Write Great Fiction--Plot & Structure (15 page)

The inner world of the Lead character is an opportunity for commercial novelists to add more dimension to their stories — by raising the
inner
stakes for their leads. Quite often this comes down to a matter of choice. By sharpening the horns of a dilemma, one can raise the stakes for the character.

In
The Pardon
, Grippando also raises the stakes for the main subplot character. Jack's estranged father is the governor of the state. When it looks like Jack could be convicted of capital murder, the law-and-order governor will have to decide whether to issue a pardon, at the cost of his political life. It's a deeply personal anguish.

In Deborah Raney's
Beneath a Southern Sky
, the Lead, a widow named Daria, is happily remarried and newly pregnant — then discovers that the beloved husband she thought dead has been found alive in the Colombian jungle. Now she's married to two men, each of whom is the father of one of her daughters. Her pregnancy raises the emotional stakes for all involved.

So ponder things like this:

• How can things get more emotionally wrenching for my Lead?
  
• Is there someone the Lead cares about who can get caught up in the trouble?
  
• Are there dark secrets from the past that can be revealed?
  

When social trouble is big enough, it can raise the stakes by adding a huge layer of complication to the Lead's woes. Readers will wonder whether the Lead's personal problems will worsen because of the dire conditions in her immediate world.

Consider Scarlett O'Hara, whose desire is to get Ashley Wilkes to marry her. The first part of the book is built around her scheme to get Ashley alone at the big barbeque at Twelve Oaks, declare her love, and receive his troth in return.

Her immediate problem is Melanie Hamilton, whom Scarlett finds out is now pledged to Ashley. Scarlett cannot believe that Ashley really loves this mouse and is determined to step in. Her plan fails. Not only does Ashley refuse to leave Melanie, but Scarlett's secret is found out by a snoozing eavesdropper — the rogue Rhett Butler.

Now what to do? As Scarlett considers her setback, explosive news hits the party — war has begun. Ashley, along with all the other young men of the county, will be going off to fight. (Hint: Whenever war breaks out, stakes are raised!)

Scarlett is going to face all the challenges of a woman on the home front, even as she continues to obsess about Ashley.

Use these questions to help you develop your own societal stakes:

• What are the social aspects of the story that swirl around the characters?
  
• Are they dealing with some huge issue? If not, can you find one?
  
• What other characters can line up on either side?
  

To get your novel to that next level of stakes, train yourself to think of deeper tribulation for your Lead. Get really mean. Using questions like the ones in this chapter, create a list of things that can go wrong for your poor character. Stretch yourself at this stage.

Next, take your list of answers and sort them by their degree of trouble, from least to worse. As a general rule you want the trouble to increase as the story moves along.

You now have a “stakes outline,” which can be used to invent scenes and turning points for your novel. Of course you don't have to use every bit of trouble, nor the biggest. But at least with a stakes outline you will have a packed storehouse of material to access when you need it.

Come to think of it, skyrocketing foodstuffs could, in the right story, be a massive social problem that makes things a lot worse. My apologies to Daffy. That Duck could write.

It happens to even the best writers. They're writing along, well into Act II, when all of sudden everything starts to crawl. The plot begins to feel like a lazy uncle outstaying his welcome, sitting on the couch and boring you with pointless anecdotes.

How do you pump new life into a plot? We have ways. Here are a few of them:

[1] Analyze the stakes.
Looking to the tips in this chapter, ask yourself what the main character will lose if he does not achieve his objective. Unless it is something that threatens tremendous loss, either physically or emotionally, readers won't care what happens.

[2] Strengthen the adhesive.
What is it that bonds the Lead and the opposition together? If the adhesive is not strong enough, the readers will wonder why the plot should continue at all. Look at the possible adhesives in this chapter and find at least one that fits your plot.

[3] Add another level of complication.
In Robert Crais's thriller
Hostage
, burned-out hostage negotiator Jeff Talley is suddenly faced with a tense standoff in an otherwise placid bedroom community.

Fine and dandy on its own, but Crais then adds another level: The hostage inside the house has in his possession incriminating financial evidence against the mob because he is the mob's accountant! The mob needs to get that evidence before the cops do.

To put pressure on Talley, the mob kidnaps his ex-wife and daughter and holds
them
hostage. This added level of complication supercharges the entire book.

[4] Add another character.
Not just any character, but one that will make the Lead's life that much more difficult. It might be a surprise character from the past, who knows something the Lead wants to keep hidden.

Or it could be a character who, on the surface, supports the Lead. But that support is not helpful for one reason or another.

A love interest can work for added complication, too.

[5] Add another subplot.
Use this one sparingly. Subplots (
see chapter eight
) must be organic and relate to the main plot. You don't want to tack one on that seems merely to take up space.

A romantic subplot, as mentioned above, is always a possibility.

Think also of family issues the Lead may have. Or something mysterious — the shadow subplot — which is haunting or hunting the Lead.

[6] Push on through the Wall.
Sometimes, the Act II Problem is merely writer's exhaustion. A temporary loss of confidence. Maybe even the fear that what you're writing is total garbage.

This is the Wall, and it should help you to know that most novelists hit it at some point in their first drafts.

For me, it is around the thirty-thousand-word mark. I get there and suddenly think all the worst things about my novel: the idea stinks and is beyond redemption; my writing is lame, the characters uninteresting, and the plot virtually nonexistent. I can't possibly go on. Career over. The anxiety is only magnified when there is an advance already half spent.

Here is a simple prescription I've come up with:

• Take one whole day off from writing.
  
