Techniques of the Selling Writer By Dwight V. Swain Topic Category Writing Creativity Terms: otivation !eaction "nit !

!ea#ing Sections $orewor# %. $iction an# &ou '. The Wor#s &ou Write (. )lain $acts *+out $eelings ,. Conflict *n# -ow To Buil# .t /. $iction Strategy 0. Beginning1 i##le1 2n# 3. The )eople .n &our Story 4. )reparation1 )lanning1 )ro#uction 5. Selling &our Stories %6. &ou an# $iction *ppen#i7: * 8 )reparing &our anuscript B 8 $or $urther !ea#ing

$orewor# Be warne# in a#vance that we here shall #eal with one topic an# one only: writing. By writing1 . mean the process of creation as applie# to fiction . . . the con9uring up of original stories out of the nether reaches of your min#. y purpose is to help woul#8+e fiction writers learn how to carry out this process less slowly an# less painfully. The #evices set forth all are use#1 consciously or otherwise1 +y sailing writers. This is +ecause sai# #evices have prove# effective in ma:ing stories en9oya+le an#;or enticing to rea#ers. The selling writer1 as a commercially8oriente# professional1 can<t affor# to write copy that isn<t en9oya+le

an#;or enticing. Since they<re primarily tools1 these techniques have little +earing on literary quality or the lac: of it. =o writer uses all of them. =o writer can avoi# using some of them. -ow well they serve will #epen# on you yourself. They are1 in +rief1 tric:s an# techniques of the selling writer. They<re all this +oo: has to offer.

%. $iction an# &ou * story is e7perience translate# into literary process. &ou nee# to :now only four things in or#er to write a soli# story: %. how to group wor#s into motivation8reaction units> '. how to group motivation8reaction units into scenes an# sequels> (. how to group scenes an# sequels into story pattern> ,. how to create the :in# of characters that give a story life. This +oo: tells you how to #o these things> these1 an# many1 many more. .n #etail: step +y step. The tric:s are here . . . the tools1 the techniques1 the #evices. &ou<ll fin# them in Chapters ' through 5. *re these things har# to learn? =ot at all. *t least1 not if you ta:e the 9o+ a step at a time1 so that you un#erstan# why you #o each thing1 as well as how. Then why #o so many people fin# it #ifficult to learn to write? They fall into traps that slow them #own an# hol# them +ac:. 2ight traps1 specifically: %. They ta:e an unrealistic view. '. They hunt for magic secrets. (. They try to learn the har# way. ,. They refuse to follow feeling. /. They attempt to write +y rules. 0. They #on<t want to +e wrong. 3. They +ow #own to the o+9ective.

4. They fail to master technique. 2very one of these traps is a ma9or ha@ar#. Therefore1 +efore we get #own to specific s:ills1 let<s consi#er each in #etail. !eality an# the writer Can you learn to write stories? &es. Can you learn to write well enough to sell an occasional piece? *gain yes1 in most cases. Can you learn to write well enough to sell consistently to !e#8+oo: or )lay+oy or !an#om -ouse or Aol# e#al? =ow that<s another matter1 an# one upon which un#ue confusion centers. Writing is1 in its way1 very much li:e tennis. .t<s no tric: at all to learn to play tennisBif you #on<t min# losing every game. Aiven time an# perseverance1 you pro+a+ly can even wor: yourself up to where Squaw -ollow rates you as a+ove8average competition. Beyon# that1 however1 the going gets rough. !each the nationals1 win status as champion or finalist1 an# you :now your performance +espea:s talent as well as sweat. So it is with writing. To get stories of a sort set #own on paper> to +ecome :nown as a Clea#ing Squaw -ollow writer1C #eman#s little more than self8#iscipline. Continue# wor: an# stu#y often will carry you into *merican Airl or en<s Digest or !eal Confessions or Scholastic =ewstime. But the higher you clim+ towar# +ig name an# +ig money1 the steeper an# rougher your roa# +ecomes. *t the top1 it<s very rough in#ee#. .f you get there> if you place consistently at )ost or cCall<s or Dou+le#ay1 you :now it<s +ecause you have talent in quantity> an# innate a+ility that sets you apart from the competition. =ow this #oesn<t seem at all strange to me. The same principle applies when you strive for success as attorney or salesman or racing #river. $urther1 whatever the fiel#1 no resist e7pects a#vance guarantees of triumph. &ou can<t :now for sure how well you<ll #o until you try. =ot even a Ben -ogan1 a Sam Snea#1 or an *rnol# )almer ma#e a hole8in8one his first time on the lin:s. To win success1 you first must master the s:ills involve#. * pre8 me# stu#ent isn<t calle# on to perform +rain surgery. Aoo#Bthat is1 sala+leBstories presuppose that you :now: how to write1 how to plot1 how to characteri@e1

 how to intrigue rea#ers> how to ma:e s:ille# use of a hun#re# tools. * +oo: li:e this one shows you these +asic tric:s an# techniques. What you #o with those #evices1 however> how well you use them1 is a thing that must ever an# always #epen# on you: your intelligence1 your sensitivity1 your #rive1 your facility with language. &our talent. But +efore you shrug an# turn asi#e1 remem+er 9ust one point: .n writing1 more than in almost any other fiel#1 initiative is the :ey. 2rnest -emingway ha# to write a first line an# a first story too. So #i# Dohn Stein+ec: an# 2#na $er+er1 $aith Bal#win an# )earl Buc: an# $ran: &er+y an# 2rle Stanley Aar#ner. 2ach followe# the same path. 2ach lin:e# #esire to :nowle#ge1 then too: his chances. Try it yourself. &ou may prove more a+le than you thin:. The hunt for magic secrets E+serve $re# $riggenheimer1 a non8e7istent +eginning writer. This morning1 the postman +rings $re# a shiny new ephisto Supersonic )lot Computer. This #evice has cost $re# twenty8five #ollars. .ts value1 in terms of the +enefit he can #erive from it in his efforts to write +etter stories1 isn<t twenty8five cents. "nfortunately1 novices in the fiel# of fiction often ten# to a chil#8li:e faith in magic :eys or secret formulas. =o such :ey e7ists. There isn<t any formula or secret. *t least1 no single secret. That<s worth remem+ering. =o one can call his shots as a writer until he a+an#ons his #reams of magic :eys an#1 instea#1 loo:s reality straight in the eye. What is reality? !eality is ac:nowle#ging the comple7ity of fiction. .t<s accepting the fact that +oth you an# . are human1 an# that we must crawl +efore we wal:1 an# that the 9ourney of a thousan# miles +egins with a single step. Corollary: * lot more steps must of necessity follow =um+er Ene. Thus1 four +oys in $re# $riggenheimer<s town last night stole the chalice from a church. Caught1 they reveal that they<ve +een rea#ing up on witchcraft an# want to try to evo:e Satan. $re# rea#s a+out the inci#ent in his morning paper. .t intrigues him. <<-ere1<< he tells himself e7cite#ly1 Cis a storyFC $re#<s wrong. The theft is an inci#ent. With s:ille# han#ling an# the #evelopment of a point of view an# #ynamic characters an# complications an# clima7 an# resolution1 it quite possi+ly may +uil# into a story. But for now1 it remains an inci#ent an# nothing more.

* story is a comple7 thing. .ts materials #eman# s:ill in their manipulation. Story components1 in turn1 #on<t stan# alone1 nor yet hang in a vacuum. There<s no such thing as plot1 per se1 or character1 or setting. =either is story merely wor#s or language . . . let alone style1 or sym+ol1 or imagery1 or structure. The e7perts #o us +a#ly here. Too often1 they give the impression that a single player ma:es a +all team. Ta:e $re#<s frien# Aeorge *+ercroft Gli:e $re#1 he<s really non8e7istentH1 a specialist in story structure. Ergani@ation is the important thing1 he says. Iearn pattern1 an# it will solve your every pro+lem. But a superior architect may prove a poor carpenter> an# you the writer must e7ecute your wor:s as well as plan them. The specialist in character1 in turn1 sneers at plot as if it were a #irty wor# . . . conveniently forgetting that it<s impossi+le truly to #elineate character an# situation. .gnoring content1 the stylist prays to $lau+ert an# performs assorte# sacre# rites with language . . . as if the garment were more important than the wearer. So many specialists . . . so many out8of8focus answers. *n# each authority is #angerous to the very #egree that he<s correct1 +ecause that<s also the #egree to which he #istorts the actual picture. )ut four such specialists to wor: as a group1 #esigning a woman1 an# she might well turn out li:e the nightmare of a surrealistic fetishist1 all hair an# #erriere an# +reasts an# high $rench heels. So . . . no magic :ey. =o universal formula. =o mystic secret. =o Supersonic )lot Computer. .t<s enough to plunge a man to the #epths of #espair. B=ot to mention frustration. &et there<s another way to loo: at your #ilemma1 an# that way 9ust may point you to salvation. Consi#er: Do you really want to succee# 9ust +ecause you possess a magic secret? $or if there were some super8 tric:1 some mysterious formula to puff away creative pro+lems1 then it stan#s to reason that sai# tric: must +e as #ifficult to perform as the .n#ian rope illusion1 multiplie# +y Cagliostro an# carrie# to the nth power1 with )aracelsus1 *pollonius of Tyana an# a#ame -elena Blavats:y thrown in. Etherwise1 555 writers woul# alrea#y +e using it an# the worl# woul# +e +lesse# with a great #eal more goo# fiction. Denie# such thaumaturgy1 a +eginner li:e our frien# $re# $riggenheimer fin#s his tas: ma#e +oth easier an# har#er. .nstea# of one secret1 he must master #o@ens1 hun#re#s . . . #evices1 proce#ures1 +its of craftsmanship an# rules of thum+ an# gimmic:s. *n# that +rings us to a further ha@ar#. ust you learn the har# way? a+el -ope -artley Gthat<s not her real nameH1 queen of the love pulps thirty years ago1 is another of $re#<s acquaintances. El# an# tire# now1 she turns out 9ust enough confessions to support herself.

