StoryWeaving Tips

By Melanie Anne Phillips

Creator StoryWeaver, Co-creator Dramatica

All Contents Copyright Melanie Anne Phillips

Contact melanie@storymind.com
StoryWeaving Tips
Introduction to StoryWeaving .......................................................................................... 6
Be a Story Weaver - NOT a Story Mechanic! .................................................................. 8
Inspiration ....................................................................................................................8
Development.............................................................................................................. 10
Exposition .................................................................................................................. 11
Storytelling ................................................................................................................. 12
StoryWeaving: Story Structure for Passionate Writers .................................................. 14
Tricking the Muse: The Creativity Two-Step .............................................................. 15
Step One: Asking Questions...................................................................................... 15
Step Two: Answering Questions ................................................................................ 16
Step One Revisited .................................................................................................... 16
Return to Step Two .................................................................................................... 16
Introducing the "Story Mind" .......................................................................................... 19
Why a Story Mind? ........................................................................................................ 21
What's In Your Story's Mind?......................................................................................... 23
Genre......................................................................................................................... 23
Theme........................................................................................................................ 23
Plot............................................................................................................................. 24
Characters ................................................................................................................. 25
Finding your "Creative Time" ......................................................................................... 26
Inspiration...................................................................................................................... 29
Your Story As A Person................................................................................................. 33
Beating Writers Block! ................................................................................................... 35
1. Inspiration ............................................................................................................. 35
2. What do you have to start with?............................................................................ 35
3. Nonsense!............................................................................................................. 35
4. Meaning ................................................................................................................ 35
5. Combining Meanings ............................................................................................ 36
Pen, Pencil or Quill? ...................................................................................................... 37
The Nonsense Technique for Overcoming Writers Block .............................................. 39
Step One: Random Words......................................................................................... 39
Step Two: Meaning .................................................................................................... 39
Step Three: Integrating Ideas .................................................................................... 40
Step Four: Finding the Holes ..................................................................................... 41
Step Five: Filling the Holes ........................................................................................ 42
Step Six: Putting It All Together ................................................................................. 42
The Writer's Notebook................................................................................................... 43
Writing from the Passionate Self ................................................................................... 45
Throughlines (and how to use them!) ............................................................................ 50
Work Stories vs. Dilemma Stories ................................................................................. 53
Problems.................................................................................................................... 53
Work Stories and Dilemma Stories ............................................................................ 53
Mind and Universe ..................................................................................................... 53
 Subjective and Objective Views ................................................................................. 54
Comparing Writing Software Paradigms........................................................................ 55
Slicing and Dicing .......................................................................................................... 59
The Dramatica Theory................................................................................................... 61
Introduction ................................................................................................................ 61
What is Dramatica?.................................................................................................... 61
The Story Mind........................................................................................................... 62
Origins of a Story........................................................................................................... 65
Screenwriting 101.......................................................................................................... 68
Blowing The Bubble....................................................................................................... 70
A Screenwriter's Bag of Tricks....................................................................................... 74
Use index cards to work out the scenes in your script ............................................... 74
Break up long monologs among several characters .................................................. 75
Use "Red Herrings".................................................................................................... 75
Don't say it if you can show it..................................................................................... 77
Drop exposition through arguments ........................................................................... 78
A Novelist's Bag of Tricks .............................................................................................. 79
Novels Aren't Stories.................................................................................................. 79
Get Into Your Characters' Heads ............................................................................... 80
Keep A Daily Log Of Tidbits....................................................................................... 80
Don't Hold Back ......................................................................................................... 81
Character Justification ................................................................................................... 82
The 12 Essential Questions - "Resolve" ........................................................................ 87
Writing from a Character's Point of View ....................................................................... 91
The Chemistry of Characters......................................................................................... 92
Players....................................................................................................................... 93
A Player is a host in which a Character Resides........................................................ 94
Conclusion to Objective Characters........................................................................... 94
Love Interests & the Dramatic Triangle ......................................................................... 95
Psychoanalyze Your Story ............................................................................................ 99
Does your story suffer from "Multiple Personality Disorder"?..................................... 99
To Change, or NOT to Change.................................................................................... 101
1. The Steady Freddy .............................................................................................. 101
2. The Griever.......................................................................................................... 101
3. The Weaver ......................................................................................................... 101
4. The Waffler .......................................................................................................... 102
5. The Exception Maker ........................................................................................... 102
6. The Backslider ..................................................................................................... 102
Variations................................................................................................................. 102
Writing Characters of the Opposite Sex ...................................................................... 104
Characters as Things .................................................................................................. 107
Antagonist vs. Obstacle Character .............................................................................. 109
Character Development Tricks! ................................................................................... 111
"My Hero!" ................................................................................................................... 115
The Narrator ................................................................................................................ 117
The Villain....................................................................................................................120
The Main Character..................................................................................................... 123
Fire Your Protagonist!.................................................................................................. 124
The Archetypal Characters Part One: Protagonist and Antagonist............................. 125
Creating Characters from Scratch ............................................................................... 128
Where Do Characters Come From? ........................................................................ 128
Where Can We Get Some? ..................................................................................... 128
Why does Murdock Mutter? ..................................................................................... 129
Give Murdock a Job! ................................................................................................ 130
Writing Exercises: Creating Characters ................................................................... 131
Creating Characters from Plot ..................................................................................... 132
Introduction .............................................................................................................. 132
Thumbnail Sketch .................................................................................................... 132
The Expected Characters ........................................................................................ 132
The Usual Characters .............................................................................................. 133
Unusual Characters ................................................................................................. 133
Outlandish Characters ............................................................................................. 133
Casting Call ............................................................................................................. 133
A Word About Plot... ................................................................................................ 134
Study Exercises: Squeezing Characters out of the Thumbnail Sketch ................... 135
Writing Exercises: Creating Characters ................................................................... 135
Characters - The Attributes of Age .............................................................................. 136
Introduction .............................................................................................................. 136
The Attributes of Age ............................................................................................... 136
Anatomical vs. Chronological age............................................................................ 136
Jargon...................................................................................................................... 137
Outlook .................................................................................................................... 137
Comfort Symbols ..................................................................................................... 138
Physical Attributes ................................................................................................... 139
Conclusion? ............................................................................................................. 139
The Hero Breaks Down ............................................................................................... 140
Character Arc 101 ....................................................................................................... 143
1. The Steady Freddy .............................................................................................. 143
2. The Griever.......................................................................................................... 143
3. The Weaver ......................................................................................................... 143
4. The Waffler .......................................................................................................... 144
5. The Exception Maker ........................................................................................... 144
6. The Backslider ..................................................................................................... 144
Variations................................................................................................................. 144
Male vs. Female Problem Solving ............................................................................... 146
"Yes, but it is a PLOT?!" .............................................................................................. 150
1. Is each a Plot? .................................................................................................... 150
2. Is there a difference between the plots? ............................................................. 150
3. Is there a difference between the characters? .................................................... 151
Plot vs. Exposition ....................................................................................................... 153
The "Collective" Goal................................................................................................... 154
Subplots ...................................................................................................................... 155
Four Essential Plot Points ........................................................................................... 157
1. Goal ..................................................................................................................... 157
2. Consequences ..................................................................................................... 157
3. Requirements....................................................................................................... 157
4. Forewarnings ....................................................................................................... 158
All Four Together ..................................................................................................... 158
Revealing Your Goal ................................................................................................... 159
Genre: Revealing Your Story's Personality.................................................................. 161
"Genre - Act by Act"..................................................................................................... 162
Genre in Act One ..................................................................................................... 162
Genre in Act Two ..................................................................................................... 162
Genre in Act Three................................................................................................... 163
Genre Conclusion .................................................................................................... 163
Avoiding the Genre Trap ............................................................................................. 164
How We Fall Into the Genre Trap ............................................................................ 164
A New Definition of Genre ....................................................................................... 164
How to Avoid the Genre Trap................................................................................... 165
Summing Up the Sum of the Parts........................................................................... 167
Both Sides of the Thematic Argument ......................................................................... 168
"Coming Apart At The Themes"................................................................................... 170
Introduction to StoryWeaving

When Chris Huntley and I created the Dramatica Theory back in the early 90’s, we
originally envisioned it as the end-all of story models – the one single paradigm that
explained it all. In fact, it was. But only in regard to the structure of stories, the underlying
mechanics.

Although Dramatica proved amazingly popular, and the software we designed (along with
Steve Greenfield) became the best selling story development tool ever created, I began to
feel there was something missing.

In spite of (or perhaps because of) its power, depth, and accuracy Dramatica required a
huge learning curve. What’s more, though writers could intuitively tune in to its “truth” and
“vision” it somehow left the user cold in a passionate or creative sense.

To compensate for these issues, we eventually carried the software through three
complete major versions, each seeking to make the story development process more
involving and accessible. After considering the last of these efforts, I came to realize that
there was only so far you could go in an attempt to turn a logical model of story structure
into a warm fuzzy teddy bear of inspiration.

So began a personal eight-year journey on my part to connect with the other “touchy-
feely” side of story development. What I wanted was simple – the passionate counterpart
to Dramatica: a simple, easy to follow, step-by-step approach to story development that
goosed the Muse and never required an author to deal directly with theory or to drop out
of creative mode in order to make logistic choices. In short, I wanted to create a means
by which writing would become fun, easy, powerful, and meaningful and still hold true to
the structural insights of the Dramatica Theory.

The result was a whole new system of writing which I called “StoryWeaving.”
StoryWeaving is just what it sounds like: the process of weaving together a story. Picture
an author in front of a loom, drawing on threads of structure and passion, pulling them
together into something that will ultimately be both moving and meaningful, that will
capture human emotion and present it in a pattern that makes logical sense.

Authors work best not when they simply let themselves go in an aimless fashion, nor when
they adhere to a strict framework of structural imperatives, but rather, they maximize the
fruits of their talents when they are free to move through both worlds on a whim, drawing
on such elements of structure and passion as play across their minds at any given
moment.

Having devised a method of assisting authors in embracing this freedom, I designed the
StoryWeaver software to transform the concept into a practical tool. Within the first year
of its release, StoryWeaver came to outsell Dramatica on my online store by a margin of
six to one, and outsold all other products that I carry combined!
Still, as simple and straightforward as StoryWeaver is to use, many authors craved
additional details about various StoryWeaving concepts. To include that degree of depth
in the software would bog down the process. So, I began a series of StoryWeaving Tips
to elucidate on particular areas of interest, and to enhance the StoryWeaving path with
small excursions onto creative side-streets.

This book is a compilation of the complete collection of all of these tips to date. Because
each tip brings a magnifying glass to a different part of the StoryWeaving process, you
may find this anthology somewhat random or meandering as a whole. Nonetheless, if you
take each tip as an individual tool to add to your writer’s bag of tricks to be invoked as
needed, you will find both your abilities and your writing experience considerably
enhanced.

With that thought, I leave you to explore these new worlds on your own.

~~ Melanie Anne Phillips

Be a Story Weaver - NOT a Story Mechanic!

Too many writers fall into the trap of making Structure their Story God. There's no denying
that structure is important, but paying too much attention to structure can destroy your
story.

We have all seen movies and read novels that feel like "paint by numbers" creations.
Sure, they hit all the marks and cover all the expected relationships, but they seem stilted,
uninspired, contrived, and lifeless.

The authors of such pedestrian fare are Story Mechanics. A Story Mechanic is a writer
who constructs a story as if it were a machine. Starting with a blueprint, the writer gathers
the necessary dramatic components, assembles the gears and pulleys, tightens all the
structural nuts and bolts, and then tries to make the story interesting with a fancy paint job.

But there is another kind of writer who creates a different kind of story. These Story
Weavers begin with subjects or concepts they are passionate about and let the structure
suggest itself from the material. They see their players as people before they consider
them as characters. Events are happenings before they are plot. Values precede theme
and the story develops a world before it develops a genre.

A book or movie written by a Story Weaver is involving, riveting, and compelling. It

captures the fullness of human emotion, and captivates the mind.

Although some writers are natural born StoryWeavers, there is still hope for the rest of us.
In fact, you can become a StoryWeaver just by practicing a few select techniques until
they become second nature.

First, clear your mind of any thoughts about characters, plot, theme, and genre. Avoid any
consideration of character arc, hero's journey, acts, scenes, sequences, beats, messages,
premises, settings, atmosphere, and formulas. In short - don't give structure a second
thought.

Now work to create a world in which people live and interact, things happen, meaning can
be found and the environment is intriguing. To do this, we'll progress through four different
stages of story creation: Inspiration, Development, Exposition, and Storytelling.

Inspiration

Inspiration can come from many sources: a conversation overheard at a coffee shop, a
newspaper article, or a personal experience to name a few. And, inspiration can also take
many forms: a snippet of dialogue, a bit of action, a clever concept, and so on.
If you can't think of a story idea to save your life, there are a few things you can do to
goose the Muse.

First of all, consider your creative time. Some people consistently find inspiration in the
morning, others in the afternoon, evening or even in the dead of night. Some people are
more creative in the summer and can't write worth a darn in the other three seasons.
There are authors who work in cycles and those who come up with ideas in spurts. The
key to using your creative time is to keep a log of your most fertile moments and then plan
ahead to keep that kind of time open for further inspirations.

And don't neglect your creative space either. There are authors who go off to a mountain
cabin to write. Some like lots of noise or babble, like a city street below their open window
or an all-news station on the radio as background. There are writers who prefer a cluttered
room because it engenders chaos, which leads to serendipity. Others can't think a lick
unless everything is orderly, neat and in its place. Creative space includes the clothes you
wear while writing. There are those who wear hats when developing characters and others
who pantomime action sequences to get in the feel of it.

Open yourself to different writing media. If you only use a desktop computer, try a laptop,
a palm organizer with a folding keyboard, long hand on a pad, or a digital voice recorder.
And don't be afraid to switch around any of these from time to time and mood to mood.

If you still can't come up with an idea, try the Synthesis Technique. In brief, you want to
subject yourself to two disparate sources of information. For example, put a talk radio
program on while reading a magazine or watching television and let the odd juxtaposition
spur your notions.

Finally, if all else fails, try using Nonsense Words. Just jot down three random words, such
as "Red Ground Rover." Then, write as many different explanations as you can for what
that phrase might mean. For example, Red Ground Rover might be:

1. A red dog named rover whose legs are so short his belly rubs the ground.
2. The Martian Rover space vehicle on the red planet's surface.
3. Fresh hamburger made from dog

Your list might go on and on. Now most of these potential meanings might be pure
rubbish, but occasionally a good idea can surface. If the first three words don't work, try
three different ones. And, in the end, even if you don't find an idea directly from your
explanations of each phrase, you'll have so stocked the creative spirit that you will find
yourself far more prone to inspiration than before you started the exercise.

Use these inspiration techniques to come up with a log line for your story. A log line is
simply a one- or two-sentence description of what your story is about in general. They are
the same kind of short descriptions you find in TV Guide or in your cable or satellite TV
guide.
A sample log line might be, "The marshal in an old western town struggles to stop a gang
that is bleeding the town dry."

Development

Once you've been inspired enough to create a log line, you can move into the second
stage of Story Weaving: Development. Here is where you take your basic concept and
flesh it out with lots more detail.

In Development you'll begin to populate your story with people you might like to write
about, work out some of the things that will happen in your story, and establish the world
or environment in which it takes place. These efforts will ultimately result in your
characters, plot, theme, and genre.

There are many Story Weaving techniques for the Development stage, but one of the
most powerful is to project your world beyond what is specifically stated in the log line.

As an example, let's use the log line from above: "The marshal in an old western town
struggles to stop a gang that is bleeding the town dry." Now let's see how we can expand
that world to create a whole group of people who grow out of the story, some of whom will
ultimately become our characters.

The only specifically called-for characters are the marshal and the gang. But, you'd expect
the gang to have a leader and the town to have a mayor. The marshal might have a
deputy. And, if the town is being bled dry, then some businessmen and shopkeepers
would be in order as well.

Range a little wider now and list some characters that aren't necessarily expected, but
wouldn't seem particularly out of place in such a story.

Example: A saloon girl, a bartender, blacksmith, rancher, preacher, schoolteacher, etc.

Now, let yourself go a bit and list a number of characters that would seem somewhat out
of place but still explainable in such a story.

Example: A troupe of traveling acrobats, Ulysses S. Grant, a Prussian Duke, a bird

watcher.

Finally, pull out all the stops and list some completely inappropriate characters that would
take a heap of explaining to your reader/audience if they showed up in your story.

Example: Richard Nixon, Martians, the Ghost of Julius Caesar

Although you'll likely discard these characters, just the process of coming up with them
can lead to new ideas and directions for your story.
For example, the town marshal might become more interesting if he was a history buff,
specifically reading about the Roman Empire. In his first run-in with the gang, he is
knocked out cold with a concussion. For the rest of the story, he keeps imagining the
Ghost of Julius Caesar giving him unwanted advice.

This same kind of approach can be applied to your log line to generate the events that will
happen in your story, the values you will explore, and the nature of your story's world
(which will become your genre).

Exposition

The third stage of Story Weaving is to lay out an Exposition Plan for your story. By the
time you complete the Development Stage, you will probably have a pretty good idea what
your story is about. But your audience knows nothing of it - not yet - not until you write
down what you know.

Of course, you could just write, "My story's goal is to rid the town of the gang that is
bleeding it dry. The marshal is the protagonist, and he ultimately succeeds, but at great
personal cost."

Sure, it's a story, but not a very interesting one. If you were to unfold your story in this
perfunctory style, you'd have a complete story that felt just like that "paint by numbers"
picture we encountered earlier.

Part of what gives a story life is the manner in which story points are revealed, revisited
throughout the story, played against each other and blended together, much as a master
painter will blend colors, edges, shapes and shadows.

As an example, let's create an Exposition Plan to reveal a story's goal. Sometimes a goal
is spelled out right at the beginning, such as a meeting in which a general tells a special
strike unit that terrorists have kidnapped a senator’s daughter and they must rescue her.

Other times, the goal is hidden behind an apparent goal. So, if your story had used the
scene described above, it might turn out that it was really just a cover story and, in fact,
the supposed "daughter" was actually an agent who was assigned to identify and kill a
double agent working on the strike team.

Goals may also be revealed slowly, such as in The Godfather, where it takes the entire
film to realize that the goal is to keep the family alive by replacing the aging Don with a
younger member of the family.

Further, in The Godfather, as in many Alfred Hitchcock films, the goal is not nearly as
important as the chase or the inside information or the thematic atmosphere. So don't feel
obligated to elevate every story point to the same level.
Let your imagination run wild. Jot down as many instances as come to mind in which the
particular story point comes into play. Such events, moments or scenarios enrich a story
and add passion to a perfunctory telling of the tale.

One of the best ways to do this is to consider how each story point might affect other story
points. For example, each character sees the overall goal as a step in helping them
accomplish their personal goals. So, why not create a scenario where a character wistfully
describes his personal goal to another character while sitting around a campfire? He can
explain how achievement of the overall story goal will help him get what he personally
wants.

An example of this is in the John Wayne classic movie, The Searchers. John Wayne's
character asks an old, mentally slow friend to help search for the missing girl. Finding the
girl is the overall goal. The friend has a personal goal: he tells Wayne that he just wants a
roof over his head and a rocking chair by the fire. This character sees his participation in
the effort to achieve the goal as the means of obtaining something he has personally
longed for.

Storytelling

By the time you've created an Exposition Plan for each story point you worked on in the
Development phase, you'll have assembled a huge number of events, moments, and
scenarios. There's only one thing left to do: tell your story!

Storytelling is a multi-faceted endeavor. It incorporates style, timing, blending of several

story points into full-bodied scenes, sentence structure, grammar, vocabulary, and good
old-fashioned charisma.

Story Mechanics often get stuck at this point. They write one great line and become so
intimidated by its grandeur they are afraid to write anything else lest it not measure up to
that initial quality.

Fact is, you're only as good as your own talent - GET OVER IT! Don't grieve over every
phrase to try and make yourself look better than you are. Just spew out the words and get
the story told. Something not up to snuff? That's what re-writes are for!

Get in touch with your own passions. Each of us is born a passionate human being. But
we quickly learn that the world does not appreciate all our emotional expressions. In no
time, we develop a whole bag of behaviors that don't truly reflect who we really are. But,
they do help us get by.

Problem is, these false presentations of our selves appear to be our real selves to
everyone else. So, they give us presents we don't really want, make friendships with
people we don't really like, and even marry people we don't really love!
This false life we develop is a mask, but by no means is it always a well-fitting one. In fact,
it chafes against the real "us." The emotional irritation could be eliminated if we removed
the mask, but then we might lose our jobs, friends, and lovers because they might find the
actual people we are to be total strangers and not someone they like.

So instead, we just tighten the mask down so hard it becomes an exoskeleton, part of
what we call "ourselves." In fact, after a time, we forget we are even wearing a mask. We
come to believe that this is who we really are.

Now, try getting in touch with your passions through that! The mask dampens any
emotional energy we have and our writing dribbles out like pabulum.

Wanna' really be passionate? Then try this: Lock the doors, take the phone off the hook,
search for hidden video cameras, and then sit down to write. For just one page, write
about the one thing about yourself you are most afraid that anyone would ever find out.

By writing about your most shameful or embarrassing trait or action, you will tap right
through that mask into the your feelings. And a gusher of passion will burst out of the hole.

Once you know where to find the oil field of your soul, you can drill down into it any time
you like. Of course, every time you draw from that well, you put more cracks in the mask.
Eventually, the darn thing might shatter altogether, leaving you unable to be anyone but
yourself with your boss, your friends, and your lover. Downside risk: you might lose them
all. But, you'll be a far better writer.

And finally, go for broke. Exaggerate and carry everything you do to the extreme. It is far
easier to go overboard and then temper it back in a re-write than to underplay your work
and have to try and beef it up.

Remember, there is only one cardinal sin in Story Weaving, and that is boring your
audience!
StoryWeaving:
Story Structure for Passionate Writers

We all know that a story needs a sound structure. But no one reads a book or goes to a
movie to enjoy a good structure. And no author writes because he or she is driven to
create a great structure. Rather, audiences and authors come to opposite sides of a story
because of their passions - the author driven to express his or hers, and the audience
hoping to ignite its own.

What draws us to a story in the first place is our attraction to the subject matter and the
style. As an audience, we might be intrigued by the potential applications of a new
discovery of science, the exploration of a newly rediscovered ancient city, or the life of a
celebrity. We might love a taut mystery, a fulfilling romance, or a chilling horror story.

As authors what inspires us to write a story may be a bit of dialog we heard in a

restaurant, a notion for a character, a setting, time period, or a clever twist of plot we'd like
to explore. Or, we might have a deep-seated need to express a childhood experience,
work out an irrational fear, or make a public statement about a social injustice.

No matter what our attraction as audience or author, our passions trigger our
imaginations. So why should an author worry about structure? Because passion rides on
structure, and if the structure is flawed or even broken, then the passionate expression
from author to audience will fail.

Structure, when created properly, is invisible, serving only as the carrier wave that delivers
the passion to the audience. But when structure is flawed, it adds static to the flow of
emotion, breaking up and possibly scrambling the passion so badly that the audience
does not "hear" the author's message.

The attempt to ensure a sound structure is an intellectual pursuit. Questions such as "Who
is my Protagonist?" "Where should my story begin?" "What happens in Act Two?" or
"What is my message?" force an author to turn away from his or her passion and embrace
logistics instead.

As a result, authors often becomes mired in the nuts and bolts of storytelling, staring at a
blank page not because of a lack of inspiration, but because they can't figure out how to
make their passions make sense.

Worse, the re-writing process is often grueling and frustrating, forcing the author to accept
unwanted changes in the flow of emotion for the sake of logic. So what is an author to do?
Is there any way out of this dilemma?

Absolutely! In fact, there are quite a number of techniques that can accommodate the
demands of structure without hobbling the Muse. In my StoryWeaving seminar the entire
focus is on the different approaches that can be used to develop a sound story without
undermining our creative drive. But of all of these, there is one that stands above the rest.

Tricking the Muse: The Creativity Two-Step

The concept behind this method is quite simple, really: It is easier to come up with many
ideas than it is to come up with one idea.

Now that may sound counter-intuitive, but consider this... When you are working on a
particular story and you run into a specific structural problem, you are looking for a
creative inspiration in a very narrow area. But creativity isn't something you can control
like a power tool or channel onto a task. Rather, it is random, and applies itself to
whatever it wants.

Yet creative inspiration is always running at full tilt within us, coming up with new ideas,
thinking new thoughts - just not the thoughts we are looking for. So if we sit and wait for
the Muse to shine its light on the exact structural problem we're stuck on, it might be days
before lightning strikes that very spot.

Fortunately, we can trick Creativity into working on our problem by making it think it is
being random. As an example, consider this log line for a story: A Marshall in an Old West
border town struggles with a cutthroat gang that is bleeding the town dry.

Step One: Asking Questions

Now if you had the assignment to sit down and turn this into a full-blown, interesting, one-
of-a-kind story, you might be a bit stuck for what to do next. So, try this. First ask some
questions:

1. How old is the Marshall?

2. How much experience does he have?
3. Is he a good shot?
4. How many men has he killed (if any)
5. How many people are in the gang?
6. Does it have a single leader?
7. Is the gang tight-knit?
8. What are they taking from the town?
9. How long have they been doing this?

You could probably go on and on and easily come up with a hundred questions based on
that single log line. It might not seem at first that this will help you expand your story, but
look at what's really happened. You have tricked your Muse into coming up with a detailed
list of what needs to be developed! And it didn't even hurt. In fact, it was actually fun.
Step Two: Answering Questions

But that's just the first step. Next, take each of these questions and come up with as many
different answers as you can think of. Let your Muse run wild through your mind. You'll
probably find you get some ordinary answers and some really outlandish ones, but you'll
absolutely get a load of them!

For example:

a) How old is the Marshall?

a. 28
b. 56
c. 86
d. 17
e. 07
f. 35

Some of these potential ages are ridiculous - or are they? Every ordinary story based on
such a log line would have the Marshall be 28 or 35. Just another dull story, grinding
through the mill.

Step One Revisited

But what if your Marshall was 86 or 7 years old? Let's switch back to Step One and ask
some questions about his age.

For example:

c. 86
1. How would an 86 year old become a Marshall?
2. Can he still see okay?
3. What physical maladies plague him?
4. Is he married?
5. What kind of gun does he use?
6. Does he have the respect of the town?

And on and on…

Return to Step Two

As you might expect, now we switch back to Step Two again and answer each question
as many different ways as you can.
Example:

5. What kind of gun does he use?

a) He uses an ancient musket, can barely lift it, but is a crack shot and miraculously
hits whatever he aims at.
b) He uses an ancient musket and can't hit the broad side of a barn. But somehow, his
oddball shots ricochet off so many things, he gets the job done anyway, just not as
he planned.
c) He used a Gattling gun attached to his walker.
d) He doesn't use a gun at all. In 63 years with the Texas Rangers, he never needed
one and doesn't need one now.
e) He uses a sawed off shotgun, but needs his deputy to pull the trigger for him as he
aims.
f) He uses a whip.
g) He uses a knife, but can't throw it past 5 feet anymore.

And on and on again...

Methinks you begin to get the idea. First you ask questions, which trick the Muse into
finding fault with your work - an easy thing to do that your Creative Spirit already does on
its own - often to your dismay.

Next, you turn the Muse loose to come up with as many answers for each question as you
possibly can.

Then, you switch back to question mode and ask as many as you can about each of your
answers.

And then you come up with as many answers as possible for those questions.

You can carry this process out for as many generations as you like, but the bulk of story
material you develop will grow so quickly, you'll likely not want to go much further than we
went in our example.

Imagine, if you just asked 10 questions about the original log line and responded to each
of them with 10 potential answers, you'd have 100 story points to consider.

Then, if you went as far as we just did for each one, you'd ask 10 questions of each
answer and end up with 1,000 potential story points. And the final step of 10 answers for
each of these would yield 10,000 story points!

Now in the real world, you probably won't bother answering each question - just those that
intrigue you. And, you won't trouble yourself to ask questions about every answer - just the
ones that suggest they have more development to offer and seem to lead in a direction
you might like to go with your story.
The key point is that rather than staring at a blank page trying to find that one structural
solution that will fill a gap or connect two points, use the Creativity Two-Step to trick your
Muse into spewing out the wealth of ideas it naturally wants to provide.
Introducing the "Story Mind"

The Story Mind is a way of looking at a story as if all the characters were facets of a larger
personality, the mind of the Story itself.

To illustrate, imagine that you stepped back from your story far enough that you could no
longer identify your characters as individuals. Instead, like a general on a hill watching a
battle, you could only see each character by his function:

There's the guy leading the charge - that's the Protagonist. His opponent is the
Antagonist. There's the strategist, working out the battle plan - he's the Reason
archetype. One soldier is shouting at the pathos and carnage - he's the Emotion
archetype.

The structure of stories deals with what makes sense in the big picture. But characters
aren't aware of that overview. Just like us, they can only see what is around them and try
to make the best decisions based on that limited view. And so characters must also be
real people as well, with real drives and real concerns.

Characters, therefore, really have two completely different jobs: They must act according
to their own drives and desires and also play a part in the larger mosaic of the story as a
whole. The trick is to create a story in which these two purposes work together, not
against each other.

As individuals, each character must be fully developed as complete human beings. As

cogs in the Great Machine, they must each fulfill a function. So, when we develop our
characters we need to stand in their shoes, make them real people, and express
ourselves passionately through each of their points of view. But when we develop our
story's structure, we must ensure that each character fulfills his, her, or its dramatic
purpose in the story at large.

It is that larger purpose that we call the Story Mind. As previously described, the Story
Mind is like a Super Character that generates the personality of the overall story itself, as
if it were a single, thinking, feeling, person. So, in addition to being complete people, each
of our characters also represents a different aspect or facet of a greater character, the
Story Mind.

For example, the Reason archetype represents the use of our intellect. The Emotion
archetype illustrates the impact of our feelings. Individually as complete characters, they
each employ both Reason and Emotion in regard to their own personal issues. But when
it comes to the central issue of the story - the message issue that is the essence of what
the overall story is about - then one of these two Characters will attempt to deal with that
issue solely from a position of Reason and the other solely from the position of Emotion.
This is why we, the audience, see characters simultaneously as real people and also by
their dramatic functions, such as Protagonist and Antagonist. Regarding their own
concerns, characters are well rounded. Regarding the overall concern of the story as a
whole, they are single-minded. Collectively, they describe the conflicting motivations or
drives of the Story Mind.

But characters are only part of the story. As we shall see in tips to come, Plot, Theme,
and Genre are represented in the Story Mind as well. For now, suffice it to say that the
Story Mind is the character of the story itself.
Why a Story Mind?

Before asking any writer to invest his or her time in a concept as different as the Story
Mind, it is only fair to provide an explanation of why such a thing should exist. To do this,
let us look briefly into the nature of communication between an author and an audience.

When an author tells a tale, he simply describes a series of events that both makes sense
and feels right. As long as there are no breaks in the logic and no mis-steps in the
emotional progression, the structure of the tale is sound.

Now, from a structural standpoint, it really doesn't matter what the tale is about, who the
characters are, or how it turns out. The tale is just a truthful or fictional journey that starts
in one situation, travels a straight or twisting path, and ends in another situation.

The meaning of a tale amounts to a statement that if you start from "here," and take "this"
path, you'll end up "here." The message of a tale is that a particular path is a good or bad
one, depending on whether the ending point is better or worse than the point of departure.

This structure is easily seen in the vast majority of familiar fairy "tales." Tales have been
used since the first storytellers practiced their craft. In fact, many of the best selling
novels and most popular motion pictures of our own time are simple tales, expertly told.

In a structural sense, tales have power in that they can encourage or discourage audience
members from taking particular actions in real life. The drawback of a tale is that it speaks
only in regard to that specific path.

But in fact, there are many paths that might be taken from a given point of departure.
Suppose an author wants to address those as well, to cover all the alternatives. What if
the author wants to say that rather than being just a good or bad path, a particular course
of action the best or worst path of all that might have been taken?

Now the author is no longer making a simple statement, but a "blanket" statement. Such
a blanket statement provides no "proof" that the path in question is the best or worst, it
simply says so. Of course, an audience is not likely to be moved to accept such a bold
claim, regardless of how well the tale is told.

In the early days of storytelling, an author related the tale to his audience in person.
Should he aspire to wield more power over his audience and elevate his tale to become a
blanket statement, the audience would no doubt cry, "Foul!" and demand that he prove it.
Someone in the audience might bring up an alternative path that hadn't been included in
the tale.

The author might then counter that rebuttal to his blanket statement by describing how the
path proposed by the audience was either not as good or better (depending on his desired
message) than the path he did include.
One by one, he could disperse any challenges to his tale until he either exhausted the
opposition or was overcome by an alternative he couldn't dismiss.

But as soon as stories began to be recorded in media such as song ballads, epic poems,
novels, stage plays, screenplays, teleplays, and so on, the author was no longer present
to defend his blanket statements.

As a result, some authors opted to stick with simple tales of good and bad, but others
pushed the blanket statement tale forward until the art form evolved into the "story."

A story is a much more sophisticated form of communication than a tale, and is in fact a
revolutionary leap forward in the ability of an author to make a point. Simply put, when
creating a story, and author starts with a tale of good or bad, expands it to a blanket
statement of best or worst, and then includes all the reasonable alternatives to the path he
is promoting to preclude any counters to his message. In other words, while a tale is a
statement, a story becomes an argument.

Now this puts a huge burden of proof on an author. Not only does he have to make his
own point, but he has to prove (within reason) that all opposing points are less valid. Of
course, this requires than an author anticipate any objections an audience might raise to
his blanket statement. To do this, he must look at the situation described in his story and
examine it from every angle anyone might happen to take in regard to that issue.

By incorporating all reasonable (and valid emotional) points of view regarding the story's
message in the structure of the story itself, the author has not only defended his
argument, but has also included all the points of view the human mind would normally
take in examining that central issue. In effect, the structure of the story now represents
the whole range of considerations a person would make if fully exploring that issue.

In essence, the structure of the story as a whole now represents a map of the mind's
problem solving processes, and (without any intent on the part of the author) has become
a Story Mind.

And so, the Story Mind concept is not really all that radical. It is simply a short hand way
of describing that all sides of a story must be explored to satisfy an audience. And, and if
this is done, the structure of the story takes on the nature of a single character.
What's In Your Story's Mind?

As with people, your story's mind has different aspects. These are represented in your
Genre, Theme, Plot, and Characters. Genre is the overall personality of the Story Mind.
Theme represents its troubled value standards. Plot describes the methods the Story
Mind uses as it tries to work out its problems. Characters are the conflicting drives of the
Story Mind.

Genre

To an audience, every story has a distinct personality, as if it were a person rather than a
work of fiction. When we first encounter a person or a story, we tend to classify it in broad
categories. For stories, we call the category into which we place its overall personality its
Genre.

These categories reflect whatever attributes strike us as the most notable. With people
this might be their profession, interests, attitudes, style, or manner of expression, for
example. With stories this might be their setting, subject matter, point of view,
atmosphere, or storytelling.

We might initially classify someone as a star-crossed lover, a cowboy, or a practical joker

who likes to scare people. Similarly, we might categorize a story as a Romance, a
Western, or a Horror story.

As with the people we meet, some stories are memorable and others we forget as soon as
they are gone. Some are the life of the party, but get stale rather quickly. Some initially
strike us as dull, but become familiar to the point we look forward to seeing them again.
This is all due to what someone has to say and how they go about saying it.

The more time we spend with specific stories or people the less we see them as
generalized types and the more we see the traits that define them as individuals. So,
although we might initially label a story as a particular Genre, we ultimately come to find
that every story has its own unique personality that sets it apart from all others in that
Genre, in at least a few notable respects.

Theme

Everyone has value standards, and the Story Mind has them as well. Some people are
pig-headed and see issues as cut and dried. Others are wishy-washy and flip-flop on the
issues. The most sophisticated people and stories see the pros and cons of both sides of
a moral argument and present their conclusions in shades of gray, rather than in simple
black & white. All these outlooks can be reflected in the Story Mind.
No matter what approach or which specific value is explored, the key structural point
about value standards is that they are all comprised of two parts: the issues and one's
attitude toward them. It is not enough to only have a subject (abortion, gay rights, or
greed) for that says nothing about whether they are good, bad, or somewhere in between.
Similarly, attitudes (I hate, I believe in, or I don't approve of) are meaningless until they are
applied to something.

