel, these critiques help to make sure you’re getting across the message you wanted.

Because why else would we edit? Why wouldn’t we just submit first drafts and companies publish first drafts? Because there’s a better way to say it. And I think (and hope) self-publishing will ride out the same way: you’ll be able to tell who edits and who slaps their first drafts on the market, who says “I wrote it that way, so it’s right” and who says, “I did write it that way, but maybe there’s a better way to say it.”

More than anything else, real revision is the skill that will take anyone’s writing to the next level. We’ll cover lots of the above concepts throughout the secret sauce series, because when it comes down to it, the secret sauce isn’t about getting things right in the first draft. It’s about revising your way to “publishability.”

What do you think? What lessons have you learned from revision (or just thinking about it?)?

Photos by Briana Zimmers; map image courtesy of The Journey 1972 (South America “addicted”)