a+el tells $re# that a writer nee#s no help or gui#ance. )u+lishe# stories1 she claims1 shoul# +e his te7t+oo:s1 for what secrets can there +e to writing when every #etail is sprea# +efore you on the printe# page? True enough1 as far as it goes. But how many of us can correctly note an#;or interpret everything we see?B*n# let no man say me nay who hasn<t trie# to figure out the recipe for creole gum+o from what his taste +u#s tell him. * whiff of perfume is no sure clue to the scent<s formulation. Dust +ecause you<ve wal:e# on carpets #oesn<t mean you<re qualifie# to weave one. *rt conceals art1 in writing as elsewhere. The s:ill of a s:ille# writer tric:s you into thin:ing that there is no s:ill. So it might +e 9ust as well to ta:e the sneers of our imaginary a+el -ope -artley with several grains of salt. a+el<s merely confuse# a+out the issues1 +ecause she #i# her own stu#ying without +enefit of te7t or teacherBrea#ing1 rerea#ing1 writing1 rewriting1 struggling1 failing> sweating1 swearing1 pacing the floor1 e7perimenting1 straining> wrestling with her wor: night after night in agonies of #espair or of frustration> +attering at the wall of authorial success till her square Dutch hea# was +loo#y. =e7t question: .s a+el<s proce#ure a goo# one? .t<s a moot question1 really. Eften you have no choice +ut to play +y ear. The tune e7ists only in your own hea#1 so you #oo#le till you achieve the effect you want. But in many areas this may prove a wasteful process. 2arlier travelers have alrea#y note# lan#mar:s an# #rawn maps of sorts. <Do this1< they say1 or CDon<t #o that.C Short cuts are ever welcome1 in a +usiness as comple7 as this one. So1 most of us sei@e upon such rules with gratitu#e . . . attempt conscientiously to apply them. Certainly $re# $riggenheimer #oes. *n# that<s where he runs into trou+le. Why? Because often rulesBar+itrary rules1 at leastBconflict with an infinitely more vital element: feeling. 2motion an# the writer *ll your life you<ve live# with feelings . . . inner awarenesses1 pleasant or painful1 that rose in you when you +umpe# a :nee or +it a lemon1 :isse# a girl or soothe# a hurt chil#. The arine Ban# playing CThe -alls of onte@umaC +rought one type of emotion . . . a guitar an# CIa )alomaC another. &our father<s #eath1 your sister<s marriage1 snowfla:es #rifting #own1 the smell of woo# smo:e1 angry wor#s1 soft whispers1 a scornful laugh1 the come#ian whose pants fall #own1 puppies< warm cu##lesomeness . . . to one an# all of them1 you react. With feelings. .n some of us1 these feelings are more intense than they are in others> an#1 they<re arouse# +y #ifferent stimuli an# situations. The slight that +rings this woman to fury is passe# +y unnotice# +y her neigh+or. $re# $riggenheimer is more aware of certain nuances than is Aeorge *+ercroft . . . more sensitive to su+tleties of sensation an# of impulse:

overtones1 un#ertones1 implications. &ou pity the sharecropper<s +ony1 sway8+ac:e# horse> . pity the cropper> our frien# pities himself1 that he shoul# +e force# to face the fact of such #egra#ation. .n other wor#s1 each of us e7periences an# respon#s to life #ifferently1 in a manner uniquely an# in#ivi#ually his own. =ow all this is ever so important to a writer. Why? Because feeling is the place every story starts. Where #o you fin# feeling? .t springs from the human heart. *s a writer1 your tas: is to +ring this heart8+oun# feeling to the surface in your rea#er: to ma:e it well an# swell an# surge an# churn. "n#erstan#1 feeling is in sai# rea#er from the +eginning. &ou give him nothing he #oesn<t possess alrea#y. But emotion1 for most people1 too often is li:e some sort of slum+ering giant1 lulle# to sleep +y preoccupation with the #ea# facts of that outer worl# we call o+9ective. When we loo: at a painting1 we see a price tag. * trip is logistics more than pleasure. !omance #ies in househol# routine. &et life without feeling is a sort of #eath. ost of us :now this. So1 we long wistfully for spee#e# heart+eat1 sharpene# senses1 +righter colors. This search for feeling is what turns your rea#er to fiction> the reason why he rea#s your story. -e see:s a reawa:ening: heightene# pulse> richer awareness. $acts are the least of his concern. $or them1 he can always go to the Worl# *lmanac or 2ncyclope#ia Britannica. $urther1 !ea#er wants this sharpening of feeling +ecause he nee#s it1 emotionally spea:ing. Etherwise1 why woul# he +other with your copy? =ow1 let<s loo: at the other si#e of the coin: Where #o stories originate? .n you1 the writer. Why #o you write them? &ou too have feelings . . . feelings that e7cite you1 the way the witch8cult e7cite# $re# $riggenheimer. *n emotional nee# comes with these feelings: the nee# to communicate your e7citement to others. So1 where another man similarly e7cite# might let his tension go in tal:1 or get #run:1 or chop wee#s in his gar#en1 you write a story . . . put #own wor#s with which you see: to re8create the feelings that seethe insi#e you. That is1 you hope the wor#s re8create those feelings.

*n# then? $or some fortunate souls1 that<s all there is to it. So talente# are they . . . so sensitive1 so perceptive1 so completely attune# to themselves an# to their au#ience . . . that they intuitively grasp everything they nee# to :now of form an# structure1 style an# process. They write1 rea#ers rea#1 the worl# hails them as geniuses. . . . * happy state. -owever1 #on<t let the thought of such a+ility #epress you. Though .<ve hear# for years a+out these awesome figures1 .<ve yet to meet a living1 +reathing writer who ha#n<t wor:e#Ban# wor:e# har#Bfor everything he got. ost writers learn +y #oing. )ractice1 trial an# error1 train them. .t<s as if our frien# $re# were to go home tonight to his wife Aertru#e with a 9o:e to tell. Iistening1 she stares at him +lan:ly. CWhat<s so funny a+out that?C $re# tries again. *n# may+e1 this time1 he gets the point across: Aertru#e laughs. Tomorrow1 a new 9o:e comes along. So1 $re# tries to remem+er what he #i# +efore1 so that he can present this story to Aertru#e in such a manner that shell laugh first time roun#1 without +enefit of follow8ups or e7planations. .f his plan succee#s1 he tuc:s the proce#ure away in the +ac: of his hea#. $rom here on out1 for him1 it will constitute a cornerstone of ver+al humor. -e<s foun# himself a rule to follow. .t<s the same with writing. By trial an# error1 you learn that some things wor: an# others #on<t . . . then incorporate that :nowle#ge into rules8of8thum+. $ailure to #evelop such rules says merely that the man concerne# is incapa+le of learning +y e7perience. =o matter how har# he tries1 his time is waste#. Where<s $re# to fin# these tools . . . the specific +its an# tric:s he nee#s? -ere a+el -ope -artley scores. *s she says1 the #evices are all right there +efore his eyes1 in every pu+lishe# story. . . more of them than any one man can ever hope to master. 2ven though $re# lives to +e a hun#re#1 hell still learn new twists each time he sits #own to rea# or write. But in or#er to reach that stage1 $re#Ban# youBfirst must master fun#amentals1 so that he :nows what to loo: for. The trou+le with rules =o writer in his right min# writes +y a set of rules. *t least1 not +y some+o#y else<s rules. Why not? Because rules start from the wrong en#: with restriction> with form> with mechanics> with e7hortation a+out things you shoul# an# shoul#n<t #o. Where shoul# you start1 then? With feeling. &our own feeling. * story is li:e a car that runs on emotion. The author<s feeling is the gasoline in its engine. Ta:e away its fuel1 an# even the shiniest1 chrome8plate# literary power plant is re#uce# to so much scrap iron.