An attitude is essentially a point of view. The issue is the object under observation. When
an author determines what he wants to look at it and from where he wants it to be seen,
he creates perspective. It is this perspective that comprises a large part of the story's
message.

Still, simply stating one's attitudes toward the issues does little to convince someone else
to see things the same way. Unless the author's message is preaching to the audience's
choir, he's going to need to convince them to share his attitude. To do this, he will need to
make a thematic argument over the course of the story which will slowly dislodge the
audience from their previously held beliefs and reposition them so that they adopt the
author's beliefs by the time the story is over.

Plot

Novice authors often assume the order in which events transpire in a story is the order in
which they are revealed to the audience, but these are not necessarily the same. Through
exposition, an author unfolds the story, dropping bits and pieces that the audience
rearranges until the true meaning of the story becomes clear. This technique involves the
audience as an active participant in the story rather than simply being a passive observer.
It also reflects the way people go about solving their own problems.

When people try to work out ways of dealing with their problems they tend to identify and
organize the pieces before they assemble them into a plan of action. So, they often jump
around the timeline, filling in the different steps in their plan out of sequence as they
gather additional information and draw new conclusions.

In the Story Mind, both of these attributes are represented as well. We refer to the internal
logic of the story - the order in which the events in the problem solving approach actually
occurred - as the Plot. The order in which the Story Mind deals with the events as it
develops its problem solving plan is called Storyweaving.

If an author blends these two aspects together, it is very easy miss holes in the internal
logic because they are glossed over by smooth exposition. By separating them, an author
gains complete control of the progression of the story as well as the audience's
progressive experience
Characters

If Characters represent the conflicting drives in our own minds yet they each have a
personal point of view, where is out sense of self represented in the Story Mind? After all,
every real person has a unique point of view that defines his or her own self-awareness.

In fact, there is one special character in a story that represents the Story Mind's identity.
This character, the Main Character, functions as the audience position in the story. He,
she or it is the eye of the story - the story's ego.

In an earlier tip I described how we might look at characters by their dramatic function, as
seen from the perspective of a General on a hill. But what if we zoomed down and stood
in the shoes of just one of those characters, we would have a much more personal view of
the story from the inside looking out.

But which character should be our Main Character? Most often authors select the
Protagonist to represent the audience position in the story. This creates the stereotypical
Hero who both drives the plot forward and also provides the personal view of the
audience. There is nothing wrong with this arrangement but it limits the audience to
always experiencing what the quarterback feels, never the linemen or the water boy.

In real life we are more often one of the supporting characters in an endeavor than we are
the leader of the effort. If you have always made your Protagonist the Main Character,
you have been limiting your possibilities.
Finding your "Creative Time"

You sit in your favorite writing chair, by the window, on the porch, or in the study. You
wear your favorite tweed jacket with the leather elbow patches, or your blue jeans, or your
"creative shoes." You look around at the carefully crafted environment you spent months
arranging to trigger your inspiration. Reaching eagerly forward you place your hands on
the keyboard or grasp the pen or pencil, and... Nothing happens.

You look around the room again, out the window, sip your coffee, cross or uncross your
legs, finger your lucky charm, reach forward and... Still nothing

What in blazes is wrong? You know you are full of inspiration; you can feel it! Why the
ideas were flowing like a deluge just this morning, last night, or yesterday. Frustrated, yet
determined, you try several more times to get the words to flow, but to no avail. "Good
pen name, " you think," Noah Vale."

So what's the problem? How can you feel all primed to write, sit in your favorite
environment with everything just perfect and still nothing comes?
Perhaps the problem is not where you are trying to write, but when!

Each of us has a creative time of day and a logistic time of day. Never heard of this? I
didn't discover it until quite recently myself. As a writer, I always thought creativity came
and went with the Muse, sometimes bringing inspiration, sometimes spiriting it away. Like
most writers, I had found that creating a quiet refuge, a creative sanctuary, increased the
frequency and intensity of visits from the Muse. What I didn't know was that the Muse
keeps a schedule: she comes and goes like clockwork.

Here's my scenario and see how it might apply to you... I've always felt guilty when I write
- guilty that I'm not out cleaning something, building something, visiting someone, or even
just getting out in the real world and living a little. But writing always draws me back. I
find it therapeutic, cathartic, invigorating, stimulating, and, well, just plain fun.
Sometimes... no, make that ALL the time, it's as good as... no, make that BETTER THAN
sex! And food! And earning a living! I often feel (when writing) like that rat with the wire
connected to his pleasure center who kept pushing the stimulation button until it starved to
death because it forgot to eat!

Well, the urge to write is there all the time. But, because I feel guilty I try to get all of my
chores done I the morning, clearing the way to spend the afternoon or evening writing guilt
free. But then I sit there watching the sun go down, full of the desire to write but
completely unable to do so.

Recently, however, I had the good fortune of actually finishing all my chores the night
before. I found myself with the whole morning free and guilt-free as well! At first, I was
just going to goof off, do some reading, watch some TV, but then that old Writing Bug took
a nip of my soul and off I was to my study to pound the keys. And you know what? The
words just spilled out like secrets from the town gossip! This was wonderful! What an
experience! I was pelting out the thoughts without the least guilt and without the slightest
hesitation. I was flying through my own mind and playing it out on the keys! It felt very
much like when I play music.

But why was this happening? I was truly afraid the feeling would go as quickly as it came
and I would be lost in the creative doldrums again. In fact, it did fade with time - not
abruptly, but gradually... slipping away until it was no more. But it did not leave a vacuum.
In its place was a rising motivation to clean something, build something, visit someone, or
get out in the real world and live!

Then, it hit me... Perhaps my creativity does not spring from where I write, but when!
Perhaps the morning is my creative time and the afternoon, my practical time! I
experimented. Try to write in the afternoon, the evening, at night, the morning. Quickly I
discovered that if I felt free from the guilt of non-practical activity, I could write in the
morning as if I were designed to do nothing else! But no matter how many chores I might
accomplish in the morning, by the time the sun dropped below the horizon, my inspiration
dropped away as well.

In fact, my creative time seems tied to the sun. For me, it brightens in the morning, peaks
around noon, and fades away to nothing at dusk. Interestingly, I recently moved to the
mountains and dusk comes early hear in the canyon this time of year - far earlier than
when I lived down in the flatlands of the city.

Looking back over the years, I could see that my daily creative cycle depended upon the
direct rays of the sun, not the time of day. And all those years I tried to get the practical
stuff done in the morning to avoid guilt didn't help my creativity but hindered it!

Lately, I just know that when the sun goes down it's time to get practical. As a result, I
know in the morning that I'll accomplish real world logistic things later in the day. That
eliminates guilt because the work part is already scheduled. And, that frees my mind to
play with words all morning long.

When is your creative time? Just being a "morning person" or a "night person" isn't
enough because that only determines when you have your most energy. But what KIND
of energy? Perhaps you are more energetic when you are working on the practical, so
you think that just because you get your greatest energy at night you are a night person.
This is not necessarily so! Suppose your creative side is NEVER the most energetic part
of you, but is strongest in the morning. Then you are a Practical night person and a
Creative morning person.

Your Creative Time might be any span of hours in the day. Or, it might even be more than
one time. For example, you might be most inspired from mid-morning until noon and
again from mid-afternoon to dusk. Everyone is a bit different. The key is to find your
Creative Time and then adjust your daily schedule to fit it. It is important to remember to
avoid guilt feelings while trying to determine your Creative Time. To do this, don't just
focus on when you are going to try writing, but make sure to also schedule other time to
concentrate on chores. This way your "reading" of the level of your creativity will not be
tainted by negative feelings of guilt, and you should arrive at more accurate appraisals.

After a week or so of trying different combinations, you should be able to determine the
best creative and most practical times of the day. From that point forward, you will almost
certainly find inspiration is present more than it is absent, and writing becomes far more
joyful a process and less like work.

But there is a little bit more... Our lives are not just creative or practical. In fact, there are
four principal emotionally driven aspects to our days: Creative, Practical, Reflective, and
Social.

We need our Reflective time to be alone, to mull the events of our life over our minds eye,
to let our thoughts wander where they will: to daydream. We need our Social time to
recharge our batteries in the company of others, to express ourselves to our friends, to de-
focus from our own subjective view by standing in the shoes of those around us.

I've found for myself that Saturday is a Social day for me, and that Sunday a Reflective
day. I don't do much of either on the weekdays at all. Whether this is nurture, nature, or
something else altogether I can't say, and to be truthful, it doesn't really matter. What
matters is that I have come to recognize it.

When is your Reflective time? Do you have some every day, just on weekdays, only on
weekends, or some combination of these? How about your Social time? Do you ever feel
guilty wanting to be alone? Do you ever feel deprived because you ARE alone? Part of
these feelings may come from trying to do each of these activities in times that (for your)
are actually geared toward the other.

Once you have mapped our your Creative, Practical, Reflective, and Social cycles, you'll
find that you get so much more accomplished, and with so much more fulfillment. All four
aspects of your life will improve, and the improvement in each will remove emotional
burdens and therefore increase the energy in each of the other three!

In short, you can be in phase with your emotional cycles, or out of phase. The more you
schedule your activities to match the flow of your feelings, the more your life experience
will buoy itself higher and higher with less and less effort. And best of all, the more
inspiration you will find when you sit in your tweed jacket and reach for the keyboard.
Inspiration

Let's begin with the familiar.

We all know that writing is not just about assembling words, but also about assembling
ideas. When we actually sit down to write, we may have our ideas all worked out in
advance or we may have no idea what we want to say - just a desire to say something.

Some of us must labor on projects that we hate, but which have been assigned to us.
Others may simply be in love with the notion of being a writer, but haven't a thing to say.
Regardless of why we are writing, we all share the desire to create an expression that has
meaning to our audience.

And just who is that audience? It might be only ourselves. Often I have written material
as a means of getting something off my chest, out of my thoughts, or perhaps just to get a
grip on nebulous feelings or issues by forcing myself to put them into concrete terms.

Some of what I write this way has actually turned out to be saleable as essays on
personal growth or insights into meaningful emotional experiences. But, most of what I
have written for my audience of one remains with me. Perhaps it is too personal to share,
or just too personal to have meaning to anyone else.

When I write for myself, it is seldom a story. More often than not, it isn't even a tale.
Rather, it is a snippet of my real experiences, or a flight of fancy, such as the words "red
ground rover." What does this mean? I have no idea. But I do know how it feels to me.

In fact, popping out a few nonsense but passionate words is a trick I often use to get a
story going. I'll write something like the above almost randomly. Then I'll ask myself, "Is
the ground red with some one or something roving over it, or the whole thing a nick name
for a bird dog or a mail carrier in the outback?

Blurting out something that has no conscious intent behind it can be a useful trick in
overcoming writer's block. It seems that writer's block most often occurs when we are
intentionally trying to determine what we want to talk about. But, when we just put
something forth and then try to figure out what it might mean, a myriad of possibilities
suggest themselves.

If you like, take a moment and try it. Just jot down a few nonsense words to create a
phrase. Then, consider what they might mean. Rather than attempting to create, you are
now in analysis mode, the inverse emotional state of trying to produce something out of
nothing. You'll probably be surprised at how many interpretations of your phrase readily
come to mind.

Imagine, then, if you were to take one of those interpretations and build on it. In my
example, let me pick the first interpretation - that "red ground rover" means someone or
some thing that roves over red ground. Well, let's see.... Mars is red, and the Martian
Rover at one time examined the planet. Looks like I'm starting a science fiction story.

But what to do next? How about another nonsense phrase: "minion onion manner house."
What in the world does that mean? Let's tie it in to the first phrase. Suppose there is
some underling (minion) who is hunting for wild onions on Mars (onions being so suited to
the nutrients in the soil that they grow wild in isolated patches). The underling works at
the Manner House of a wealthy Martian frontier settler, but is known as Red Ground Rover
because of his free-time onion prospecting activities.

Now, these phrases weren't planned as examples for this book. To be fair, I just blurted
them out as I suggest you do. Just as we see pictures in ink blots, animals in the clouds,
and mythic figures in the constellations, we impose our desire for patterns even on the
meaningless. And in so doing, we often find unexpected inspiration.

Even if none of our ideas are suited to what we are attempting to write, we have
successfully dislodged our minds from the vicious cycle of trying to figure out what to say.
And, returning to the specific task of our story, we are often surprised to find that writer's
block has vanished while we were distracted.

Now you may have noticed that in the example we just explored, there are elements of
Character, Plot, Theme, and Genre. The Genre appears to be a variety of Science fiction.
The Theme would seem to revolve around the class system on a frontier Mars and the
implications of interjecting one natural ecosystem willy nilly into another. The plot involves
an individual out to better his lot by working outside the system, and whatever difficulties
that may create for him. And, we have at least two characters already suggested - the
Red Ground Rover explicitly and the Lord or Lady of the Manner House implicitly (plus
whatever servants or staff they may employ.)

This is a good illustration of the fact that when we seek to impose patterns on our world
(real or imagined) we actually project the image of our mind's operating system on what
we consider. Characters form themselves as avatars of our motivations. Theme intrudes
as representations of our values. Plot outlines the problem solving mechanisms we
employ. And Genre describes the overall experience, from setting to style.

We cannot help but project these aspects of ourselves on our work. The key to inspiration
is to develop the ability to see the patterns that we have subliminally put there. Almost as
important is knowing when to be spontaneous and when to analyze the results, looking for
the beginnings of a structure.

If you are a structuralist writer, you'd probably prefer to have the whole story worked out
either on paper (or at least in your head) before you ever sat down to write. If you are an
inspirationist writer, you probably wouldn't have a clue what you were going to write when
you began. You'd sit down, bop around your material and eventually find your story
somewhere in the process, as you wrote. The final story would be worked out through
multiple drafts. Most writer’s fall somewhere in between these two extremes. An idea
pops into our head for a clever bit of action, an interesting line of dialog, or a topic we'd
like to explore. Maybe it comes from something we are experiencing, have experienced,
see on television, read in the newspaper, or perhaps it just pops up into our conscious
mind unbidden.

Almost immediately a number of other associated ideas often come to mind. If there are
enough of them, a writer begins to think, "story." We then ponder the ideas with purpose,
seeing where they will lead and what else we might dig up and add to the mix.

Eventually we have gathered enough material to satisfy our own personal assessment
that we actually have the beginnings of a story and are ready to begin serious work on it.
Then, structuralists set about working out the details and inspirationists set about finding
the details as they go along.

Yet there is a problem for both kinds of writers. What holds all these ideas together is a
common subject matter. But just because they all deal with the same issues does not
mean they all belong in the same store.

It is common for authors to become frustrated trying to make all the pieces fit, when in fact
it may be impossible for them to all fit. Perhaps several different combinations can be
worked out that gather most of the material into the semblance of a structure. But odds
are there will be a significant amount of the material that gets left out no matter how you
try to include it. Even if each potential structure leaves out a different part and
incorporates material left out in another potential structure, there is no single structure that
includes all.

Like trying to pick up chicken fat on a plate with the flat side of a fork, we chase a structure
all around our subject matter until we run ourselves ragged. Then we stare at the paper or
the screen, realizing we've tried every combination we can think of and nothing works. It
is this dilemma we call writer's block.

It is much easier when we realize that stories are not life; they are about life. In the real
world, we group our experiences together by subject matter, not by the underlying
structure that describes it. For example, we are more likely to see the issues regarding
the disciplining of our children as being lumped into one category of consideration
whereas getting chewed out by our boss is another.

In truth, if our child tells a lie, it is not necessarily the same issue at all as when he or she
doesn't do the assigned homework. But, not doing homework may have a much closer
structural connection to our getting in trouble with our boss because we failed to file all of
the expense reports he requested.

We can avoid writer's block. We can recognize that the material we create at the
beginning of our efforts is not the story itself, but merely the inspiration for the story.
Then we can stop chasing our mental tails and pick the structure that is most acceptable
rather than cease writing until we can find the impossible structure that would pull in all the
material.

Based on this understanding, it is not hard to see that we come to Characters, Plot,
Theme, and Genre not on a structural basis but on a subject matter basis as well. And,
there is nothing wrong with that. As was said in the beginning of this book, we don't write
because of the desire for a perfect structure. We write because we are passionate about
our subject matter. Yet sooner or later, the structure needs to be there to support our
passions.

So how do we bridge that gap? How do we turn the bits and pieces of initial inspiration
into a complete story? In each of the sections that follow, we'll begin at the inspiration
point and then provide a step by step pathway to arrive at fully developed Characters,
Plot, Theme, and Genre that will integrate in a soundly structured story.
Your Story As A Person

Is your story a good enough conversationalist, or does it need to go back to finishing

school with another draft before it is ready for prime time? You have days, months,
perhaps even years to prepare your story to exude enough charisma to sustain just one
conversation. How disappointing is it to an audience when a story's personality is plain
and simply dull?

As an author, thinking of your story as a person can actually help you write the story. All
too often, authors get mired in the details of a story, trying to cram everything in and make
all the pieces fit.

Characters are seen only as individuals, so they often unintentionally overlap each other's
dramatic functions. The genre is depersonalized so that the author trying to write within a
genre ends up fashioning a formula story and breaking no new ground. The plot becomes
an exercise in logistics, and the theme emerges as a black and white pontification that hits
the audience like a brick.

Now imagine that you are sitting down to dinner with your story. For convenience, we'll
call your story "Joe." You know that Joe is something of an authority on a subject in which
your are interested. You offer him an appetizer, and between bites of pate, he tells you of
his adventures and experiences.

Over soup, he describes what was driving him at various points of his endeavors. These
are your characters, and they must all be aspects of Joe's personality. There can be no
characters that would not naturally co-exist in a single individual. You listen carefully to
make sure Joe is not a split-personality, for such a story would seem fragmented as if it
were of two or more minds.

While munching on a spinach salad, Joe describes his efforts to resolve the problems that
grew out of his journey. This is your plot, and all reasonable efforts need to be covered.
You note what he is saying, just an an audience will, to be sure there are no flaws in his
logic. There can also be no missing approaches that obviously should have been tried, or
Joe will sound like an idiot.

Over the main course of poached quail eggs and Coho salmon (on a bed of grilled
seasonal greens), Joe elucidates the moral dilemmas he faced, how he considered what
was good and bad, better or worse. This is your theme, and all sides of the issues must
be explored. If Joe is one-sided in this regard, he will come off as bigoted or closed-
minded. Rather than being swayed by his conclusions, you (and an audience) will find
him boorish and will disregard his passionate prognostications.

Dessert is served and you make time, between spoonfuls of chocolate soufflé (put in the
oven before the first course to ready by the end of dinner) to consider your dinner guest.
Was he entertaining? Did he make sense? Did he touch on topical issues with light-
handed thoughtfulness? Did he seem centers, together, and focused? And most
important, would you invite him to dinner again? If you can't answer yes to each of these
questions, you need to send your story back to finishing school, for he is not ready to
entertain an audience.

Your story is your child. You give birth to it, you nurture it, you have hopes for it. You try
to instill your values, to give it the tools it needs to succeed and to point it in the right
direction. But, like all children, there comes a time where you have to let go of who you
wanted it to be and to love and accept who it has become.

When your story entertains an audience, you will not be there to explain its faults or
compensate for its shortcomings. You must be sure your child is prepared to stand alone,
to do well for itself and to not embarrass you. If you are not sure, you must send it back to
school.

Personifying a story allows an author to step back from the role of creator and to
experience the story as an audience will. This is not to say that each and every detail in
not important, but rather that the details are no more or less important than the overall
impact of the story as a whole. This overview is one of the benefits of looking at a story as
a Story Mind.
Beating Writers Block!

Ever find yourself in a creative log jam? Try the following technique excerpted from the
StoryWeaver story development software to help regain your inspiration:

1. Inspiration
Inspiration can come from many sources: a conversation overheard at a coffee shop, a
newspaper article, or a personal experience to name a few. And, inspiration can also
take many forms: a snippet of dialogue, a bit of action, a clever concept, and so on.
One thing most inspiration has in common is that it is not a story, just the beginnings of
a story. To develop a complete story, you'll need a cast of characters, a detailed plot, a
thematic argument, and the trappings of genre.

But how do you come up with the extra pieces you need?

In the questions that follow StoryWeaver will help inspire you, even if you can't come up
with an idea to save your life! If you don't yet know what your story is going to be
about, StoryWeaver will help you find out. And if you do have something already
worked out, these questions will help you fill in the details.

2. What do you have to start with?

If you already have an idea of what your story is about, describe it briefly in your word
processor. Don't go into great detail at this time, just the key concepts, people, and
events. If you don't yet have a story idea, advance to the next question and
StoryWeaver will help you come up with one.

3. Nonsense!
If you are stuck for ideas, it’s probably because you are trying to force yourself to be
creative - a situation often referred to as "Writer's Block." Fortunately, there is a trick
you can use to break through Writer's Block and get your creativity flowing again! First,
write down three nonsense words. Don't stop to think it over, just jot down the first
words that come to mind, as in a word-association test.

4. Meaning
Now, imagine that all of your nonsense words are part of the same phrase. How many
different stories can you think of that incorporate that phrase? Briefly describe each
story idea.
Background:
We all try to find meaning in what we see. That is why we identify pictures in
inkblots, see faces in wood grain, and animal shapes in clouds. So even when no
meaning is intended, our minds can't help but impose it. By picking words at
random, stringing them together and then looking for meaning, we move our minds
out of creative block and into analysis mode. In other words, we temporarily shift
from creation to interpretation. In so doing, our subconscious automatically creates
alternative meanings that fit what we see. Use the Reference button to look at the
meanings you just described and what you originally said your story was about (if
you answered that question).

5. Combining Meanings
Now, try to incorporate into a single story idea as much as you find interesting from all
the different story ideas and your original idea combined.

Background:
Of course, some of the meanings you came up with may be completely ridiculous
and not useful at all. And, there may be no way to work them all in, yet several ways
to include some of your inspirations. If you have several ways to combine these
various ideas, list them all. But if you can't think of any way to bring these ideas
together, don't worry!

The purpose of this exercise is break free of Writer's Block, and the very process of
shifting out of forced creative mode and into analysis mode usually does the trick.
So, even if none of the nonsense interpretations are usable in and of themselves,
when you return to your original ideas, you'll probably find whole new inspirations
easily come to mind. Whenever you find yourself stuck, return to this method and
(more times than not) the ideas will flow again.
Pen, Pencil or Quill?

In past articles we've explored the importance of finding your best creative space in which
to work and the best creative time to be your most inspired and prolific. Each of these
areas can greatly enhance your productivity and help put an end to writer's block. But
there is one more area that is at least equal in importance: picking the right creative tool.
Historically, writers worked longhand with quill, for that was the only option they had. But
with the advent of the pen & inkwell, the pencil, and the ballpoint pen, writers began to
split into different camps.

We all know the classic image of the reporter with the pencil in his hat band, or John Boy
Walton sitting in his room with a pad of wide-lined rough paper, capturing his thoughts and
feelings. And, of course, there was the television series, "Murder, She Wrote," in which a
typewriter is the weapon of choice.

But today, with the prevalence and power of the computer, most everyone tries to write
with that tool without ever considering that the choice of writing instrument can have a
night and day impact on one's ability to create.

One famous writer, for example, found himself unable to write at all, except on an
Underwood typewriter. When he became rich and famous, he went to the factory and
bought 40 of the specific model he favored and put them in storage in case they ever
stopped making them. Like Disney's Dumbo, he needed that "magic feather" to fly,
creatively.

Along these lines, I ran into this very problem myself. It started with a growing frustration
and nervous irritation when working on my desktop computer. I'd used a computer for
years and been quite productive. But gradually I found myself feeling chained to the desk,
as if I was slave to the plastic beast instead of the other way around. After some months,
I stopped writing altogether, rather than face that imposing monolithic screen of static on
more day.

Try and I might, I just couldn't muster the gumption to strap on the leg irons and commune
with the demon machine. And then, I had an inspiration... What about a laptop
computer? Perhaps the smaller, less obtrusive, less contrasty screen would get me out of
the slump. And, rather than looking UP at the old monitor, I could look DOWN on the
laptop.

Well, I spent a thousand dollars and it arrived. Again, at first I was free. I could take it
anywhere. I was the master of my creative environment. Then, the trouble started. I
discovered that the batteries only lasted three hours. And when it got hot, the fan came
on and made a most disturbing hum. Plus, it got hot quickly, especially in the Summer,
and my wrists began to sweat on the rest below the keyboard. In short, I found myself
unable to write once more.
In desperation, I tried long-hand (but that required retyping later), digital voice recorders
with voice recognition software (but that only had 97% accuracy and required stringent
proofing, and even small mini-computers like the OZ-750 from Sharp (but the keyboards
were so small I couldn't type as fast as I could think.

I practically gave up. I didn't think I'd ever enjoy writing again. Then, in the midst of my
despair, an advertisement showed up in my email from Tiger Direct, touting a Palm PDA
with a folding portable keyboard. I'd considered these before, but the screen was so small
and the units and keyboard so expensive that I hadn't pursued it, burned as I was by all
other ideas I'd had.

But then I saw the price! (Now, I don't work for Tiger or Palm, and I don't have any kind of
an agreement with them. So, this is simply a story of what worked for me, that might work
for you....) The price was $89.95 for a refurbished Palm 100 with a brand new Palm
Folding Keyboard, Leather Case that held both units, and the HotSync cradle that lets you
import the data into your computer. Well, I just had to try it, seeing as how it was not only
my last hope but perhaps the answer to my prayers.

The package arrived a few days later and in minutes I had it up and running. I never had
a need for a PDA before and don't use it in that way now. But as soon as I attached the
keyboard, I felt as if a wall had come down. Immediately I began writing an article, and a
journal entry, and the next chapter in a book I had given up on.

The words poured out, and haven't stopped. It's something about the tiny screen that is
too small to see while I write. Rather than over-thinking every word, I just let them flow,
and only look at the screen when I really need to make a change.

Even better, it is so portable I can take it anywhere: to the hairdresser, to the neighbor's
for dinner, to the doctor's office. No more down time. The whole thing, keyboard
included, is about the size of a paperback version of War and Peace, so it fits right in my
purse. That way, I can open it up in seconds and input a creative notion whenever and
wherever the Muse strikes!

And the best part of all is that once I broke the creative block with my little Palm Pilot, I
found I could return to both the laptop and desktop and feel master of the machines,
rather than servant.

Well, the Palm has worked for me, but I suspect each author has a writing tool that
chooses him or her, just as Harry Potter's wand chose him. The important thing is not to
take that choice for granted, but to look at all the options, try them out, and settle on the
one that works best for you.

And, down the line, if you find yourself getting stuck, consider not only your creative space
(which may need revamping) and your creative time (which may have changed) but also
the other tools, one of which may be the need lightning rod for your author's soul.
The Nonsense Technique for Overcoming Writers Block

There are many techniques for beating Writers Block. The focus of this month's writing tip
is on one technique you may never have encountered before. It sounds silly - but put it to
the test and you'll likely be amazed at how well it gets the Muse in gear!

Step One: Random Words

First, write down three nonsense words. Don't stop to think it over, just jot down the first
words that come to mind, as in a word-association test.

Example:
Cat, Running, Green

NOTE: You might want to include a mix of nouns, verbs, adverbs, and adjectives
Write your nonsense words below, and then proceed to the next step to turn your
nonsense words into an inspiration....

Step Two: Meaning

Now, imagine that all of your nonsense words are part of the same phrase. What sense
can you make out of it? How many different ideas can you come up with that explain that
phrase? Briefly describe each interpretation that comes to mind.
Example:
Cat, Running, Green could mean:
1. The cat fell in the bucket of green paint and ran off.
2. An animated cat is a numbers runner for the mob, carrying the money
(green) to the bookie.
3. Pet kidnappers engaged in "cat-running," are tagged by animal rights
activists with spray paint to identify them, a color that comes to be known
as Cat Running Green.
4. A stop light turns green, and a whole "herd" of cats run across the street.

Background:
We all try to find meaning in what we see. That is why we identify pictures in inkblots, see
faces in wood grain, and animal shapes in clouds. So even when no meaning is intended,
our minds can't help but impose it.

By picking words at random, stringing them together and then looking for meaning, we
move our minds out of creative block and into analysis mode. In other words, we
temporarily shift from creation to interpretation.
In so doing, our subconscious automatically creates alternative meanings that fit what we
see. So, write as many interpretations as you can based on the nonsense words you
selected.

Step Three: Integrating Ideas

Next, try to incorporate into a single story idea as much as you find interesting from all the
new ideas you've just created.
Example:
Let's integrate into a single story concept the ideas we came up with from the
nonsense words, "Cat, Running, Green."
As a reminder, the "Cat, Running, Green" meanings were:
1. The cat fell in the bucket of green paint and ran off.
2. An animated cat is a numbers runner for the mob, carrying the money
(green) to the bookie.
3. Pet kidnappers engaged in "cat-running," are tagged by animal rights
activists with spray paint to identify them, a color that comes to be known
as Cat Running Green.
4. A stoplight turns green and a whole "herd" of cats run across the street.

One way to integrate many of the concepts together could be:

Animated cats that are numbers running for the mob are being picked off by pet
kidnappers, unaware of the cats' mob connection. Also unaware of the cats' underworld
ties, a group of animal rights activist’s mounts a campaign to identify the kidnappers by
spraying them with green paint whenever they catch them in the act.

Unfortunately, this puts a crimp in the cats' plans, making it almost impossible to continue
their illegal activities. Tripping over a bucket of green paint in the alley, the "head cat" is
inspired with a plan of his own.

The cats all wait around the corner of the animal rights activists' headquarters. As soon
as the cats see them drive out, they hot-wire the streetlight to stop the van, then run out
from behind the corner, across the street. The head cat has had himself painted with
green handprints on his sides, looking as if the kidnappers have tried to grab him.
The van screeches off in the direction the cats were running from, in search of the
kidnappers, leaving the whole uptown area free of their interference so the cats can get
back to running numbers without interference.

Background:
Of course, some of the meanings you came up with may be completely ridiculous and not
useful at all. And, there may be no way to work them all in, yet several ways to include
some of your inspirations.

If you have several ideas, list them all. But if you can't think of any way to bring these
ideas together, don't worry!
The purpose of this exercise is break free of Writer's Block, and the very process of
shifting out of forced creative mode and into analysis mode usually does the trick.
Even if none of the nonsense interpretations are usable in and of themselves, when you
return to your original ideas, you'll probably find whole new inspirations easily come to
mind.

Whenever you find yourself stuck, return to this method and (more times than not) the
ideas will flow again. So now, incorporate as many of your nonsense word interpretations
into a single idea, blending it with your original story idea (if any) as may be appropriate.

Step Four: Finding the Holes

Referring to the revised story concept you just created, you'll probably see a lot of obvious
holes where ideas ought to be. For a moment, step out of your role as author, and put
yourself in the position of your reader or audience. Read over your story synopsis. Then,
list all the unanswered questions that readily come to mind as you read through your story
as it stands so far. Your audience will be unforgiving, so be harsh! If something doesn't
make sense, is off kilter, or missing, make a note of it. Use the example below for an
idea of some of the kinds of questions that might come up. Then pick your own ideas
apart as thoroughly as you can.

Example:
Animated cats who are numbers-running for the mob are being picked off by pet
kidnappers, unaware of the cats' mob connection. (Why are they kidnapping pets? What
do they hope to gain or to do with them?) Also unaware of the cats' underworld ties, a
group of animal rights activists mounts a campaign to identify the kidnappers by spraying
them with green paint whenever they catch them in the act. (What does pet-napping have
to do with animal activists?)

Unfortunately, this puts a crimp in the cats' plans, making it almost impossible to continue
their illegal activities. Tripping over a bucket of green paint in the alley, (Where did the
green paint bucket come from?) the "head cat" is inspired with a plan of his own.

The cats all wait around the corner of the animal rights activists' headquarters. As soon
as the cats see them drive out, they hot-wire the streetlight to stop the van, then run out
from behind the corner, across the street. The head cat has had himself painted with
green handprints on his sides, looking as if the kidnappers have tried to grab him. (Why
would the paint on the kidnappers be wet enough to still come off on the cat? Since it
would be dry, it makes no sense that this would fool the activists.)

The van screeches off in the direction the cats were running from, in search of the
kidnappers, leaving the whole uptown area free of their interference so the cats can get
back to running numbers without interference. (Fine, but that only solves the problem
momentarily - what solves the problem for good?)
Background:
An author tends to look at what a story will be. Readers and audiences look at what it is.
Therefore, they tend to more easily see the holes. Put yourself in the reader/audience
position. If all you knew about your story was what you have already written, what
questions would you, the reader or audience, immediately want answered?

Step Five: Filling the Holes

Now the job is simple. Go into analysis mode - the same as when you came up with your
initial meanings for your nonsense words - and figure out as many ways as possible to
answer each question you just asked. Your answers don't have to be brilliantly clever, just
sufficient to fill in the holes.

Why analysis mode? Because although creativity is hard to trigger on demand, logic is
always available. You've already been creative in coming up with the ideas in the first
place. So, you don't need to rack your brain for wonderful ideas. Just plug the holes with
reasonable ideas that get the job done.

Step Six: Putting It All Together

Referring now to your answers to the questions about your story, revise your story
description to include as many of those answers as possible.
This new description is the first draft of your story synopsis: a brief outline of your plot and
the first step in developing your completed story.
And to reiterate, even if you don't want to develop the story you've just outlined, the very
process of working your writer's mind through this exercise will shake off the shackles on
your creativity.
The Writer's Notebook

Historically, writers have carried a Writer's Notebook everywhere they went. In it, they
would jot down spontaneous ideas, bits of overheard dialog, word-sketches of characters
they encountered, and perhaps even a few inspired finished lines for a current project.
With the advent of the computer, many writers, lazy creatures that we are, stopped
carrying a notebook because writing in longhand had become passé, and was simply too
much trouble, both in the doing, and then in the transcribing onto the computer later.
PDAs, of course, looked to be the answer since they were easy to stow in a pocket or
purse, but using those little touch-screen keypads or trying to master long-hand data entry
languages so the PDA can recognize the words is just another major inconvenience
almost designed to frustrate a creative writer.

Laptops are fine, but you have to lug them around everywhere, and they take too long to
power up for just a quick thought.

Yet those fleeting insights, musings, jokes, emotional word images, and transient
concepts carry so much power and life that without them, sitting in front of a computer
trying to be brilliant can be a sure path toward writer's block.

Fortunately, technology has now provided a way to capture all that creative energy in a
simple and fun way, and get it right into your computer to put pizzazz in your stories.
Some time ago, I was in the market for digital voice recorder. I figured I could jot down
notes, and someday, when I could afford it, I'd have them transcribed.

In my search, I discovered something even better: the multi-purpose recording device.

The one I have is about the size of a pack of cigarettes, weighs about as much as a
sparrow, but includes a digital voice recorder, video recorder (including sound), digital still
camera, and even functions at an MP3 player, data storage and transfer device, and web
cam! Cost? I paid $149 for it, and these days that model can be found for just $99.
There are no tapes to change - everything is stored on digital card, like Secure Digital or a
Compact Flash Card. The card I have, which only costs about $29 these days, will store
any combination of 2 hours of video, 3500 still images, or 16 hours of audio recordings!

Even though we are writers, the ideas and inspirations we have aren't just words. I often
see some interesting bit of action, and can whip out the ol' Mustek and be able to shoot
video in about 15 seconds. Still pictures with plot, character, or theme ideas are all
around. And with this tiny unit, I can grab them in a flash.

Sometimes, while driving, I think of a really neat perspective I'd like to explore. While I'd
have to let it go if I needed to pull over and write it down, with my trusty Mustek, I just push
the button and start talking.

Best of all, there's no transcribing. When I get back home, I just plug the USB cable into
my computer and download all the data from the Mustek into a folder on my desktop.
Click on the files and there are all the videos, pictures, and audio recordings ready to work
their way into my stories.