• Try to spend some time at a peaceful location — a park, a lakeshore, a deserted parking lot. Anywhere you can be alone.
  
• Spend at least thirty minutes sitting without doing anything. Don't read, and don't listen to music. Breathe deeply. Hear the world around you.
  
• Do something for pure fun. See a movie. Shop for hours without buying. Eat ice cream.
  
• In the evening, drink a glass of warm milk and fall asleep reading one of your favorite writers.
  
• First thing the next day, write at least three hundred words on your novel, no matter what. Don't edit, and don't slow down. Just write. You'll start to feel excited again.
  
• Push on until you complete your first draft.
  

And know this: Your first draft is never as bad as you thought it was at the Wall.

Here we have the opposite problem. Instead of wondering what to put in, we have too much going on. The novel is starting to sink under its own weight.

If that's your conundrum, rejoice! Almost always, cutting stuff improves your book (
see chapter eleven for more on revision
).

Here are three ways you can get a leaner, meaner Act II:

[1] Combine or cut characters.
Is it possible to take two characters who are serving two different purposes (or somewhat overlapping in their purposes) and combine them?

Look to the Lead's allies first. If there are too many people on his side, it's a good idea to combine because a novel stresses opposition.

Or it may just be that a character has to go. Sometimes this happens with minor characters we fall in love with. We start to give these colorful walk-ons more and more stage time. And like ham actors, they take it.

You may need to politely ask them to leave the show. If they put up a fight, maybe you can write another novel, this time about them.

Minor characters love that.

[2] Absorb a subplot.
In the same way, there may be a subplot that isn't really adding to the plot. The actions may interest you, but are they distracting to most readers?

Combine the best parts of a soggy subplot to create a stronger main plot.

[3] Trim the dullness.
Look to your scenes themselves. Is there enough conflict? Is there too much talk without tension? Are the reaction scenes lasting too long?

Recalling Hitchcock's Axiom, put yourself in the editor's chair. Constantly ask yourself if there is enough interest in what you're writing to hold an editor's attention. Is there any place he would be tempted to put it down and go get lunch?

Cut that part to the bone or altogether if need be.

Act II is the biggest challenge the novelist faces. But if you have laid a solid foundation through the LOCK system and you use the principles in this chapter, you'll find you actually enjoy the writing. You're creating a plot that works.

Define how your Lead will die, either physically, professionally, or psychologically, if she does not achieve her objective. If you can't, ask yourself if the objective is truly crucial to the Lead's well-being. Find a way to make it so important readers will understand why the objective must be achieved.

Deepen your opposition character. Find an answer to the question, “Why do I love this character?” Have you given him justifications for what he does? Is he as strong, or stronger than the Lead? If not, make him so.

Select a scene from your novel that is fraught with conflict or tension. Isolate the part of the scene where the tension is at its peak. It may be a few paragraphs or a few pages. Whatever it is, try to stretch the tension further. Use
each
of the tools suggested in this chapter to accomplish this. Come back to the scene a day or two later and read it again. Does it hold your interest throughout? You can always cut back if you need to, but most often you'll find that you've found a way to add to the reading experience in a positive manner.

What are the stakes in the novel? Look at each aspect — plot, character, and society. If you are missing one, consider adding it to the mix. And then consider how you can raise each one to its maximum level in the course of the novel.

Reread a novel that didn't work for you. As you do, play the role of editor and look for ways to improve it, based on what you've read in this chapter. Write a long letter to the author (you don't have to mail it) suggesting the changes you'd like to see before submitting the manuscript to the publishing committee.

Your first chapter sells your book. Your last chapter sells your NEXT book.

— Mickey Spillane

A weak ending can ruin an otherwise wonderful book.

A strong ending can redeem an otherwise mediocre book.

So take your endings seriously. Wrap up your books so they knock your readers out. That is how you make a writing career as a novelist.

One of my favorite thriller writers is David Morrell (he's also the author of a terrific book on the craft,
Lessons From a Lifetime of Writing
). His novel
Burnt Sienna
is one of his best. If the test of a thriller is its can't-put-it-down quotient, this book passes the test.

But what truly stands out, in my view, is the non-Hollywood and quite poignant ending. I won't give it away now. Read the book to see how a master craftsman deepens the reading experience.

A great ending does two things above all else: First, it feels perfect for the kind of novel it is appended to. Second, it surprises the reader. It is not so familiar the reader has the feeling he's seen it somewhere before.

Why are endings so hard? Because the novelist is like the plate spinners I used to watch on the old
Ed Sullivan Show.
These guys would have seven or eight plates spinning at the same time, sort of like a wild Act II, and then they'd have to come up with a big finish that got all the plates off safely and with a little flourish.

Your plot will have lots of plates spinning by the time you get to the end. You need to get them off safely. You need a little flourish. And you need to do it in a way that is not predictable. You don't want readers finishing your book thinking, “I've seen that so many times before.”

Which brings up another challenge: With each passing year — with every new book, movie, and television show — more endings are thrown out into popular culture.

What was once a fresh approach may now actually be getting a little stale. We all know the old
we-think-the-bad-guy-is-dead-but-he-really-is-not-and-comes-back-for-one-last-stab-at-the-hero ending
. It wasn't old in the movies twenty years ago. But if a filmmaker tries it now, everybody in the audience is going to be thinking, “He's not really dead, and if the hero turns his back he's an idiot.”

That's why endings are hard, and why we need to work on them with all the creative juices we can muster.

The most exciting boxing matches are those where it looks like one fighter is going to lose, only to draw on reserves of strength to deliver a knockout blow to his opponent.