$eeling first ta:es form within you. .f you haven<t got a feeling1 you can<t write a+out it1 let alone arouse it in some+o#y else. The self8taught writer hol#s a small a#vantage here1 perhaps. Iac:ing formal training1 he ten#s to +e unaware of technique as a thing separate an# apart. .ntellectuali@ation of art is alien to his thin:ing. $irst1 last1 an# all the time he #eals with what he feels: Dic:<s love for Danice . . . the hatre# Vincent turns on Tom . . . the mother<s anguish when 2lsa runs away. S:ill1 to him1 is simply a tool to help convey feeling. =o feeling1 no writing. * novice li:e $re# $riggenheimer1 on the other han#1 may assume that rule counts for more than story. So1 he a#mires his plot +ecause it so perfectly follows the formula lai# #own +y the ephisto Computer. .n so #oing1 he ignores the gasoline of feeling. Then he won#ers why the car won<t run. That<s why the first real rule of successful story8writing is . . . fin# a feeling. Er1 if you prefer a #ifferent phrase: Aet e7cite#F -unt till you uncover something or other to which you react. With feeling. The more intensely1 the +etter. ay+e it<s a girl that turns you on . . . a gyroscope . . . a go# . . . a gopher. * #isaster . . . a moment of truth . . . a funny fragment. * color . . . an o#or . . . a taste . . . a +ar of music. $or me1 once1 it was an electroencephalograph1 a machine that measures +rain waves. Because it fascinate# me> +ecause . felt so strongly a+out it1 it en#e# up as a paper+ac: novel.B&ou<ll agree1 . thin:1 that no one can get much farther out than that. *fter you fin# your feeling1 rules come in han#y . . . help you to figure out the +est way to capture in wor#s whatever it is that so e7cites you. But the feeling itself must always remain #ominant. Though rules may shape your story1 you yourself must shape the rules. Beware1 too1 of the other man<s rule. -e sees the worl# through #ifferent eyes. Thus1 Aeorge *+ercroft is an action writer. CStart with a fightFC is his motto. *n# for him1 it wor:s. But $re# $riggenheimer<s witch8cult yarn1 as he conceives it1 puts heavy emphasis on atmosphere. The fight he tries to stic: in li:e a clove in a ham at the +eginning1 following Aeorge<s rule1 #estroys the moo#Ban# the story. 2ven with your own rules1 in#ee#1 you must +e careful. Because somehow1 su+tly1 they may not apply to this e7plicit situation. CThere is really no such thing as the novel1C o+serves novelist Vincent c-ugh. CThe novel is always a novelBthe specific pro+lem1 the particular case1 the concrete instance.C *n# again: CThe novel is not a form. .t is a me#ium capa+le of accommo#ating a great variety of forms.C $eelings #iffer. So #o the stories that spring from them. Aeneral rules imply that all are the same. Be very wary1 therefore1 of anything that says1 C!e9ect this feeling.C Search instea# for the :in# of gui#ance that tells you1 C-ere<s a way to #o the thing you alrea#y want to #o . . . to use effectively the impossi+le situation1 the outlan#ish inci#ent1 the off+eat character.C -ow #o you tell whether a rule is goo# or not1 in terms of a specific pro+lem? *nswer: $in# out the reason the rule came into +eing. What i#ea or principle stan#s +ehin# it? CThe man who :nows how will always fin# a place in life1C says the a#age1 C+ut the man who :nows

why will +e the +oss.C *r+itrary rules restrict an# inhi+it you. Jnowing why sets you free. Ta:e Aeorge<s rule a+out starting every story with a fight. .t<s +orn of Aeorge<s mar:etsBmen<s maga@ines in which the emphasis is on fast1 violent action1 with +loo# on page one an a+solute must. .f $re# only reali@e# that fact1 he<# ignore Aeorge<s rule when he himself writes a moo#8geare# story. )ro9ecte#1 this principle means that a writer shoul# have theories on every phase of writingBhow to get i#eas1 how to plot1 how to +uil# conflict1 how to +ring characters to life1 how to create the right feelings in a given rea#er. *n#1 he shoul# thin: through an# ta:e note of the why +ehin# each an# every how. Etherwise1 how can he #iscover the proce#ures most effective for an# +est suite# to him1 in terms of his own temperament an# tastes? =or #oes it matter whether throe theories are right or wrong in the view of o+9ectivity or the critics. Their purpose is only to provi#e one particular writer with wor:ing tools an# orientation. "niversality is no issue. .f an approach wor:s for you1 that<s all that counts. Writing a story1 any story1 is a very personal1 very in#ivi#ual +usiness. =o one else can fight the +attle for you. &ou must win or lose all +y yourself1 alone in the solitu#e of your psyche1 wor:ing out of the #epth an# +rea#th of your own feeling. Which +rings us to another interesting question: .f feeling is in#ee# the issue1 where #o you fin# it? Er1 more specifically1 what :in# of a person is the writer? &our right to +e wrong &ou start with an urge to write1 an# that<s really all you nee#. That<s all1 that is1 so long as you #on<t let other things get in the way. What other things? They go +y so many names. But they all +oil #own to one issue: the fear of +eing wrong. To write successfully1 you have to have the nerve to loo: at something in a new way an# say1 CThis fascinates me. Ioo: what .<ve #one with itFC Ioo:ing at anything in a new way ta:es nerve. Why? Because other people may see it from a #ifferent angle. Whereupon1 out of #isagreement may spring #isapproval. * hus+an# may scoff1 CIoo: who thin:s she can writeFC Er a +oss may shoot you #own: C&oung man1 . pay you to #o a 9o+1 not ri#e a ho++yFC Er a neigh+orBC&ou<# thin: that woman woul# clean up her :i#s a little if she<s got so much time to spare.C Er an e#itorBC. . . nor #oes re9ection necessarily imply any lac: of merit.C Er a frien#BC. . . so we<re all so prou# of youBeven if it is 9ust a Sun#ay School paper.C Er a relativeBC-onestly1 Ala#ys1 you can<t imagine what they sai# when they foun# out you write those awful confessionsFC Er the pastorBCDust as: yourself1 Sam: Do you want your chil#ren to :now their father wrote a +oo:

li:e this?C Er the criticsBCThis wor: lac:s even or#inary competence.C

C* stylistic mishmash.C CThe characters are caricatures at +est.C C* shallow an# empty story1 without insight or compassion.C So many voices1 all singing the same song: CWhat ma:es you thin: that you coul# ever write anything worth rea#ing?C Voices li:e that sap your courage. They #rain away your spirit. They ma:e you want to run an# hi#e1 or loc: a mas: over your thoughts an# feelings . . . an# never1 never1 never write again. Don<t listen to them. C* writer who is afrai# to overreach himself is as useless as a general who is afrai# to +e wrong1C mystery specialist !aymon# Chan#ler once warne#. C. cannot give you the formula for success1C says -er+ert Bayar# Swope1 C+ut . can give you the formula for failure: Try to please every+o#y.C What qualities an#;or con#itions are most valua+le to a writer? Spontaneity. $ree#om. The opportunity for unstu#ie#1 impulsive roving through the +ac:lan#s of his of his min#. Which are most #etrimental? .nhi+ition. Self8censorship. !estraint. G.nhi+ition of feeling1 that isBnot inhi+ition of +ehavior. Becoming a writer #oesn<t automatically license you as a li+ertine1 or grant you a permit to appear roaring #run: at high noon in the pu+lic square.H .n this worl#1 all of us want to +e right1 on the one han#> to avoi# +eing wrong1 on the other. So1 we search for certainty. To that en#1 too often we put on +lin#ers . . . shut out those thoughts an# feelings an# interpretations which #on<t conform to those we hear e7presse# +y others1 lest we fin# ourselves +orne #own +y frowns of #isapproval. !ules for writing constitute one such set of +lin#ers . . . #esigne# to help us never to +e wrong. .s it so +a# to want to win acceptance? Ef course not. But hem a writer in with rules1 an# in spite of himself he unconsciously weighs each new thought against the stan#ar# of the rule1 instea# of +ouncing it aroun# in free association until other thought8fragments1 magneti@e#1 cling to it. To +e a writer1 a creative person1 you must retain your a+ility to react uniquely. &our feelings must remain your own. The #ay you mute yourself1 or mo#erate yourself1 or repress your proneness to get e7cite# or ecstatic or angry or emotionally involve# . . . that #ay1 you #ie as a writer. Why shoul# this +e so? The answer lies in . . .