You can even get voice recognition software like Dragon Naturally Speaking, and have it
automatically transcribe your audio recordings into text documents in your word
processor!

What do I do with all this data? I usually stick it at the bottom of whatever story or script
I'm currently working on. Then, every once in a while, I scroll down to it and see out
anything I might work into the story so far. All the clever or emotionally potent little
electronic notes I've taken get woven in to add spice, insight, and make me look
absolutely inspired and brilliant. Passages that might otherwise have been dull and
pedestrian perk right up. And often, these notes provide whole new directions to a
predicable plot that may be stumbling or stagnating.

The most recent versions of programs such as Microsoft Work allow you to place digital
pictures, videos, even audio recordings right into the document, either to show up visually,
or as a link to click on.

Another good way to work is to write in HTML - web page format. Typing and spell
checking is exactly the same, but you can easily create links to all your electronic notes
that will make them available at your beck and call.

No, the Writer's Notebook is not dead - it's just ascended to a higher plane of existence.
By taking advantage of the all-in-one personal recording device, you can make your
stories come alive, and ensure you'll never lose another inspiration again.
Writing from the Passionate Self

Who are you? Really. Do you even know? Or do you just think you know?
At the center of our beings, at the heart of our souls, can be found the truth of our identity:
our compassion, our anger, the breeding ground of the very stuff that makes us love and
hate.

Yet, though a lifetime of compromise in the attempt to garner approval and avoid rejection,
most of us have hidden the true nature of ourselves so far behind the shield of a pseudo
persona that we are no longer privy to the essence of our own selves.

Unable to tap directly into the firestorm of our Id, we live on second hand passions and
pass them off in what we write as the gritty truth of personal reality. A writer can survive a
career without ever becoming aware of his or her true essence.

What might you write if you became aware of your Passionate Self, and could tap into the
primal force of your psyche?

The issue then becomes the effort to mount an inner expedition to the darkest reaches of
your mind. It is dangerous territory. You may very well lose your sense of self in the
process, discover you are a completely different person than you thought, and this
knowledge may ultimately cost you your relationships, family, friends, job, and even your
own peace of mind.

You don't need to tap this cauldron of angst and elation in order to write interesting stories
that captivate others. But as a writer, wouldn't you like to be able to access it?
Let's examine how and why we hide ourselves and then outline a method for recovering
our first nature from the labyrinth of our second.

It all goes back to your childhood. You came from a loving, caring family, or from an
antagonist family where you were always afraid of punishment, or were just ignored.
Sure, there are many variations, but they all lead to the same syndrome.

If we are raised in a loving household, we learn compassion and empathy, and come to
want to please others, even if it is at our own expense. Usually, we are accepted as
ourselves in such a household, but when we arrive at pre-school or kindergarten,
suddenly we are confronted by those who make fun of us because of inherent qualities
that are expressions of our true selves. We quickly learn that to avoid displeasing others
and to get the same kindness we have at home, we must hide certain traits and pretend to
possess others. In short order, we establish a pseudo personality that no longer reflects
ourselves, but reflects as nearly as possible the mean average of what we feel others
would prefer us to be.
If we are raised in an angry recriminating household, we learn to hide any trait that could
bring punishment or ridicule, and also create a mask we can wear to avoid pain and
enhance pleasure. If we are just ignored as children, we invent an ersatz persona to
attract attention, and/or as an attempt to make ourselves noteworthy.

It is almost an inevitable human endeavor.

As we grow, the mask must become more complex. We add to it whenever a new
situation arises. We look to see how others act so we will know what to do in similar
situations.

Slowly, we come to realize that it hurts not to express our true selves. And then we do
one of two things: We break out of the mask and let it all hang out in a teenage rebellion,
or we learn to stop looking inside at the real us, so that we don't suffer the pain of
suppression.

Even those who rebel, may later compromise their inner integrity to advance in a career,
impress peers, or justify a lack of success to themselves. Very few of us reach full
adulthood still knowing who we really are.

In most cases, we hide our true natures away from ourselves for so long that we forget
how to find ourselves - we forget who we were, and have no idea who we have become
down there in the darkness.

Our true selves are like ROM chips on a computer. They are preprogrammed with the
essential elements of our personalities, and they are designed to load specific portions of
that programming into our minds at various junctures, such as when we learn to walk, the
onset of puberty, the arrival at childbearing age.

Our minds are like RAM in a computer. Into our minds we load our experiences. They sit
on top of the ROM personality that has been loaded. In a sense, experiences are the data
that is crunched by the personality program from our ROM.

But when you create a pseudo persona, you fill up RAM with another program. You
create protected memory where nothing else can be loaded. And so, as you grow, the
ROM personality tries to load, but sees that there isn't enough space, and aborts the
operation to try again at a later time.

As our minds expand with growth, there would be enough room for the ROM, but we also
expand our personas so that there is never enough room. So our ROM personalities - our
true personalities - can never load. And we become stunted in our emotions; never
advancing past the development of the year we first invented our mask. And our true
selves, hidden deeply in the ROM, remain only a potential, not an actualized self.
We meet a mate, we get married, we have children, we advance in our careers, and all
with people responding to our personas, not to the true selves, which have never been
realized, even to ourselves.
So the mate we attract is one who loves the false us. The children we raise associate
love and comfort with a fake person who is not us. And they support that image with their
holiday gifts, secret glances, and tender moments.

It becomes a web of lies from which we dare not attempt to escape lest we lose the love
and respect of others when we reveal our actual essence and expose the person they
thought they knew to be no more than a sham.
But you are a writer. And as a writer, you peddle emotions. And if you are a worthwhile
writer, you want your wares to be honest and true. Yet how can they be, if you aren't true
to yourself?

If you are game then, how can you discover that inner person? Simply put, you have to
pass through pain. You will need to come to feel the lack of all of your ROM
programming. You will need to see your everyday self as a lie. You will explore the pain
until you can stand it no more. And when you are ready, you will take a leap of faith and
dump your RAM persona by unprotecting its files - files you have spent a lifetime building.
When you do, the ROM will notice. It will rush in and overwrite your false self with all the
past due sections of your self that should have been loaded along the way. And in one
electric moment you will feel your old self vanish as if you had been exorcised, then feel
perhaps a second or two of emptiness, followed by the force of your embryonic actual self-
rushing in to fill the void.

You will then realize that the old files are gone. You cannot recover them, no matter how
much you may want to. You make the leap of faith and there is no going back - ever. You
cannot even rebuild them. You would have to start all over from scratch, and there
probably isn't enough lifetime left to do that.

But the consequences! You are now a different being, a more vibrant being, a creature of
foundational power that we all have the potential to experience. So will your loved ones,
and those you depend on find you acceptable and embrace the "New You," or will they
recoil, feel betrayed, abandoned, and perhaps mourn the loss of the person they thought
they knew through all the seven stages of grief?

No one can predict the response of others, but positive or negative there will be a
response from everyone you encounter once you have crossed to the other side?
If you are willing to take this risk, how to you get to that magic moment when you can shift
over to a new reality? Through your writing: you need to keep a personal journal. You
need to express your deepest thoughts and feelings in it daily.

My personal journal has sometimes resulted in 17 typewritten pages in a single day. More
often, it amounts to a page or two. There have been years when I kept no journal at all.
But I have always found that when I do keep a journal, angst is discovered become one
with, and evaporated - eventually.
Usually, this major sea-change occurs in a time of extreme mental pressure - loss of a
business or a loved one, or some impending change of lifestyle, situation, or relationship
that rocks the very foundations of your soul.

These are the times to keep a journal without fail. The words you write will help you work
it through, keep you sane, and in time reveal the actual issues that drive you.

Still, you don't have to take that path. You can content yourself with the comfortable life
you have fashioned around your pseudo self, and continue to write intriguing stories
populated by compelling characters engaged in riveting action. You may find that
sufficient. You may, even after all of this, believe that is all there is, "as good as it gets."
But what if there is something powerful within you - something basic and honest and true.
Are you prepared to go to your death bed never knowing who you really are?

I leave you with a poem I wrote some years ago that touches on some of these issues:

Lulladie
by Melanie Anne Phillips

My emotions are dead

and lack any resistance
to the onslaught of logic's
relentless persistence.

I'm malleable, moveable,

flexible, still.
I succumb with aplomb,
as I alter my will

to conform to the pressures

that weigh on my soul
without motive, or method,
opinion, or goal.

They reach for the stars,

as they stand on our hearts,
and they sell us off piecemeal,
parcels and parts.

They slice us to mincemeat

and padlock the door,
while our blood runs quite freely
through holes in the floor.
But nothing is wasted,
tho' everything's lost.
So our blood is recycled
to offset the cost.

We huddle in darkness
yet shy from the fire
to howl at the moon
with the rest of the choir.

And when the glow wanes,

we stoke it with dreams
in hopes that the crackle
will drown out our screams.

You sleep in your bed

and you doze in your chair.
Your cushions are comfy
and so is your air.

But your heartache grows heavy,

as well as your head,
'til you nod away, nod away,
nod away, dead.
Throughlines (and how to use them!)

Some time ago I described the difference between the two basic forms of story structure
with the following phrase:

You spin a tale, but you weave a story.

The common expression “spinning a yarn” conjures up the image of a craftsperson pulling
together a fluffy pile into a single unbroken thread. An appropriate analogy for the process
of telling a tale. A tale is a simple, linear progression – a series of events and emotional
experiences that leads from point A to point B, makes sense along the way, and leaves no
gaps.

A tale is, perhaps, the simplest form of storytelling structure. The keyword here is
“structure.” Certainly, if one is not concerned with structure, one can still relate a
conglomeration of intermingled scenarios, each with its own meaning and emotional
impact. Many power works of this ilk are considered classics, especially as novels or
experimental films.

Nonetheless, if one wants to make a point, you need to create a line that leads from one
point to another. A tale, then, is a throughline, leading from the point of departure to the
destination on a single path.

A story, on the other hand, is a more complex form of structure. Essentially, a number of
different throughlines are layered, one upon another, much as a craftsperson might weave
a tapestry. Each individual thread is a tale that is spun, making it complete, unbroken,
and possessing its own sequence. But collectively, the linear pattern of colors in all the
throughlines form a single, overall pattern in the tapestry, much as the scanning lines on a
television come together to create the image of a single frame.

In story structure, then, the sequence of events in each individual throughline cannot be
random, but must be designed to do double-duty – both making sense as an unbroken
progression and also as pieces of a greater purpose.

You won’t find the word, “throughline” in the dictionary. In fact, as I type this in my word
processor, it lists the word as misspelled. Chris Huntley and I coined the word when we
developed the concept as part of our work creating the Dramatica theory (and software).
Since then, we have found it quite the useful moniker to describe an essential component
of story structure.

Throughlines then, are any elements of a story that have their own beginnings, middles,
and ends. For example, every character’s growth has its own throughline. Typically, this
is referred to as a character arc, especially when in reference to the main character. But
an “arc” has nothing to do with the growth of a character. Rather, each character’s
emotional journey is a personal tale that describe his or her feelings at the beginning of
the story, at every key juncture, and at the final reckoning.

Some characters may come to change their natures, others may grow in their resolve.
But their mood swings, attitudes, and outlook must follow an unbroken path that is
consistent with a series of emotions that a real human being might experience. For
example, a person will not instantly snap from a deep depression into joyous elation
without some intervening impact, be it unexpected news, a personal epiphany, or even the
ingestion of great quantities of chocolate. In short, each character throughline must be
true to itself, and also must take into consideration the effect of outside influences.

Now that we know what a throughline is, how can we use it? Well, right off the bat, it
helps us break even the most complex story structures down into a collection of much
simpler elements. Using the throughline concept, we can far more easily create a story
structure, and can also ensure that every element is complete and that our story has no
gaps or inconsistencies.

Before the throughline concept, writers traditionally would haul out the old index cards (or
their equivalent) and try to create a single sequential progression for their stories from Act
I, Scene I to the climax and final denouement.

An unfortunate byproduct of this “single throughline” approach is that it tended to make

stories far more simplistic than they actually needed to be since the author would think of
the sequential structure as being essentially a simple tale, rather than a layered story.

In addition, by separating the throughlines it is far easier to see if there are any gaps in the
chain. Using a single thread approach to a story runs the risk of having a powerful event
in one throughline carry enough dramatic weight to pull the story along, masking missing
pieces in other throughlines that never get filled. This, in fact, is part of what makes some
stories seem disconnected from the real world, trite, or melodramatic.

By using throughlines it is far easier to create complex themes and layered messages.
Many authors think of stories as having only one theme (if that). A theme is just a
comparison between two human qualities to see which is better in the given situations of
the story.

For example, a story might wish to deal with greed. But, greed by itself is just a topic. It
doesn’t become a theme until you weigh it against its counterpoint, generosity, and then
“prove” which is the better quality of spirit to possess by showing how they each fare over
the course of the story. One story’s message might be that generosity is better, but
another story might wish to put forth that in a particular circumstance, greed is actually
better.

By seeing the exploration of greed as one throughline and the exploration of generosity as
another, each can be presented in its own progression. In so doing, the author avoids
directly comparing one to the other (as this leads to a ham-handed and preachy
message), but instead can balance one against the other so that the evidence builds as to
which is better, but you still allow the audience to come to its own conclusion, thereby
involving them in the message and making it their own. Certainly, a more powerful
approach.

Plot, too, is assisted by multiple throughlines. Subplots are often hard to create and hard
to follow. By dealing with each independently and side by side, you can easily see how
they interrelate and can spot and holes or inconsistencies.

Subplots usually revolve around different characters. By placing a character’s growth

throughline alongside his or her subplot throughline, you can make sure their mental state
is always reflective of their inner state, and that they are never called upon to act in a way
that is inconsistent with their mood or attitude at the time.

There are many other advantages to the use of throughlines as well. So many, that the
Dramatica theory (and software) incorporate throughlines into the whole approach. Years
later, when I developed StoryWeaver at my own company, throughlines became an
integral part of the step-by-step story development approach it offers.

How do you begin to use throughlines for your stories? The first step is to get yourself
some index cards, either 3x5 or 5x7. As you develop your story, rather than simply lining
them all up in order, you take each sequential element of your story and create its own
independent series of cards showing every step along the way.

Identify each separate kind of throughline with a different color. For example, you could
make character-related throughlines blue (or use blue ink, or a blue dot) and make plot
related throughlines green. This way, when you assemble them all together into your
overall story structure, you can tell at a glance which elements are which, and even get a
sense of which points in your story are character heavy or plot or theme heavy.

Then, identify each throughline within a group by its own mark, such as the character’s
name, or some catch-phrase that describes a particular sub-plot, such as, “Joe’s attempt
to fool Sally (or more simply, the “Sally Caper.”). That way, even when you weave them
all together into a single storyline, you can easily find and work with the components of
any given throughline. Be sure also to number the cards in each throughline in sequence,
so if you accidentally mix them up or decide to present them out of order for storytelling
purposes, such as in a flashback or flash forward, you will know the order in which they
actually need to occur in the “real time” of the story.

Once you get started, its easy to see the value of the throughline approach, and just as
easy to come up with all kinds of uses for it.
Work Stories vs. Dilemma Stories
Problems

Without a problem, a story is at rest or Neutral. All of the dramatic pieces are balanced
and no potential exists. But when a problem is introduced, that equilibrium becomes
unbalanced. We call that imbalance an Inequity. An inequity provides the impetus to drive
the story forward and causes the Story Mind to start the problem solving process.

Work Stories and Dilemma Stories

It is important to differentiate between solvable and unsolvable problems. The solvable

problem is, simply, a problem, whereas an unsolvable problem is called a Dilemma. In
stories, as in life, we cannot tell at the beginning whether a problem is solvable or not
because we cannot know the future. Only by going through the process of problem solving
can we discover if the problem can be solved at all.

If the problem CAN be solved, though the effort may be difficult or dangerous, and in the
end we DO succeed by working at it, we have a Work Story. But if the Problem CAN'T be
solved, in the case of a Dilemma, once everything possible has been tried and the
Problem still remains, we have a Dilemma Story.

Mind and Universe

At the most basic level, all problems are the result of inequities between Mind (ourselves)
and Universe (the environment). When Mind and Universe are in balance, they are in
Equity and there is neither a problem nor a story. When the Mind and Universe are out of
balance, and Inequity exists between them, there is a problem and a story to be told about
solving that problem.

Example: Jane wants a new leather jacket that costs $300.00. She does not have $300.00
to buy the jacket. We can see the Inequity by comparing the state of Jane's Mind (her
desire for the new jacket) to the state of the Universe (not having the jacket).

Note that the problem is not caused solely by Jane's desire for a jacket, nor by the
physical situation of not having one, but only because Mind and Universe are unbalanced.
In truth, the problem is not with one or the other, but between the two.

There are two ways to remove the Inequity and resolve the problem. If we change Jane's
Mind and remove her desire for the new jacket -- no more problem. If we change the
Universe and supply Jane with the new jacket by either giving her the jacket or the money
to buy it -- no more problem. Both solutions balance the Inequity.
Subjective and Objective Views

From an outside or objective point of view, one solution is as good as another. Objectively,
it doesn't matter if Jane changes her Mind or the Universe changes its configuration so
long as the inequity is removed.

However, from an inside or subjective point of view, it may matter a great deal to Jane if
she has to change her Mind or the Universe around her to remove the Inequity. Therefore,
the subjective point of view differs from the objective point of view in that personal biases
affect the evaluation of the problem and the solution. Though objectively the solutions
have equal weight, subjectively one solution may appear to be better than another.

Stories are useful to us as an audience because they provide both the Subjective view of
the problem and the Objective view of the solution that we cannot see in real life. It is this
Objective view that shows us important information outside our own limited perspective,
providing a sense of the big picture and thereby helping us to learn how to handle similar
problems in our own lives.

If the Subjective view is seen as the perspective of the soldier in the trenches, the
Objective view would be the perspective of the General watching the engagement from a
hill above the field of battle. When we see things Objectively, we are looking at the
Characters as various people doing various things. When we are watching the story
Subjectively, we actually stand in the shoes of a Character as if the story were happening
to us.

A story provides both of these views interwoven throughout its unfolding. This is
accomplished by having a cast of Objective Characters, and also special Subjective
Characters. The Objective Characters serve as metaphors for specific methods of dealing
with problems. The Subjective Characters serve as metaphors for THE specific method of
dealing with problems that is crucial to the particular problem of that story.
Comparing Writing Software Paradigms

Recently, a StoryWeaver and Dramatica user asked me to compare StoryWeaver's story

development approach to that of New Novelist software. He sent me a copy of the final
report from New Novelist as reference material. Here's my reply...

Just read the report. That was very useful.

Okay, here are a few conclusions I draw, and also a few clarifications...

In fact, New Novelist takes a completely different approach than StoryWeaver (or perhaps
I should say StoryWeaver takes a different approach because New Novelist is a lot like a
number of other programs like Truby's Blockbuster, Collaborator, Power Structure, and
even a few reports from Dramatica.

Here's what they have in common, and then how StoryWeaver differs....

Each of those programs (with the exception of Dramatica) relies on a variation of the
hero's journey. Truby does it directly, tailored to specific genres, Collaborator relies on
Aristotle's version as laid out in "Poetics." Power Structure doesn't rely on one concept or
perspective, but still lines things out in "steps" that you can tailor to any "journey-type"
approach. New Novelist follows suit.

Essentially, you work on each step independently, referring to what you created in other
steps, then string them all together to see what needs to be done when. You end up with a
linear list of instructions for writing your story, containing all the specific information you
developed along the way.

Dramatica differs insofar as it is NOT based on the Hero's Journey concept. In fact, when I
started Dramatica, I'd never heard of the Hero's Journey - I was just interested in what
made stories tick and set out to discover it for myself. Everyone assumed that's the
direction we were taking - until they actually saw the work. But, the biggest problem
people have trying to understand and figure out how to use Dramatica is that they can't let
go of the Hero's Journey and try to stuff Dramatica into that mold in their mental image of
it. Problem is, Dramatica doesn't fit that mold very well, so they see it as flawed, rather
than as an alternative paradigm of story structure.

And what's worse, StoryWeaver was designed as both a departure and complement to
Dramatica, so it is, essentially, the inverse counterpart of something that is NOT the hero's
journey. Try explaining that!

First, a brief paragraph on how Dramatica was designed to tackle story structure, and then
an explanation of what StoryWeaver is designed to do...
Okay, here goes... Dramatica in one paragraph... Rather than seeing a linear journey,
Dramatica sees a story as a ball of twine, or perhaps more like the scanning lines on a TV
screen. Linearly, everything needs to make sense like the hero's journey - and that defines
the audience experience of the story as it unfolds. But in addition, each scanning line
ultimately creates the Big Picture - the real meaning of the story. And, of course, both the
linear progression and the overall Big Picture meaning are complete connected and
dependent upon one another. We feel that the Hero's Journey only covers the linear,
leaving it to the author to try and make the Greater Meaning make sense. What we
discovered in Dramatica were the underlying components of story structure that appeared
in both the linear and Overview perspectives of story. We spent years documenting them,
discovering their almost mathematical relationships, and then building an engine that
could calculate the effect on the Overview when the steps in the journey are changed, and
vice versa. That is the Story Engine at the heart of Dramatica, and everything else is
basically interface, education, and reports. In fact, one of these reports looks only at the
linear progression for convenient reference, and that is the report that looks a lot like New
Novelist, Blockbuster, Collaborator, and Power Structure.

Well, I did it - Dramatica in one paragraph! (Probably cheated by not breaking the
paragraph into smaller sections, though...)

Now, StoryWeaver...

While Dramatica deals with the underlying structure of a story, StoryWeaver deals with the
subject matter. Nobody sits down to write a great structure. We write (and audiences and
readers come to our work) because of passion - the author to express his or hers, the
audience/reader to ignite its own. What makes us passionate is not the structure, but the
subject matter - be it a historical romance, a sci-fi epic, or a true-to-life experience.

StoryWeaver looks at the big picture just like Dramatica, but not at the structure. Rather,
StoryWeaver helps you build the big-picture of your subject matter.

There are four stages in StoryWeaver. The first is inspiration that helps you describe all
the bits and pieces of subject matter you already have, then use them to inspire more
material until you have a well-rounded over-all concept for your story, all the characters
you need, the key events of the plot, and so on.

Unlike Dramatica and even the Hero's Journey-type programs, In StoryWeaver you don't
create characters by their dramatic function (such as antagonist, trickster, or dragon.) In
StoryWeaver you build the character's personality - without yet even knowing whether it is
a main character, protagonist, antagonist or whatever. StoryWeaver deals first with the
person - what's he or she like, what do they like to do, what kind of attitude do they have,
and so on.

Plot-wise, StoryWeaver is not concerned with steps in a journey or even with Dramatica's
inter-related structure of Goals, Requirements, and Sign Posts. Rather, StoryWeaver is
focused on what the plot is ABOUT. What is it that really excites you about the plot; what
would you like to see happen? What interesting concepts can you come up with to fill in
areas where you plot isn't yet complete? And StoryWeaver helps you do all this.

The final big difference between StoryWeaver and ANY of the other programs, Dramatica
included, (and also what I think is truly revolutionary about StoryWeaver) is that you
constantly build on the work you've already done for the story as a whole, rather than
working on each piece or step independently and then assembling them together.

The New Novelist report you sent shows Step 1, and then describes what ought to happen
there and shows what you wrote to accommodate this step. Then, the report moves on to
Step 2 and so on. In this way, it seeks to be a blueprint for your story.

But in StoryWeaver, it takes the global perspective of Dramatica, shifts the focus to
subject matter and works on the overall Big Picture through a series of "Developmental"
steps. So, each step is not a plot point in the story, but a creative step in the Author's
Journey of getting the story told.

You see, before StoryWeaver, I realized that all the other programs out there were
concerned with having the author work out the order of events and their meanings in his or
her story. But there really wasn't anything that helped the author know what to do next in
his or her own creative process!

The departure, then, is that StoryWeaver presents a series of 175 questions that move the
AUTHOR one step closer to a completed story. Each step deals with the WHOLE store.
You work out a few details, work them into a brief synopsis, then add more details and re-
write the synopsis. The StoryWeaver path is a series of re-writes, developing a bit more of
your story and then blending it into the already written work, making it stronger, richer,
better.

So, when you arrive at the end of StoryWeaver, you don't get a blueprint for a story that
you then need to write - in fact, you've already written it. You end up with a detailed
treatment for your story that reads like the finished story without all the word-play. It
doesn't tell you what to do, it has already done it. It is a story that is told as it unfolds, filled
with all the details you have developed, unfurling paragraph by paragraph, all in your own
words, from beginning to end.

This final treatment is a descriptive narrative that relates the story in a conversational way.
Everything is there, but not yet ratcheted up for style. So by the time you finish
StoryWeaver's path, the only thing left to do is re-word your treatment to make the words
sing, limited only by your ability as a storyteller.

For example, StoryWeaver's final treatment might read, in part:

"John enters the room, slamming the door behind. He storms over to Lydia and shouts,
"Why?!""
You would take that final treatment and re-write it to be more literary, in the manner of:

"Like and explosion, John burst into the room, slamming the door so hard the paint
cracked around the hinges. Gasping heavily with anger, he zeroed in on Lydia as if she
were a target and shouted with the cry of the damned, "Why?!" His bellowing scream
rattled the chandelier. In the silence that followed, a lone paint chip drifted lazily down
from one of the cracked hinges, shaken loose by his invocation."

Therefore, the reports in StoryWeaver are quite different than in any other program. You
do get information on every question you answered, but you also get something none of
the others have - a complete story, already told in your own word in a perfunctory manner,
ready to be embellished with your style.

Well, I hope I've adequately explained the "vision" I've had for StoryWeaver, and what I
believe makes it more creative and more author-friendly than anything previously
available.

And, of course, I decided to sell it at $29.95 because, quite frankly, I think most writing
software is overpriced by a factor of 5, and writers generally have a lot of passion, not a lot
of money.

In future versions we'll be adding all kinds of creative aids, like time-lines and index cards,
as well as a variety of reports should the author want to examine any aspect of his or her
story in detail. But all that is just support material for the prime function, which is to keep
the author excited about the story by focusing on the subject matter, rather than the
structure, and to be a step-by-step guide through the entire creative process of developing
and telling a story, rather than focusing on the steps in a Hero's Journey.
Slicing and Dicing

A writer asks:

On the FAQ's of the dramatica website, it explains short stories as (condensed):

Short stories typically do not go to the depth of a full story and epics usually
have one "main" story embellished with lots of short sub stories
There are basically two different approaches to using Dramatica with "short
form" works:

1. Cover all of the story points quickly (time wise). Or.

2. Spend more time illustrating the story points, but limit the scope.

My question is:

When you say "limit the scope" do you mean limit the amount of "story points
that you explore" ?

I guess that is how I am taking it ... as being the opposite of #1 where you
cover all the points but with less detail (quickly)

thanks
Kyle

My reply:

Hi, Kyle.

Limiting the scope is what we call "slicing and dicing" the Dramatica model.

Are you familiar with the "3-D" tower version of the Dramatica Structural chart? It looks
like a cross between a Rubik's Cube and a 3-D chess set. It has four levels, split into four
separate "towers." Well, the four vertical levels provide depth to a story and the four
individual areas covered by the towers provide breadth.

So, you can "limit" a story to keep it short by either cutting it down to two or even one
tower (like having just a Main and Impact character, but no overall story or subjective
personal story, or vice versa), or you can cut it short by limiting the depth (such as having
a plot and characters, but no thematic issues.)

The important thing to remember is that if you limit a story, don't step out of those limits,
even a little bit. The minute you move into a larger or deeper area, the audience will
assume your message is bigger and expect your argument to cover all that ground. If you
only dabble with a few story points in that area, then it will look as if you are failing to
make a complete argument, rather than just adding a little extra breadth or depth.

It is much more powerful to make a complete argument within the scope you have outlined
for your story, than to appear to make an incomplete argument with a larger scope.

Hope this helps.

The Dramatica Theory
Introduction

Everything you are about to read is wrong. Why is it wrong? Partly due to my own
preconceptions, and partly due to pure ignorance. Of course, I can't see my own
preconceptions and I know nothing about my ignorance, so to me all you are about to read
is right.

Right or wrong, the concepts contained in this book will absolutely cause you to think
differently about what stories are and how they work. If you find something that makes
sense to you, and (better yet) works, great! If you disagree with anything put forth, you
should ask yourself why you don't agree. That one question alone may bring you to
question you own conceptions and knowledge, and may even point out preconceptions
and areas of ignorance as well.

Before every class in story structure I always tell my students never to buy into anything
more than 97%. No matter how all-encompassing an idea appears to be, if you believe it
100%, you'll never see a better idea that just might come along. I believe this is good
advice even when looking at your own understanding, but I'm only 97% sure about that.
Fact is, there is no "one right way" to look at story structure. As Eastern philosophy would
have it, "The Tao that can be spoken is not the Eternal Tao." In other words, the moment
you think you completely understand something, the one thing you can be sure of is that
you've missed the point.

The capital "T" Truth can never be known. But we can get a sense of it. By entertaining
a variety of alternative explanations, we start to see the edges of the bush all those
different perspectives are beating around. Through a combination of study and intuition,
we become more and more able to chart a good course and avoid obstacles along the
way. And perhaps, by the end of our journey we'll know how we should have started it in
the first place.

So Dramatica is not the end-all system of story structure. But it's pretty good! And along
with all the other good attempts at explaining the elusive Muse, it just may help you
glimpse the Truth.

What is Dramatica?
Dramatica is a new theory of story that offers both writers and critics a clear view of what
story structure is and how it works. Dramatica is also the inspiration behind the line of
story development software products that bear its name.

The central concept of the Dramatica theory is a notion called the "Story Mind." In a
nutshell, this simply means that every story has a mind of its own - its own personality; its
own psychology. A story's personality is developed by an author's style and subject
matter; its psychology is determined by the underlying dramatic structure.
This book describes all the key concepts of the theory, how to use them to analyze the
structure of any story and, more importantly, how to apply them creatively in the
construction of stories.

Some of the material may be challenging and certainly much of it will be new. But a little
effort and determination on your part will be rewarded with a new command of the tools of
authorship that will open creative avenues for all of your projects to come.

The Story Mind

As mentioned above, the Story Mind concept is at the heart of Dramatica, and everything
else about the theory grows out of that. If you don't buy into it, at least a little, then you're
not going to find much use for the rest of this book. So let's take look into the Story Mind
right off the bat to see if it is worth your while to keep reading...

Simply put, the Story Mind means that we can think of a story as if it were a person. The
storytelling style and the subject matter determine the story's personality, and the
underlying dramatic structure determines its psychology.

Now the personality of a story is a touchy-feely thing, while the psychology is a nuts-and-
bolts mechanical thing. Let's consider the personality part first, and then turn our attention
to the psychology.

Like anyone you meet, a story has a personality. And what makes up a personality?
Well, everything from the subject matter a person talks about to their attitude toward life.
Similarly, a story might be about the Old West or Outer Space, and its attitude could be
somber, sneaky, lively, hilarious, or any combination of other human qualities.

Is this a useful perspective? Can be. Many writers get so wrapped up in the details of a
story that they lose track of the overview. For example, you might spend all kinds of time
working out the specifics of each character's personality yet have your story take a
direction that is completely out of character for its personality. But if you step back every
once and a while and think of the story as a single person, you can really get a sense of
whether or not it is acting in character.

Imagine that you have invited your story to dinner. You have a pleasant conversation with
it over the meal. Of course, it is more like a monologue because your story does all the
talking - just as it will to your audience or reader.

Your story is a practical joker, or a civil war buff (genre), and it talks about what interests
it. It tells you a story about a problem with some endeavor (plot) in which it was engaged.
It discusses the moral issues (theme) involved and its point of view on them. It even
divulges the conflicting drives (characters) that motivated it while it tried to resolve the
difficulties.

You want to ask yourself if it's story makes sense. If not, you need to work on the logic of
your story. Does it feel right, as if the Story Mind is telling you everything, or does it seem
like it is holding something back? If so, your story has holes that need filling. And does
your story hold your interest for two hours or more while it delivers it's monologue? If not,
it's going to bore it's captive audience in the theater, or the reader of its report (your book),
and you need to send it back to finishing school for another draft.

Again, authors get so wrapped up in the details that they lose the big picture. But by
thinking of your story as a person, you can get a sense of the overall attraction,
believability, and humanity of your story before you foist it off on an unsuspecting public.
There's much more we'll have to say about the personality of the Story Mind and how to
leverage it to your advantage. But, our purpose right now is just to see if this book might
be of use to you. So, let's examine the other side of the Story Mind concept - the story's
psychology as represented in its structure.

The Dramatica theory is primarily concerned with the structure of a story. Everything in
that structure represents an aspect of the human mind, almost as if the processes of the
mind had been made tangible and projected out externally for the audience to observe.
Do you remember the model kit of the "Visible Man?" It was a 12" human figure made out
of clear plastic so you could see the skeleton and all the organs on the inside. Well that is
how the Story Mind works. it takes the processes of the human mind, and turns them into
characters, plot, theme, and genre, so we can study them in detail. In this way, an author
can provide understanding to an audience of the best way to deal with problems. And, of
course, all of this is wrapped up and disguised in the particular subject matter, style, and
techniques of the storyteller.

Now this makes it sound as if the real meat of a story, the real people, places, events, and
topics, are just window dressing to distract the audience from the serious business of the
structure. But that's not what we're saying here. In fact, structure and storytelling work
side by side, hand in hand, to create an audience/reader experience that transcends the
power of either by itself.

Therefore, structure and storytelling are neither completely dependent upon each other,
nor are they wholly independent. One structure might be told in a myriad of ways, like
West Side Story and Romeo and Juliet. Similarly, any given group of characters dealing
with a particular realm of subject matter might be wrapped around any number of different
structures, like weekly television series.

But let's get back to the nature of the structure itself and to the elements that make up the
Story Mind. If characters, plot, theme, and genre represent aspects of the human mind
made tangible, what are they?
Characters represent the conflicting drives of our own minds. For example, in our own
minds, our reason and our emotions are often at war with one another. Sometimes what
makes the most sense doesn't feel right at all. And conversely, what feels so right might
not make any sense at all. Then again, there are times when both agree and what makes
the most sense also feels right on.

Reason and Emotion then, become two archetypal characters in the Story Mind that
illustrate that inner conflict that rages within ourselves. And in the structure of stories, just
as in our minds, sometimes these two basic attributes conflict, and other times they
concur.

Theme, on the other hand, illustrates our troubled value standards. We are all plagued
with uncertainties regarding the right attitude to take, the best qualities to emulate, and
whether our principles should remain fixed and constant or should bend in context to
particular circumstances.

Plot compares the relative value of the methods we might employ within our minds in our
attempt to press on through these conflicting points of view on the way toward a mental
consensus.

And genre explores the overall attitude of the Story Mind - the points of view we take as
we watch the parade of our own thoughts unfold, and the psychological foundation upon
which our personality is built.

Naturally the theory goes into far more detail, but this brief overview should give you a
good feel for what we mean by the Story Mind in the structural sense. But can you really
use this stuff? If you think you might, read on...
Origins of a Story

Imagine the very first storytellers. Actually, what they told would certainly not be
considered a story by today's standards. Rather, they probably began with simple
communications with but a single meaning at a time.

Even animals recognize a cry of pain or a coo of love from another creature, even across
species. So it is not a great leap to imagine that rather than just crying out in immediate
response, early man might have come to intentionally make sounds to indicate his
physical and emotional conditions. Ask any cat or dog owner if their pets don't speak with
them!

Nevertheless, a grunt, coo, scream or growl does not a story make. First we need to
ratchet things up a bit and take one small step away from simple sounds that have direct
physical or emotional meanings.

For example, if you are hungry you might make a "longing" sound and point at your belly
with a wistful pointing motion. As simple and silly as this seems, it is actually quite a leap
in communication. No longer are we tied to single symbols or single experiences; not we
can string them together to create more complex meanings.

What about jumping up another level and stringing a few complex meanings together?
Well, before you know it, early humans were chatting in non-verbal sentences, describing
journeys, experiences, and even warnings.

And, of course, language would evolve as more and more people had more and more to
say and discovered the benefits of a common vocabulary.
Now such a sophisticated communication is still not a story. But it is a tale. A tale is
simply a statement that starting from a particular place and state of mid, if you follow a
particular path, you'll end up at a particular destination.

That's what fairy tales are all about. Paraphrased, they all basically say, "If you find
yourself in a given situation, you should (or should not) follow this given path because it
will lead to something good (or bad).

As long as the physical and emotional journey is credible, the statement is sound. Now,
your audience may simply disagree with your conclusion as author of the tale, but if your
statement is sound, at least they can't argue with your logic.

Of course, the very first tales were probably true stories about someone's encounter with a
bear or directions to find the berry bush that makes everything look funny when you eat
them. But it wouldn't take long or our early storytellers to realize that they could create
fictions that summed up the value of their experience in a single, message-oriented tale.
But beyond this, a clever storyteller with an agenda might realize that he could influence
people to take (or avoid taking) particular actions in specific cases. No longer were tales
just descriptions of real events, means of imparting the value of experience, or
entertaining fictions. Suddenly then became a tool with which to manipulate others.

To do this, there must be no gaps, no missed beats, no emotional inconsistencies. And in

addition, the tale must be captivating enough to grab and hold the intended audience - to
pull them in and involve them so deeply that they are changed by the experience.

And yet, despite all its power, the tale has limitations. Primary among these is that the
tale speaks only to a single specific situation and a single specific course of action. So, as
a storyteller, you'd need to fashion a whole new tale for each specific path you wished to
"prove" was a good one or a bad one.

But wouldn't it be far more powerful to prove not only that a path was good or bad but that
of all the alternative paths that might have been taken, the one is question is the best or
worst?

Now, the simplest way to do this is to simply say so. You write a tale about just one
course taken from a given situation, and then state at the end that it is the best or worst.
So, rather than being a simple statement, this new kind of tale has become a blanket
statement.

If your tale is being told just to your own village, to the people you grew up with, then there
is a good chance they will accept such a blanket statement since your tale probably
reflects a local truism - some "given" that is already accepted by your audience as true.
The tale simply serves to reinforce existing beliefs, and at the end everyone nods their
heads in agreement with the outcome.

But what happens when the tale is told in another village. What if their givens are not the
same. There may be one or two in the crowd who question the storyteller and ask, "I can
see why that path is good, but why would it be better than xxxxxx?"

When confronted with an alternative approach, the storyteller might then briefly describe
how the suggested path might unfold, and why is it not as good (or bad) as the one
presented in the tale itself.

Again, being among friends (or at least among those who share a similar if not identical
world-view) they will likely be easily convinced. And, it is also likely that due to that similar
outlook, only a few alternative paths might be suggested, and all rather easily dismissed.
The development of story structure probably languished in this form for centuries, as
nothing more advanced or sophisticated was really needed.

Enter that advent of mass media. As soon as books began to circulate across micro-
cultural boundaries, ad soon as plays were performed in traveling road shows, to
important things happened that forced the further development of the tale into what has
ultimately become the structure of story.
First, the audiences became wide, varied and was no longer drawn from a homogeneous
pool of consensus. Rather, they cam from many walks of life, with a variety of beliefs and
agendas. And so, as the tale traveled, blanket statements were not nearly as easily
accepted. Many more alternative approaches would be suggested or considered
individually by audience members. So, such a tale would be considered heavy-handed
propaganda and discounted unceremoniously.

And second, due to the mass distribution of the tale, the original storyteller would not be
present to defend his work. Whatever other paths might occur to the audience would not
be addressed, robbing the work of its previous ability to be revised on the spot as part of
the performance.

In response to this reception, many authors no doubt retreated from the blanket statement
form of the tale to the simple statement, thereby avoiding ridicule and strengthening the
power of the tale. After all, is it not better to make a smaller impact than no impact at all?
And yet, there were some authors who took another tack. They tried to anticipate the
alternative approaches that other audiences might suggest, and took the radical step of
including and disposing of those other paths in the tale itself. A brilliant move, really.
Now, even when the storyteller wasn't physically present, he could still counter rebuttals to
his blanket statement.

Of course, the key to the success of this approach is to make sure you cover all the
bases. If even one reasonable alternative is left un-addressed, then at least part of your
audience won't buy the message.

As mass-distribution moved tales farther a field from the point of cultural origin, more and
more alternatives we required. By the coming of the age of recorded media, a tale might
reach such a wide audience and cross such boundaries that every reasonable alternative
would come up sometime, somewhere.

Eventually, the tale had been forced to grow from a simple statement, to a blanket
statement, to a complete argument incorporating all the ways anyone might look at an
issue. This effectively created a new and distinct form of communication that we
recognize as the story structure we know today.

By definition then, a tale is a statement and a story is an argument. And in making that
argument, the structure of a story must include all they ways anyone might look at an
issue. Therefore, it certainly includes all the ways a single mind might reasonably look at
an issue. And, effectively, the structure of a story becomes a map of the mind's problem
solving processes.

No one ever intended it. But as a byproduct of the development of communication from
simple tale to complex story, the underlying structure of a story has evolved into a model
of the mind itself.
Screenwriting 101

Screenplays are blueprints for movies. As such, they are not art, but instructions for
creating art. Therefore, there are two things every great screenplay must have: A good
story, and a clear and understandable description of how it should be told.

Through the years, a standard format evolved that serves as a template for presenting a
screenplay in script form. In addition, certain dramatic conventions became accepted that
put requirements and restrictions on screen stories that don't apply to novels.

In this tip, I'll outline a few of the key dramatic elements usually present in most successful
scripts.

1. Teaser. Though not absolutely required, it is usually desirable to start your script
with a teaser scene. This can be an intense emotional experience, a thrilling bit of
action, or an offbeat introduction to a strange world. It might advance the plot, set
the theme, and establish the time and location, introduce characters, or just serve
as a roller coaster ride to get the audience involved.
2. Remember your audience. Your audience is the cast, crew, and all the agents,
readers, development executives or producers who may become involved in the
purchase or production of your script. Your audience is NOT the people sitting in
the theater. Like the old game of "telephone," your purpose is not to tell a story but
to tell other how to tell the story. And your purpose is not to impress movie go-ers,
but to impress those who decide if your project will get the green light for
production.
3. Don't be overly literary in your scene description. Many production
personnel frown on anything but straight-forward prose. The purpose of a
screenplay is to tell people how to tell a story, not to tell it yourself. Still and all,
successful screenwriters often violate this rule because they can get away with it.
And, if you are planning on directing the movie yourself, you may want to capture
your intended mood. On the other hand, you don't want those considering your
project to be bored, or find your words too dry. So, the concept is to be as efficient
as possible in conveying both the information in your story and the feeling of what it
will be like on the screen.
4. Don't get stuck in a genre trap. Genres are guidelines, not rules. List your
favorite genres; list your favorite elements in each genre. Then, gather together all
the elements you might like to include in your script. Pepper them throughout your
screenplay so that your genre develops, rather than being set at the beginning and
then stagnating.
5. Use "Tracking Dialog." Break up all long speeches into back and forth
conversation. Sure, there are exceptions to this, but in general, conversation is far
more interesting both in sound and in how it can be presented visually.
6. Find interesting and believable ways to drop exposition. Have you ever
seen one character tell another, "He's at Dollar-Mart, you know, that big national
chain store?" If it were so big and national, the other character would already know
 this information! One of the best ways to drop exposition is in an argument. You
can then exaggerate and bring out information a character might already be
expected to know by using it as a weapon. And for simple exposition, try
billboards, newspapers, answering machines, photos on mantles, two people
talking about a third, and any other technique that doesn't hit the audience over the
head or smack of cliché.
7. Don't preach. You should have a message, but don't present it as a one-sided
statement. Rather, show both sides. If you are interested in passing judgment on
Greed, also show Generosity. Never put them both in the same scene side by
side, but make sure the audience gets to see how well each side does on its own in
at least once scene each per act. In the end, the audience will sum up all the
instances in which they saw how each side performed, and will draw their own
conclusions (that you have craftily led them to).
8. Give your Main Character a personal issue as well as a goal to
accomplish. A story with nothing more than a logistic quest, while perhaps
thrilling, is heartless. Your Main Character should grapple with an issue that
pressures him or her to consider changing their mind, attitude, or nature in some
way, large or small. And don't just present the personal problem and then resolve it
at the end. Unless you argue it (usually through another character who is
philosophically or morally opposed to the Main Character's view) the ultimate
change or growth of your Main Character will seem tacked on and contrived.
9. Characters don't have to change to grow. They can stick to their guns and
grow in their resolve. There are two types of characters, those who change their
natures (or minds) in regard to some issue, and those who stick it out and hold on
to their views. The obstacles in a story drive a character to the point of change, but
whether or not he or she will change is the issue, after all. Sometimes they should
change and don't. Other times they shouldn't and do. Each of these presents a
different message, and is less overused than the character who should change and
does, or shouldn't and doesn't.
10. There are many kinds of endings. A character might change and resolve their
personal angst, yet fail in their quest as a result. Was it worth it? Depends on the
degree of angst and the size of the failure. Another character might not resolve
their angst; yet by refusing to change accomplish the goal. And even if they do
accomplish the goal, it might have been a misguided thing to do, and is actually
quite bad that they were successful. The character might not have been aware that
the goal was a bad thing, or they might fail to achieve a good thing.

In addition, goals might be partially achieved or only small failures, and a character might
resolve only part of their angst, or just slightly increase it.
The flavor of the movie will ultimately depend on how all these elements stack up at the
end, and offer you a palette of shadings, rather than just Happy or Sad, and Success or
Failure.
Blowing The Bubble

Remember blowing bubbles with that solution in the little bottles and the plastic wand?
The craft of writing is a bit like blowing bubbles (life is like a box of chocolates!) This holds
true not only for your dramatic approach, but also for the characters in your story as well.
The study of real bubbles is actually a science which combines physics, geometry, and
even calculus! And, as with most natural phenomena, the dynamics that drive them have
a parallel in psychology as well. For example, the math that describes a Black Hole in
space can equally be applied to describing a prejudice in the mind.

So, by observing bubbles we can more easily grasp some otherwise intangible concepts
about the psychology of stories and of the characters in them.

Turning our attention to stories, let's look at several dramatic endeavors that can benefit
by applying the qualities of bubbles. Bubbles burst. Sometimes you want them too, other
times you don't. The larger a bubble gets, the more impressive it is, but the more fragile
as well. Until a bubble bursts the tension along its surface (surface tension) increases.
But once it has burst, all the tension is gone. So the key is to blow the bubble as large as
you can without exceeding the maximum sustainable tension. To do this, you need to
know when to stop blowing, seal it off, and let it float on it's own. In addition, you need to
consider how hard to blow, how fast to blow, and to master the art of pulling away the
wand to allow that magic moment when a bubble with a hole in it seals itself to become a
perfect sphere.

When introducing a dramatic element into your story for the first time, consider how much
material to work with at a single dramatic unit. Too little material tries to blow a bubble
with not enough solution. It may not even make a film across the wand, and if it does, it
will snap at the first breath before a bubble can form. Too much, and it drips off the wand,
slobbering all over everything else, and snapping apart as well, because the sheer weight
of the stuff makes the membrane too thick to flex. So, don't work with dramatic units too
large or small. Don't focus on details too tiny or grand movements too large. Find the
range and scope of your dramatic concepts that your readers or audience can hold onto
while you pump it full of promise and then let it float into their hearts and minds on its own.
How hard you blow is equally important. As you may recall, blowing too hard will simply
spit the solution right out of the wand and onto your parents' carpet. (Why you chose to
blow bubbles in the house even after having been told not to is no more fathomable than
why you chose to be a writer, even though you knew better!)

Blow too soft, and your solution will just wiggle and vibrate in the wand, never bowing out
to become a bubble at all. Eventually the solution in the wand will simply evaporate, and
you'll have spent a lot of time blowing with no bubble to show for it. Now a master
storyteller can use this effect to his or her advantage. Get the right amount of solution on
the wand and then just vibrate the blazes out of it with a gentle blow, tantalizing your
audience, who is going to wonder if anything will every come of it. Just when it looks like
the solution has almost evaporated too much to work, you pick up the airflow and form the
bubble right before their eyes. Or, you might just keep it vibrating, a red herring, and
simply let it dissolve out of the wand. Better be sure of your skills, though, because you
want your audience to know you blew it, not to think you blew it.

And do you recall how if you blow at one intensity you get a single bubble, and if you blow
with a different push you get a string of small bubbles? In fact, you can even get a series
of medium bubbles if you find that narrow mid-range.

Dramatically, you can drop a lot of little bits of information, a few mid-sized bits of
information, or one big bit, all with a single blow. (Killed 7 with one blow!). These are the
Multi-Appreciation-Moments (M.A.M.) in which a single dramatic movement, passage, or
discourse propels more than one dramatic element into the story.

Bubbles have size. The size of a bubble, in writing as in soap (or in writing "soaps"),
depends primarily on the size of your wand and the huff in your blow.

Short stories are one size wand. Mini-series are another. Haiku are still one more. Each
one has a maximum size of bubble it can produce, no matter how hard you blow. But size
isn't everything. There is such a thing as the beauty of perfection. Your idea is your
solution, your format is your wand; try to make sure not to blow too hard for the
wand/solution ratio you are using.

Surface Tension - wonderful phrase, that! Someone should use that for a title. More
wonderful still is the way it works. Stories are about structure and passion. Your solution
is about water and soap. Too much water and nothing happens. Too much soap and it all
glops up. When you get the right mix of structure and passion, you've got the right raw
material for a great bubble.

What holds the surface of the bubble together is the attraction among the soap and water
molecules. What keeps it from collapsing is a slightly higher pressure on the inside than
on the outside. A larger bubble has more tension because there is more surface. And
yet, the total surface area of a collection of smaller bubbles far exceeds that of a single
bubble occupying the same space. In addition, smaller bubbles are more stable, lasting
far longer.

Use big bubbles for big events of singular identity with a limited life span. Use smaller
bubbles collectively as a consistent foundation of longer duration.

Put your ear to the soap foam on dishwater or a hot bath, and though the mass remains
largely constant, you can hear the satisfying snap, crackle, and pop of individual bubbles
as they burst. Such formations can add stability to your story, even while providing an
underlying level of surface tension, punctuated by hundreds of tiny eruptions. In addition,
you can shape foam into all kinds of complex forms, while the shape of individual bubbles
is far more limited.
While bubbles, on their own, are usually round, if you dip a bent piece of wire (such as a
clothes hanger) in solution, you can create triangles, squares, and even approximations of
hyper-cubes!

Although one might argue that the film from one wire side to the next does not comprise a
bubble, and the enclosed area of such a shape does not either, guided by these outside
influences a shaped bubble may indeed occur within the space bounded by the wires that
doesn't directly touch the wires. One shape, for example, may create a square bubble
within another bubble. So, although the larger bubble is directly connected to the wires,
the inner bubble is only connected to the planar surfaces of the outer bubble.

Ah, but I wax scientific. Fact is, the "set pieces" of your story are the wires dipped into
your dramatic solution. An obvious heavy-handed control technique, you can also create
very specific shapes by building those second-generation bubbles within bubbles, which
are not formed by direct influence of your set pieces, but rather by indirect influence from
being attached to those dramatics that ARE connected to the set pieces.

It's a great point, but not for the faint of heart.

Bubbles combine. When two bubbles encounter each other, they might just bounce off
like billiard balls. But if conditions are right, they join, creating a common interface
between them. They are spherical except where they are joined, which becomes a flat
side. More than two bubbles can combine, and when they do, all sorts of additional,
symmetrical interfaces are created.

You entire story should be like a collection of bubbles, interfaced together. Each single
bubble is another dramatic element or point. Over the course of your story you have
blown them one by one until your story has fully taken shape. Then, on their one, one by
one they begin to pop. Some of the solution is spattered away, some is absorbed by the
remaining bubbles. Due to the extra solution, the remaining bubbles pop faster and faster
until all the original bubbles have burst.

Let's close by seeing how bubble science can help describe what your characters do you
in your story. Suppose Sally calls on the phone complaining to Jane about a personal
issue she is facing. Jane knows just what to say, but simply saying it will be rejected and
not have the comforting effect she wants. In fact, Jane is smart enough to realize that she
has to start out slow and easy, and over the course of the conversation blow a bubble of
comfort big enough to enclose the problem.

So, with patience, Jane continues to talk to Sally, starting by enclosing a small part of the
issue, then slowly expanding her support until it hold the whole thing inside. Now if Jane
is too full of herself, has the habit of "beating a dead horse," is emotionally needy herself
and has to have confirmation from Sally that her problem is completely solved, or is just
inexperienced, then she won't know when to stop blowing and will continue pumping
support into the conversation until the bubble gets so large it bursts.
But, if she knows what she's doing, Jane will recognize when the bubble is big enough
and then pull away the wand and stop blowing so that the sphere can form. She can do
this by changing the subject, not off-topic, but to something tangential, to something
touched upon in the conversation, but instead of talking about the part of that new topic
that was connected to the personal problem, she now talks about other aspects of that
topic that don't involve Sally's original issue.

Moving sideways in topic at the right time is like pulling the wand sideways from the
bubble so that it can close.

Of course, Sally might be mired in her problem and stuck to the wand. But Anne may be
in the room with Jane, hear that Sally is trying to come back to the original issue, and
(being a good friend and student of psychology) realize another lateral move is needed.
Anne would then raise her hand to get Jane's attention (who would ask Sally to hold for a
moment). Anne offers another off-topic comment based on what she has heard of the
conversation. Jane passes the comment on to Sally on Anne's behalf, and now Sally has
been doubly distracted. At this point, either the bubble is free of the wand, or Sally simply
won't let go.

If the bubble is free, then it's effect will remain within Sally long after the conversation and
will work to resolve her angst. If it is not free, the air will just whoosh right back out of the
wand and the bubble will deflate as if it never was, and Sally can go on moping about her
problem.

Now, you might think this is all very complex, but it is this kind of bubble interaction that
makes characters seem fluid rather than built of bricks. But do real people act like that?
Sure they do. In fact, the very dramatic scenario I just described happened to me two
days ago. That's how I got the idea for this writing tip.

I was "Jane," and with "Anne's" perceptive interjection, I was able to assuage Sally's
angst, free the bubble, and Sally has been quite happy for the last 48 hours.
Real life psychology, character psychology, story psychology... the answer is blowin' in
the wind.
A Screenwriter's Bag of Tricks

Most of our writing tips focus on the creation of a sound story, regardless of the medium in
which you are working. But since the writing of screenplays has its own unique
restrictions, requirements, and opportunities, we thought it might be useful to offer a
Screenwriter's Bag of Tricks.

Like any good grab bag, this collection of tips and techniques is in no particular order.
Some are geared to the beginning screenwriter, others to the expert. But regardless of
your experience level, you're likely to find a few keepers.

Use index cards to work out the scenes in your script

Index cards (3x5 or 5x7 in size) are often used by screenwriters to plan out the sequence
of events in their stories. Usually, a script has many different dramatic threads. The trick
is how to weave them together over the timeline of the movie. For example, you might
have several key challenges for your hero to overcome. You describe each of these on a
different index card. You tack them up on the wall or lay them out on the table (or floor)
and stand back and look at them. You see how the action seems to flow from one to
another. Perhaps it seems that the ending is a bit anti-climactic, or that the build of
dramatic tension isn't right. So, you rearrange the order of the cards until you arrive at
and order that feels the best.

Then, you may realize that you actually have a gap in the action that requires the creation
of another challenge. So, looking at what comes before and what comes after, you
determine the kind of action that is needed, and make a new card to fill the gap.
You might also realize that you have two challenges that are too much alike, or that would
happen too close to each other, so you decide to lose one, or combine two into a single
one that makes it all the stronger.

Then, you may know that you want a series of arguments between the hero and a love
interest. In one creative session, you may work out how many arguments you want, and
what each is about. You describe each of these arguments on a different index card.

As with the hero's challenges, you tack up the cards and arrange them in the best possible
order, filling gaps with new cards, and deleting or combining cards until the flow is right.
Since a movie generally focuses on one dramatic situation at a time, then intercuts among
several different threads as necessary, your next job is to combine both the challenge
thread and the argument thread into the overall timeline of your script.

You might decide to start with the first challenge card, then go to the first argument, and
alternate. Or you might start with the first argument, have a second argument, and then
two challenges in a row.
There are no "rules" as to how the two threads of cards should be shuffled together. It is
purely a choice of how you wish to impact your audience.

You may even find that once you have blended the two threads into a single timeline, that
combination highlights the need for an additional challenge or another argument, or
perhaps the removal of one or the other. You might even be able to see the need for a
whole new thread that is suggested once the first two threads are combined. So you
create a third set of index cards, put them in order, and then weave them into the other
two.

In this manner, many screenwriters work out the basic beats and flow of their stories so
they have a loose blueprint from which to write, and therefore don't get stuck in a logistic
corner, or an emotional dead end.

Break up long monologs among several characters

There are some moments in some movies in which a long monolog by a single individual
works well. Any inspiring public speech, for example, or when one character holds others
transfixed with a tirade or diatribe. But movies are an action medium, and most of the
time a long-winded dissertation by one character while the others simply stand and react
gets boring very quickly.

To avoid this, take your longer speeches and distribute the material to one or more
additional characters. It is far more interesting to see what everyone has to say on the
issue, than to see what one person has to say.

Think about real life situations. Aside from presentations and reports in a business
situation, or structured events such as a ceremony, no one thinks well of someone who
hogs the conversation. Let you characters make their point, then let someone else have a
turn. Good examples of this can be found in the original Howard Hawk's production of
"The Thing," and also in "The Big Chill," both of which have extensive exposition and
opinion, but no one says more than a few lines at a time before another chimes in with his
two cents' worth.

The exceptions, of course, is when someone gets all wrapped up in his own rhetoric, as
when an individual muses, reminisces, waxes poetic, or proclaims a higher truth with fire
in his eyes. People don't mind if a good storyteller talks forever. Look at the long
pontifications of the characters in "Network." But even these are handled as special
moments, and the ebb and flow of normal conversation continues in between, serving
both to break up the monotony, and also to uplift the long passages by contrast.

Use "Red Herrings"

The old expression, "A Red Herring," means something that is intentionally misleading. In
screenplays, a red herring is a scene, which is set up intentionally to mislead an audience.
One example is in the movie, "The Fugitive," with Harrison Ford as Dr. Richard Kimble.
He escapes from the prison bus, gets some street clothes, and is on the run.

He waits under a bridge and when an associate that he worked with stops his car for a red
light, Kimble steps out and pretends to be a homeless person trying to wash his
windshield for a buck. He uses this action as a "cover" while he holds a conversation with
the associate to get some information and help.

In the background, out of focus, a police car slowly approach behind the associate's car.
You don't see it at first because you are concentrating on the conversation. The police car
stops. Suddenly, it's lights and siren comes on. The audience is sure the jig is up.
Kimble turns to look at it, and the police car whips around the associate's car and takes off
for some call it received.

The initial impression was that Kimble was about to be recaptured because the cops had
recognized him. The "reality" was that they were just on patrol, got a call, and sped off
with sirens wailing.

Red Herrings can be used for anything from the momentary shock value as above, to
making a bad guy appear to be a good guy.

To make it work, you have to do two primary things:

1. Don't leave out essential information or the audience will feel manipulated. Tricking
your audience by misleading them is fun for them. But if you fool them by leaving
out information they would legitimately have expected to be told about, then you
are just screwing with them.
Red herrings are best accomplished by having information that is taken in one
context and then the context is changed. This way, you aren't holding back, you
are just changing the perspective.
Your audience invests its emotions in your story. You don't want to violate them.
As an example, there is an old joke about a nurse in a maternity ward who comes
in to a mother's room carrying the new baby. She trips and falls and the baby hits
the floor. Then, she gets mad at it for falling, picks it up, swings it around and
bashes it against the wall. The mother is in hysterics. The nurse picks up the kid
and says, "April Fool - it was born dead." Don't do this to your audience.
A better approach is to see a mom yank her child by the arm in a very abusive way
while walking down the street. First reaction is she is an ogre and you run to stop
her. Just then, you see the truck come whipping around the corner that would've
hit and killed the child, and you stop in your tracks realizing the mom was saving
his life. You look again, and the is hugging and holding him, and she is crying
because he was almost lost, and because she startled him.
Psychologists call it "Primary Attribution Error," and you can use it to your
advantage. If done properly, they will love you for it.
 2. Don't change the rules of the game just to make things happen another way or the
audience will feel that you lied to them.
The audience will give you their trust. They expect that what you tell them is the
truth. They build on each bit of information, trying to understand the big picture.
You can easily change context to show something in a different light, but don't tell
them one thing and then simply say, "Oh that wasn't true, I was just messing with
you."
That is a sure way to lose their trust, and once lost, you'll never get it back.

Don't say it if you can show it

Movies are a visual medium. The strongest impact is created by what is seen, not what is
said. Although we might marvel at well-written dialog, it is the moving shadows that
capture our imagination.

Before writing a dialog scene, consider the information you are trying to convey. Consider
visual alternatives that would show the audience rather then tell them. Even character
development can often be more effective by seeing what the character does, rather than
listening to what he or she says.

If you do need to say it, try to create a visually interesting situation in which the dialog can
occur. I once had to do an interview on a big-budget industrial film with a geologist about
drilling for bauxite samples 50 miles outside of Van Horn Texas in the middle of a desert.
I could have just gone to the site, set up the camera, and filmed him in front of the rig. But
when he picked me up at the airstrip, he was in a dusty, beat-up pickup truck, and headed
down the rough dirt road at literally 100 miles an hour.

I took out the camera and did the entire interview while bouncing around in the cab. When
we arrived at the site, I simply shot a lot of silent footage of the goings on. When we cut it
all together, we began with the truck interview, and then cut away to the various aspects
of the job as the geologist spoke. It created a riveting three-minute sequence and pleased
the client immensely.

So if you have dialog to deliver and you can't really communicate the information in a
visual way, consider changing the location or engaging your characters in some activity
that will at least add a visual element.

You might have them conversing during one-on-one basketball, while doing yard work,
chasing after a dog that needs a bath - whatever. And if all else fails, don't ignore the
potential of a cheap cinematic trick.

You can do a scene completely in silhouette, seen from the POV of a goldfish in a bowl,
from another room as a janitor stops to listen and then continues with his cleaning.
You can even get overt. There was a television program many years ago called "Then
Came Bronson," starring Michael Parks. It was noted for trying new visual techniques.
For one long dialog conversation, the director shot the two characters from the side,
walking along a sidewalk across the street. He shot them silent in several locations with
different backgrounds, always the same distance away, walking at the same pace. In the
editing room, he cut from one location to the next so that it appeared as if the characters
were continuing to walk and the background jumped from one to another behind them.
The dialog was then added over the sequence as a whole.

This simple technique gave power to an otherwise uninteresting scene, added the
impression that they had been talking for a long walk all over town, but got the verbal
information across as concisely as possible. So look for visual opportunities to enliven
dialog, and if there aren't any, make them.

Drop exposition through arguments

Here's a short one... A person talking is often boring. People arguing are often
compelling. If you have to drop exposition, try to do it in the back and forth barbs of an
argument. Let the characters use the information you need to convey as barbs in their
back and forth attacks. Then your story won't grind to a halt just because you need to tell
your audience something.
A Novelist's Bag of Tricks

Last issue we presented the Screenwriter's Bag of Tricks (Part One), which provided a
collection of useful techniques for writing scripts. This issue, we'll offer up another
collection just for the writer of novels.

As before, these tips are provided in no particular order, are intentionally kept short and to
the point, and cover a wide range of topics, from inspiration to development to business
concerns.

Some are geared to the beginning novelist, others to the expert. But regardless of your
experience level, you're likely to find a few keepers.

Novels Aren't Stories

A novel can be extremely free form. Some are simply narratives about a fictional
experience. Others are a collection of several stories that may or may not be intertwined.
Jerzy N. Kosinski (the author of "Being There," wrote another novel called "Steps." It
contains a series of story fragments. Sometimes you get the middle of a short story, but
no middle or end. Sometimes, just the end, and sometimes just the middle.

Each fragment is wholly involving, and leaves you wanting to know the rest of the tale, but
they are not to be found. In fact, there is not (that I could find) any connection among the
stories, nor any reason they are in that particular order. And yet, they are so passionately
told that it was one of the best reads I ever enjoyed.

The point is, don't feel confined to tell a single story, straight through, beginning to end.
Rather than think of writing a novel, think about writing a book. Consider that a book can
be exclusively poetry. Or, as Anne Rice often does, you can use poetry to introduce
chapters or sections, or enhance a moment in a story.

You can take time to pontificate on your favorite subject, if you like. Unlike screenplays
which must continue to move, you can stop the story and diverge into any are you like, as
long as you can hold your reader's interest.

For example, in the Stephen King novel, "The Tommy Knockers," he meanders around a
party, and allows a character to go on and on... and on... about the perils of nuclear
power. Nuclear power has nothing to do with the story, and the conversation does not
affect nor advance anything. King just wanted to say that, and did so in an interesting
diatribe.

So feel free to break any form you have ever heard must be followed. The most free of all
written media is the novel, and you can literally - do whatever you want.
Get Into Your Characters' Heads

One of the most powerful opportunities of the novel format is the ability to describe what a
character is thinking. In movies or stage plays (with exceptions) you must show what the
character is thinking through action and/or dialog. But in a novel, you can just come out
and say it.

For example, in a movie, you might say:

John walks slowly to the window and looks out at the park bench where he last saw Sally.
His eyes fill with tears. He bows his head and slowly closes the blinds.

But in a novel you might write:

John walked slowly to the window, letting his gaze drift toward the park bench where he
last saw Sally. Why did I let her go, he thought. I wanted so much to ask her to stay.
Saddened, he reflected on happier times with her - days of more contentment than he
ever imagined he could feel.

The previous paragraph uses two forms of expressing a character's thoughts. One, is the
direct quote of the thought, as if it were dialog spoken internally to oneself. The other is a
summary and paraphrase of what was going on in the character's head.

Most novels are greatly enhanced by stepping away from a purely objective narrative
perspective, and drawing the reader into the minds of the character's themselves.

Keep A Daily Log Of Tidbits

One of the biggest differences between a pedestrian novel and a riveting one are the
clever little quips, concepts, snippets of dialog, and fresh metaphors.

But coming up with this material on the fly is a difficult chore, and sometimes next to
impossible. Fortunately, you can overcome this problem simply by keeping a daily log of
interesting tidbits. Each and every day, many intriguing moments cross our paths. Some
are notions we come up with on our own; others we simply observe. Since a novel takes
a considerable amount of time to write, you are bound to encounter a whole grab bag of
tidbits by the time you finish your first draft.

Then, for the second draft, you refer to all that material and drop it in wherever you can to
liven up the narrative. You may find that it makes some characters more charismatic, or
gives others, who have remained largely silent, something to say. You may discover an
opportunity for a sub-plot, a thematic discourse, or the opportunity to get on your soapbox.
What I do is to keep the log at the very bottom of the document for my current novel, itself.
That way, since the novel is almost always open on my computer, anything that comes
along get appended to the end before it fades from memory.
Also, this allows me to work some of the material into the first draft of the novel while I'm
writing it. For example, here are a few tidbits at the bottom of the novel I'm developing
right now:

A line of dialog:
"Are you confused yet? No? Let me continue...."

A silly comment:
"None of the victims was seriously hurt." Yeah - they were all hurt in a very funny way.

A character name:
Farrah Swiel

A new phrase:
Tongue pooch

A notion:
Theorem ~ Absolute Corruption Empowers Absolutely
Corollary ~ There are no good people in positions of power
I haven't worked these into the story yet, but I will. And it will be richer for it.

Don't Hold Back

Unlike screenplays, there are no budget constraints in a book. You can write, "The entire
solar system exploded, planet at a time," as easily as you can write, "a leaf fell from the
tree."

Let you imagination run wild. You can say anything, do anything, break any law, any
taboo, any rule of physics. Your audience will follow you anywhere as long as you keep
their interest.

So, follow your Muse wherever it leads. No idea is too big or too small. Write about the
things you are most passionate about, and it will come through your words, between the
lines, and right into the hearts and souls of your readers.
Character Justification

The creation of Justification is the purpose of and reason for Backstory. The dismantling of
Justification is the purpose and function of the Acts. The gathering of information
necessary to dismantle Justification is the purpose and function of the Scenes. And the
nature of the specific Justifications used in a particular story determines all the thematics.

With such a wide range of effects, one would expect the subject of Justification to be
extensive and complex. It is. Fortunately, the concepts themselves are actually very
simple. We shall explore those now.

First of all, what is Justification? Justification is a state of mind wherein the Subjective
view differs from the Objective view. Okay, fine. But how about in plain English!!!! Very
well, when someone sees things differently than they are, they are Justifying. This can
happen either because the mind draws a wrong conclusion or assumes, or because things
actually change in a way that is no longer consistent with a held view.

All of this comes down to cause and effect. For example, suppose you have a family with
a husband, wife and young son. Here is a sample backstory of how the little boy might
develop a justification that could plague him in later life….

The husband works at a produce stand. Every Friday he gets paid. Also
every Friday a new shipment of fresh beets comes in. So, every Friday
night, he comes home with the beets and the paycheck. The paycheck is
never quite enough to cover the bills and this is eating the wife alive. Still,
she knows her husband works hard, so she tries to keep her feelings to
herself and devotes her attention to cooking the beets.

Nevertheless, she cannot hold out for long, and every Friday evening at
some point while they eat, she and her husband get in an argument. Of
course, like most people who are trying to hold back the REAL cause of
her feelings, she picks on other issues, so the arguments are all different

This short description lays out a series of cause and effect relationships that establish a
justification. With this potential we have wound up the spring of our dramatic mechanism.
And now we are ready to begin our story to see how that tension unwinds.

The Story Begins: The young boy, now a grown adult with a wife and child of his own, sits
down to dinner with his family. He begins to get belligerent and antagonistic. His wife does
not know what she has done wrong. In fact, later, he himself cannot say why he was so
upset. WE know it is because his wife served beets.

It is easy to see that from the young boy's knowledge of the situation when he was a child,
the only visible common element between his parent’s arguments and his environment
was the serving of beets. They never argued about the money directly, and that would
probably have been beyond his ken anyway.

Obviously, it is not stupidity that leads to misconceptions, but lack of information. The
problem is, we have no way of knowing if we have enough information or not, for we
cannot determine how much we do not know. It is a human trait, and one of the Subjective
Characters as well, to see repetitive proximities between two items or between an item
and a process and assume a causal relationship.

But why is this so important to story? Because that is why stories exist in the first place!
Stories exist to show us a greater Objective truth that is beyond our limited Subjective
view. They exist to show us that if we feel something is a certain way, even based on
extensive experience, it is possible that it really is not that way at all.

For the Pivotal Character, it will be shown that the way she believed things to be really IS
the way they are in spite of evidence to the contrary. The message here is that our
understanding is sometimes not limited by past misconceptions, but by lack of information
in the present. "Keeping the faith" describes the feeling very well. Even in the face of
major contradiction, holding on to one's views and dismissing the apparent reality as an
illusion or falsehood.

For the Primary Character, it will be shown that things are really different than believed
and the only solution is to alter one's beliefs. This message is that we must update our
understanding in the light of new evidence or information. "Changing one's faith" is the
issue here.

In fact, that is what stories are all about: Faith. Not just having it, but also learning if it is
valid or not. That is why either Character, Pivotal or Primary, must make a Leap of faith in
order to succeed. At the climax of a story, the need to make a decision between remaining
steadfast in one's faith or altering it is presented to both Pivotal and Primary Characters.
EACH must make the choice. And each will succeed or fail.

The reason it is a Leap of Faith is because we are always stuck with our limited Subjective
view. We cannot know for sure if the fact that evidence is mounting that change would be
a better course represents the pangs of Conscience or the tugging of Temptation. We
must simply decide based on our own internal beliefs.