The snare of the o+9ective There are two types of min# in this worl# . . . two approaches to the fiel# of fiction. Ene type is that of the o+9ectivist1 the man who sees everything analytically. Three things warp his

orientation: a. -e #epen#s on facts. +. -e #istrusts feelings. c. Therefore1 he tries to write mechanically. This man may have ma inclinaton to create. But he<s the pro#uct of an e#ucational system that focuses on facts the way a ohamme#an @eros in on ecca> an#1 in his case1 the e#ucation too:. =ow there<s nothing wrong with facts as such. 2#ucators of necessity see: a common groun# on which to reach their stu#ents. But one of the characteristics of a fact is that it has a recor# of past performance. That<s what ma:es it a fact: )henomenon K +ehave# an#;or e7iste# in thus8an#8such a manner yester#ay1 last wee:1 last month1 last year. So1 we have reason to anticipate that it will +ehave an#;or e7ist the same way tomorrow. This means that to #eal with facts1 you must #evote a great #eal of attention to analysis of their trac: recor#s. What #i# they #o in previous encounters1 an# how #i# they #o it? They<re li:e cases in law: )ast history #ominates. $irst1 last1 an# always you chec: prece#ents. .f this were as far as the matter went1 there woul#n<t +e any real hea#ache. But the e#ucators refuse# to let it go at that. $acts were easy to present. Jnowle#ge of them was easy to test. .n many areas they were of great practical use. Centering attention on them o+viate# the complications that went with #ealing with each stu#ent as an in#ivi#ual. So1 e#ucators in the lea#1 an entire society plunge# into wholesale fact8worship. When you glorify one thing1 it<s generally at the e7pense of something else. .n this case1 the <<something else<< was feeling. =ow a feeling is a+out as opposite to a fact as you can get. *t +est1 you might #escri+e it as a sort of internal #riving force1 li:e electricity in a motor. &ou can<t see it or hear it or smell it or taste it or touch it. .t reveals itself to the outsi#e worl# only in overt +ehavior1 as a reaction. 2ven measuring its intensity1 +y any o+9ective stan#ar#1 remains a pro+lem not at all satisfactorily resolve#. *s if that weren<t enough1 feelings #iffer from moment to moment an# person to person. They<re the ultimate varia+le Butterly unpre#icta+le1 oftentimes> po:er with everything wil#. $ace# with this unpre#icta+ility of feelings1 this refusal of an element to +ehave in neatly or#ere# fashion1 the e#ucators respon#e# with varying #egrees of uncertainty1 suspicion1 outrage. B$eelings all1 of course1 you un#erstan#> +ut accepta+le1 +ecause they were house# in the right people. Being human as well as frustrate#1 the e#ucators too: the o+vious course of action: They taught generations of chil#ren to #epen# on facts. B*n#1 as a corollary1 to hol# all feelings suspect. !esult: a population traine# to feel guilty every time it #iscovers that emotion prompte# an action. What happens when a man con#itione# to such a mo#e of thin:ing #eci#es he wants to create something? =aturally enough1 he approaches it as a pro+lem in fact8fin#ing.

That is1 he loo:s to stories alrea#y written . . . stu#ies them . . . attempts to #ig out the common #enominators that they share. $rom this survey1 he #e#uces rules. Then1 he tries to write stories of his own that fit these regulations. * story1 thus1 is for him an e7ercise in mechanics . . . a sort of 9uggling of +its an# pieces> a putting together of a literary 9igsaw pu@@le. Seeing the pro#uct +ut not the process1 viewing the en# result rather than the #ynamic1 forwar#8moving forces that +rought it into +eing1 more often than not he en#s up with something limp an# inert. $or though he may have s:ill1 he<s at heart a thin:er1 a logician. .t never occurs to him to feel a+out his story. .f it #i#1 he<# thrust1 thought asi#e1 +ecause he has no faith in feeling. -e<s afrai# to trust it. =ow this is a #angerous #istortion of attitu#e in any circumstances1 even though you still may +e a+le to function satisfactorily enough .n spite of it so long as your 9o+ is merely to saw +oar#s or sew seams or mi7 premeasure# chemicals. .n a creator1 however1 such a pattern looms as utter an# complete #isaster. Why? Because the creator grammatically is #oome# to failure if he assumes that past an# prece#ent can provi#e him with certainty an# guarantee success. =o such certainty #oes or can e7istBnot in writing1 nor in life itself. =o matter how carefully we plan an# prepare for tomorrow1 tonight may fin# us fro@en soli# as those fame# Si+erian mammoths1 refrigerate# for centuries li:e giant si#es of +eef +y a +last of frigi# air so su##en an# so #evastating that they #ie# with +uttercups still in their mouths. .nci#entally1 sciences an# the o+9ectivists haven<t yet figure# out Dust what happene# that #ay. The only true certainty in life1 so far as we :now1 is #eath8at least1 what we call #eath. *s a writer1 to #eal with this worl#1 you must accept it an# your own ever8so8finite limitations as they are. $acts are something you have to ta:e for grante#. But you #on<t worship them1 for your security1 your certainty1 is in yourself. .n your feelings. $eeling1 in#ee#1 is what #rives you forwar#. Wrappe# up in your story1 you face the future1 not the past. The tale you tell e7cites you. &ou write out of the thrill of that e7crement. 2verywhere1 you see new possi+ilities1 new relationships. CWhat ifB?C is your watchwor#. The rules1 when you thin: of them1 are inci#ental. Which all is merely another way of saying that the writer is su+9ective more than o+9ective> that his inner worl# is more important to him than the e7ternal one. .ntuitively1 he :nows that CplotC an# CcharacterC an# CsettingC an# all other analytic ele8 ments of the craft1 ta:en apart from story1 are 9ust that: analytic> which is to say1 #ea#1 in the same way that any part of a #issecte# la+oratory specimen is #ea#. Because most rea#ers rea# to feel1 not analy@e1 they love the wor: of the su+9ectivist8turne#8writer. $or precisely the same reason1 they ignore the fiction of the non8creator1 the analyst. Does this mean that you write as Dac: Jerouac is allege# to1 with no hee# for technique> no attempt at revision or correction? =o1 in#ee#. The picture of CpureC creator versus CpureC o+9ectivist is an e7aggeration. =o such creatures e7ist. *lways1 the issue is a matter of #egree an# emphasis. The writer puts heavier stress on the emotional entity we call story +ecause he feels1 an# isn<t afrai# to trust his feelings. That is all.

The successful writer also has intelligence as well as talent> far too much intelligence to rely on spontaneity alone. But he #oes separate logic from emotion> critical 9u#gment from creation. So1 though feeling is the wellspring of his wor:1 over an# over again along the line he pauses . . . sits +ac: . . . su+9ects his plans an# copy to reappraisal. That reappraisal is +ase# on the rule8of8thum+ testing that is the shrew#est1 most practical application of the past e7perience we call principle. 2ach story teaches him new tric:s . . . +rings him new tools1 new techniques. .nsight continually grows in him1 an# so #oes un#erstan#ing. So1 he improves as he goes along . . . sel#om falls into the same trap twice. That proce#ure> that separation of frames of min#> that alternating +etween creation an# critique . . . it<s the most effective way to learn1 in any creative fiel#. .t uses rules as a chec:list1 not a +lueprint. $eeling #ominates> not logic. Thus1 it encourages spontaneity an# ta:es a#vantage of it in the initial e7citement of storytelling. Then1 later1 it spots story flaws an# pins #own points of error. Do . ma:e myself clear? Communication of feelingByour feelingB#eman#s s:ill as well as heart. To win that s:ill1 you have no choice +ut to +egin right where you areBthis very moment. Er#inarily1 that means you start a long way #own the la##er. &ou first have to +e willing to +e very1 very +a#1 in this +usiness1 if you<re ever to +e goo#. Enly if you stan# rea#y to ma:e mista:es to#ay can you hope to move ahea# tomorrow. Writing as a creative act *s )asteur once o+serve#1 chance favors the traine# min#. $eeling tells you what you want to say. Technique gives you tools with which to say it. $acility lies in :nowing at once what to #o ne7t1 an# so #oing it more quic:ly than some+o#y else. To :now what to #o ne7t1 you must master process . . . an or#ere#1 step8+y8step presentation of your materials that pushes emotional +uttons in your rea#er1 so that he feels the way you want him to feel. .t<s a way of going a+out things> an answer to your Chow8toC questions. $or e7ample? C-ow #o you ma:e #escription vivi#?C C-ow #o you +uil# conflict?C C-ow #o you tie inci#ents together?C <<-ow #o you #eci#e where to start your story?C <<-ow #o you ma:e a character interesting?C C-ow #o you insure that a story is satisfying to your rea#ers?C Er1 if you<# rather: CBy what steps #o you ma:e #escription vivi#?C CBy what steps #o you +uil# conflict?C Eften1 these questions overlap1 for process operates on all levels. Some processes are simple1 some comple7> some +asic1 some speciali@e#. The steps you ta:e to ma:e a character easily recogni@a+le may +e quite #efinite an# e7plicit. C-ow #o you create a hero with whom your rea#er can i#entify?C is li:ely to prove a goo# #eal more involve#. That is1 it requires more steps1 an# must ta:e into account more varia+les. .t may even #eman# a com+ining or interweaving of several ru#imentary processes. ust a writer :now all these processes? That #epen#s on the writer1 an# his level of aspirationBthe :in# an# quality of writer that he wants to +e. any successful writers get +y with only a few s:ills1 well han#le#. Ethers have more tric:s up their sleeves than they can use. The general rule is to #o the +est you can with what you<ve got at the given moment.