If we decide with the best available evidence and trust our feelings we will succeed, right?
Not necessarily. Success or failure is just the author's way of saying she agrees or
disagrees with the choice made. Just like real life stories we hear every day of good an
noble people undeservedly dying or losing it all, a Character can make the good and noble
choice and fail. This is the nature of a true Dilemma: that no matter what you do, you lose.
Of course, most of us read stories not to show us that there is no fairness in the impartial
Universe (which we see all too much of in real life) but to convince ourselves that if we are
true to the quest and hold the "proper" faith, we will be rewarded. It really all depends on
what you want to do to your audience.
A story in which the Main Character is Pivotal will have dynamics that lead the audience to
expect that remaining Steadfast will solve the problem and bring success. Conversely, a
story in which the Main Character is Primary will have differently dynamics that lead the
audience to expect that Changing will solve the problem and bring success. However, in
order to make a statement about real life outside of the story, the Author may violate this
expectation for propaganda or shock purposes.

For example, if, in Star Wars, Luke had made the same choice and turned off his targeting
computer (trusting in the force), dropped his bombs, and missed the target, Darth blows
him up and the Death Star obliterates the rebels... how would we feel? Sure you could
write it that way, but would you want to? Perhaps! Suppose you made Star Wars as a
government sponsored entertainment in a fascist regime. That might very WELL be the
way you would want to end it!

The point being, that to create a feeling of "completion" in an audience, if the Main
Character is Pivotal, she MUST succeed by remaining Steadfast, and a Primary Main
Character MUST change.

Now, let's take this sprawling embryonic understanding of Justification and apply it
specifically to story structure.

The Dramatica Model is built on the process of noting that an inequity exists, then
comparing all possible elements of Mind to Universe until the actual nature of the inequity
is located, then making a Leap of Faith to change approach or remain steadfast.

At the most basic level, we have Mind and we have Universe, as indicated in the
introduction to this book. An inequity is not caused solely by one or the other but by the
difference between the two. So, an inequity is neither in Mind nor Universe, but between
them.

However, based on their past experiences (assumed causal relationships in backstory) a

given Subjective Character will choose either Mind or Universe as the place to attempt to
resolve the inequity. In other words, she decides that she likes one area the way it is, and
would rather change the other. As soon as this decision is made, the inequity becomes a
problem because it is seen in one world or the other. i.e.: "There is a problem with my
situation I have to work out." or "I have to work out a personal problem".

Doesn't a Character simply see that the problem is really just an inequity between Mind
and Universe? Sure, but what good does that do them? It is simply not efficient to try to
change both at the same time and meet halfway. Harking back to our introductory
example of Jane who wanted a $300 jacket: Suppose Jane decided to try and change her
mind about wanting the jacket even while going out and getting a job to earn the money to
buy it. Obviously, this would be a poor plan, almost as if she were working against herself,
and in effect she would be. This is because it is a binary situation: either she has a jacket
or she does not, and, either she wants a jacket or she does not. If she worked both ends
at the same time, she might put in all kinds of effort and end up having the jacket not
wanting it. THAT would hardly do! No, to be efficient, a Character will consciously or
responsively pick one area or the other in which to attempt to solve the problem, using the
other area as the measuring stick of progress.

So, if a Main Character picks the Universe in which to attempt a solution, she is a "Do-er"
and it is an Action oriented story. If a Main Character picks the Mind in which to attempt a
solution, she is a "Be-er" and it is a Decision oriented story. Each story has both Action
and Decision, for they are how we compare Mind against Universe in looking for the
inequity. But an Action story has a focus on exploring the physical side and measuring
progress by the mental, where as a Decision story focuses on the mental side and
measures progress by the physical.

Whether a story is Action or Decision has nothing to do with the Main Character being
Pivotal or primary. As we have seen, James Bond has been both. And in the original
"Raiders of the Lost Ark", Indy must change from his disbelief of the power of the ark and
its supernatural aspects in order to succeed by avoiding the fate that befalls the Nazis -
"Close your eyes, Marian; don't look at it!"

Action or Decision simply describes the nature of the problem solving process, not
whether a character should remained steadfast or change. And regardless of which focus
the story has, a Pivotal Character story has dynamics indicating that remaining steadfast
is the proper course. That mean that in an Action story, a Pivotal Character will have
chosen to solve the problem in the Universe and must maintain that approach in the face
of all obstacles in order to succeed. In a Decision story, a Pivotal Character will have
chosen to solve the problem in the Mind, and must maintain that approach to succeed. On
the other hand, a Primary Character, regardless of which world she selects to solve the
problem, will discover she chose the wrong one, and must change to the other to find the
solution.

A simple way of looking at this is to see that a Pivotal Character must work at finding the
solution, and if diligent will find it where she is looking. She simply has to work at it. In
Dramatica, when a Pivotal Character is the Main Character, we call it a Work Story (which
can be either Action or Decision)

A Primary Character works just as hard as the Pivotal to find the solution, but in the end
discovers that the problem simply cannot be solved in the world she chose. She must now
change and give up her steadfast refusal to change her "fixed" world in order to overcome
the log jam and solve the problem. Dramatica calls this a Dilemma story, since it is literally
impossible to solve the problem in the manner originally decided upon.

From the Subjective view, both Pivotal and Primary work at solving the problem. Also,
each is confronted with evidence suggesting that they must change. This evidence is
manifested in increasingly growing obstacles they both must overcome. So what makes
the audience want one character to remain steadfast and the other to change?
The Objective view.

Remember, we have two views of the Story Mind. The Subjective is the limited view in
which the audience, in empathy with the Main Character, simply does not have enough
information to decide whether or not to change. But then, unlike the Main Character, the
audience is privy to the Objective view which clearly shows (by the climax) which would be
the proper choice. To create a sense of equity in the audience, if the Main Character's
Subjective Choice is in line with the Objective View, they must succeed. But if a
propaganda or shock value is intended, an author may choose to have either the proper
choice fail or the improper choice succeed.

This then provides a short explanation of the driving force behind the unfolding of a story,
and the function of the Subjective Characters. Taken with the earlier chapters on the
Objective Characters, we now have a solid basic understanding of the essential structures
and dynamics that create and govern Characters.
The 12 Essential Questions - "Resolve"
Dramatica asks 12 Essential Questions every author should be able to answer about his
or her story. Four deal with the Main Character, four with Plot, and the remaining four with
Theme.

The first of these questions is Main Character Resolve, and asks:

By the end of your story, has the Main Character "Changed" or remained "Steadfast?"

Traditionally, it has been taught that a character must change in order to grow. This is not
actually the case. A character may grow in his resolve. For example, Dr. Richard Kimble in
The Fugitive never changes the nature of his character. Rather, he redoubles his resolve
in order to cope with the increasing obstacles placed in his path.

There is a character in The Fugitive who DOES change, however, and that is Sam Girard,
the Tommy Lee Jones character. At the beginning of the story, he tells Kimble, "I don't
care," when Kimble says that he didn't kill his wife. At the end of the story, Girard comes to
believe in Kimble's innocence, removes Kimble's handcuffs and offers him a compress to
ease the soreness they caused. Kimble says, "I thought you didn't care..." Girard replies
with gentle sarcasm, "I don't," then adds, "Don't tell anybody..."

Girard is the Obstacle Character to Kimble's Main. For every Main and Obstacle
character, one will change as a result of the others steadfastness. In essence, because
Kimble cares so much (as evidenced by the many people he helps even when on the run)
Girard changes his nature and begins to care himself.

Another example of this can be found in the James Bond film, "Goldfinger." In this story,
Bond remains steadfast but someone does change. Again, it is the Obstacle Character,
Pussy Galore (the Honor Blackman part) who runs the Flying Circus. She changes her
mind about helping Goldfinger, spills the beans to the CIA and changes the gas canisters
from poison to harmless oxygen. It was Bond's resoluteness, which eventually leveraged
her to change.

Examples of Change Main Characters are Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, Luke Skywalker
in Star Wars, and Chief Brody in Jaws. In the case of Scrooge, he ultimately makes a
conscious decision to change the very foundations of his nature. In contrast, Luke only
changes a small aspect of his nature - at the crucial moment he decides to trust the Force
(in effect to trust his own abilities, himself) and is therefore able to win the day. Other than
that, Luke remains pretty much the same personality he was before. Finally, Chief Brody
is afraid of the water and won't even wade into it. But, after defeating the shark, he has a
conversation with Hooper as they swim back to shore. He says, "You know, I used to be
afraid of the water." Hooper replies, "I can't imagine why." Brody has also changed, but
not by conscious decision, more by attrition. In a sense, Brody has BEEN changed by his
story experiences. So, we can see that Change may be universal (Scrooge), specific
(Skywalker), or unintentional (Brody).
When a character must make a conscious (active) decision to change, regardless of
whether it is his whole personality or just an aspect, it is called a Leap of Faith story.
When a character IS changed by the story experience without an active decision, it is
called a Non Leap of Faith Story. Both kinds of Change are equally sound dramatic
structures, but each creates a different feel over the entire course of the story.

It is important to recognize that Change may lead to success if it is the right choice, or it
may lead to failure if the character should have remained Steadfast. Similarly, remaining
Steadfast may lead to a positive or negative conclusion.

Also, characters may flip-flop over the course of the story, changing for a while and then
changing back. Or, they may grow closer and farther from changing as their experiences
proceed. But in the end, the character will be the same person, albeit older and wiser, or
they will have some fundamental trait of their character altered, large or small, for better or
worse. Regardless of the propriety of the outcome, if the character is different in nature he
has changed. If he is the same, he has remained Steadfast.

A writer recently asked me the following question about feedback he received from the
Dramatica software which suggested his character's Purposes should be Knowledge and
Actuality:

He wrote:

I don't understand what Dramatica means by a character's Purpose. Purpose in life?--

Nobody knows what that is although some think they do. I understand Knowledge and
Actuality as stated in Dramatica Dictionary. But I cannot put Purpose, knowledge, and
actuality together in a meaningful, parallel context without Purpose meaning the same
thing as Methodology, i.e., he uses "knowledge" and "reality". I feel there is a SIMPLE
explanation and I'm making it complex.

I replied:

In regard to "simplicity", Dramatica theory is like Zen. There are simple explanations if all
you want it a specific solution to a specific problem. But, the deeper you go, the more the
simple explanations begin to form larger patterns until an overview of the whole durn
mechanism of story begins to clarify. With that view comes a mastery of structure that
guides creativity, channels it, but never inhibits it.

In regard to your particular problem...

First of all, Dramatica divides character into two aspects - the Subjective qualities, which
represent character points of view (what the characters see) and Objective qualities,
which represents how the characters function in the big picture.
From the Subjective view, one cannot see what can be seen from the "God's Eye View" of
the big picture - the view we can't get in real life, the Objective view.

When answering questions about character Motivations, Methodologies, Evaluations, and

Purposes, Dramatica is focusing on the Objective View. So, from that perspective of
standing outside the story and looking in, we not only can, but MUST know our character's
Purposes. If we do not, how can we frame a cogent argument about the relative value of
human qualities to our audience?

Of course, the Character will never see ANY of these aspects: not Motivations, Methods,
Evaluations, nor Purposes. You see, the qualities that make us up are like the carrier
waves of our self-awareness, the operating system of our personality, the foundation of
our outlook. They describe where we stand, not what we are looking at. So, when
choosing elements for your characters' qualities, make sure to describe what each
character really is, as seen from an Objective outside view. Describe how it functions, now
how it feels. Describe how it is to be seen, not how it sees.

This phase of story creation is where you, as author, determine what the ACTUAL
meaning of the story is, when all the smoke clears, when the audience can look back on
the finished story and say, "This is what this character was really like - this is what kind of
attributes he had, these are the human qualities it represents."

Next, there is a common misunderstanding of what "Purpose" is. This actually occurs
because writers often look at Purpose as if it were a Motivation. For example, if you ask
an author what a character's motivation is, he might say, "to be president." But in fact,
achieving the office of the presidency is his Purpose - simply defined as, what he hopes to
accomplish, arrive at, or possess. His Motivation, on the other hand, is WHY he wants to
be president. And, this might be any one of a number of things, such as that he never had
any power as a child, or that he feels inadequate and needs the accolades. For any given
Purpose, there can be any number of Motivations, and vice versa.

So, when choosing your characters' Purposes, you need to ask yourself, what kinds of
things (what categories of things) do I want this character, driven by his Motivations, to be
trying to achieve? There are no limitations as to which Purposes can be the particular
"goals" for any given motivations. In fact, it is the combination you choose that gives a
unique identity to your character, either as an archetype where the Motivations are
topically connected to similar associated Purposes or as more complex characters in
which the Purposes are of completely different kinds of thing than the Motivations.

Now it might seem that a character will, in fact, see what his Purpose is. After all, if he
wants to be president, he's gotta be aware of that fact! True, but what he doesn't see is
that his UNDERLYING Purpose is "Actuality." In such a story, there might be a character
that is a power broker behind the scenes. He is the President de facto, because the actual
president merely rubber-stamps our character's decisions, and reads the speeches our
character writes. But, our character's Purpose is Actuality, so he feels as if he has
achieved nothing. Only if he ACTUALLY becomes president will he ever feel he has
accomplished his Purpose.

It is important to note that ANY of the Purpose Elements could show up in the story as
"wanting to be president." For example, "Knowledge" as a purpose could be written so that
our character wants to KNOW what it is like to be president. He has stood next to the
president, he can imagine what it is like, but unless he sits behind the desk in the Oval
Office himself, he'll never really KNOW.

So, using Knowledge and Actuality together, our character has Purpose of becoming
president because he must Know what it is Actually like. ANY subject matter can be fit to
ANY elements. This might seem as if nothing definitive is really being determined about
your structure. In fact, it is the choice as to which elements are to be represented in the
subject matter that give the subject matter a specific flavor, or spin, and thereby makes it
more than simple storytelling. Only when the subject matter is presented as representing
particular outlooks does it take on the mantle of dramatic significance. The matching of
functional elements to the subject matter creates perspective, and it is perspective in
which all dramatic meaning is held.

Again, like Zen, the exploration of story structure has many levels of depth and meaning.
The more one learns about Dramatica and the Objective Character Elements, the more
sophistication one develops in sculpting interesting characters of unusual identity yet valid
composition. And it is upon such characters that a cogent and complete argument
regarding the relative value of human qualities must be built.
Writing from a Character's Point of View

Perhaps the best way to instill real feelings in a character is to stand in his or her shoes
and write from the character's point of view. Unfortunately, this method also holds the
greatest danger of undermining the meaning of a story.

As an example, suppose we have two characters, Joe and Tom, who are business
competitors. Joe hates Tom and Tom hates Joe. We sit down to write an argument
between them. First, we stand in Joe's shoes and speak vehemently of Tom's
transgressions. Then, we stand in Tom's shoes and pontificate on Joe's aggressions. By
adopting the character point of view, we have constructed an exchange of honest and
powerful emotions. We have also undermined the meaning of our story because Joe and
Tom have come across as being virtually the same.

A story might have a Protagonist and an Antagonist, but between Joe and Tom, who is
who? Each sees himself as the Protagonist and the other as the Antagonist. If we simply
write the argument from each point of view, the audience has no idea which is REALLY
which.

The opposite problem occurs if you stand back from your characters and assign roles as
Protagonist and Antagonist without considering the characters' points of view. In such a
case, the character clearly establish the story's meaning, but they seem to be "walking
through" the story, hitting the marks, and never really expressing themselves as actual
human beings.

The solution, of course, is to explore both approaches. You need to know what role each
character is to play in the story's overall meaning - the big picture. But, you also must
stand in their shoes and write with passion to make them human.
The Chemistry of Characters

To make an argument that a particular element is or is not a solution to a particular

problem, Character make-up must remain consistent throughout the story.

In order for the argument of a story to be complete, all approaches to solving a problem
must be represented. This is the purpose of Characters. Each Character illustrates one or
more ways in which one might address a problem. These different approaches are
commonly referred to as Character Traits. We call them Character Elements.

If we think of the traits as elements, we can imagine that the chemical compounds created
by various combinations can lead to an extraordinary number of different "substances", or
personalities from a relatively small number of building blocks.

Picture the Author as Chemist, filling several jars with samples from a rack of elements.
She might put a single element in one jar but a number of them in another. Depending
upon the selections she makes, a given jar might grow cold or boil, turn red or blue,
crystallize or form polymers.

Now suppose this Author/Chemist was operating under laboratory guidelines that she
must use each chemical element off the shelf, but only once - in only one jar. It is
conceivable she might put them all into a single jar, but what a mess it would be, trying to
determine which element was responsible for which effect. The interactions would become
muddled beyond understanding.

Certainly, in a story, such a hodgepodge would fail to fulfill the mandate of making a full
and meaningful argument. No, if we are to cover the field, but not at the expense of clarity,
we must examine the interactions of smaller groups of elements, which calls for several
more jars.

Obviously, if we used a separate jar for each element, nothing would react at all, which
means to an author that virtually all of the conflict within Characters would be lost with only
the potential of conflict between Characters remaining. Certainly each element could be
fully understood, and indeed, from time to time, an author may find good reason to keep a
few Character elements solo, so that they might be absolutely defined. More often,
however, it serves the story better to combine more than one element in more than one
jar.

In this way, very specific combinations can be fully explored, and not at the expense of
clarity.

Each of the Character Elements must be employed in one character or another. None
must be left out. Otherwise the argument of the story will have a hole in it. None must be
represented in more than one Character, otherwise the argument will be redundant,
confusing, and become less interesting.
Even within these guidelines, a huge number of different types of Characters can be
created. Yet, in many stories, we see the same Characters appearing over and over
again. Characters like the Hero and the Villain and the Sidekick recur in a plethora of
stories in a multitude of genres. This is not necessarily due to a lack of creativity by these
authors. Rather, of all the elements, there is one central arrangement that is something
like an alignment of the planets. It is a point of balance where each Character looks
exactly like the others, only seen through a filter - or with different shading.

Characters made in this special alignment are called Archetypal. Out of all the myriad of
ways in which Elements could be arranged, there is only one arrangement that is
Archetypal. Is this good or is this bad? For the author who wants to explore Character
nuances, Archetypal Characters are probably a poor choice. But for the author who wants
to concentrate on Action, it may be a very prudent choice.

It should be noted that just because a Character is Archetypal, does not mean she is a
stick figure. Archetypal Characters contain the full complement of elements that any other
Character might have. It is the arrangement of these so that all Elements of a like kind
make up a single Character that simplifies the complexity of the interactions between
Characters. This un-clutters the field and allows for more attention to be paid to other
areas such as action, if that is the Author's intent.

In our example of the Author/Chemist, the jars she uses fulfill an essential purpose: they
keep the Chemical compounds separate from one another. That is the function and
definition of Character:

A Character is a unique arrangement of solely possessed elements that does not vary
over the course of the story.

The last few words above are italicized because the stability of the arrangement of
elements is essential to identifying a Character. If elements could swap around from
Character to Character, the story would lose its strength of argument, since an approach
begun by one Character might only be shown to succeed or fail in another.

When we, as audience, watch a story, we hope to learn that we should or should not use
a particular approach, so that we may grow from that experience in our own lives. But how
can that point be made if a Character does not finish what she starts. We may see the
element as failing, but the argument is left open that perhaps if only the Character who
started with that element had stuck with it she would have succeeded.

Players

What about Jekyl and Hyde? Is that not an inconsistent Character? Yes, it is not. This is
because Jekyl and Hyde are two different Characters. Two Characters in a single body?
Exactly.
There is a great difference between a Character and the body it inhabits. We have all
seen stories about spiritual possession, split personalities, or Sci-Fi personality transfers.
In each of these instances, different Characters successively occupy the same body or
physical host. We call these hosts Players.

A Player is a host in which a Character Resides

A Player does not have to be a person. It can be an animal, spiritual force, a car, a toy -
anything that can be shown to possess a personality. Character is the personality, Player
is where it resides. So, Jekyl and Hyde are two separate Characters who vie for the same
Player's body.

Conclusion to Objective Characters

We have now defined all of the elements or traits that can be combined to create
Characters. We have also arranged these traits in meaningful groupings. We have
described methods and rules governing the combining process. And, we have related
each aspect of the Character Structure concept to the other aspects.

But something is missing. So far we have created a Structure, but it is a static Structure.
We have not at all discussed the manner in which Characters interrelate and conflict. In
effect, we have not created a set of Dynamics to drive the Structure.

As you may have noted, the Section headings of this book are divided into Structure and
Dynamics, indicating that all Structural considerations will be explored before they are put
into motion. There is a reason for this. When we had first completed discovering the sixty-
four elements of Character, and had arranged them in the Author's perspective, we
thought that Character conflict would be the next door that opened to us. It was not. Try as
we might, we could not perceive any kind of definable pattern that governed the
interactions among Characters or even Character traits.

Instead, we found something most unexpected: that there was a definitive relationship
among the structures of Character, Theme, Genre, and Plot. In fact, Plot did not just
describe the Dynamics of Character, but Theme and Genre as well. So to see the Plot
operation of Character conflict, Theme progression, and Genre perspectives, we first
needed to finish our Structural model of Story, by building a Structure for Theme and
Genre as well. Once this was accomplished we would then be able to discern and quantify
the functioning of story Dynamics.

Therefore, we move on to the next set of bricks in our DRAMATICA Structure, edging ever
closer to that elusive overview.
Love Interests & the Dramatic Triangle

A lot of books about writing describe the importance of a "Love Interest." Other books see
a Love Interest as unnecessary and cliché. What does Dramatica Say? As with most
dramatic concepts, Dramatica pulls away the storytelling to take a clear look at the
underlying structure.

A Love Interest has both storytelling and structural components. The storytelling side is
what most people think of - A Love Interest is the character with whom the "hero" or
"heroine" is in love. Simple! But what does that tell us about the kind of person the Love
Interest is, or even what kind of relationship the two have between them? Not a whole lot!
For example, the Love Interest might be the leader of the enemy camp, in which case he
or she is the Antagonist! Or, the Love Interest might be the supportive, stay-in-the-
background type, in which case he or she is the Sidekick. In both cases, the hero is in love
with this person, but structurally each positions the relationship on different sides of the
effort to achieve the story goal. Also, the Love Interest might be a person of noble heart, a
misguided do-gooder, or even a crook! And, any of these types of people might fit into
either of the two example scenarios we've just outlined.

As we can see, the structural and storytelling elements have little to do with one another,
other than the fact that there will be some of each. So, what can Dramatica do to help
provide some guidelines for developing a Love Interest that works?

Lets start with some basics. Dramatica sees there being two types of characters in every
story (and a prize in every box!). The first type contains the Objective Characters such as
the Protagonist, Antagonist, Sidekick, or Guardian, who are defined by their dramatic
functions.

The Protagonist strives to achieve the goal; the Antagonist tries to prevent that, for
example. In and of itself, this aspect of character outlines how the participants line up in
regard to the logistic issues of the story. But there is a second side of the dynamics of
every story that center on the second type of characters - the Subjective Characters.
There are two Subjective Characters, and unlike their Objective relatives who represent
functions, the Subjective Characters represent points of view. These characters are the
Main Character and the Obstacle Character. The Main Character represents the audience
position in the story. The Obstacle Character represents the point of view, ideology, or
belief system opposite that of the Main Character.

The Objective Characters represent the "headline" in the story and the Subjective
Characters represent the "heartline." Often, the character who is the Protagonist is also
given the Main Character job as well. This creates the archetypal "hero" who drives the
story forward, but who also represents the audience position in the story. Of course, the
Main Character (audience position) might be with ANY of the Objective Characters, not
just the Protagonist. For example, in most of the James Bond films, Bond is actually the
Antagonist and Main Character because although he represents the audience position, he
is also called into play AFTER the real Protagonist (the villain) has made his first move to
achieve a goal (of world conquest.) It is Bond's functional role as Antagonist to try and
stop it!

Not quite as often, the Antagonist is given the extra job of also being the Obstacle
Character. In such a case, not only does the Antagonist try to stop the Protagonist, but he
(or she) also tries to change the belief system of the Main Character, whether the Main
Character is the Protagonist or another of the Objective Characters by function.
The worst thing you can do is to make the Protagonist the Main Character and the
Antagonist the Obstacle Character. Why? Because then the two "players" in the story are
not only diametrically opposed in function regarding the story goal, but are also
diametrically opposed in belief system. As a result, it is difficult for the audience to figure
out which of the two throughlines them is being developed by any given event between
them.

What's worse, as an author it is easy to get caught up in the momentum of the drama
between them so that one skips steps in the development of one throughline because the
other "carries" it. Well it may carry the vigor, but it doesn't hold water. Both throughlines
must each be fully developed or you end up with a melodrama or worse, plot holes you
could drive a truck through.

The solution is either to assign the Main Character and Protagonist functions to one
character and split the Antagonist/Obstacle Character functions into two separate
characters, or vice versa.

And this brings us to the Dramatic Triangle and how it is used to create a sound Love
Interest relationship.

First, let's assume we assign the Main Character and Protagonist jobs to the same player
to create an archetypal hero. Now, this hero (we'll call him Joe) is a race car driver who is
vying with the Antagonist for the title of best overall driver of the year. Each race is a new
contest between them with their balance so close that it all comes down to the last race of
the season.

But there is something troubling Joe's heart - his relationship with Sally. Sally is very
supportive of Joe (a Sidekick, in fact) but Joe feels that if he really loves Sally, he should
quit racing to avoid the potential of an accident that would leave him dead or crippled and
ruin her life. Why does he feel like this? Because his own dad was a racer, whose
untimely death on the track left his mother devastated, and ultimately committed to an
asylum. (Hey, I never said this example would be creative!)

In any event, Sally doesn't feel that way at all. She would rather see Joe go out in a blaze
of glory having done his best than to spend her life with a limp shell. She tries to tell him,
but he just won't be convinced. He starts to play it safer and safer as his worries grow
(because the closer he gets to the final race, the more it resembles the chain of events
that happened to his dad.) Finally, he has lost his edge and his lead and it all comes down
to that final event.

Now, realizing that she would never be able to live with Joe if she felt that he lost the title
because of her, Sally tells him at the final pit stop that if he doesn't win the race, she is
leaving him. Joe must now decide whether he should stick with his approach born from
fear of hurting another, or let Sally be her own judge of what is right for her and put the
pedal to the metal.

What does he do? Up to you the author. He wins the race and Sally's heart. He hasn't got
the courage and loses both race and girl. He loses the race, but Sally realizes how deep
his love must be and decides to stay with him. He wins the race, but there is such a
dangerous near-fatal crash that Sally realizes Joe was right and leaves him anyway
because she discovers she really can't take it after all.

Or, you could have Sally want him to quit and Joe refuse, resulting in four other endings
with a more cliché flavor.

Why this long example, to show how the conflict of the logistics of the plot occur between
Joe and the Antagonist, but the emotions of the personal relationship occur between Joe
and the Sidekick, Sally.

If you charted it out, there are two throughlines. Both hinge on Joe, and then they split
farther and farther apart to connect to the Antagonist on one and to the Obstacle
Character, Sally on the other. In this way, the events that happen in the growth of each
relationship are much easier to see for the audience and much easier to complete for the
author, yet they both converge on the "hero" to give him the greatest possible dramatic
strength.

Now, you could hinge them both on the Antagonist, as in a James Bond film, and slip the
Protagonist from the Obstacle Character. Look at "Tomorrow Never Dies." The
Protagonist is the mad newspaper mogul. The Obstacle Character is the beautiful Chinese
agent (whose function is muddled dramatically by Bond's relationship with the mogul's
wife). Bond is Antagonist AND Main Character, but the dramatic triangle is still functional.
Silence of the Lambs: Starling is the Main Character / Antagonist, Jamie Gumm (Buffalo
Bill) is the Protagonist (after all, she didn't go looking for a crime and THEN he committed
one!) Hannibal is the Obstacle Character and perhaps a Love Interest of a sort (as
described by the director on the Criterion Edition DVD.)

For a different approach, consider Witness: John Book is the Obstacle Character /
Antagonist, the crooked Chief of Police is the Protagonist. Rachel, the Amish Girl is the
Love Interest and Main Character. Or is John Book (Harrison Ford) the Love Interest to
Rachel? It's hard to tell because John is such an active Objective Character that he
carries more momentum than Rachel, even though we are positioned in her shoes. The
important point is that even if the Protagonist is made to be the Obstacle Character and
the Antagonist and Main Character are split into two different people, the dramatic triangle
still exists!

The dramatic triangle is one of the best structural ways to focus attention on one character
even while splitting the headline and heartline to make a more pleasing and complete
story. It can be used for "buddy" pictures and even used when the heartline isn't between
lovers or even likers but between two people who would like to see each other's emotions
destroyed by slyly manipulating the other to change his or her beliefs. Think of all those
"cheat the devil" stories in which the Main Character/Protagonist is after something and
the devil tries to convince the Main Character to sell his soul to get it. Yep, the dramatic
triangle at work again!

So, in considering whether or not to have a Love Interest in your story, simply consider
whether that would make your storytelling cliché or not. Either way, consider the dramatic
triangle as a means of putting heart into an otherwise logistically mechanical plot.
Psychoanalyze Your Story

Does your story suffer from "Multiple Personality Disorder"?

In psychology, Multiple Personality Disorder describes a person who has more than one
complete personality. Typically, only one of those personalities will be active at any given
time. This is because they usually share attributes, and so only one can have that attribute
at any particular moment.

Stories can also suffer from Multiple Personality Disorder if more than one character
represents a single attribute. In such a case, both should not be able to appear in the story
at the same time. If they do, the audience feels that the story is fragmented, or more
simply put, the story has developed a split-personality.

Dramatica sees a story as representing a single mind. Most writers have been taught that
characters, plot, theme, and genre are people, doing things, illustrating value standards, in
an overall setting and mood. In contrast, Dramatica sees characters, plot, theme, and
genre as representing different "families of thought" which go on in the story mind as it
grapples with a central problem.

Characters are the "drives" of the Story Mind, which often conflict as they do in real
people. Plot describes the methods used by the Story Mind in an attempt to find a solution
to its central problem. Theme represents the Story Mind's conflicting value standards,
which must be played out one against another to determine the best way of evaluating the
problem. Genre describes the Story Mind's overall personality.

Traditional story theory states that each character must be a complete person to be
believable to an audience. But because the characters represent the independent drives
of a single Story Mind, each is not really a complete person but is rather a facet of a
complete mind. In fact, if you make each character complete, they will all be overlapping,
and will give your story a split-personality.

It is in the story TELLING stage where characters take on the trappings of a complete
person, not in the story STRUCTURE. Each character needs to be given traits and
interests, which round out the character's "presence," making it feel like a real human
being. But these trappings and traits are not part of the dramatic structure. They are just
window dressing - clothes for the facets to wear so the audience can better relate to them
on a personal level.

Think about the characters you have seen in successful stories. They might represent
Reason, Emotion, Skepticism, or function as the Protagonist or Antagonist, for example.
Each of these kinds of characters is an "archetype" because it contains a whole family of
drives in one character. For example, a Protagonist may contain the drive to "pursue," and
also the drive to be a self-starter, "pro-action." Because these drives work together in
harmony, the character becomes archetypal.

The individual drives don't have to be bundled in an archetype, however. In fact, each
single drive might be assigned to a different character, creating a multitude of simple
characters. Or, characters might get several drives but conflicting ones. These characters
are more "complex" because their internal make-up is not completely consistent.
Regardless of how the drives (also called character "elements") are assigned, each drive
should appear in one and only one character. If not, your story may develop Multiple
Personality Disorder and leave your audience unable to relate to the story as a whole.
To Change, or NOT to Change...
Does your Main Character Change or Remain Steadfast? A lot of writers think a character
must Change in order to grow. This is simply not true. Characters can also grow in their
Resolve. In that case, they Remain Steadfast as they must grow stronger in stronger in
their beliefs in order to hold out against increasingly powerful obstacles.

Regardless of whether your Main Character changes or not, how does he or she get
there? Does your character simply flip a switch at the end of the story? Or does he or she
grapple with and grieve over the issue right up to the moment of truth?

In fact, there are a quite a number of different dramatic pathways by which a Main
Character can arrive at the moment of truth. The more you have in your writer's bag of
tricks, the more dramatic variety you can bring to your characters' journeys. Let's look at a
few of your options....

1. The Steady Freddy

This kind of Main Character starts out with a fixed belief about the central personal issue
of the story. Act-by-Act, Scene-by-Scene, he gathers more information that leads him to
question those pre-held beliefs. His hold on the old attitude gradually weakens until, at the
Moment of Truth, he simply steps over to the other side - or not. This kind of character
slowly changes until he is not committed to either his original belief or the alternative. It all
comes down to which way the wind is blowing when he ultimately must choose one or the
other.

2. The Griever

A Griever Main Character is also confronted with building evidence that his original belief
was in error. But unlike Steady Freddy, this character suffers a growing internal conflict
that starts to tear him apart. The Griever feels honor-bound or morally obligated to stick
with his old loyalties, yet becomes more and more compelled to jump ship and adopt the
new. At the end of the story, he must make a Leap of Faith, choosing either the old or the
new, with such a balance created that there is not even a hint as to which way would
ultimately be better.

3. The Weaver

The Weaver Main Character starts out with one belief system, then shifts to adopt the
alternative, then shifts back again, and again, and again.... Like a sine wave, he weaves
back and forth every time he gathers new information that indicates he is currently in error
in his point of view. The intensity of these swings depends upon the magnitude of each bit
of new information and the resoluteness of the character.
4. The Waffler

Unlike the Weaver, the Waffler jumps quickly from one point of view to the other,
depending on the situation of the moment. He may be sincere but overly pragmatic, or he
may be opportunistic and not hold either view with any real conviction.
There are also two kinds of characters who change, but not really.

5. The Exception Maker

This character reaches the critical point of the story and decides that although he will
retain his original beliefs, he will make an exception "in this case." This character would be
a Change character if the story is about whether or not he will budge on the particular
issue, especially since he has never made an exception before. But, if the story is about
whether he has permanently altered his nature, then he would be seen as steadfast,
because we know he will never make an exception again. With the Exception Maker, you
must be very careful to let the audience know against what standard it should evaluate
Change.

6. The Backslider

Similar to the Exception Maker, the Backslider changes at the critical moment, but then
reverses himself and goes right back to his old belief system. In such a story, the
character must be said to change, because it is the belief system itself that is being judged
by the audience, once the moment of truth is past and the results of picking that system
are seen in the denoument. In effect, the Backslider changes within the confines of the
story structure, but then reverts to his old nature AFTER the structure in the closing
storyTELLING.

An example of this occurs in the James Bond film, "On Her Majesty's Secret Service." This
is the only Bond film in which 007 actually changes. Here, he has finally found love which
has filled the hole in his heart that previously drove him. He resigns the force and gets
married. End of structure. Then, in additional storytelling, his wife is killed by the villain,
and his angst is restored so good ol' James Bond can return just as he was in the next
sequel.

Variations....

Each of these kinds of characters may be aware that he or she is flirting with change or
may not. They may simply grieve over their situations, or just breeze through them, not
considering how they might be changing in either case. Each of these character may
arrive at a Leap of Faith where they must make a conscious decision to do things the
same way or a different way, or each may arrive at a Non-Leap of Faith story conclusion,
where they never even realize they have been changed, they just are. The important thing
is that the AUDIENCE know if the Main Character has changed or not. Otherwise, they
cannot evaluate the results of the dramatic argument.
There are many ways to Change or Not to Change. If you avoid getting stuck in a simply
linear progression with a binary choice, your characters will come across as much more
human and much more interesting.
Writing Characters of the Opposite Sex

Perhaps the most fundamental error made by authors, whether novice or experienced, is
that all their characters, male and female, tend to reflect the gender of the author. This is
hardly surprising, since recent research finally proves that men and women use their
brains in different ways. So how can an author overcome this gap to write characters of
the opposite sex that are both accurate and believable to their own gender?

In this Dramatica Tip, we'll explore the nature of male and female minds and provide
techniques for crafting characters that are true to their gender.

At first, it might seem that being male or female is an easily definable thing, and therefore
easy to convey in one's writing. But as we all know, the differences between the sexes
have historically been a mysterious quality, easily felt, but in fact quite hard to define. This
is because what makes a mind male or female is not just one thing, but also several.