$ortunately1 too1 in writing1 most of us #o many things effectively +y instinct. &ears of rea#ing have given us a feeling for what<s right an# what isn<t1 an# ol# ha+its turn out to +e correct. So the amount you have to learn really is rather limite#. .n fact1 if you try to learn too much1 or strain too har#1 it pro+a+ly means that you<re fascinate# with technique for its own sa:e1 rather than as a tool to help you tell a story. &ou may +e en#eavoring to write mechanically1 without sufficient e7citement over your i#eas. Which processes are most important? The ones you nee# most1 at this specific moment. Which stories are +est to stu#y? The ones which intrigue you. *ren<t some +etter than others? Ef course. But any story1 ta:en as a whole1 is a ho#gepo#ge of goo# an# +a#. To stu#y some so8calle# classic as a mo#el1 unless you first cross your fingers an# then ta:e each sentence with a teaspoonful of salt1 is to lay yourself wi#e open to all sorts of confusion. $or in Sentence *1 you fin#1 Classic *uthor performs a#mira+ly. .n Sentence B1 he +otches things. Why? Because he has +lin# spots1 even as you an# .. * particular flaw may reflect a private wea:ness. Er it may mean that this in#ivi#ual writer is sloppy or ill8traine#. Er that the phone rang at the wrong moment1 or that his wife calle# him #own to #inner. Thus1 an entire story may ma:e most entertaining rea#ing1 even when reprinte# as a te7t+oo: mo#el. But it covers too much groun# to +e truly useful. CStan#ar#C proce#ures Gan e7aggeration an# a misnomer if ever there was oneH are mo#ifie# +y the #eman#s of the story situation1 the writing situation1 an# the tastes an# competence of the writer himself. B*n# that<s even ignoring the fact that a story rate# as a mo#el +y a given writer or e#itor or teacher or critic may not +e anything resem+ling the right mo#el for you. &ou can<t ta:e it for grante# that any fragment of any story is i#eally han#le# until you<ve analy@e# it from all angles. Techniques1 +y an# large1 are e7plicit an# specific. &ou learn them from e7amples that isolate the point un#er e7amination . . . eliminate as many varia+les as possi+le. To what #egree are the processes outline# here su+9ect to mo#ification? *s +efore note#1 you #on<t write fiction +y the num+ers. 2ach person goes a+out it in a #ifferent way. Some plan an# some #on<t. Some plo# an# some #on<t. Some thin: an#Bnot necessarily regretta+lyB some #on<t. Thus1 there<s no one right answer to any writing question. &ou #o #ifferent things in #ifferent ways at #ifferent times. =ot only are we safe in saying that you sel#om woul# write a line the same way on two successive #ays> we also can state flatly that +oth lines written coul# very well +e Cright.C Er wrong. The pro+lem1 you see1 is much li:e that in +all8playing. =o matter how goo# a +atter you are1 you can<t guarantee in a#vance that you<ll hit a given pitch . . . +ecause the material fights +ac: an# no two curves +rea: 9ust ali:e. oo# also enters. &ou change1 an# your way of han#ling your material changes with you. .n the long run1 you learn rules only to #eviate from them. -ow #o you master all the varie# techniques? By writing stories. Which is to say1 +y +eing willing to +e wrong. Then1 having +een wrong1 you chec: +ac: through your stuff for process errors . . . places where you s:ippe# over steps1 or went off the path1 or starte# with the roa# map upsi#e #own.

Do that enough times1 on enough stories1 an# eventually you<ll learn. Won<t e7ercises give the same result less painfully? !egretta+ly1 no> at least1 not in my e7perience. The man who cottons to e7ercises generally isn<t cut out to +e a fiction writer. -e<s certainty8oriente#> reaching out for a sure thing. ost potentially successful writers have little patience with such. They<re too eager to get on with their own stories> too into7icate# with their own euphoria> too e7cite# over their i#eas. 27ercises e7cite no one. )alpa+ly artificial1 only tenuously relate# to the #ifficulties that +eset you1 they turn writing into #ru#gery for anyone. So +uc:le #own an# forge yourself a :it of techniques out of the iron of your own copy. 2ach story will give you more e7perience to translate into literary process. 2ach tric: mastere# will free you 9ust a little more from your feelings of ina#equacy an# frustration. $inally1 your e7citement soars1 unshac:le#1 an# to your own ama@ement you #iscover that somehow1 in spite of everything1 you<ve turne# out to +e a writer. What<s the first step? There<s the worl# of wor#s to master> an important worl#1 too1 with laws an# protocol all its own. =o #ou+t you<ll want to violate those laws1 in many cases. But half the fun of sinning lies in :nowing that it<s sinful. To that en#1 let<s move on to Chapter '1 an# there ta:e a loo: at language an# its regulations.

Top )ost +y Spencer L Tue The Wor#s &ou Write Chapter ' * story is wor#s strung onto paper. CAo# for+i# that . shoul# set up for a teacherFC crie# .taly<s master playwright of the eighteenth century1 ol# Carlo Aol#oni. 2ven more so1 saints preserve us from that writer with the effrontery to proclaim himself a grammarian. ost writers paragraph for effect1 punctuate on impulse1 an# let split infinitives an# comma splices fall where they may. Emnivorous rea#ing su+stitutes for systematic stu#y. Syntactic nomenclature is a thing they learn only if1 somehow trappe# into teaching others the craft1 they fin# themselves in nee# of terms to #escri+e the errors of their stu#ents. =one of which in any wise prevents their writing a#equate or +etter than a#equate copy. .n other wor#s1 this is a +usiness in which the star performers play +y ear1 an# who cares? So long as a man<s writing is itself clear an# accurate an# specific1 no hol#s are +arre#. *n# anyone who nee#s instruction in the traffic laws of the 2nglish language has wan#ere# into the wrong fiel#. &et wor#s are vital to a writer1 no matter how as:ance he loo:s at grammar. Some wor: for him> some ar 6'1 '6%6 0:%0 am

against him. *n# some 9ust clutter up the lan#scape. .f you<re 9ust starting1 you nee# to :now which wor#s #o what1 an# why. Specifically1 it<s #esira+le that you learn three things: %. -ow to choose the right wor#s. '. -ow to ma:e copy vivi#. (. -ow to :eep meaning clear.

Ta:ing first things first1 let<s +egin with . . . -ow to fin# the right wor#s What are your essential 9o+s1 in actually writing copy? They are: a. Selection. +. *rrangement. c. Description. What<s the issue in selection? *s a writer1 you provi#e peepholes through which your rea#er may loo: into the lives of other people. So1 you must #eci#e: Who is to +e viewe#? Do we #eal with #octor1 lawyer1 merchant1 chief? What specific in#ivi#uals? When #o we o+serve these characters? *t what moment1 what perio#1 what time of their lives? Er1 as the ol# gag phrases it1 #o infants have more fun in infancy than a#ults #o in a#ultery? Where #o we catch these people? *re they afiel#? En the street? *t the office? .n church? -ome+oun#? .n the living room? The +e#room? The +athroom? What are they #oing? *re they wor:ing? )laying? Ioving? -ating? Worshipping? Sinning? Iearning? $orgetting? B*n#1 closely relate#1 what #oes your rea#er notice as your people go a+out these multitu#inous activities? Does he see sunrise1 or mu#hole? Beauty1 or +lemish? .s he caught +y the smell of frying +acon1 or the rasp of saw teeth +iting into a pine +oar#1 or the smoothness of velvet +eneath his fingers1 or the taste of a suc:e# anise #rop? * +ellow of rage1 or an eyelash flic:er? Why #oes he notice? What ma:es this #etail important to him an# to your story? -ow #oes your rea#er see all this? .s he loo:ing at it o+9ectively? Su+9ectively? Through the eyes of you1 the writer? Through those of your hero? Those of your villain? BEr is this the viewpoint of the familiar innocent +ystan#er1 lining up for his turn at getting hurt? These are more or less weighty #ecisions1 every one. $or1 ever an# always1 you the writer must select.

Simultaneously1 you arrange events for your rea#er1 in what you fon#ly hope will prove effective or#er. Do you move from cause to effect? Er +ac:war#1 from effect to cause? Do you present your story in strict chronological or#er1 as the events involve# transpire? Er1 #o you resort to some sort of frame or flash+ac:1 some #evice of recollection? Er#er #oes ma:e a #ifference. Show a gun1 then a coffin1 then tears1 an# you put your focus on heart+rea:. .f coffin comes first1 then tears1 then gun1 the issue may +e vengeance. So1 you arrange. Then1 you +ring your material to life. With #escription. To live through a story . . . e7perience it as vivi#ly as if it were his own . . . your rea#er must capture it with his own senses. -ow #o you put perfume on the page? The tigers roar? The whis:y<s +ite? The warm spring air? The earth? The +loo#? With wor#s: #escription. But simply written1 of course? With short wor#s1 short sentences1 short paragraphs1 an# so on? Well1 may+e. Simplicity is a virtue1 within reason. But )roust sometimes wrote in sentences literally hun#re#s of wor#s long. .onesco ma:es all language a para#o7. * current paper+ac: novelBan original1 not a reprintBinclu#es such wor#s as u+iquitous1 relegate#1 ne+ulous1 mo#ulate#1 an# e+ullient. 2insteinian concepts an# +eyon# are stan#ar# fare in the science8fiction pulps. So? $ew of us rea# voluntarily a+out the primer8level #oings of Dic: an# Dane. Simplicity is a virtue in writing1 true> +ut never the primary virtue. What is? Vivi#ness. -ow a+out +revity? .t<s important too. Within reason. Within reason? Who1 9ust learning this +usiness1 :nows where or when or how to +e +rief? .n the wrong place1 +revity can #estroy you. So? *s in the case of simplicity1 +revity is never the heart of the issue. Vivi#ness is. a:ing copy come alive -ow #o you write vivi#ly?

&ou present your story in terms of things that can +e verifie# +y sensory perception. Sight1 hearing1 smell1 taste1 touch Bthese are the common #enaminators of human e7perience> these are the evi#ence that men +elieve. Descri+e them precisely1 put them forth in terms of action an# of movement1 an# you<re in +usiness. &our two :ey tools are nouns an# ver+s. =ouns are wor#s that name something: #og1 +oat1 pencil1 man1 telephone1 grass1 chair. Ver+s are wor#s that tell what happens: gulp1 whirl1 9ump1 cho:e1 smash1 slump1 snore. The nouns you want are pictorial nouns: nouns that flash pictures1 images1 into your rea#er<s min#. The more specific1 concrete1 an# #efinite the noun . . . the more vivi# the picture. The noun rhinoceros flashes a sharper1 more meaningful picture to your rea#er than #oes the noun animal. But animal is sharper an# more meaningful than creature. .n the same way1 consi#er +ungalow versus house versus +uil#ing . . . starlet versus girl versus female . . . Colt versus revolver versus firearm . . . stea: versus meat versus foo#. The more specific you get1 the more vivi# you get. Jim =ova: #raws an even sharper picture than starlet> ten#erloin or chateau+rian# than stea:. B*ssuming1 that is1 that your rea#er :nows precisely what chateau+rian# means. .f he #oesn<t1 all your efforts have only confuse# the issue further . . . which 9ust might offer a lesson to those among us who woul# rather write hirsute than hairy1 collation than chow. -ow #o you #etermine a given rea#er<s #egree of un#erstan#ing? Despite en#less go++le#ygoo: a+out psychological testing1 mar:et analysis1 an# the li:e1 for most of us1 or#inarily1 the answer may very well +e summe# up in two principles: G%H &ou guess> an# G'H you hope. Beyon# that1 who really :nows? Sure1 you try to familiari@e yourself with the patterns an# attitu#es an# limitations of your rea#ers1 +ut that still #oesn<t mean that you can<t miss a mile. .<ve gotten away with Thorstein Ve+len references in a pulp #etective story1 an# .<ve +een shot #own for using the wor# clue in an a#ult e#ucation film> so you<ll par#on me1 . trust1 if . remain 9ust a wee +it #u+ious of #efinitive answers where this point is concerne#. But as ar: Twain once o+serve#1 the #ifference +etween the right wor# an# the almost right wor# is as the #ifference +etween lightning an# the lightning +ug. So #o strive for that right wor#F Broa#ly spea:ing1 the thing you nee# to avoi# is the general as contraste# with the particular Greptile creates a less vivi# image than #oes rattlerH> the vague as contraste# with the #efinite Gthem guys is less meaningful than those three hoo#s who hang out at Sammy<s poolroomH> an# the a+stract as contraste# with the concrete Gto say that something is re# tells me less than to state that it<s e7actly the color of the local fire truc:H. E+viously1 all this is a matter of #egree an#1 in many instances1 categories overlap. .f we want to generali@e a+out such generali@ations1 however1 we<re pro+a+ly safe in saying that a+straction1 especially1 offers ha@ar#s1 for it e7presses quality apart from o+9ect. Thus1 love is a noun #enoting a quality. But for most of us1 sai# quality e7ists meaningfully only when its o+9ect is consi#ere#. Iove means one thing when you spea: of how a patriot feels a+out his country . . . another1 if the issue is a young mother<s reaction to her +a+y . . . another1 if your su+9ect is a nun who :neels in prayer +efore the image of the Virgin ary . . . another1 if you listen to a shy high8

school +oy try to tell his girl frien# how he feels a+out her . . . another1 when #iscusse# +y the lantern8 9awe# prostitute sitting ne7t to you at a +ar. So1 tal: a+out the in#ivi#ual instance every timeF Which is to say . . . wor: with nouns that are specific an# #efinite an# concrete. Ene further o+servation: The singular of a noun is almost always stronger than the plural. Cattle Gplural1 please noteH may create an image of sorts as they mill restlessly. But for vivi# impression1 nail your picture #own to some in#ivi#ual animal1 at least in partBthe +ellow of a mossy8horne# ol# steer1 the pawing of a +ull1 a wall8eye# cow<s panic:e# lunge. The reason for this1 of course1 lies in the fact that every group is ma#e up of in#ivi#uals1 an# we really falsify the picture when we state that Cthe crow# roare#1C or Cthe mo+ surge# forwar#1C or even Cthe two women chattere# on an# on.C *n# while such summary may constitute a vali# an# useful ver+al shorthan#1 it #oesn<t give a truly accurate portrait. So much for nouns. =ow1 what a+out ver+s? The ones you want are the active onesBthe ver+s that show something happening. Wal: wi#e aroun# the othersF Specifically1 the ver+ to +e is wea:1 in all its shapes an# forms an# si@es. Why? Because it #escri+es e7istence onlyBa static state. &our story stan#s still in any sentence that hangs on such a ver+. =othing happens. The situation 9ust Cis1C an# for its #uration your rea#er must in effect mar: time1 shifting wearily from one foot to the other while he waits for the story to get +ac: un#er way. CShe was unhappyC may +e true enough> +ut where #oes it go? What<s CsheC #oing? What specific +ehavior reveals the unhappiness an# hints at reme#ial action to come? CSam was in the chairC states its case in even #rearier terms than CSam sat in the chair.C .ncorporate a +it of action into the picture1 an# impact sharpens: CSam slumpe# in the chair1C or <<Sam twiste# in the chair1<< or CSam rose from the chair1C or CSam shove# +ac: the chair.C To repeat: *ctive ver+s are what you nee# . . . ver+s that show something happening1 an# thus #raw your rea#er<s mental image more sharply into focus. $or a vivi#1 vital1 forwar#8moving story1 cut the to +e forms out of your copy every time you possi+ly can. CThe trooper was poun#ingC is never as strong as CThe trooper poun#e#.C *n# when you get #own to a really passive approach1 such as CThe ta+le was poun#e# upon +y the trooperCBwellF Worst of all to +e<s forms is the past perfect tense. &ou can recogni@e it +y the wor# ha#Ba re# flag of #anger in your story every time. $or ha# #escri+es not 9ust a static state1 +ut a static state in the past: C-e ha# travele# far that #ay.C C. never ha# reali@e# how much . love# her.C 2ach ha# ma:es your story 9er:1 +ecause it 9ars your rea#er out of present action an# throws him +ac: into past history. )erhaps the 9er: is only momentary1 as when a la@y writer stic:s in a +it of e7position: CDohn stare# at her. -e ha# always won#ere# why she too: the attitu#e she #i#. =ow1 she left him no choice +ut to force the issue.C -ere the 9er:1 the shift +ac:war#1 is har#ly noticea+le. But throw in enough such1 enough ha#s1 an#

your story grin#s to an aching1 qua:ing halt. $orwar# movement stops. &our rea#er fin#s himself +ogge# #own in history. This is the :iss of #eath. =o one can change what<s alrea#y happene#. To waste story time on it is1 at +est1 an irritation. What your rea#er wants is present actionBevents that have consequences for the future> characters shaping their own #estinies. .f he #oesn<t get this sense of forwar# movement1 he turns to another1 more s:illfully written yarn. But isn<t past history sometimes vital in #eveloping your story? Ef course. We<ll #iscuss how +est to han#le it when we #eal with flash+ac: techniques in Chapter ,. $or nowBget out your +lue pencil an# eliminate those ha#sF B*t least1 eliminate as many as possi+le1 within the +oun#s of common sense. Sure1 you<ll nee# some for legitimate purposes: as transitional wor#s to help you move in an# out of the aforementione# flash+ac: situations1 for e7ample. .n other cases1 however1 simple rephrasings will solve the pro+lem. Thus1 a few paragraphs ago1 we mentione# that one Dohn Cha# always won#ere#1C an# so on. &et the line woul# rea# +etterBan# cut the offen#ing ha#Bif we sai#1 CWhy #i# she ta:e the attitu#e she #i#? .t was time to get to the root of it.C .n general1 the tric: is to +ring the past forwar# into the present1 so that you #escri+e what happens in past tense instea# of past perfect. To that en#1 translate recollection into action1 or lin: the two tightly together. .f your heroine once ha# love# your hero1 ma:e that fact an issue in the here8an#8now: C-e hel# her shoul#ers rigi#. <Do you love me?< <&ou<re +eing ri#iculousF< <&ou use# to. *t least1 you sai# you #i#.< C Er perhaps: C-er eyes were still the same1 2# #eci#e#. -er eyes1 an# her mouth. CThoughtfully1 he won#ere# how she might react if he trie# to :iss her1 the way he #i# that long8gone night there +y the river.C * little practice on this :in# of thing wor:s won#ers. Try itF So much for ver+s. What else is there? )ronouns: wor#s that su+stitute for nounsBhe1 she1 it1 they1 we1 an# so on. What is there to say a+out them? Watch your antece#entsF That means1 +e sure that each pronoun refers +ac: to the right noun. CThis time1 the girl as:e# Dane to loan her a #ollar for lunch. Sighing1 she gave it to her.C Ii:e who gave what to whom? Er1 are you +ecoming as confuse# as . am? So much for pronouns. *#9ectives are wor#s that mo#ify nouns . . . help you to nail #own meaning more precisely. When you #escri+e# someone<s face as a Cgaunt1 hewn caricature1C the a#9ectives #ifferentiate it mar:e#ly from a chu++y face1 a sour face1 a +a+yish face1 or what have you. Same way1 +lon#e is a rather general category. &ou narrow it when you ma:e the gal a +rassy +lon#e1 or a raucous