First, let's consider that gender has four principal components:

Anatomical Sex

Sexual Preference

Gender Identity

Mental Sex

Anatomical sex describes the physicality of a character - male or female. Now, we all
know that people actually fall in a range - more or less hairy, wider or narrower hips,
deeper or higher voice, and so on. So although there is a fairly clear dividing line between
male and female anatomically, secondary sexual characteristics actually create a range of
physicality between the two. Intentionally choosing these attributes for your characters
can make them far less stereotypical as men and women.

Sexual Preferences may be for the same sex, the opposite sex, both, or neither (or self).
Although people usually define themselves as being straight, gay, bi, or celibate, this is
also not a fixed quality. Statistics shows, for example, that 1/3 of all men have a
homosexual encounter at least once in their lives.

Although it often stirs up controversy to say so, in truth most people have passing
attractions to the same sex, be it a very pretty boy or a "butch" woman.

Consider the sexual preference of your characters not as a fixed choice of one thing or
another, but as a fluid quality that may shift over time or in a particular exceptional context.
Gender Identity describes where one falls on the scale between masculine and feminine.
This, of course, is also context dependent. For example, when one is in the woods, at
home with one's family, or being chewed out by the boss.

Gender Identity is not just how one feels or things of oneself, but also how one act’s, how
one uses one's voice, and how one wishes to be treated. Often, a male character may
have gentle feelings but cover them up by overly masculine mannerisms. Or, a female
character may be "all-business" in the workplace out of necessity, but wishes someone
would treat her with softness and kindness.

Actually, Gender Identity is made up of how one acts or wishes to act, and how one is
treated or wishes to be treated. How many times have we seen a character who is forced
by others to play a role that is in conflict with his or her internal gender self-image?
Gender Identity is where one can explore the greatest nuance in creating non-
stereotypical characters.

Finally, Mental Sex describes where one falls on the scale from practical, binary, linear,
logistic, goal-oriented thinking to passionate, flexible, emotional, process-oriented thinking.
In fact, every human being engages in ALL of these approaches to life, just at different
times and in different ways.

Now, in creating characters, consider that each of the four categories we just explored is
not a simple choice between one thing or another, but a sliding scale (like Anatomical
Sex) or a conglomerate of individual traits (like Gender Identity). Then, visualize that
wherever a character falls in any one of those four categories places absolutely no limits
on where he or she may fall in the other categories.

For example, you might have a character extremely toward male anatomical sex, bi-
sexual (but leaning toward a straight relationship at the moment), whose gender identity is
rough and tumble (but yearns to be accepted for his secret sensitivity toward
impressionistic paintings) who is practical all the time (except when it comes to sports
cars).

Any combination goes.

But when it comes to Mental Sex itself, there are four sub-categories within that area
alone which tend to define the different personality types we encounter:

Subconscious

Memory

Conscious

Preconscious
In brief, each of these "levels" or "attributes" of the mind can lean toward seeing the world
in definable or experiential terms. Pre-conscious is a tendency to perceive the world in
components or as processes that is determined before birth. It is the foundation of leaning
toward the tradition "male" or "female" personality traits. Subconscious determines the
tendencies we have to be attracted or repelled from component or process rewards.

Memory relies on our training to organize our considerations in a give situation toward
components or processes. And every character always has a Conscious choice to focus
on the components or processes at any given moment. In other words, in a given
situation, at each level of Mental Sex does a character center on the way things are or the
way things are going? At each level is the character more interested in getting his or her
ducks in a row or in a pond?

Finally, beyond all of these considerations is the cultural indoctrination we all receive that
leads us to respond within social expectations appropriately to the role associated with our
anatomical sex. These roles are fairly rigid and include what is proper to wear, who
speaks first, who opens the door or order the wine, who has to pretend to be inept where
and skilled where else (regardless of real ability or lack there of in that area), the form of
grammar one uses in constructing sentences, the words one is expected to use ("I'll take
a hamburger," vs. "I'd like a salad"), and the demeanor allowable in social interaction with
the same and the opposite sex, among many other qualities.

In the end, writing characters of the opposite sex requires a commitment to understand
the difference between those qualities, which are inherent and those, which are learned,
and to accept that we are all made of the same clay, and merely sculpt it in different ways.
Characters as Things
A writer asks:

"My favorite creative writing book is 'Setting' by Jack Bickham. Use of setting as primary
with characters, plot, theme, mood, etc derived from it and interacting with it seems of
particular value in science fiction. Where would Deep Space 9 be without deep space and
a space station! Setting is certainly the cauldron of my imagination.

So how can I best approach things this way with Dramatica? Do you have any examples
where setting has been created as a character?

Can I have two antagonists, for example, one a person and the other a setting?"

My Reply:

In fact, the Antagonist in a story can be a person, place or thing – any entity that can fulfill
the dramatic function of the Antagonist.

First, look at the movie "Jaws." The Antagonist is the shark. The mayor is the Contagonist.

Next consider the 1950s movie with Spencer Tracy and Robert Wagner called, "The
Mountain." Tracy plays an aging mountain climber whose nemesis is the huge mountain
that looms over his home and nearly killed him years ago. He hasn't climbed since. The
mountain claims new victims in a plane crash.

Tracy is the only one qualified to lead an expedition to rescue them. Wagner, his nephew,
wants to rob the plane of its valuables and slyly convinces Tracy to lead the expedition on
humanitarian grounds. The mountain is the Antagonist and Wagner is the Contagonist.

In the movie, "Aliens'' (the second film in the series), the Aliens themselves are the "Group
Antagonist" and the Contagonist is Burke, the company man.

In the movie, "The Old Man & the Sea." Anthony Quinn is the Protagonist, the Great Fish
is the Antagonist, and the Sea is the Contagonist.

In a short story called, "The Wind," which appeared in an anthology released by Alfred
Hitchcock, the wind itself it the Antagonist, having sentience and stalking down and
eventually killing an explorer who accidentally stumbled upon the knowledge that the
winds of the world are alive.

These examples illustrate that all of the dramatic functions (such as Protagonist,
Antagonist, and Contagonist) need to be represented, but can easily be carried by a
person, place, or thing. Still, there is only one Antagonist, and the other negative force is
usually the Contagonist.
There are two exceptions to the "rule" that there should be only one Antagonist. One is
when the Antagonist is a group, as in the "Aliens" example above, or with an angry mob or
the Empire in Start Wars. The other is when the function of the Antagonist is "handed off"
from one player to another when the first player dies or moves out of the plot.

A hand-off is different than a group insofar as the group is fulfilling the same dramatic
function at the same time as if it were a single entity, but the hand-off characters fulfill the
function in turn, each carrying forward the next part of the job like runners in a relay race.

Although the hand-off is often done with Obstacle characters (i.e. the ghosts in "A
Christmas Carol or the argument about the power of the Lost Ark made to Indiana Jones
in the first movie by both his boss at the university (Brody) and his companion/protector,
Sulla), hand-offs are seldom done with Antagonists for reasons I'll outline in a moment.

This is because Obstacle characters are each carrying the next part of linear argument
regarding value standards and/or worldviews, but the Antagonist represents a consistent
force. It is much harder for an audience to shift its feelings from one Antagonist to
another, than to "listen" to one character pick up the moral argument from another.

In summary, it is best to have only one Antagonist, but that character can easily be a
person, place or thing (including setting).
Antagonist vs. Obstacle Character

Recently a writer asked:

As I strive to understand the main character/obstacle character dynamics, I am left

wondering where does the antagonist fit into this new theory of story?

I believe I understand what you are getting at with the obstacle character, but it seems
that something is missing...the antagonist!

I see that the selection of antagonist is available as a character type, but I do not see
where one plots out the antagonist storyline. Isn't the Main Character/Protagonist vs
Antagonist storyline just as important?

My Reply:

The characters in a story represent the facets of our minds. That's why we call the
structure of a story the Story Mind. Archetypes are our broad personality traits, while the
Main Character represents our sense of self. The Obstacle (or Impact) character is that
part of ourselves that plays "devil's advocate" when we are trying to determine if we want
to change our minds about a particular issue. If we do, the Main Character is convinced
by the Obstacle Character's argument and changes. If we don't, the Main Character
sticks to the old view and remains steadfast.

Protagonist and Antagonist are two of our personality traits. Protagonist represents our
Initiative - our desire to change the status quo. Antagonist represents our Reticence to
change, the desire to keep things as they are or return them to the way they were.

Often the character that fulfills the Protagonist function is also the character chosen as the
Main Character. So, not only is this character the Prime Mover in the effort to change
things by achieving a goal, but he (or she) also represents the audience position in the
story. Such a character is the basis for the stereotypical "hero."

Similarly, the character who functions as the Antagonist is often chosen to also represent
the Obstacle Character's opposing paradigm, world view, or attitude toward the "message
issue" of the story. This creates the stereotypical "villain."

More sophisticated stories split these functions. Sometimes, as in the story To Kill A
Mockingbird, they are completely split. In that story, the Protagonist is a small town
lawyer (Atticus) whose goal is to free a black man wrongly accused of raping a white girl.
But we don't see the story through his eyes. Rather, we experience the story through the
eyes of a child - his young daughter named Scout.

The Antagonist is the father of the girl who was ostensibly raped. He wants justice to take
its normal course for that town, which would be a conviction based on race. He wants the
status quo. This fellow, Bob Ewell, is opposed to Protagonist Atticus' goal. So, the plot's
logistics revolve around these two characters.

But Scout, as Main Character, has her devil's advocate voice that is her obstacle in the
passionate story regarding the message issue. The character that has the greatest
impact on her worldview, the greatest obstacle to maintaining her preconceptions is Boo
Radley. Boo is a mentally challenged man who lives down the street in the basement of
his parent’s home. All the kids in the neighborhood, including Scout, know him to be a
monstrous "boogey man" who feasts on small children. But that is just a rumor based on
fear. In fact, he is quite gentle and protective of the kids who never meet him directly. He
looks out for them, but they don't see it and despise him. Only when he rescues Scout
from a vengeful Bob Ewell does the truth of his caring nature come out. Scout must
change her mind about Boo.

In this manner, while we root for the virtuous Atticus, we are suckered into being
prejudiced ourselves as we identify with Scout and accept her prejudices without any
direct evidence or experience of our own. This is clearly a wonderful use of the technique
of splitting all four characteristics.

In other stories, the Protagonist character is also the Main Character but the Obstacle
Character is the Love Interest and the Antagonist is the rival. Such an arrangement is the
classic "dramatic triangle" in which the logistics of the plot regarding the goal are fought
out between the Protagonist/Main Character and the Antagonist rival, but the passionate
argument regarding changing one's nature is developed between the Protagonist/Main
Character and the Obstacle Character Love Interest.

The film Witness does it a bit differently. The female lead, Rachel is the Love Interest, but
also the Main Character. We actually see the story through HER eyes, not through the
eyes of John Book (the Harrison Ford part). Rather, Book is the Obstacle Character, the
one who tempts Rachel to abandon her Amish traditions and community to run off with
him to the land of the "English."

The corrupt police captain (Book's boss) is the Antagonist. So, the plot revolves around
Book against his boss, and the passionate story about changing one's mind revolves
around Book and Rachel., but it is seen through HER eyes.

So, the Antagonist is quite important in Dramatica, as is the Protagonist, Main and
Obstacle characters. What Dramatica brings to this part of story is a clear understanding
of how these logistic and passionate attributes of the Story Mind can be distributed in
other ways than just as the stereotypical hero and villain.
Character Development Tricks!

Although it is possible to write without the use of characters, it is not easy. Characters
represent our drives, our essential human qualities. So a story without characters would
be a story that did not describe or explore anything that might be considered a motivation.
For most writers, such a story would not provide the opportunity to completely fulfill their
own motivations for writing.

For example, we might consider the following poem:

Rain, rain, go away.

Come again another day.

Are there characters in this short verse? Is the rain a character?

To some readers the poem might be a simple invocation for the rain to leave. To other
readers, the rain may seem to be stubborn, thoughtless, or inconsiderate. Of course we
would need to read more to know for certain.

Suppose we wrote the sentence, "The rain danced on the sidewalk in celebration of being
reunited with the earth."

Now we are definitely assigning human qualities to the rain. Without doubt, the rain has
become a character. Characters do not have to be people; they can also be places or
things. In fact, anything that can be imbued with motivation can be a character.

So, a fantasy story might incorporate a talking book. An action story might employ a killer
wolverine. And a horror story might conjure up the vengeful smoke from a log that was
cut from a sentient tree and burned in a fireplace.

When we come to a story we either already have some ideas for a character or characters
we would like to use, or we will likely soon find the need for some. But how can we come
up with these characters, or how can we develop the rough characters we already have?

Coming up with characters is as simple as looking to our subject matter and asking
ourselves who might be expected to be involved. But that only creates the expected
characters - predictable and uninteresting. Making these characters intriguing, unusual,
and memorable is a different task altogether. But first things first, let us look to our subject
matter and see what characters suggest themselves. (If you like, try this with you own
story as we go.)

Example:

Suppose all we know about our story is that we want to write an adventure about some
jungle ruins and a curse. What characters immediately suggest themselves?
Jungle Guide, Head Porter, Archeologist, Bush Pilot, Treasure Hunter

What other characters might seem consistent with the subject?

Missionary, Native Shaman, Local Military Governor, Rebel Leader, Mercenary

How about other characters that would not seem overly out of place?

Night Club Singer, Tourist, Plantation Owner

And perhaps some less likely characters?

Performers in a Traveling Circus (Trapeze Artist, Juggler, Acrobat, Clown)

We could, of course, go on and on. The point is, we can come up with a whole population
of characters just by picking the vocations of those we might expect or at least accept as
not inconsistent with the subject matter. Now these characters might seem quite ordinary
at first glance, but that is only because we know nothing about them. I promised you a
trick to use that would make ordinary characters intriguing, and now is the time to try it.

Of course, we probably don't need that many characters in our story, so for this example
let's pick only one character from each of the four groups above: Bush Pilot, Mercenary,
Night Club Singer, Clown.

First we'll assign a gender to each. Let's have two male and two female characters. Well
pick the Bush Pilot and the Mercenary as male and the Night Club Singer and the Clown
as female.

Now, picture these characters in your mind: a male Bush Pilot, a male Mercenary, a
female Night Club Singer, and a female Clown. Since we all have our own life
experiences and expectations, you should be able to visualize each character in your
mind in at least some initial ways.

The Bush Pilot might be scruffy, the Mercenary bare-armed and muscular. The Night Club
Singer well worn but done up glamorously, and the Clown a mousy thing.

Now that we have these typical images of these typical characters in our minds, let's
shake things up a bit to make them less ordinary. We'll make the Bush Pilot and the
Mercenary female and the Night Club Singer and Clown male.

What does this do to our mental images? How does it change how we feel about these
characters? The Bush Pilot could still be scruffy, but a scruffy woman looks a lot different
than a scruffy man. Or is she scruffy? Perhaps she is quite prim in contrast to the land in
which she practices her profession. Since female bush pilots are more rare, we might
begin to ask ourselves how she came to have this job. And, of course, this would start to
develop her back-story.

How about the female Mercenary? Still muscular, or more the brainy type? What's her
back story? The Night Club Singer might be something of a lounge lizard type in a
polyester leisure suit. And the male Clown could be sad like Emit Kelly, sleazy like Crusty
the Clown, or evil like Pennywise the Clown in Stephen King's "It."

The key to this trick is that our own preconceptions add far more material to our mental
images than the actual information we are given - so far only vocation and gender.

Due to this subconscious initiative, our characters are starting to get a little more
intriguing, just by adding and mixing genders. What happens if we throw another variable
into the mix, say, age? Let's pick four ages arbitrarily: 35, 53, 82, and 7. Now let's assign
them to the characters.

We have a female Bush Pilot (35), a female Mercenary (53), a male Night Club Singer
(82), and a male Clown (7). How does the addition of age change your mental images?

What if we mix it up again? Let's make the Bush Pilot 7 years old, the Mercenary 82, the
Night Club Singer 53, and the Clown 35. What do you picture now?

It would be hard for a writer not to find something interesting to say about a seven-year-
old female Bush Pilot or an eighty-two year old female Mercenary.

What we've just discovered is that the best way to break out of your own mind and its
cliché creations is to simply mix and match a few attributes. Suddenly your characters
take on a life of their own and suggest all kinds of interesting back-stories, attitudes, and
mannerisms.

Now consider that we have only been playing with three attributes. In fact, there are
hundreds, perhaps thousands of attributes from which we might select. These might
include educational level, race, disabilities, exceptional abilities, special skills, hobbies,
religious affiliation, family ties, prejudices, unusual eating habits, sexual preference, and
on and on. And each of these can be initially assigned in typical fashion, then mixed and
matched. Using this simple technique, anyone can create truly intriguing and memorable
characters.

Perhaps the most interesting thing in all of this is that we have become so wrapped up in
these fascinating people that we have completely forgotten about structure! In fact, we
don't even know who is the Hero, Protagonist, or Main Character!

Many authors come to a story realizing they need some sort of central character and then
try to decide what kind or person he or she should be from scratch. But it is far easier to
first build a cast of characters that really excite you (as we did above) and then ask
yourself which one you would like to be the central character.
So, imagine.... What would this story be like if we chose the seven-year-old female Bush
Pilot as the Hero. How about the eighty-two year old female Mercenary? Can you picture
the 53-year-old male Night Club Singer as Hero, or the thirty-five year old male Clown?

And how would things change depending upon who we pick as the Villain or Antagonist?
In fact, by choosing one of these characters as the Hero and another as Villain it will begin
to suggest what might happen in the plot, just as picking the subject matter suggested our
initial characters. Writer's block never has to happen. Not when you are armed with this
technique to spur your passions.
"My Hero!"

We've all heard the phrase, "the hero's journey." Much has been written about the steps
in this journey and the nature of the hero himself. What is usually assumed is that the
"hero" is an elemental character who possesses certain essential attributes. In fact, there
are four truly essential attributes of the stereotypical hero:

1. He is the Protagonist
2. He is the Main Character
3. He is the Central Character
4. He is a Good Guy

Traditional writing theory uses these terms more or less interchangeably. But we are
using them as descriptors of completely different attributes that make up the stereotypical
"Hero."

It really isn't important what we names we use. What is important is that there are four
distinct qualities that are combined to create a hero. So, if you use any of these terms in a
different way, that's fine. For our purposes, we need to (at least temporarily) agree on a
common vocabulary so we can efficiently discuss the attributes themselves.

So, throughout this article we shall assume that the following definitions hold true:

The Protagonist is the Prime Mover in the plot - the chief driver toward the story's overall
goal.

The Main Character is the most empathetic character - the one with whom the audience
most closely identifies; the character the story seems to be about.

The Central Character is the most prominent character - the one who stands out most
strongly among the players.

The Good Guy is the moral standard bearer - the character whose intent is to do the right
thing.

Putting it all together then, a hero drives the story forward, represents the audience
position in the story, it the most prominent character, and tries to do the right thing.

Typical heroes include Dr. Richard Kimble in The Fugitive, Harry Potter, Clarice Starling in
Silence of the Lambs, and Erin Brockavich.

Many writers are taught that they need to have a hero. Problem is, heroes in stories
should be just about as rare as they are in real life. They do occur; they just aren't the
only option.
Now for the fun part...

These four heroic attributes aren't necessarily tied together. In fact, they can be swapped
for other attributes, distributed among several characters and even put together in
different ways!

For example, suppose we change one attribute and create a character with the following
four qualities:

1. Protagonist
2. Main Character
3. Central Character
4. Bad Guy

Now we have the typical anti-hero (in the popular vernacular). Such a character would
drive the plot forward, represent the audience position in the story, be the most prominent,
but represent a negative moral outlook.

Let's try one more combination:

1. Antagonist
2. Main Character
3. Central Character
4. Good Guy

In this case, we have a character who is trying to prevent the story's goal, represents the
audience position in the story, is the most prominent, and tries to do the right thing.

James Bond is such a character. He did not instigate an effort; he is responding to an

effort begun by the villain! In almost every Bond story, the villain is actually the driver of
the plot - the proactive one - the Protagonist by definition, while James Bond is perpetually
reactive, trying to put an end to the evil scheme.

In our next tip, we'll take apart the stereotypical "Villain," and see what he is made of!
The Narrator

A writer recently asked:

Hi Melanie!

I had a question. Have you ever heard of the term Narrative Archetype? What does it
mean to you in theory and to all of us who use your products "Dramatica" and last but not
least, Could you tell me a little bit more about your new software "StoryWeaver" and how it
can benefit me and make life a little easier for me as a storyteller?
R.T.

My reply:

Although I've heard the term Narrative Archetype somewhere or other, I honestly have no
idea what it means! I can tell you that in Dramatica theory, the narrator is seen as the
author speaking, even if the author also appears as a character in the story.

For example, in To Kill a Mockingbird, Scout is ostensibly the author and relates the piece
as an older woman. But, she also appears in the story as Young Scout. When she is in
the story, she is one of the characters, but when she addresses us directly as older Scout,
she is acting as narrator.

Crucial to this difference is the understanding that there is a difference between a Player
and a Character. A Character is a particular collection of human traits, whereas a Player
is simply the host that manifests them.

So, when one player dies and another player picks up his or her dramatic functions, that
new player may actually be the same character. Now, getting back to the narrator, in
Glass Menagerie, Tennessee Williams has written himself as a character in this loosely
autobiographical piece. But, from time to time, he steps toward the audience and
addresses them directly. Then, he returns into the stage to continue as if he was unaware
of the audience. This is the player as character, then dropping that role to adopt the role
of narrator and then returning the role of character. Basically, it’s the same "person," but
with different functions.

In comedy, you'll often see a player do an "aside" to the audience - a look directly through
the "fourth wall" of the stage or into the camera that breaks the fiction. It forms an author's
commentary on the action that is clearly meant to indicate that at that moment the player
is speaking to the audience directly and therefore carrying the author's message.

A great example of this is in the old series Northern Exposure. There is an episode where
two major characters are about to fight a duel. The series lead, Joel, tells them to wait.
He then launches into a discussion about the script and it's implications. One of the other
characters, Maggie, says that he can't to that: he can't just step out of the story and
discuss the script in front of the audience. He goes on to argue that they are doing this
whole thing for the audience and are obligated to make it come out right.

So, then enter an "impromptu" story conference until they all decide to skip the duel scene
since they can't figure out how to make it work out without a tragedy and go directly to the
scene at the end where both parties survived and everyone are friends again.

Now what is particularly interesting about this is that they stay "in character" while
stepping out of character! In other words, their personalities, attitudes, and approaches
remain consistent while arguing about the script, even though they have all become
narrators!

So, it is often a fun storytelling technique to blur the line between the two!

Keep in mind; audiences and readers come to a story to ignite their passions. They only
need enough structure to support that passion, never to get in the way of it.

Which brings me to your second question about StoryWeaver, the new software program
I've created specifically to deal with the passionate side of storytelling.

As co-creator of Dramatica, my purpose was to define structure absolutely, so we could all

know what pieces we had to work with, and how they could fit together to create different
combinations that were always sound drama. But there was something lacking - the heart
and soul of storytelling! And that's where StoryWeaver comes in.

Since Dramatica was first released in 1994, I've struggled to devise a passionate
approach to story creation that was both consistent with Dramatica's structural view, but
focused on the heart line, not the head line. StoryWeaver is the first release of the result
of that work.

By listening to the students in my UCLA course in Dramatica theory, by getting back in

touch with my own roots and reasons for writing, and by answering email like this, I've
come "full spiral" back to the joy of writing, but carrying a bag of structural tricks. And
that's what I'm sharing in StoryWeaver.

StoryWeaver is a step-by-step approach to working out the details of what your story is
about and how it unfolds. But, it doesn't mention structure at all. Rather, the structural
side is hidden behind the questions, not right up front where you would have to turn away
from your muse to figure something out.

There are four stages in StoryWeaver - Inspiration (where you come up with ideas for your
Plot, Characters, Theme, and Genre to supplement what you already have in mind),
Development (where you add detail, depth, and richness to you ideas), Exposition (where
you work out how these ideas will actually show up in your story), and Storytelling (where
you develop a timeline as to how these ideas will be revealed to your reader or audience
as the story unfolds).
By the time you get through all the questions (about 150 of them!), you'll have devised a
complete, detailed, sequential treatment of your story, ready to write OR to take to
Dramatica for further structural development.

You can't import directly to Dramatica (at least not yet!) but if you work out your story
passionately in StoryWeaver first and THEN approach Dramatica, you'll have created so
many interesting characters and so much involving action that Dramatica won't dry up the
muse.

Thanks for the email, and I hope this helps!

The Villain

A villain is the dramatic antithesis of a hero, and therefore has the following four attributes:

He is the Antagonist

He is the Influence Character

He is second in prominence to the Central Character

He is a Bad Guy

By our definitions for this book: The Antagonist is the Principal Impediment in the plot -
the chief obstacle to the achievement of the story's overall goal.

The Influence Character is the most persuasive character - the one who argues the devil's
advocate position regarding the personal or moral issue the story seems to be about.

The Second Most Prominent Character is the one who stands out most strongly among
the players, save for the hero.

The Bad Guy is the standard bearer of immorality - the character whose intent is to do the
wrong thing.

Putting it all together then, a villain tries to prevent the goal from being achieved,
represents the counterpoint to the audience position in the story, it the second most
prominent character, and seeks to do the wrong thing. Now we can see that when we
created a hero who was a bad guy and another who was an antagonist, we were actually
borrowing attributes from the villain. In the same manner, the villain can borrow attributes
from the hero. For example, we might fashion a character with the following four
attributes:

Antagonist

Impact Character

Second Most Prominent

Good Guy

Such a character might be a friend of an anti-hero (who is a hero that is a Bad Guy), trying
to prevent him from making a terrible mistake. Imagine that the anti-hero is trying to
achieve a goal, represents the audience position, is most prominent, but has ill intent. The
Good Guy variation on the villain would have good intent and would therefore try to thwart
the anti-hero's evil plan (antagonist), change his mind (impact character) and would be the
second most prominent player next to the anti-hero.

Another variation on the typical villain might be:

Protagonist

Influence Character

Second Most Prominent

Bad Guy

In fact, it is this combination that is used most often in action/adventure stories. This
character gets the ball rolling by instigating an evil scheme (protagonist/bad guy), tries to
lure the "hero" to the evil side (influence character), but is second to the "hero" only in
prominence.

As we can see, swapping attributes between the hero and villain opens up a world of
opportunities for creating more interesting and less typical characters. But, these are not
the only ways to swap attributes. For example, just because the hero is a Good Guy
doesn't mean the villain has to be a Bad Guy.

Suppose we have the following two characters:

Typical Hero:
Protagonist
Main Character
Central Character
Good Guy

Atypical Villain:
Antagonist
Impact Character
Second Most Prominent
Good Guy

Here we have a story about two people, one trying to accomplish something, the other
trying to prevent it. One representing the audience position in the story, the other being
the most influential with an opposing message argument. One is the most prominent; the
other second in audience interest, but both believe they are doing the right thing.

These two characters are dramatically opposed. They are in conflict, both externally and
internally. Yet each is driven to do what he believes is right. So who is right? Well, in
fact, that is what a story built around these characters would be all about!
Indeed, the author's message would center on convincing the audience that one of these
characters was misguided and the other properly grounded. Such a story would provide
an excellent opportunity to explore a moral issue that doesn't easily fall into black and
white clarity. It would stand a good chance to come across as deep, thoughtful, and
provocative - and all by simply having two Good Guys duke it out.

At this point, it should be pretty clear that if you've only been writing with heroes and
villains, you haven't been doing anything wrong, but you have been limiting your creative
opportunities. And yet, we have barely begun to explore the ways in which characters can
swap attributes to create more variety and interest.
The Main Character

Of all four attributes of the hero, his role as the Main Character is perhaps the most
intriguing. As described in an earlier writing tip, the Main Character represents the
audience position in the story, and is the character with whom the audience most
empathizes, the one whom the story seems to be about.

In the Story Mind, the Main Character represents our sense of self, the ego or identity of
the story as a whole. So, always writing about heroic characters who are both Main
Character and Protagonist is a lot like telling a story about football from only the
Quarterback's point of view and never from that of any of the other players.

In real life we are always the Main Character in our personal story, but we are not always
the Prime Mover out of every one we know. Rather, we are usually supporting characters
in the larger Goal, such as in a business, club, or church group, only occasionally being
the driving force, leader, or initiator who others follow.

When we assign the attribute of Protagonist to one of the characters in our story but the
role of Main Character to another, we open up a wealth of variations that better reflect the
audience's real life experiences. Such arrangements seem far less stereotypical and far
more personal.

A Good example of this can be found in both the book and movie version of the classic
story, To Kill A Mockingbird. This story is about Atticus, an open-minded lawyer in a small
Southern town in the 1930s and his young daughter, Scout, who is trying to understand
what is going on around her.

Atticus is the Protagonist as he tries to defend a black man wrongly accused of raping a
white girl.

Scout is the Main Character because we see this story about prejudice through her eyes -
a child's eyes.
Fire Your Protagonist!

Many authors start with a Protagonist and then build a cast of characters around him or
her. But as a story develops, it may turn out that one of the other characters becomes
more suited for that role. Sticking with the original Protagonist causes the story to become
mis-centered, and it fails to take on a life of its own.

To see if this has happened to your story, try the following:

Take each of your characters, one by one, and try them out as the Protagonist. Give each
a job interview. You ask them, "What would the story's goal be if you were the
Protagonist? What would you be working toward? What would you hope to achieve? How
would you rally the other characters around your efforts?"

More than likely, you will find one character who seems just a little more driven – a
character whose goal seems far more important than any of the others, one that not only
affects him but all the other principal characters as well. That character should be your
Protagonist, and it may not be the character you originally cast in that role. If it isn't, fire
your Protagonist and hire the new one!

Sure, you've become attached to the original character, but if he or she is no longer write
for the job, well, business is business. You have to think about what is best for the entire
company of players in your story without playing favorites.

Of course, with a new Protagonist, you'll need to re-center your story and possibly to
change then nature of the goal. But in so doing, your story will gain a renewed sense of
purpose as this new character takes the helm.
The Archetypal Characters
Part One: Protagonist and Antagonist

Protagonist drives the plot forward.

Antagonist tries to stop him.

In the Story Mind, the Protagonist is the Prime Mover of the effort to achieve the Story's
Goal. The Antagonist is the Chief Obstacle to that effort. In a sense, Protagonist is the
irresistible force and Antagonist is the immovable object.

In our own minds, we survey our environment and consider whether or not we could
improve things by taking action to change them. The struggle between the Protagonist
and Antagonist represents this inner argument: is it better to leave things the way they are
or to try and rearrange them?

The Protagonist represents our Initiative, the motivation to change the status quo. The
Antagonist embodies our Reticence to change the status quo. These are perhaps our two
most obvious human traits - the drive to alter our environment and the drive to keep things
the way they are. That is likely why the Archetypes that represent them are usually the
two most visible in a story.

Functionally, the character you choose as your Protagonist will exhibit unswerving drive.
No matter what the obstacles, no matter what the price, the Protagonist will charge
forward and try to convince everyone else to follow.

Without a Protagonist, your story would have no directed drive. It would likely meander
through a series of events without any sense of compelling inevitability. When the climax
arrives, it would likely be weak, not seen as the culmination and moment of truth so much
as simply the end.

This is not to say that the Protagonist won't be misled or even temporarily convinced to
stop trying, but like a smoldering fire the Protagonist is a self-starter. Eventually, he or
she will ignite again and once more resume the drive toward the goal.

In choosing which of your characters to assign the role of Protagonist, do not feel
obligated to choose one whose Storytelling qualities make it the most forceful. The
Protagonist does not have to be the most powerful personality. Rather, it will simply be
the character who keeps pressing forward, even if in a gentle manner until all the
obstacles to success are either overcome or slowly eroded.

When creating your own stories, sometimes you will know what your goal is right off the
bat. In such cases, the choice of Protagonist is usually an easy one. You simply pick the
character whose storytelling interests and nature is best suited to the objective.
Other times, you may begin with only a setting and your characters, having no idea what
the goal will turn out to be. By trying out the role of Protagonist on each of our characters,
you can determine what kind of a goal the nature of that character might suggest.

By working out an appropriate goal for each character as if it were the Protagonist, you'll
have a choice of goals. Developing the plot of your story then becomes a matter of
choosing among options rather than an exercise in the brute force of creating something
from nothing.

What, now, of the Antagonist? We have all heard the idioms, Let sleeping dogs lie, Leave
well enough alone, and If it works - don't fix it. All of these express that very same human
quality embodied by the Antagonist: Reticence.

To be clear, Reticence does not mean that the Antagonist is afraid of change. While that
may be true, it may instead be that the Antagonist is simply comfortable with the way
things are or may even be ecstatic about them. Or, he or she may not care about the way
things are but hate the way they would become if the goal were achieved.

Functionally, the character you choose as your Antagonist will try anything and everything
to prevent the goal from being achieved. No matter what the cost, any price would not
seem as bad to this character as the conditions he or she would endure if the goal comes
to be. The Antagonist will never cease in its efforts, and will marshal every resource
(human and material) to see that the Protagonist fails in his efforts.

Without an Antagonist, your story would have no concerted force directed against the
Protagonist. Obstacles would seem arbitrary and inconsequential. When the climax
arrives, it would likely seem insignificant, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

In choosing one of your characters as the Antagonist, don't be trapped into only selecting
a mean-spirited one. As described earlier, it may well be that the Protagonist is the Bad
Guy and the Antagonist is the Good Guy. Or, both may be Good or both Bad.

The important thing is that the Antagonist must be in a position in the plot to place
obstacles in the path of the Protagonist. Since the drive of the Protagonist is measured by
the size of the obstacles he or she must overcome, it is usually a good idea to pick the
character who can bring to bear the greatest obstacles.

Ask yourself which of your characters would have the most to lose or be the most
distressed if the goal is achieved. That will likely be your Antagonist. But don't discount
the other candidates out of hand. In storytelling, characters are not always what they
seem. Even the character who seems most aligned with the Protagonist's purpose may
have a hidden agenda that makes them the perfect choice for Antagonist. You might play
such a character as an apparent aid to the effort, and later reveal how that character was
actually behind all the troubles encountered.
We'll have much more to say about the Antagonist, Protagonist and how to employ them.
For now, it is time to continue with our initial introduction to all eight Archetypes, which will
come to you in our next Storymind.com Writing Tip!
Creating Characters from Scratch
Where Do Characters Come From?
When we speak of characters from a structural standpoint, there are very specific
guidelines that determine what is a character and what is not. But when we think of
characters in every day life, they are simply anything that has a personality, from your
Great Aunt Bertha (though some might argue the point) to the car that never starts when
you're really late.

Looking back through time, it is easy to understand how early humans would assume that
other humans like themselves would have similar feelings, thoughts, and drives. Even
other species exhibit emotions and make decisions, as when one confronts a bear face to
face and watches it decide whether to take you on or find easier pickings (a personal
experience from my recent hike on the John Muir trail!)

But even the weather seems to have a personality by virtue of its capricious nature.
That's why they call the wind Mariah, why there is a god of Thunder, and why the Spanish
say Hace Color, when it is hot, which literally means, "It makes heat."

So while, structurally, to be a character an entity must intend to alter the course of events,
in the realm of storytelling a character is anything that possesses human emotions. In
short, structural characters must have heads, storytelling characters must have hearts.
When you put the two together you have entities who involve themselves in the plot, and
involve us in themselves.

Where Can We Get Some?

When writing a story, then, from whence can we get our characters? Well, for the moment
lets assume we have no plot. In fact, we have no theme, no genre - we don't even have
any particular subject matter we want to talk about. Nothing. We have absolutely nothing
and we want to create some characters out of "think" air.

Try starting with a name. Not a name like "Joe" or "Sally" but something that opens the
door to further development like "Muttering Murdock" or "Susan the Stilt." Often coming
up with a nickname or even a derogatory name one child might call another is a great way
to establish a character's heart.