+lon#e1 or a har#8face# +lon#e1 or a +lowsy +lon#e. -ow a+out a +rassy1 raucous1 har#8face#1 +lowsy +lon#e? &es1 you can run anything into the groun# if you really tryF So much for a#9ectives. *#ver+s? They mo#ify ver+s . . . #escri+e the manner in which an act is performe#: angrily1 wearily1 animate#ly1 gloomily1 #elighte#ly1 smilingly. .t #oes get a little tiresome1 #oesn<t it? !eme#y: Wherever practical1 su+stitute action for the a#ver+. C*ngrily1 she turne# on himC? Er1 C-er face stiffene#1 an# her han#s clenche# to small1 white8:nuc:le# fistsC? CWearily1 he sat #ownC? Er1 CWith a heavy sigh1 he slumpe# into the chair an# let his hea# loll +ac:1 eyes close#C? Vivi#ness outran:s +revity. *t least1 sometimes. So much for a#ver+s. To live through your story1 e7perience it1 your rea#er must capture it with his own senses. -e may see it more clearly if it +ears a percepti+le relationship to something he has e7perience# +efore. BThat is1 if it<s similar or in contrast to some phenomenon out of his own past. Comparison1 the +oo:s call it. etaphor. Simile. &ou use it when you refer to a hoo#lum as a Csham+ling gorilla of a man1C or to a #ancer as a Csprite1C or to a tan: as a Cmechani@e# avalanche of steel.C The surf on the +each may +e white an# thic: as cotton can#y> or cotton can#y as airy an# evanescent as surf on a sunny +each. "se# s:illfully1 it<s another e7cellent #evice to help ma:e your copy come alive. * matter of meaning What<s in a name? * goo# #eal more than Sha:espeare gave it cre#it for in his fame# remar: on roses1 apparently. 2lse why woul# -ollywoo# rechristen the Aertie Alut@es of this worl#1 prior to launching them into star#om? .n the same way1 there<s a goo# #eal more in any wor# than meets the eye. The issues involve# are somewhat less than simple1 as any semanticist will +e happy to e7plain to you in three or four +rief volumes. But for our purposes here1 we can get +y nicely with 9ust one :ey fact: )eople<s feelings come out in the wor#s they use. The way the e7perts #escri+e this is to say that the wor#s in question have +oth #enotation an# connotation. Denotation means the wor#<s CactualC or C#ictionaryC meaning. When1 in a##ition to this CactualC meaning1 a wor# implies or suggests something further1 the things it implies or suggests are its connotations. These connotative or implie# or associate# meanings frequently hol# overtones of approval or #isapproval> an# too often1 the overtones outweigh the wor#<s CactualC meaning. Ta:e a wor# li:e propagan#a. .n simplest terms1 it #enotes information1 put forth in a systematic effort to sprea# opinions or +eliefs. Thus1 whether it<s classe# as goo# or +a# shoul# #epen# on whether you agree or #isagree with the

opinions or +eliefs in question. But in practical terms1 an# on a grass8roots level1 the very wor# has acquire# connotations of falsehoo#1 #istortion1 #ishonesty1 an# misrepresentation. Consequently1 to la+el any material as Cpropagan#aC is to put a +lighting negative stamp on #ata an# cause ali:e. Stri:e1 stee#1 politician1 stu#ent1 E:ie1 sol#ier1 stenographerBthey<re 9ust wor#s1 apparently1 with reasona+ly clear8cut #enotations. But such are their connotationsBan# the connotations of thousan#s of other wor#s1 to +ootBin large segments of the population as to create a #istinct ha@ar# for the writer. $or if he fails to ta:e account of their implications1 their emotional overtones1 he can alienate a host of rea#ers without even +eing aware of what he<s #oing. Iet him #escri+e the wrong character as sullen or wanton or coarse or ineffectual or finic:y1 an# he may unwittingly #amn the man far worse than if he ha# calle# him a thief. So +ewareF )ay attention not 9ust to wor#s as wor#s1 +ut also to the feelings they mirror when people use them. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN Where #o scripts go wrong1 language8wise1 +eyon# the points alrea#y covere#? -ere . have no comprehensive answers1 let alone #ata that can +e classe# as #efinitive. But aw:war#ness #oes #evelop in certain special areas often enough to +e worth mentioning. Thus1 a. Sentence structure grows monotonous. +. Su+9ect an# ver+ are separate#. c. *#ver+s are place# improperly. #. Wor#s an# phrases are repeate# ina#vertently. e. Correct grammar +ecomes a fetish. f. eaning isn<t ma#e clear instantly.

There are more1 of course> too many more. But these will #o for a start. The solution to each pro+lem is largely a matter of common sense. Ta:e monotonous sentence structure1 for e7ample. .t #eman#s little genius to recogni@e that too many short sentences1 or long sentences1 or simple1 or comple71 or perio#ic1 or loose1 or what8have8you sentences are li:ely to grow tiresome. The answer1 o+viously1 is to intro#uce varietyBvariety of length1 form1 style1 an# so on any a tire# ol# #eclarative sentence G-e stal:e# off without a wor#H has +een given a lift via rearrangement of its elements GWithout a wor#1 he stal:e# offH . . . rephrasing GArim1 wor#less1 he stal:e# offH . . . a##ition of some +it of action G)ivoting1 he stal:e# offH . . . or of color G$ace a col# mas: of menace1 he etc.H1 or the li:e. En the other si#e of the fence1 +eware variety for variety<s own sa:e. The moment syntactical acro+atics attract attention to themselves1 they also #etract from your story> an# that<s a sure roa# to

#isaster. Why #o su+9ect an# ver+ +ecome separate#? y guess is that occasionally we all ten# to get tangle# up in the ma@e of our own thin:ing. -ow else can you account for some of the monstrosities you see in print? -ere<s an e7ample from a stu#ent manuscript: CThe girl1 in spite of her confusion an# the ha@ar# offere# +y the ra@or8e#ge# shar#s of glass from the shattere# win#ow1 somehow +ro:e free.C Airl is the su+9ect in the a+ove sentence> +ro:e the ver+. &et they<re separate# +y twenty wor#s of mo#ification1 an# the separation ren#ers the sentence #istracting an# confusing. .s the separation nee#e#? Er coul# our rea#er perhaps survive a #ifferent version: CConfusion seeme# to overwhelm her in that moment. The ra@or8e#ge# shar#s of glass from the shattere# win#ow offere# an a##e# ha@ar#. &et somehow1 the girl +ro:e free.C The lesson here is1 #on<t try to cram too much into one sentence> an# the issue lies less in length than it #oes in content. *ny time you feel the nee# to e7plain some aspect of your +asic sentence1 ta:e pause. E##s are that what<s +othering you really calls for an a##itional sentence or two or three1 so that you can :eep your #eveloping line of thought straight an# clear an# simple. .mproper placement of a#ver+s grows from a failure to un#erstan# placements effect on impact1 pro+a+ly. To get ma7imum effect1 put a#ver+s at the +eginning or en# of the sentence: C*ngrily1 he wal:e# away.C Er1 C-e wal:e# away angrily.C Though special cases may 9ustify C-e wal:e# angrily away1C or the li:e1 most often the effect of the mo#ifier upon the rea#er is lost. "nintentional repetition of wor#s or phrases is the pro#uct of careless copy8rea#ing. Thus1 in one line1 your hero Cmove# +lin#ly up the sagging staircase.C Three lines later1 CBlin#e# +y the leaping flames1C your heroine falls. Which is a natural enough mista:e1 +ut one that shoul# +e correcte# as a matter of routine. What a+out the occasions when you want repetition1 in or#er to achieve a particular effect? Three<s the charm1 as the ol# fol:8saying has it. .f the same wor# appears twice1 it loo:s li:e an acci#ent. But the thir# time Gan# after1 if you #on<t carry the #evice to a+sur#ityH your rea#er assumes it<s intentional an# for a reason: C.t was a #ay for color. =ot 9ust one color1 +ut many. The color of San#ra<s lips. The color of 2#<s worn +la@er. The color of sea an# san# an# s:y.C Arammar as a fetish? To :eep rules in proper perspective1 violate them +y #esign only. That is1 ma:e them tools for manipulation of your rea#er<s emotions. .f that ta:es sentence fragments1 non8punctuation1 stream8of8consciousness1 an# one8wor# paragraphs1 +y all means use them. Winston Churchill +la@e# the trail for all of us when he spo:e his min# to the purists who insiste# that no sentence en# with a preposition: CThis is one rule up with which . shall not putFC So1 #eviate if you must. But #o it with malice an# +y intent1 not acci#ent. *n#1 most of the time1 stay within the rules. &our rea#ers will feel more at home that wayF Eur si7th an# final point is all8encompassing1 of course.