What can we say about Muttering Murdock? The best way to develop a character (or for
that matter, any aspect of your story) is to start with loose thread and then ask questions.
So, for ol' Muttering Murdock, the name is the loose end just hanging out there for us to
pull. We might ask, "Why does Murdock Mutter?" (That's obvious, of course!) But what
else might we ask? Is Murdock a human being? Is Murdock male or female? How old is
Murdock? What attributes describe Murdock's physical traits? How smart is Murdock?
Does Murdock have any talents? What about hobbies, education, religious affiliation?
And so on, and so on....
We don't need to know the answers to these questions, we just have to ask them.
Why Does Murdock Mutter?

Next you want to shift modes. Take each question, one at a time, and think up all the
different answers you can for each one. For example:

Why does Murdock Mutter?

1. Because he has a physical deformity for the lips.

2. Because he talks to himself, lost in his own world due to the untimely death of his
parents, right in front of his eyes.
3. Because he feels he can't hold his own with anyone face to face, so he makes all
his comments so low that no one can hear, giving him the last word in his own
mind.
4. Because he is lost in thought about truly deep and complex issues, so he is merely
talking to himself. No one ever knows that he is a genius because he never speaks
clearly enough to be understood.

You get the idea. You just pull out all the stops and be creative. See, that's the key. If
you try to come up with a character from scratch, well good luck. But if you pick an
arbitrary name, it can't help but generate a number of questions. If you aren't trying to
come up with the one perfect answer to each question, you can let your Muse roam far
and wide. Without constraints, you'll be amazed at the odd variety of potential answers
she brings back!

Aging Murdock
Let's try another question from our Murdock list:

How old is Murdock?

1. 18
2. 5
3. 86
4. 37

That was easy, wasn't it. But now, think of Murdock in your mind.... Picture Murdock as
an 18 year old, a 5 year old, an 86 year old, and at 37. Changes the whole image, doesn't
it! You see, with a name like Muttering Murdock, we can't help but come up with a mental
image right off the bat. It's like telling someone, "Whatever you do, don't picture a pink
elephant in your mind." Very hard not to.

The mind is a creative instrument just waiting to be played. It has to be to survive. The
world is a jumble of objects, energies, and entities. Our minds must make sense of it all.
And to do this, we quite automatically seek patterns. When a pattern is incomplete, we fill
it in out of personal experience until we find a better match.
So, when you first heard the name, "Muttering Murdock," you probably pictured someone
who was in your mind already a certain gender, a certain age, and a certain race. You
may have even seen Murdock's face, or Murdock's size, shape, hair color, or even
imagined Murdock's voice!

Give Murdock a Job!

Now ask one more question about Murdock - What is his or her vocation? Try out a
number of alternatives: a school teacher, a mercenary, a priest, a cop, a sanitary
engineer, a pre-school drop-out, a retired linesman. Every potential occupation again
alters our mental image of Murdock and makes us feel just a little bit differently about that
character.

Interesting thing, though. We haven't even asked ourselves what kind of a person
Murdock is. Is this character funny? Is he or she a practical joker? Does he or she
socialize, or is the character a loner? Is Murdock quick to temper or long suffering?
Forgiving, or carry a grudge? Thoughtful or a snap judge? Dogmatic or pragmatic?
Pleasant or slimy of spirit?

Again, each question leads to a number of possible answers. By trying them in different
combinations, we can create any number of interesting people with which to populate a
story.

As we said at the beginning of the Murdock example, this is just one way to create
characters if you don't even have a story idea yet. But there are more! In our next lesson
we'll explore more of these methods.

Study Exercises: Reverse Engineering Characters

1. Pick a favorite book, movie, or stage play. Make a list of all the principal
characters.
2. For each character, list all the key bits of information the author reveals about that
character, as if you were writing a dossier.
3. Do a personality study of each character, as if you were a criminal profiler or a
psychologist.
4. For each item you have noted in your dossier and profile, create a question that
would have resulted in that item as an answer. In other words, play the TV game
Jeopardy. Take an item you wrote about a character like, "Hagrid is a large man,
so big he must be part giant." Then, create a question to which that item would be
an answer, for example, "What is this character's physical size?"
5. Arrange all the questions you have reverse engineered in an organized list to be
used in the Writing Exercises.
Writing Exercises: Creating Characters

1. Arbitrarily create a character name.

2. Use your list of questions from the Study exercises to ask information about this
character.
3. Come up with at least three different answers for each of the questions.
4. Pick one answer for each question to create a character profile.
5. Read over the list and get a feel for your new character. Then, swap out some of
the answers (character attributes) that you included in the profile for alternative
answers you originally didn't use.
6. Keep swapping out attributes until you arrive at a character you really have a feel
for.
Creating Characters from Plot

Introduction
If you already have a story idea, it is a simple matter to create a whole cast of characters
that will grow out of your plot. In this lesson we're going to lay out a method of developing
characters from a thumbnail sketch of what your story is about.

Thumbnail Sketch
The most concise way to describe the key elements of a story is with a "Thumbnail
Sketch." This is simply a short line or two, less than a paragraph, that gets right to the
heart of the matter. You see them all the time in TV Guide listings and in the short
descriptions that show up on cable or satellite television program information.

A thumbnail sketch of The Matrix, for example, might read, "A computer hacker discovers
that the world we know is really just a huge computer program. He is freed from the
program by a group of rebels intent on destroying the system, and ultimately joins them as
their most powerful cyber warrior."

Clearly, there is a lot more to the finished movie than that, but the thumbnail sketch
provides enough information to get a good feel for what the story is about. Generally,
such a description contains information about the plot, since the audience will choose
what they want to watch on the kind of things they expect to happen in a story. If it is an
action story, there may be no mention of characters at all as in, "A giant meteor threatens
to demolish the earth." If it is a love story, there may be little plot but several characters,
as in, "A young Amish girl falls in love with a traveling salesman. Her father and his
chosen match for her oppose the romance, but her free-minded mother and exiled aunt
encourage her."

Whether or not characters are specifically mentioned in a thumbnail sketch, they are
always at least inferred. For your own story, then, the first step is to come up with a short
description like those used as illustrations above. For the purposes of this lesson, we'll
propose the following hypothetical story to use as an example:
Suppose our story is described as the tribulations of a town Marshall trying to fend off a
gang of outlaws who bleed the town dry.

The Expected Characters

The only explicitly called for characters are the Marshall and the gang. So, we'll list them
as required characters of the story. Certainly you could tell a story with just those
characters, but it might seem a little under-populated. Realistically, you'd expect the gang
to have a leader and the town to have a mayor. The Marshall might have a deputy. And, if
the town is being bled dry, then some businessmen and shopkeepers would be in order as
well. So the second stage of the process is to step a bit beyond what is actually written
and to slightly enlarge the dramatic world described to include secondary and support
characters too.

The Usual Characters

Range a little wider now, and list some characters that aren't necessarily expected, but
wouldn't seem particularly out of place in such a story.

Example:
A saloon girl, a bartender, blacksmith, rancher, preacher, school teacher, etc.

Unusual Characters

Now, let yourself go a bit and list a number of characters that would seem somewhat out
of place, but still explainable, in such a story.

Example:
A troupe of traveling acrobats, Ulysses S. Grant, a Prussian Duke, a bird watcher.

Adding one or two somewhat unexpected characters to a story can liven up the cast and
make it seem original, rather than predictable.

=========================================

Outlandish Characters
Finally, pull out all the stops and list some completely inappropriate characters that would
take a heap of explaining to your reader/audience if they showed up in your story.

Example:
Richard Nixon, Martians, the Ghost of Julius Caesar

Although you'll likely discard most of these characters, just the process of coming up with
them can lead to new ideas and directions for your story.

For example, the town Marshall might become more interesting if he was a history buff,
specifically reading about the Roman Empire. In his first run-in with the gang, he is
knocked out cold with a concussion. For the rest of the story, he keeps imagining the
Ghost of Julius Caesar, giving him unwanted advice.

Casting Call
Now, you assemble all the characters you have proposed for your story so far, be they
Expected, Usual, Unusual, or Outlandish. In our example we have:

Expected Usual Unusual Outlandish

The Marshall Saloon Girl Traveling Acrobats Richard Nixon
The Gang Bartender Ulysses S. Grant Martians
The Gang Leader Blacksmith Prussian Duke Caesar's Ghost
The Town Mayor Rancher Birdwatcher
Deputy Preacher
Businessmen & School Teacher
Shopkeepers

The task at hand is to weed out of this list of prospective characters all the ones we are
sure we don't want in our story. At first blush, this might seem easy, but before you make
hasty decisions, keep in mind the use we came up with for Caesar's Ghost. Consider:
How might traveling acrobats be employed dramatically? As a place for the marshal to
hide in greasepaint when the gang temporarily takes over the town? Or how about if the
school teacher befriends them, and then employs their aid in busting the deputy out of jail
when he falls under the gang's control?

How about Ulysses S. Grant showing up on his way to a meeting with the governor, and
the gang members must impersonate honest town's folk until he and his armed cavalry
escort have departed? Could make for a very tense or a very funny scene, depending on
how you play it.

Try to put each of these characters in juxtaposition with each of the others, at least as a
mental exercise, to see if any kind of chemistry boils up between them. In this way, you
may find that some of the least likely characters on your initial consideration turn out to be
almost indispensable to the development of your story!

A Word About Plot...

You may not have noticed, but a lot of what we have just done with characters has had
the added benefit of developing whole sequences of events, series of interactions, and
additional plot lines. In fact, working with characters in this way often does as much for
your story's plot as it does in the creation of characters themselves.

Hence, it is never too early to work with characters. As soon as you have an initial story
idea, no matter how lacking in detail or thinly developed it may be, it can pay to work with
your characters as a means of adding to your plot!
Study Exercises: Squeezing Characters out of the Thumbnail Sketch
1. Open a TV Listing Guide or view some descriptions on your cable or satellite guide.
2. Pick 3 descriptions from movies you know and list the explicitly called for
characters.
3. Base on your knowledge of each story, list the usual characters, unusual
characters, and outlandish characters (if any).
4. Pick 3 descriptions from movies you don't know and list the explicitly called for
characters.
5. Use your imagination to devise usual characters, unusual characters, and
outlandish characters for each story.
6. Watch each of the three movies you hadn't seen and see how your proposed
characters compare to what was actually done.
7. Consider that you might write your own story based on the description with the
characters you created and have it be so different from the actual movie that it has
become your own story! (This is also a handy trick for coming up with your own
original story ideas based on the hundreds of descriptions available each week.
More than likely, your creative concepts will be nothing like the movie the
description was portraying!)

Writing Exercises: Creating Characters

2. Write a thumbnail sketch for a story you wish to develop.
3. List the explicitly described characters.
3. Come up with some additional supporting "usual" characters.
4. Be a bit creative and propose some unusual characters.
5. Let yourself loose and devise some outlandish characters.
6. Imagine each of the characters interacting with each of the others and determine
which characters to employ in your story.
7. Use the scenarios created by your character interactions to expand your story's
plot.
Characters - The Attributes of Age

Introduction

Writers tend to create characters that are more or less the same age as themselves. On
the one hand, this follows the old adage that one should write about what one knows. But
in real life, we encounter people of all ages in most situations. Of course, we often see
stories that pay homage to the necessary younger or older person, but we just as often
find gaps of age groups in which there are no characters at all, rather than a smooth
spectrum of ages.

In addition, there are many considerations to age other than the superficial appearance,
manner of dress, and stereotypical expectations. In this lesson we're going to uncover a
variety of traits that bear on an accurate portrayal of age, and even offer the opportunity to
explore seldom-depicted human issues associated with age.

The Attributes of Age

People in general, and writers in particular, tend to stereotype the attributes of age more
than just about any other character trait. There are, of course, the physical aspects of age,
ranging from size, smoothness of skin, strength, mobility to the various ailments
associated with our progress through life. Then there are the mental and emotional
qualities that we expect to find at various points in life. But the process of aging involves
some far more subtle components to our journey through life.

Anatomical vs. Chronological age

Before examining any specific traits, it is important to note the difference between
anatomical and chronological age. Anatomical age is the condition of your body whereas
chronological age is the actual number of years you've been around. For example, if you
are thirty years old, but all worn out and genetically biased to age prematurely, you might
look more akin to what people would expect of a fifty year old. Nonetheless, you wouldn't
have the same interests in music or direct knowledge of the popular culture as someone
who was actually fifty years old. When describing a character, you might choose to play
off your reader expectations by letting them assume the physical condition, based on your
description of age. Or, you might wish to create some additional interest in your character
by describing it as "A middle-aged man so fit and healthy, he was still "carded" whenever
he vacationed in Vegas." Such a description adds an element of interest and immediately
sets your character out at an individual.
Jargon

Far too often, characters are portrayed as speaking in the same generic conversational
language we hear on television. The only variance to that is the overlay of ethic
buzzwords to our standard sanitized TV through template. In other words, characters act
as if they all through alike, even if they had completely different cultural upbringings. But
aging is an ongoing evolution of culture, rooting the individual into thought patterns of his
or her formative hears, and tempered (to some degree) by the ongoing cultural
indoctrination of a social lifestyle.

Characters, therefore, tend to pick up a basic vocabulary reflective of both their ethnicity
AND their age. For example, a black man who fought for civil rights along side Dr. Martin
Luther King, would not be using the same jargon ad a black man advancing the cause of
rights today. And neither of these would use the same vocabulary as a young black man
in the center city, trying to find his way out through education. To simply overlay the "black
jargon" template on such characters is the same kind of unconscious subtle prejudice
promoted by "flesh colored" crayons.

Sure, we all learn to drop some of the more dated terms and expletives of our youth in
order to appear "hip" or "with it," but in the end we either sound silly trying to use the new
ones, or avoid them altogether, leaving us bland and un-passionate in our conversation.
Both of these approaches can be depicted in your characters as well, and can provide a
great deal of information about the kind of mind your character possesses.

Outlook

Speaking of character minds, we all have a culturally created filter that focuses our
attention on some things, and blinds us to (or diminishes) others. Sometimes, this is built
into the language itself. When it is hot, the Spanish say, "hace calor" (it makes heat).
This phrasing is due to the underlying beliefs of the people who developed that language
that see every object, even those that are inanimate, as possessing a spirit. So, when it is
hot, this is not a mindless state of affairs due to meteorological conditions, but rather to
the intent of the spirit of the weather. Of course, if you were to ask a modern Spanish
speaking person if they believed in such a thing, you would likely receive a negative reply.
And yet, because this concept permeates the language (making everyday items
masculine or feminine), it cannot help but alter the way native speakers of the language
will frame their thoughts.

As another example, the Japanese population of world war two was indoctrinated in the
culture of honor, duty, and putting the needs of society above those of the individual.
Although most countries foster this view, in war-time Japan, it was carried to the extreme,
resulting in an effective Kamikaze force, and also in whole units that chose a suicidal
charge against oncoming forces, rather than to be humiliated by defeat or capture.
Corporate Japan was built around these Samurai ideals, and workers commonly
perceived themselves as existing to serve their companies with loyalty and unquestioning
obedience. But when the economy faltered, those who expected to remain with their
companies for life were laid off, or even permanently fired. This led to a disillusionment of
the "group first" mentality, especially among the young, who had not yet become settled in
their beliefs. So, today, there is still a gap between the old-guard corporate executives,
and the millions of teenagers to whom they market. Age, in this case, creates a significant
difference in the way the world looks.

Continuing with the notion of generation gaps, I grew up when the rallying cry was "Don't
trust anyone over 30." Of course, now we're all in our fifties or even sixties, so we are
forced to admit that we, ourselves, have in fact become "the Establishment."

But that is what is visible and obvious to us. The real difference between my generation
and the post Yuppie, post GenX, GenY, Gen? Generation is far more foundational. In
conversations with my daughter I discovered that while I see myself on the other side of
the generation gap, she does not perceive one at all! This is due to primarily to the
plethora of high-quality recorded media programs, which capture so many fine
performances and presentations when the artists and great thinkers were in their prime.
We live in a TV Land universe in which no great works ever die; they are just reborn on
Cable.

To my daughter's generation, it is only important whether or not you have something worth
saying. How old you are has nothing to do with your importance or relevance. In short,
the difference between my generation and the younger generation is that we perceive a
difference between the generations and they don't!

In summary then, the age in which you establish your worldview will determine how you
perceive current events for the rest of your life. When creating characters of any particular
age, you would do well to consider the cultural landscape that was prevalent when each
character was indoctrinated.

Comfort Symbols

We all share the same human emotional needs. And we each experience moments that
fulfill those needs. Those experiences become fond memories, and many of the trappings
of those experiences become comfort symbols. In later life, we seek out those symbols to
trigger the re-experiencing of the cherished moments. Perhaps your family served a
particular food in your childhood that you associate with warmth and love. For example,
my mother grew up during the Great Depression in the 1930s. Her family was often short
of food. So, as a snack, they would give her a piece of bread spread with lard and
mustard! Now the thought very nearly sickens me, but she often yearned for that flavor
again, as it reminded her of the love she received as a child.

Once we have locked into symbols that we can use to trigger emotional experiences, we
seldom need to replace them. They are our comfort symbols upon which we can always
rely. This has two effects as we age: One, we latch on to performers and music, as an
example, that age along with us. We recall them at their prime when we first encountered
them, and also have spent years aging along with them. This leads us to suddenly wake
up one day and realize we no longer know who they are referring to in popular culture
magazines and entertainment reporting televisions shows. In other words, the popular
culture has passed us by. Two, we see many of our symbols (favorite advertising
campaigns, a restaurant where we went on our first date, etc.) vanish as they are replaced
with new and current concerns. So, the world around us seems less relevant, less
familiar, and less comfortable, just as we seem to the world at large.

When creating characters, take into account the potential ongoing and growing sense of
loss, sadness, and connection between characters and their environment. And don't think
this is a problem only for the elderly. My 24-year-old son laments that there are kids
growing up today who never knew a world without personal computers! He says it makes
him feel old.

Physical Attributes

Babies have a soft spot on their heads that doesn't harden up for quite a while after birth.
Cartilage wears out. Teens in puberty have raging hormones. Young kids grow so fast
that they don't have a chance to get used to the size and strength of their bodies before
they have changed again, not unlike trying to drive a new and different car every day. I
can't remember the last time I ran full-tilt. I'm not sure it would be safe, today! Point is,
our bodies are always changing. Sometimes the state we are in has positive and/or
negative qualities - other times the changing itself is positive or negative.

When creating characters, give some thought to the physical attributes and detriments of
any given age, and consider how they not only affect the abilities and mannerisms of your
characters, but their mental and emotional baselines as well.

Conclusion?

Sure, we could go on and on exploring specifics of age and aging, but since it is a
pandemic human condition, it touches virtually every human experience and endeavor.
The point here is not to completely cover the subject, but to encourage you to consider it
when creating each of your characters. It isn't enough to simply describe a character as
"a middle-aged man," or "a perky 8 year old boy." You owe it to your characters and to
your readers or audience to incorporate the aging experience into their development, just
as it is inexorably integrated into our own.
The Hero Breaks Down

Groucho Marx once said, "You're headed for a nervous breakdown. Why don't you pull
yourself to pieces?" That, in fact, is what we're going to do to our hero.

Now many writers focus on a Hero and a Villain as the primary characters in any story.
And there's nothing wrong with that. But as we are about to discover, there are so many
more options for creative character construction.

Take the average hero. What qualities might we expect to find in the fellow? For one
thing, the traditional hero is always the Protagonist. By that we mean he or she is the
Prime Mover in the effort to achieve the story goal. This doesn't presuppose the hero is a
willing leader of that effort. For all we know he might accept that charge kicking and
screaming. Nonetheless, once stuck in the situation, the hero drives the push to achieve
the goal.

Another quality of a stereotypical hero is that he is also the Main Character. By this we
mean that the hero is constructed so that the audience stands in his shoes. In other
words, the audience identifies with the hero and sees the story as centering around him.
A third quality of the most usual hero configuration is being a "Good Guy." Simply, he
intends to do the right thing. Of course, he might be misguided or inept, but he wants to
do good, and he does try.

And finally, let us note that heroes are usually the Central Character, meaning that he gets
more "media real estate" (pages, screen time, lines of dialog) than any other character.
Listing these four qualities we get:

1. Protagonist.
2. Main Character.
3. Good Guy.
4. Central Character

Getting right to the point, the first two items in the list are structural in nature, while the last
two are storytelling. Protagonist describes the character's function from the Objective
View described earlier. Main Character positions the audience in that particular
character's spot through the Main Character View. In contrast, being a Good Guy is a
matter of personality, and Central Character is determined by the attention given to that
character by the author's storytelling.

You've probably noticed that we've used common terms such as Protagonist, Main
Character, and Central Character in very specific ways. In actual practice, most authors
bandy these terms about more or less interchangeably. There's nothing wrong with that,
but for structural purposes it's not very precise. That's why you'll see Dramatica being
something of a stickler in its use of terms and their definitions: it's the only way to be clear.
At this juncture, you may be wondering why we even bother breaking down a hero into
these pieces. What's the value in it? The answer is that these pieces don't necessarily
have to go together in this stereotypical way.

For example, in the classic story of racial prejudice, To Kill a Mockingbird, the Protagonist
function and the Main Character View are separated into two different characters.
The Protagonist is Atticus, played by Gregory Peck in the movie version. Atticus is a
principled Southern lawyer in the 1930s who is assigned to defend a black man wrongly
accused of raping a white girl. His goal is to ensure justice is done, and he is the Prime
Mover in this endeavor.

But we do not stand in Atticus' shoes, however. Rather, the story is told through the eyes
of Scout, his your daughter, who observers the workings of prejudice from a child's
innocence.

Why not make Atticus a typical hero who is also the Main Character? First, Atticus sticks
by his principles regardless of the dangers and pressures brought to bear. If he had
represented the audience position, the audience/reader would have felt quite self-
righteous throughout the story's journey.

But there is even more advantage to splitting these qualities between two characters. The
audience identifies with Scout. And we share her fear of the local boogey man known as
Boo Radley - a monstrous mockery of human form who forms the stuff of local terror
stories. All the kids know about Boo, and though we never see him, we hear their tales of
his horrible ways.

At the end of the story, it turns out that Boo is just a gentle giant, a normal man with a kind
heart but low intellect. As was the custom in that age, his parents kept him indoors, inside
the basement of the house, leaving him pale and scary-looking due to the lack of sunlight.
But Boo ventures out at night, leading to the false but horrible stories about him when he
is occasionally sighted.

As it happens, Scout's life is threatened by the father of the girl who was ostensibly raped
in an attempt to get back at Atticus. Lo and behold, it is Boo who comes to her rescue. In
fact, he has always been working behind the scenes to protect the children and is not at
all the horrible monster they all presupposed.

In a moment of revelation, we, the audience, come to realize we have been cleverly
manipulated by the author to share Scout's initial prejudice against Boo. Rather than
feeling self-righteous by identifying with Atticus, we have been led to realize that we are
just as capable of prejudice as the obviously misguided adults we have been observing.
The message of the story is that prejudice does not have to come from meanness, but will
happen within the heart of anyone who passes judgment based on hearsay rather than
direct knowledge. This statement could never have been successfully made if the
elements of the typical hero had all been placed in Atticus.
So, the message of our little story here is that there is nothing wrong with writing about
heroes and villains, but it is limiting. By separating the components of the hero into
individual qualities, we open our options to a far greater number of dramatic scenarios that
are far less stereotypical.
Character Arc 101

Does your Main Character Change or Remain Steadfast? A lot of writers think a character
must Change in order to grow. This is simply not true. Characters can also grow in their
Resolve. In that case, they Remain Steadfast as they must grow stronger in stronger in
their beliefs in order to hold out against increasingly powerful obstacles.

Regardless of whether your Main Character changes or not, how does he or she get
there? Does your character simply flip a switch at the end of the story? Or does he or she
grapple with and grieve over the issue right up to the moment of truth?

In fact, there are a quite a number of different dramatic pathways by which a Main
Character can arrive at the moment of truth. The more you have in your writer's bag of
tricks, the more dramatic variety you can bring to your characters' journeys. Let's look at a
few of your options....

1. The Steady Freddy

This kind of Main Character starts out with a fixed belief about the central personal issue
of the story. Act-by-Act, Scene-by-Scene, he gathers more information that leads him to
question those pre-held beliefs. His hold on the old attitude gradually weakens until, at the
Moment of Truth, he simply steps over to the other side - or not. This kind of character
slowly changes until he is not committed to either his original belief or the alternative. It all
comes down to which way the wind is blowing when he ultimately must choose one or the
other.

2. The Griever
A Griever Main Character is also confronted with building evidence that his original belief
was in error. But unlike Steady Freddy, this character suffers a growing internal conflict
that starts to tear him apart. The Griever feels honor-bound or morally obligated to stick
with his old loyalties, yet becomes more and more compelled to jump ship and adopt the
new. At the end of the story, he must make a Leap of Faith, choosing either the old or the
new, with such a balance created that there is not even a hint as to which way would
ultimately be better.

3. The Weaver
The Weaver Main Character starts out with one belief system, then shifts to adopt the
alternative, then shifts back again, and again, and again.... Like a sine wave, he weaves
back and forth every time he gathers new information that indicates he is currently in error
in his point of view. The intensity of these swings depends upon the magnitude of each bit
of new information and the resoluteness of the character.
4. The Waffler
Unlike the Weaver, the Waffler jumps quickly from one point of view to the other,
depending on the situation of the moment. He may be sincere but overly pragmatic, or he
may be opportunistic and not hold either view with any real conviction.
There are also two kinds of characters who change, but not really.

5. The Exception Maker

This character reaches the critical point of the story and decides that although he will
retain his original beliefs, he will make an exception "in this case." This character would be
a Change character if the story is about whether or not he will budge on the particular
issue, especially since he has never made an exception before. But, if the story is about
whether he has permanently altered his nature, then he would be seen as steadfast,
because we know he will never make an exception again. With the Exception Maker, you
must be very careful to let the audience know against what standard it should evaluate
Change.

6. The Backslider
Similar to the Exception Maker, the Backslider changes at the critical moment, but then
reverses himself and goes right back to his old belief system. In such a story, the
character must be said to change, because it is the belief system itself that is being judged
by the audience, once the moment of truth is past and the results of picking that system
are seen in the dénouement. In effect, the Backslider changes within the confines of the
story structure, but then reverts to his old nature AFTER the structure in the closing
storyTELLING.

An example of this occurs in the James Bond film, "On Her Majesty's Secret Service." This
is the only Bond film in which 007 actually changes. Here, he has finally found love which
has filled the hole in his heart that previously drove him. He resigns the force and gets
married. End of structure. Then, in additional storytelling, his wife is killed by the villain,
and his angst is restored so good ol' James Bond can return just as he was in the next
sequel.

Variations....
Each of these kinds of characters may be aware that he or she is flirting with change or
may not. They may simply grieve over their situations, or just breeze through them, not
considering how they might be changing in either case. Each of these characters may
arrive at a Leap of Faith where they must make a conscious decision to do things the
same way or a different way, or each may arrive at a Non-Leap of Faith story conclusion,
where they never even realize they have been changed, they just are. The important thing
is that the AUDIENCE know if the Main Character has changed or not. Otherwise, they
cannot evaluate the results of the dramatic argument.
There are many ways to Change or Not to Change. If you avoid getting stuck in a simply
linear progression with a binary choice, your characters will come across as much more
human and much more interesting.

Become a Master Storyteller:

In the space below, describe characters from a story you have written or are planning to
write, whether they change or remain steadfast, and what aspect of their natures is
changed or not. Then, select one of the basic character arcs that are listed above for each
character. Finally, describe the events or interchanges with other characters that mark key
points along the selected arc for each character.
Male vs. Female Problem Solving

All too often in stories, relationships and interchanges between characters of different
sexes come off stilted, unbelievable, or contrived. In fact, since the author is writing from
the perspective of only one of the two sexes, characters of the opposite sex often play
more as one sex's view of the opposite sex, rather than as truly being a character OF the
opposite sex. This is because the author is looking AT the opposite sex, not FROM its
point of view.

By exploring the differences in how each sex sees the world, we can more easily create
believable characters of both sexes. To that end, I offer the following incident.
I was at lunch with Chris (Co-creator of Dramatica) some time ago. I had ordered some
garlic bread and could not finish it. I asked the waitress if she would put it in a box to take
home, and she did. On the way past the cashier, I realized that I had forgotten to take the
box from the table. I said, "Rats! I forgot the bread!"

Chris said, "Go ahead and get it, we'll wait."

I thought for a moment and said, "No, it’s not that important." and started to walk out.
Chris: "It'll only take a moment."

Me: "Yes, but I have to go all the way back, and I probably won't eat it anyway, and it
probably won't reheat very well, and..."

Chris then said in jest, "Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me."

In fact, they really did sound like excuses to him. But to me, the reasons I had presented
to him for not going back for the bread were not rationalizations, but actually legitimate
concerns.

At the heart of this difference in perspective is the difference in the way female and male
brains are "soft wired". As a result, neither women nor men can see into the heart of the
other without finding a lack of coherence.

Here is a line-by-line comparison of the steps leading from having too much bread to the
differing interpretations of my response to forgetting the box.

Melanie thinks:
That's good bread, but I'm full. I might take it home, but I'm not convinced it will reheat.
Also, I've really eaten too many calories in the last few days, I'm two pounds over where I
want to be and I have a hair appointment on Wednesday and a dinner date on the
weekend with a new friend I want to impress, so maybe I shouldn't eat anymore. The kids
won't want it, but I could give it to the dog, and if I get hungry myself, I'll have it there
(even though I shouldn't eat it if I want to lose that two pounds!) So, I guess it's better to
take it than to leave it.
Melanie says:
"Waitress, can I have a box to take the bread home?"

Chris understands Melanie to mean:

I want to take the bread home.

The balance sheet:

To me there was only a tendency toward bringing the bread home, and barely enough to
justify the effort. To Chris it was a binary decision: I wanted to bring it home or not.

Melanie says:
"Rats! I forgot to bring the bread!"

Chris says:
"Go ahead and get it, we'll wait."

The balance sheet:

I'm thinking, "How does this change the way I feel about the situation?" Chris is thinking,
"How can she solve this problem."

Melanie thinks:
Well, I really don't want to be tempted by it, this unexpected turn makes it easier to lose
the weight. If I go back I'll be tempted or give it to the dog. If I don't go back I won't be
tempted, which is good because I know I usually give in to such temptations. Of course,
the dog loses out, but we just bought some special treats for the dog so she won't miss
what she wasn't expecting. All in all, the effort of going around two corners while everyone
waits just so I can get an extra doggie treat and lead myself into temptation isn't worth it.

Melanie says:
"No, its not that important."

Chris says:
"It'll only take a moment."

The balance sheet:

I'm thinking that since I was right on the edge of not wanting to take it in the first place,
even this little extra necessary effort is enough inconvenience to make it not a positive
thing but an irritation, so I'll just drop it and not pay even the minor price. Chris is thinking
that since I made up my mind to take the bread in the first place, how is it that this little
inconvenience could change my mind 180 degrees. I must be lazy or embarrassed
because I forgot it.

Melanie says:
"Yes, but I have to go all the way back, and I probably won't eat it anyway, and it probably
won't reheat very well, and..."
Chris says:
"Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me."

The balance sheet:

I'm trying to convey about a thousand petty concerns that went into my emotional
assessment that it was no longer worth going back for. Chris just hears a bunch of
trumped up reasons, none of which are sufficient to change one's plans.

I operated according to an emotional tendency to bring the bread home that was just
barely sufficient to generate even the slightest degree of motivation. Chris doesn't
naturally assume motivation has a degree, thinking that as a rule you're either motivated
or you are not.

The differences between the way women and men evaluate problems lead them to see
justifications in the others methods.

Making sense of each other:

Now, what does all this mean? When men look at problems, they see a single item that is
a specific irritation and seek to correct it. When they look at inequities, they see a number
of problems interrelated. Women look at single problems the same way, but sense
inequities from a completely emotional standpoint, measuring them on a sliding scale of
tendencies to respond in certain ways.

Imagine an old balance scale - the kind they used to weigh gold. On one side, you put the
desire to solve the problem. That has a specific weight. On the other side you have a
whole bag of things that taken altogether outweigh the desire to solve the problem. But,
you can't fit the bag on the scale (which is the same as not being able to share your whole
mind with a man) so you open the bag and start to haul out the reasons - biggest one's
first.

Well, it turns out the first reason by itself is much lighter that the desire to solve the
problem, so it isn't sufficient. You pull out the next one, which is even smaller, and
together they aren't enough to tip the scales. So, you keep pulling one more reason after
another out of the bag until the man stops you saying, "Sounds like a bunch of excuses to
me."

To the man, it becomes quickly obvious that there aren't enough reasonably sized pieces
in that bag to make the difference, and anything smaller than a certain point is
inconsequential anyway, so what's holding her back from solving the problem?

But the woman knows that there may be only a few big chunks, but the rest of the bag is
full of sand. And all those little pieces together outweigh the desire to solve the problem. If
she went ahead and solved it anyway, everything in that bag would suffer to some degree,
and the overall result would be less happiness in her consciousness rather than more.
This is why it is so easy for one sex to manipulate the other: each isn't looking at part of
the picture that the other one sees. For a man to manipulate a woman, all he has to do is
give her enough sand to keep the balance slightly on her side and then he can weigh her
down with all kinds of negative big things because it still comes out positive overall. For a
woman to manipulate a man, all she has to do is give him a few positive chunks and then
fill his bag full of sand with the things she wants. He'll never even notice.

Of course if you push too far from either side it tips the balance and all hell breaks loose.
So for a more loving and compassionate approach, the key is not to get as much as you
can, but to maximize the happiness of both with the smallest cost to each.

All too often, one sex will deny what the other sex once to gain leverage or to use
compliance as a bargaining chip. That kind of adversarial relationship is doomed to keep
both sides miserable, as long as it lasts.

But if each side gives to the other sex what is important to to the other but unimportant to
themselves, they'll make each other very happy at very little cost.
"Yes, but it is a PLOT?!"

Recently, a writer presented me with the following comparison:

Dear Melanie:

Please help me by telling me if the following A & B:

1. Are they each plots?

2. Is there a difference between the plots?
3. Is there a difference between the characters?

A:
"What is about to be revealed to you are secrets of magic and illusion that have been
guarded under a code of secrecy since medieval times. Because this magician is
breaking that code he is placing himself in great jeopardy. It is for this reason he will be
disguised and will be known only as the Mystery Magician."

B:
"You are about to see one of the world's top magicians break his code of silence and
reveal some of magic's most closely guarded secrets. That's why, in order to protect his
identity you will not hear him speak or even see his face. He will be known only as the
Masked Magician."

Thank you.

My reply...

1. Is each a Plot?

Each is a part of a plot because they both deal with the internal logic of the progression of
a story. But, of course, neither is more than the logistic set up for a progression yet to
come. It should be noted that while "plot" is the internal logic of the story, as it "actually"
happened, "storyweaving" is the manner in which the story is unfolded for the audience.
So, in stories such as Pulp Fiction, Remains of the Day, and any number of mysteries, the
actual "plot" order of events is quite different from the order in which the audience comes
into them.

2. Is there a difference between the plots?

There might be. Based on the answer above, it really depends on which differences
between the two would later affect the internal logic of the story's progression, and which
are simply cosmetic differences in the unfolding of the story, added for flavor.
For example, in version "A" the magician is disguised, while in version "B" he does not
speak. Is this a significant point (such as in a mystery story in which it turns out the
character is a mute) or is it simply a different way of expressing that the magician is
attempting to remain anonymous? The subtle differences between version A and version
B might be essential logistic information or just a whim of wording.

Similarly, the first version drops the information that the Magician is putting himself in
"great jeopardy," while the second version omits this point. Is that point significant to the
plot? Would the same point come out later in version two, just dropped at a different
time?

The real proof of the pudding would be in how the rest of the story develops. It is crucial
to be aware that an audience may easily misinterpret aspects of storytelling as part of the
plot, and my discard important elements of the plot as dabblings in style. Part of an
author's job is to ensure that plot can be separated from storytelling by the audience even
while integrating the two into a seamless, flowing experience.

3. Is there a difference between the characters?

Which characters: the narrator / spokesperson, or the Magician? First we should note that
half of what we see of characters are their dramatic functions in the plot. The other half
consists of their attributes that do not affect the plot but create the humanity and flavor of
the characters.

For example, in some stories one could replace a suave detective with a rumpled
detective. Although each character might act exactly the same in their function in the plot,
the flavor of their personalities would be completely different. But in other stories, such a
replacement would change how the plot had to evolve because certain dynamics
depended upon the personality of the detective.

In version A, the narrator's personality is much more controlling. He (or she) puts himself
in the driver's seat over both the audience and the Magician with lines like, "What you are
about to see," rather than "You are about to see...," and "He will be disguised," versus
"you will not hear him speak."

His (her) approach makes the activity passive for the audience in version A and active in
version B. He (she) objectifies the experience in the first version and subjectifies it in the
second. Clearly there is a difference between the characters, but is it a logistic functional
difference or just difference in the personality? Again, that depends on the rest of the
story.

As for the Magician, well that is even more obscure. We have not yet met the man. We
have heard a bit about him from the narrator/spokesperson, but what have we actually
heard from the Magician and what have we seen him do?
Assuming that the narrator/spokesperson is accurately representing the Magician's
personality and function in each version as neutral reporter, then we could, as an
exercise, assign the described traits and see if the nature of the Magician changes
between the two.

Small points emerge.... In the first version, the Magician is "breaking that code," while in
the second version he will "break his code." In version A, there is a universal code and
the Magician is going against it. In version B, he is breaking his own code. It is a subtle
point, but a significant one. What do we know about someone who breaks the law versus
someone who breaks with a personal principle?

In addition, version A infers that the Magician may be "breaking that code" on an ongoing
basis. Version B might be interpreted to indicate that this is the very first time he will
"break his code." What do we know about a character who makes a career out of
revealing secrets of a clandestine organization with specific rules and penalties versus
one who is making a break with his moral principles for the very first time?

Again, all of this is speculation based on a very small moment in a much larger story.
What I have attempted to do is describe the "potential" differences that might exist
between the two, even while acknowledging that in the final unfolding of the story, these
differences may only be cosmetic and not substantial at all.
Plot vs. Exposition

A common misconception is that Plot is the order of events in a story. In fact, the order in
which events are unfolded for the reader or audience can be quite different from the order
in which they happen to the characters.

Plot, then, is really that internal progression of events, while the reader/audience order is
more precisely referred to as Exposition.

For an author, it is important to separate the two. Otherwise it is too easy to overlook a
missing step in the logical progression of the story because the steps were put out of
order in Exposition.

On the other hand, trying to separate the internal logic of the story from the Exposition
order really inhibits the creative muse. When working out a story, many authors like to
envision the finished work including the Exposition. This gives the best impression of how
the story will feel to the audience.

So the key is to first create your plot as it will appear in the finished story. Once you have
a handle on it, that is the time to put the plot in Character Order to see if there are any
missing pieces.

If there are, fill in the logical gaps, then "re-assemble" the plot back into the order in which
you wanted to unfold it for the audience, making sure to add the new gap-filling plot pieces
into your exposition as well.

Using this system, you will ensure that everything that happens in your story is not only
interestingly revealed, but also makes an unbroken chain of sense.
The "Collective" Goal

Some writers become so wrapped up in interesting events and bits of action that they
forget to have a central unifying goal that gives purpose to all the other events that take
place. This creates a plot without a core. But determining your story's goal can be
difficult, especially if your story is character oriented, and not really about a Grand Quest.

For example, in the movie "Four Weddings and a Funeral," all the characters are
struggling with their relationships and not working toward an apparent common purpose.
There is a goal, however, and it is to find happiness in a relationship. This type of goal is
called a "Collective Goal" since it is not about trying to achieve the same thing, but the
same KIND of thing. When considering the goal for your story, don't feel obligated to
impose a contrived central goal if a collective goal is more appropriate.
Subplots

There are two types of subplots: Those that run parallel and don't really affect each other
dramatically, and those that are dramatically hinged together.

An example of parallel subplots can be found in Woody Allen's "Crimes and

Misdemeanors" in which the "Crime" story with Martin Landau and the "Misdemeanor"
story with Woody Allen never really affect each other. The purpose of having these two
stories in the same "work" is for the audience to be able to compare two completely
different issues that share a common cultural concern. In "Crimes and Misdemeanors," it
is the differential created between them, which provides a social message that extends
beyond the meaning found by either of the two Main Characters.

An example of a hinged subplot can be found in the original "Star Wars." Han Solo's debt
to Jabba the Hutt is a story in its own right with Han as the Main Character. This subplot
eventually comes to have changed the course of the plot in the main story.

The purpose of having a subplot may be two-fold: 1: to enhance a character, theme, plot,
or amplify part of the genre of the "work" and/or 2: to move the course of the main story in
a direction it could not dramatically go in and of itself.

In "Star Wars," Han Solo is initially uncooperative and refuses to get involved in the efforts
of Obi Wan or Luke. For example, when the group first arrives on the Death Star, Han
wants to fight, not to hide in the room while Obi Wan goes off. But when Luke discovers
that the princess is on board, Han wants to wait in the room and not fight. It is his nature.

So, how do we get Han to join Luke in the rescue attempt? We invoke Han's subplot. Luke
tells Han, "She's rich," and Han is already hooked. But if there were no Jaba subplot, the
money alone would not be enough to convince the uncooperative Han to "walk into the
detention area." On the other hand, since Jaba has put a price on Han's head, he's dead
already unless he can come up with the money, and this is probably the only chance he's
going to get to do that. As a result, Han joins the plan, acting completely against what his
character would do dramatically in the main story but in complete consistency with his
personal needs (which are more important to him) in his subplot.

By using both the parallel and hinged subplots you can enhance your story's depth and
move it in directions it could not legitimately go with only the main plot.

For your own story, list each of your characters and its role in the main story. Then briefly
describe any of your characters' personal stories that are not really part of the overall plot,
but might be a subplot. Put each character who has a subplot in the role of Main
Character of his own personal story. Then, determine if that subplot runs parallel to the
main story or intersects and impacts it. Make sure to include this impact in the way your
characters respond in the main story to ensure they ring true to their complete nature.
Finally, look over your plot and see if there are any times when events require a character
to act "out of character." If so, devise a personal subplot for that character that could
explain its unusual action in the main story.
Four Essential Plot Points

1. Goal
We are all familiar with the need for a central unifying goal to drive the plot forward. This
goal can be a shared objective, such as the desire to rob a casino in Ocean's 11, or it can
be a shared or collective goal, such as in Four Weddings and a Funeral in which all the
characters are seeking a satisfying relationship, but not with the same person!
Goal is the primary and most essential story point in your plot, but there are three other
plot points that are nearly as crucial to creating a captivating plot.

2. Consequences

If the Goal is what the characters are after, then the Consequence is what is after the
characters! If the characters are chasing something, that can be exciting. But if
something is chasing the characters as well, it doubles the tension.

Typically, consequences are the bad things that will happen if the Goal is not achieved.
But they can also be bad things that are already happening and will continue to happen if
the Goal is not achieved.

For example, if the goal is to find a hidden treasure, that can create drama. But if the
families of those trying to find the treasure will be sold into slavery if the treasure is not
found, that is much more intense drama.

3. Requirements

Having a goal is fine, but if it were something that would be achieved or not in only a
moment, the story would be over before it started. Goals can't just be achieved. Rather, a
series of Requirements must be met that will cause the goal to be achieved, or enable the
characters to then tackle the goal directly.

Requirements can be a collection of items that must be obtained or endeavors that must
be successfully undertaken in any order, like a scavenger hunt. Or, a goal's requirements
might be a series of objects or activities, which must be performed in order, more like
advancing through grades in order to graduate from school.

It helps a story move along to spell out what the requirements are before the end of your
first act, or opening dramatic movement. This provides a clear idea of where things are
heading, and allows your reader or audience to put plot events into context.

This is not to say that complications can't arise, or that additional requirements might be
added ("Bring me the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West). But providing an initial
list of requirements will create a yardstick against which your readers or audience can
judge the story's progress toward it's ultimate conclusion.

4. Forewarnings

Just as a goal has requirements, consequences have forewarnings. These can be as

simple as cracks forming in a dam or the extent of the rash on a hapless fellow who's
been poisoned.

As with requirements, forewarnings can be a matter of degree ("That's three people who
have quit the program. How many more can you afford to lose before the whole show
folds?") Or it can be a sequence, such as the evil robot breaking past the third of five
automatic defense stations.

Without forewarnings, the consequences are just a nebulous threat or existent condition.
But forewarnings make the consequence come alive, become immediate, and impending.

All Four Together

All four essential plot points work together to create a web of tension, but long and short
term, that can flux and flow. The objective looms ahead as the threat looms in the rear
view mirror. And along the way, requirement road signs tell us how far we have to go,
while the growing size of the headlights in the mirror forewarn that the consequences are
almost upon us.

Will we get to the goal before we are overtaken, or will we be run down from behind just
moments before we might have grabbed success? These are the questions that inject
tension in your plot, in addition go giving it direction.
Revealing Your Goal

While the structural nature of a story's goal is crucial to developing a plot that makes
sense, the storytelling manner in which the goal is reveals can determine whether a plot
seems clever or pedestrian. In this tip, we'll explore the impact of some of the key
methods of revealing your goal.

Sometimes the goal is spelled out right at the beginning, such as a meeting in which a
General tells a special strike unit that a senator's daughter has been kidnapped by
terrorists and they must rescue her.

Other times, the goal is hidden behind an apparent goal. So, if your story had used the
scene described above, it might turn out that was really just a cover story and in fact, the
supposed "daughter" was actually an agent who was assigned to identify and kill a double
agent working in the strike team.

Goals may also be revealed slowly, such as in "The Godfather," where it takes the entire
film to realize the goal is to keep the family alive by replacing the aging Don with a
younger member of the family.

Further, in "The Godfather," as in many Alfred Hitchcock films, the goal is not nearly as
important as the chase or the inside information or the thematic atmosphere. So don't feel
obligated to elevate every story point to the same level.

As long as each key story point is there in some way, to some degree of importance, there
will be no story hole. You may still have a lot of interest in that story point, however. A
character's personal goal, for example, may touch on an issue that you want to explore in
greater detail.

When this is the case, let your imagination run wild. Jot down as many instances as come
to mind in which the particular plot point comes into play. Such events, moments, or
scenarios enrich a story and add passion to a perfunctory telling of the tale.

One of the best ways to do this is to consider how each plot point might affect other plot
points, and other story points pertaining to characters, theme, and genre.

For example, each character sees the overall goal as a step in helping them accomplish
their personal goals. So, why not create a scenario where a character wistfully describes
his personal goal to another character while sitting around a campfire? He can explain
how achievement of the overall story goal will help him get what he personally wants.
An example of this is in the John Wayne classic movie, "The Searchers." John Wayne's
character asks an old, mentally slow friend to help search for the missing girl. Finding the
girl is the overall goal. The friend has a personal goal - he tells Wayne that he just wants
a roof over his head and a rocking chair by the fire. This character sees his participation
in the effort to achieve the goal as the means of obtaining something he has personally
longed for.

And how does your story goal exemplify or affect the moral message of your story as part
of the theme? When you see the story goal mentioned in your story synopsis, see if you
can incorporate aspects of theme, and when you see theme, try to add a reference to the
goal.

In Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain has the boy cooking up some food for Tom Sawyer. He
puts all the vegetables and meat in the same pan and explain that his pop taught him that
food is better when the flavors all "swap around" a bit. The same is true for stories. Don't
just speak about goal, speak about goal in reference to as many other story points as you
can.
Genre: Revealing Your Story's Personality

Your story's genre is its overall personality. As with the people that you meet, first
impressions are very important. In act one, you introduce your story to your
reader/audience. The selection of elements you choose to initially employ will set the
mood for all that follows. They can also be misleading, and you can use this to your
advantage.

You may be working with a standard genre, or trying something new. But it often helps
involve your reader/audience if you start with the familiar. In this way, those experiencing
your story are eased out of the real world and into the one you have constructed. So, in
the first act, you many want to establish a few touch points the reader/audience can hang
its hat on.

As we get to know people a little better, our initial impression of the "type" of person they
are begins to slowly alter, making them a little more of an individual and a little less of a
stereotype. To this end, as the first act progresses, you may want to hint at a few
attributes or elements of your story's personality that begin to drift from the norm.

By the end of the first act, you should have dropped enough elements to give your story a
general personality type and also to indicate that a deeper personality waits to be
revealed.

As a side note, this deeper personality may in fact be the true personality of your story,
hidden behind the first impressions.
"Genre - Act by Act"

Many writers have a misconception that genre is something you "write in" - like a box.
Nothing could be farther from the truth. Genre is the overall mood of a story, created
through structural and storytelling elements and approaches.

This mood isn't simply set at the beginning of the story and then continued through the
conclusion. Rather, the elements of genre are sprinkled into the story, establishing an
initial mood, and then developing it over the course of the entire story.

Genre in Act One

Your story's genre is its overall personality. As with the people that you meet, first
impressions are very important. In act one, you introduce your story to your
reader/audience. The selection of elements you choose to initially employ will set the
mood for all that follows. They can also be misleading, and you can use this to your
advantage.

You may be working with a standard genre, or trying something new. But it often helps
involve your reader/audience if you start with the familiar. In this way, those experiencing
your story are eased out of the real world and into the one you have constructed. So, in
the first act, you many want to establish a few touch points the reader/audience can hang
its hat on.

As we get to know people a little better, our initial impression of the "type" of person they
are begins to slowly alter, making them a little more of an individual and a little less of a
stereotype. To this end, as the first act progresses, you may want to hint at a few
attributes or elements of your story's personality that begin to drift from the norm.
By the end of the first act, you should have dropped enough elements to give your story a
general personality type and also to indicate that a deeper personality waits to be
revealed.

As a side note, this deeper personality may in fact be the true personality of your story,
hidden behind the first impressions.

Genre in Act Two

In the second act, your story's genre personality develops more specific traits or elements
that shift it completely out of the realm of a broad personality type and into the realm of the
individual. Your reader/audience comes to expect certain things from your story, both in
the elements and in the style with which they are presented.
If the first impression of your story as developed in act one is a true representation of the
underpinnings of your story's personality, then act two adds details and richness to the
overall feel over the story. But if the first impression is a deception, hiding beneath it a
different story personality, then act two brings elements to the surface that reveal the
basic nature of its true personality.

Genre in Act Three

It is the third act where you will either reveal the final details that make your story's
personality unique as an individual, or will reveal the full extent of its true personality that
was masked behind the first impressions of the first act, and hinted at in the second.
Either way, by the end of the third act you want your reader/audience to feel as if the story
is an old friend or an old enemy - a person they understand as to who it is by nature, and
what it is capable of.

Genre Conclusion

If you've ever seen the end of a science fiction movie where the world is saved, the words
"The End" appear, and then a question mark appears, you have experienced a last-minute
change in the personality of a story's genre.

In the conclusion, you can either re-affirm the personality you have so far revealed, alter it
at the last moment, or hint that it may be altered. For example, in the original movie
"Alien," there are several red herrings in the end of act three that alternately make it look
as if Ripley or the Alien will ultimately triumph. In the conclusion of Alien, the Alien has
been apparently vanquished, and Ripley puts herself in suspended animation for the long
return home. But the music, which has been written to initially convey a sense that danger
is over suddenly takes a subtle turn toward the minor chords and holds them, making us
feel that perhaps a hidden danger still lurks. Finally, the music returns to a sustained
major chord as the ship disappears in the distance, confirming that indeed, the danger has
past.

Keep in mind that your reader/audience will need to say goodbye to the story they have
come to know. Just as they needed to be introduced to the story's personality in act one
and drawn out of the real world into the fictional one, now they need to be disentangled
from the story's personality and eased back into the real world.

Just as one wraps up a visit with a friend in a gradual withdrawal, so too you must let your
reader/audience down gently, always considering that the last moments your
reader/audience spends with your story will leave a final impression even more important
than the first impression.
Avoiding the Genre Trap

A common misconception sees genre as a fixed list of dramatic requirements or a rigid

structural template from which there can be no deviation. Writers laboring under these
restrictions often find themselves boxed-in creatively. They become snared in the Genre
Trap, cranking out stories that are indistinguishable from a whole crop of their
contemporaries

In fact, genre should be a fluid and organic entity that grows from each story individually.
Such stories are surprising, notable, memorable, and involving. In this article, you'll learn a
new flexible technique for creating stories that are unique within their genres.

How We Fall Into the Genre Trap

The first step in escaping from the Genre Trap is to understand how we fall into it in the
first place. Consider how wrapped up you become in the details of your story. You slave
over every plot point, struggle to empathize with every one of your characters, and
perhaps even grieve over the effort to instill a passionate theme.

The problem is, you become so buried in the elements of your story that you lose sight of
what it feels like as a whole. So while every piece may work individually, the overall impact
may be fragmented, incomplete, or inconsistent. To avoid this, we fall back on "proven"
structures of successful stories in a similar genre. We cut out parts of our story that don't
fit that template, and add new sections to fill the gaps. We snip and hammer until our story
follows along the dotted lines.

And lo and behold, we have fallen into the genre trap - taking our original new idea and
making it just like somebody else's old idea. Sure, the trappings are different. Our
characters have different names. The big battle between good and evil takes place in a
roller rink instead of a submarine. But underneath it all, the mood, timber, and feel of our
story is just like the hundred others stamped out in the same genre mold.

A New Definition of Genre

Rather than thinking of your story as a structure, a template, or a genre, stand back a bit
and look at your story as it appears to your reader or audience. To them, every story has a
personality of its own, almost as if it were a human being. From this perspective, stories
fall into personality types, just like real people.

When you meet someone for the first time, you might initially classify them as a Nerd, a
Bully, a Wisecracker, a Philanthropist, or a Thinker.
These, of course, are just first impressions, and if you get the chance to spend some time
with each person, you begin to discover a number of traits and quirks that set them apart
from any other individual in that personality type.

Similarly, when you encounter a story for the first time, you likely classify it as a Western,
a Romance, a Space Opera, or a Buddy Picture. Essentially, you see the personality of
the story as a Stereotype.

At first, stories are easy to classify because you know nothing about them but the basic
broad strokes. But as a story unfolds, it reveals its own unique qualities that transform it
from another faceless tale in the crowd to a one-of-a-kind experience with its own identity.

At least, that is what it ought to do. But if you have fallen into the Genre Trap, you actually
edit out all the elements that make your story different and add others that make it the
same. All in the name of the Almighty Genre Templates.

How to Avoid the Genre Trap

Avoiding the Genre Trap is not only easy, but creatively inspiring as well! The process can
begin at the very start of your story's development (though you can apply this technique
for re-writes as well).

Step One - Choosing Genres:

Make a list of all the Stereotypical Genres that have elements you might want to include in
the story you are currently developing. For example, you might want to consider aspects
of a Western, a Space Opera, a Romance, and a Horror Story.

Step Two - Listing Genre Elements:

List all the elements of each of these genres that intrigue you in general. For example:

Western - Brawl in the Saloon, Showdown Gunfight, Chase on Horseback, Lost Gold
Mine, Desert, Indians.

Space Opera - Time Warp, Laser Battle, Exploding Planet, Alien Race, Spaceship Battle,
Ancient Ruins.

Romance - Boy Meets Girl, Boy Loses Girl, Boy Gets Girl, Misunderstanding alienates
Boy and Girl, Rival for Girl throws out Misinformation, Last Minute Reveal of the Truth
leading to Joyful Reunion.

Horror Story - Series of Grizzly and Inventive Murders, The Evil Gradually Closes in on the
Heroes, Scary Isolated Location, Massive Rainstorm with Lightning and Thunder.
(Note that some genre elements are about setting, some about action, and some about
character relationships. That's why it is so hard to say what genre is. And it is also why
looking at genre, as a story's Personality Type is so useful.

Step Three - Selecting Genre Elements:

From the lists of elements you have created, pick and choose elements from each of the
genres that you might like to actually include in your story.

For example, from Western you might want Lost Gold Mine, Desert, and Indians. From
Space Opera you might choose Spaceship Battle, Exploding Planet and Alien Race.
Romance would offer up all the elements you had listed: Boy Meets Girl, Boy Loses Girl,
Boy Gets Girl, Misunderstanding alienates Boy and Girl, Rival for Girl throws our
Misinformation, Last Minute Reveal of the Truth leading to Joyful Reunion. And finally,
from Horror Story you might select Scary Isolated Location, Massive Rainstorm with
Lightning and Thunder.

Step Four - Cross Pollinating Genres:

From this Master List of Genre Elements that you might like to include in your story, see if
any of the elements from one genre have a tie-in with those from another genre.

For example, Indians from the Western and Alien Race from the Space Opera could
become a race of aliens on a planet that share many of the qualities of the American
Indian. And, the relationship between the boy and the girl easily becomes a Romeo and
Juliet saga of a human boy colonizing the planet who falls in love with an alien girl.

Step Five - Peppering Your Story with Genre Elements:

Once you've chosen your elements and cross-pollinated others, you need to determine
where in your story to place them. If you are stuck in a Genre Trap, there is a tendency to
try and get all the genre elements working right up front so that the genre is clear to the
reader/audience.

This is like trying to know everything there is to discover about a person as soon as you
meet him or her. It is more like a resume than an introduction. The effect is to overload the
front end of the story with more information than can be assimilated, and have nowhere
left to go when the reader/audience wants to get to know the story's personality better as
the story unfolds.

So, make a timeline of the key story points in your plot. Add in any principal character
moments of growth, discovery, or conflict. Now, into that timeline pepper the genre
elements you have developed for your story.

For example, you might decide to end with a massive spaceship battle, or you could
choose to open with one. The information about the Alien Race being like the America
Indians might be right up front in the Teaser, or you could choose to reveal it in the middle
of the second act as a pivotal turning point in the story.

Because genre elements are often atmospheric in nature, they can frequently be placed
just about anywhere without greatly affecting the essential flow of the plot or the pace of
character growth.

As you look at your timeline, you can see and control the reader's first impressions of the
story genre. And you can anticipate the ongoing mood changes in your story's feel as
additional elements in its personality are revealed, scene-by-scene or chapter-by-chapter.
What about Re-writes?

Not everyone wants to start a story with genre development. In fact, you might want to go
through an entire draft and then determine what genre elements you'd like to add to what
you already have.

The process is the same. Just list the genres that have elements you might wish to
include. List the elements in each that intrigue you. Select the ones that would fit nicely
into your story. Cross-Pollinate where you can. Pepper them into your existing timeline to
fill gaps where the story bogs down and to reveal your story as a unique personality.

Summing Up the Sum of the Parts

Genre is part setting, part action, part character, and part story-telling style. Trying to
follow a fixed template turns your story into just another clone. But by recognizing that
genre is really a story's personality type, you can make it as individual as you like. And by
peppering your elements throughout your story's timeline, you will create first impressions
that will capture your reader or audience and then hold their interest as your story's one-
of-a-kind personality reveals itself.
Both Sides of the Thematic Argument
Every powerful theme pits a "Message Issue" against a "Counterpoint", such as "Greed
vs. Generosity", or "Holding On To Hope" vs. "Abandoning Hope".

The Message Issue and Counterpoint define the thematic argument of your story. They
play both sides of the moral dilemma. The most important key to a successful thematic
argument is never, ever play the message issue and counterpoint together at the same
time.

Why? Because the thematic argument is an emotional one, not one of reason. You are
trying to sway your reader/audience to adopt your moral view as an author. This will not
happen if you keep showing one side of the argument as "good" and the other side as
"bad" in direct comparison. Such a thematic argument would seem one-sided, and treat
the issues as being black-and-white, rather than gray-scale.

In real life, moral decisions are seldom cut-and-dried. Although we may hold views that
are clearly defined, in practice it all comes down to the context of the specific situation. For
example, it may be wrong to steal in general. But, it might be proper to steal from the
enemy during a war, or from a large market when you baby is starving. In the end, all
moral views become a little blurry around the edges when push comes to shove.

Statements of absolutes do not a thematic argument make. Rather, your most powerful
message will deal with the lesser of two evils, the greater of two goods, or the degree of
goodness or badness of each side of the argument. In fact, there are often situations
where both sides of the moral argument are equally good, equally bad, or that both sides
are either good nor bad in the particular situation being explored in the story.

The way to create this more powerful, more believable, and more persuasive thematic
argument is as follows:

1. Determine in advance whether each side is good, bad, or neutral.

Do this by assigning an arbitrary "value" to both the Message Issue and the Counterpoint.
For example, we might choose a scale with +5 being absolutely good, -5 being absolutely
bad, and zero being neutral.

If our thematic argument is Greed vs. Generosity, then Greed (our Message Issue) might
be a -3, and Generosity (our Counterpoint) might be a -2. This would mean that both
Greed and Generosity are both bad (being in the negative) but that Generosity is a little
less bad than Greed since Generosity is only a -2 and Greed is a -3.

2. Show the good and bad aspects of both the Message Issue and the Counterpoint.

Make sure the examples of each side of the thematic argument that you have already
developed don't portray either side as being all good or all bad. In fact, even if one side of
the argument turns out to be bad in the end, it might be shown as good initially. But over
the course of the story, that first impression is changed by seeing that side in other
contexts.

3. Have the good and bad aspects "average out" to the thematic conclusion you want.

By putting each side of the thematic argument on a roller coaster of good and bad
aspects, it blurs the issues, just as in real life. But the reader/audience will "average out"
all of their exposures to each side of the argument and draw their own conclusions at the
end of the story.

In this way, the argument will move out of the realm of intellectual consideration and
become a viewpoint arrived by feel. And, since you have not only shown both sides, but
the good and the bad of each side, your message will be easier to swallow. And finally,
since you never directly compared the two sides, the reader/audience will not feel that
your message has been shoved down its throat.
"Coming Apart At The Themes"

Even when a story has memorable characters, a riveting plot and a fully developed genre,
it may still be coming apart at the themes.

Theme is perhaps the most powerful, yet least understood element of story structure. It is
powerful because theme is an emotional argument: It speaks directly to the heart of the
reader or audience. It is least understood because of its intangible nature, working behind
the scenes, and between the lines.

When mis-used, theme can become a ham-handed moral statement in black and white,
alienating the reader/audience with its dogmatic pontifications. When properly used,
theme can add richness, nuance, and meaning to a story that would otherwise be no more
than a series of events.

In this article, we'll separate the elements of theme by their dramatic functions so we can
understand the parts. Then we'll learn how to combine them together into a strong
message that is greater than the sum of the parts.

What do we really mean by the word, "theme?" In fact, "theme" has two meanings. The
first meaning is not unlike that of a teacher telling a class to write a theme paper. We've
all received assignments in school requiring us to express our thoughts about "how we
spent our summer vacation," or "the impact of industrialization on 19th century cultural
morality," or "death." Each of these "themes" is a topic, nothing more, and nothing less.
It functions to describe the subject matter that will be explored in the work, be it a paper,
novel, stage play, teleplay, or movie.

Every story needs a thematic topic to help hold the overall content of the story together, to
act as a unifying element through which the plot unfolds and the characters grow. In fact,
you might look at the thematic topic as the growth medium in which the story develops.
Although an interesting area to explore, the real focus of this article is on the other
element of theme.

This second aspect of theme is the message or premise of your story. A premise is a
moral statement about the value of or troubles caused by an element of human character.
For example, some common premises include, "Greed leads to Self-Destruction," and
"True love overcomes all obstacles."

A story without a premise seems pointless, but a story with an overstated message comes
off as preachy. While a premise is a good way to understand what a story is trying to
prove, it provides precious little help on how to go about proving it. Let's begin by
examining the components of "premise" and then laying out a sure-fire method for
developing an emotional argument that will lead your reader or audience to the moral
conclusions of your story without hitting them over the head.
All premises grow from character. Usually, the premise revolves around the Main
Character. In fact, we might define the Main Character as the one who grapples with the
story's moral dilemma.

A Main Character's moral dilemma may be a huge issue, such as the ultimate change in
Scrooge when he leaves behind his greedy ways and becomes a generous, giving
person. Or, the dilemma may be small, as when Luke Skywalker finally gains enough
faith in himself to turn off the targeting computer and trust his own instincts in the original
Star Wars movie (Episode IV). Either way, if the premise isn't there at all, the Main
Character will seem more like some guy dealing with issues, than an example in human
development from whom we can learn.

Traditionally, premises such as these are stated in the form, "This leads to That." In the
examples above, the premises would be "Greed leads to Self Destruction," and "Trusting
in Oneself leads to Success." The Point of each premise is the human quality being
explored: "Greed" in the case of Scrooge and "Self Trust" with Luke.

We can easily see these premises in A Christmas Carol and Star Wars, but what if you
were simply given either of them and told to write a story around them? Premises are
great for boiling a story's message down to its essence, but are not at all useful for figuring
out how to develop a message in the first place.

So how do we create a theme in a way that will guide us in how to develop it in our story,
and also sway our audience without being overbearing? First, we must add something to
the traditional "This leads to That" form of the premise. Beside having a thematic Point
like "Greed" we're going to add a Counterpoint - the opposite of the point - in this case,
"Generosity."

Arguing to your audience that Greed is Bad creates a one-sided argument. But arguing
the relative merits of Greed vs. Generosity provides both sides of the argument and lets
your audience decide for itself. Crafting such an argument will lead your reader or
audience to your conclusions without forcing it upon them. Therefore, you will be more
likely to convince them rather than having them reject your premise as a matter of
principle, making themselves impervious to your message rather than swallowing it whole.

To create such an argument, follow these steps:

1. Determine what you want your story's message to be.

We all have human qualities we admire and others we despise. Some might be as
large as putting oneself first no matter how much damage it does to others. Some
might be as small as someone who borrows things and never gets around to
returning them. Regardless, your message at this stage will simply take the form,
"Human Quality X is Bad," or "Human Quality Y is Good."
If you are going to create a message that is passionate, look to what truly irks you,
or truly inspires you, and select that human quality to give to your Main Character.
Then, you'll find it far easier to come up with specific examples of that quality to
 include in your story, and you will write about it with vigor.
This is your chance to get up on the soapbox. Don't waste it on some grand classic
human trait that really means nothing to you personally. Pick something you really
care about and sound off by showing how that trait ennobles or undermines your
Main Character.
As a last resort, look to your characters and plot and let them suggest your
thematic point. See what kinds of situations are going to arise in your story; what
kinds of obstacles will be faced. Think of the human qualities that would make the
effort to achieve the story's goal the most difficult, exacerbate the obstacles, and
gum up the works. Give that trait to your Main Character, and you'll be pleasantly
surprised to see it take on a life of its own.
Of course, you may already know your message before you even get started. You
may, in fact, have as your primary purpose in creating the story the intent to make a
point about a particular human quality.

No matter how you come up with your message, once you have it, move on to step 2.

2. Determine your Counterpoint.

As described earlier, the Counterpoint is the opposite of the Point. So, if your
story's message is "Being Closed-Minded is Bad," then your Point is "Being Closed
Minded," and your Counterpoint is "Being Open Minded."
Similarly, if your message is "Borrowing things from others and not returning them
is Bad," then your counter point is "Borrowing things from other and returning
them."
Note that we didn't include the value judgment part of the message (i.e. "Good" or
"Bad") as part of the point or counterpoint. The idea is to let the audience arrive at
that conclusion for themselves. The point and counterpoint simply show both sides
of the argument. Our next step will be to work out how we are going to lead the
audience to come to the conclusion we want them to have.

3. Show how well the Point does vs. the Counterpoint.

The idea here is to see each of the two human qualities (point and counterpoint) in
action in your story to illustrate how well each one fares. To this end, come up with
as many illustrations as you can of each.
For example, in A Christmas Carol, we see scrooge deny an extension on a loan,
refuse to allow Cratchet a piece of coal, decline to make a donation to the poor.
Each of these moments fully illustrates the impact of the thematic point of "Greed."
Similarly, in the same story, we see Feziwhig spending his money for a Christmas
Party for his employees, Scrooge's nephew inviting him to dinner, and Cratchet
giving of his time to Tiny Tim. Generosity is seen in action as well.
Each instance of Greed propagates ill feelings. Each instance of Generosity
propagates positive feelings. As the illustrations layer upon one another over the
course of the story, the emotional argument is made that Greed is not a positive
trait, whereas Generosity is.
 4. Avoid comparing the Point and Counterpoint directly.
Perhaps the greatest mistake in making a thematic argument is to directly compare
the relative value of the point and counterpoint. If this is done, it takes all decision
away from the audience and puts it right in the hands of the author.
The effect is to have the author repeatedly saying, "Generosity is better than
Greed... Generosity is better than Greed," like a sound loop.
A better way is to show Greed at work in its own scenes, and Generosity at work in
completely different scenes. In this manner, the audience is left to drawn its own
conclusions. And while showing Greed as always wholly bad and Generosity as
always wholly good may create a rather melodramatic message, at least the
audience won't feel as if you've crammed it down its throat!

5. Shade the degree that Point and Counterpoint are Good or Bad.
Because you are going to include multiple instances or illustrations of the goodness
or badness or your point and counter point, you don't have to try to prove your
message completely in each individual scene.
Rather, let the point be really bad sometimes, and just a little negative others. In
this manner, Greed may start out a just appearing to be irritating, but by the end of
the story may affect life and death issues. Or, Greed may be as having devastating
effects, but ultimately only be a minor thorn in people's sides. And, of course, you
may choose to jump around, showing some examples of major problems with
Greed and others that see it in not so dark a light. Similarly, not every illustration of
your Counterpoint has to carry the same weight.

In the end, the audience will subconsciously average together all of the illustrations of the
point, and also average together all the illustrations of the counterpoint, and arrive at a
relative value of one to the other.

For example, if you create an arbitrary scale of +5 down to -5 to assign a value of being
REALLY Good (+5) or REALLY Bad (-5), Greed might start out at -2 in one scene, be -4 in
other, and -1 in a third. The statement here is that Greed is always bad, but not totally
AWFUL, just bad.

Then, you do the same with the counterpoint. Generosity starts out as a +4, then shows
up as a +1, and finally ends up as a +3. This makes the statement that Generosity is
Good. Not the end-all of the Greatest Good, but pretty darn good!
At the end of such a story, instead of making the blanket statement that Greed is Bad and
Generosity is Good, you are simply stating that Generosity is better than Greed. That is a
lot easier for an audience to accept, since human qualities in real life are seldom all good
or all bad.

But there is more you can do with this. What if Generosity is mostly good, but
occasionally has negative effects? Suppose you show several scenes illustrating the
impact of Generosity, but in one of them, someone is going to share his meal, but in the
process, drops the plate, the food is ruined, and no one gets to eat. Well, in that particular
case, Greed would have at least fed one of them! So, you might rate that scene on your
arbitrary scale as a -2 for Generosity.

Similarly, Greed might actually be shown as slightly Good in a scene. But at the end of
the day, all of the instances of Greed still add up to a negative. For example, scene one
of Greed might be a -4, scene two a +2 and scene three a -5. Add them together and
Greed comes out to be a -7 overall. And that is how the audience will see it as well.

This approach gives us the opportunity to do some really intriguing things in our thematic
argument. What if both Greed and Generosity were shown to be bad, overall? By adding
up the numbers of the arbitrary scale, you could argue that every time Greed is used, it
causes problems, but ever time Generosity is used, it also causes problems. But in the
end, Greed is a -12 and Generosity is only a -3, proving that Generosity, in this case, is
the lesser of two evils.

Or what if they both added up Good in the end? Then your message might be that
Generosity is the greater of two goods! But they could also end up equally bad, or equally
good (Greed at -3 and Generosity at -3, for example). This would be a message that in
this story's particular situations, being Greedy or Generous doesn't really matter, either
way; you'll make the situation worse.

In fact, both might end up with a rating of zero, making the statement that neither Greed
nor Generosity has any real impact on the situation, in the end.

Now, you have the opportunity to create dilemmas for your Main Character that are far
more realistic and far less moralistic. And by having both point and counterpoint spend
some time in the Good column and some time in the Bad column over the course of your
story, you are able to mirror the real life values of our human qualities and their impact on
those around us.
All Contents Copyright Melanie Anne Phillips

This work may not be reproduced

whole or in part in any form or media
without written permission of the author.

Contact: melanie@storymind.com