.t<s also the most important of the lot: eaning must +e ma#e instantly clear. .f your rea#er has to rea# a sentence twice to ma:e sense of it1 you<re in #eep trou+le. . can<t overemphasi@e this point. Eh so many woul#8+e writers #enounce the stupi#ity of rea#ers who won<t or can<t un#erstan#. But what #o all the screams accomplish? Stupi# or not1 the rea#er still gropes an# fum+les an#1 finally1 gives up1 unless the i#ea gets through. That incre#i+le1 pompous1 egocentric gem from the pen of a CliteraryC novelist1 C. write. Iet the rea#er learn to rea#1C woul# +e funny1 were it not so ri#iculous as to +e tragic. To refuse to write so that a mass au#ience can un#erstan# you1 an# then rage +ecause that same au#ience re9ects you1 is a+out on a par with insisting that gra#e8school youngsters learn their *BC<s from college physics te7ts. ost professionals accept it as their 9o+ to #evise ways to communicate with their rea#ers1 regar#less of sai# rea#ers< level. *fter all1 if you feel too superior1 you can always go hunt a #ifferent mar:etF MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN *n# so it goes with wor#s an# language. They<re tools. *ll your writing life1 you wor: with them . . . using them to tie your rea#er to your story. This +oo: will touch on wor#s an# the use of wor#s a hun#re# times1 in a hun#re# #ifferent conte7ts. *n# it still won<t say one one8hun#re#th of what nee#s to +e sai#. But for now1 let<s assume that you<re properly impresse# with wor#s< significance1 an# therefore stan# rea#y to move on to a relate# +ut somewhat more involve# aspect of the su+9ect . . . the application of language to the manipulation of rea#er feelings. .s that important? . won<t :i# you. .t<s the foun#ation stone on which you as a writer stan# or fall. Top )ost +y -enry L We# ay %51 '6%6 /:%( pm )lain $acts a+out $eelings Chapter ( * story is a succession of motivations an# reactions. The prece#ing chapter tells you how to communicate with your rea#ers. With wor#s. What shoul# you as a fiction writer communicate? $eelings. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN $eeling is a thing you +uil# through manipulation of motivation an# reaction. To han#le it properly is a matter at once +oth simple an# comple7. -ow an# why intermesh. )ro+lems arise that involve orientation1 psychology1 chronology1 proce#ure. Ence you<re ma#e aware of +asic principles1 however1 application +ecomes well8nigh instinctive: easy

an# natural as +reathing. The :ey is to un#erstan# completely where each an# every step fits in. What are these steps? %. &ou #eci#e what<s goo# an# what<s +a#. '. &ou give your rea#er a character for a compass. (. &ou create a story worl#. ,. &ou in9ect an element of change. /. &ou #raw motive power from cause an# effect. 0. &ou pin #own #evelopment to motivation an# reaction. 3. &ou ma:e motivation8reaction units shape emotion. 4. &ou measure copy length with tension.

5. &ou learn to write in

8! units. -ere we goF

-ow to tell goo# from +a# -ow #o you #eci#e whether a thing is goo# or +a#? B2verything is goo# an#;or +a#1 you :now1 in varying #egrees an# #epen#ing on circumstances. Ta:e a rainstorm1 for instance. .s it goo# or +a#? -ow a+out a +om+ing rai#? * stri:e? * se#uction? * #ivorce? * marriage? * cigarette? * chocolate +ar? * 9o+? =ow it #oesn<t matter whether you<re living with the a+ove8mentione# phenomena1 or merely writing a+out them. .n either case1 +efore you can answer any queries intelligently1 you nee# two things: a. The specific instance. +. * yar#stic:. Thus1 in the case of our rainstorm1 we must consi#er such items as how much rain1 how severe a storm1 where1 when1 an# so on. Specifics all. *##e# together1 they constitute the specific instance. 2very story #eals with a specific instance: this girl1 that +oy1 the mur#er #own the +loc:1 ol# rs. artin<s #eath1 the wife8swapping of those couples out on Iittle !iver. * story that attempts to stay at the level of generality is +oth impossi+le an# a self8contra#iction.

But no matter how specific you get> no matter how tightly you nail your topic #own1 the #ata have no meaning until you fin# a yar#stic:Ba stan#ar# +y which to measure an#1 a+ove all1 evaluate them. Because we<re men1 humans1 we consi#er each phenomenon that touches us in terms of its imme#iate an#;or ultimate effect on man. Epinion as to what constitutes man<s welfare varies mar:e#ly from time to time an# place to place1 however. St. *ugustine hews to one line1 *#olf -itler to another. *n# as for =orman ailerBF .n the case of our rainstorm1 are we to view it through the eyes an# feelings of carnival owner or farmer? )ower8company trou+le8shooter or um+rella salesman? -ousewife8with8a8+atch8of8clean8 clothes8to8hang8out1 or housewife8loo:ing8for8an8e7cuse8not8to8wash8to#ay? The issue is never the event itself> never what happens. * thing matters only insofar as it relates to an# affects an# is 9u#ge# +y people. eaning an# significance are virtual synonyms in this conte7t. We #eci#e how significant a thing is +y the way a particular some+o#y +ehaves when face# with a specific instance. .n other wor#s1 a thing isn<t 9ust significant. .t<s significant to some+o#y. =e7t question: Which some+o#y? ost of us #raw our conclusions a+out the goo#1 the true1 an# the +eautiful accor#ing to how the specific event involve# affects our in#ivi#ual situation. The +om+ing rai# is rate# +y whether we or our enemies are on the receiving en#. The stri:e1 +y our personal attitu#es towar# unions. . view se#uction one way if .<m the se#ucer1 another1 if it<s my sister or wife or #aughter who<s se#uce#. Chocolate +ars are goo#1 if .<m hungry> +a#1 if .<m trying to re#uce> an# so on. Thus1 all value 9u#gments are1 in the last analysis1 highly personal. We can never +e sure where the in#ivi#ual stan#s until we chec: him out in #etail. BWhich last may not prove the easiest tas: in the worl#1 inci#entally1 as witness government<s perio#ic failures in security screening. The secret thought walle# up within the human min# still stan#s well8nigh impregna+le against e7ternal onslaughts. But if the in#ivi#ual is the yar#stic:1 how #oes he ma:e his evaluations? Does he go +y intelligence an# logic? Well1 har#ly. . may marry +ecause a girl #ances li:e a #ream . . . #ivorce +ecause her snoring gives me nightmares . . . ta:e or quit a 9o+ on no +etter groun#s than the company<s coffee8+rea: policy . . . an# smo:e up a storm in the face of tons of research fin#ings an# the #ire pre#ictions of my physician. So1 again1 how #oes the .n#ivi#ual ma:e his value 9u#gments? -e respon#s to facts with feelings. What is a fact? * fact is #ata upon the interpretation of which we Gor a consi#era+le num+er of us1 at leastH agree. .t<s a consensus of opinion: The worl# is roun#1 the "nite# States has '6616661666 population1 certain #isor#ers of the pancreas result in #ia+etes1 sirloin stea: or#inarily proves more ten#er than roun#. What is a feeling? * feeling is private interpretation of #ata. .t<s a man<s uniquely personal an# in#ivi#ual response to his worl#: . love this woman1 . pity that #og1 . hate hot cereals1 .<m sa# or happy or confuse#. ost often welling un+i##en1 without +enefit of intellect or logic1 it<s a su+9ective awareness of the e++ an# flow of inner tensions1 e7pressing itself in a reaction.

<<!eaction<< is convenient ver+al shorthan# for C. #esire to +ehave in a particular way.C B. may not act1 you un#erstan#. But the impulse is with me. .f1 magically1 all my restraints an# inhi+itions were to vanish1 .<# em+race the woman1 soothe the #og1 throw out the cereal1 weep or laugh or throw a temper tantrum. Behavior1 in turn1 sel#om stan#s neutral. .t confirms or #enies1 moves you forwar# or +ac:. *ll reactions1 all feelings1 +oil #own to CThis is goo#1C or CThis is +a#.C &ou li:e peach pie1 or you #isli:e it. &ou<re please# with your new office1 or #isplease#. &ou en9oy parties1 or they ma:e you uncomforta+le. $acts e7ist in#epen#ently1 outsi#e people. But they have meaning an#;or significance only as we have feelings a+out them> react to them. Seven inches of rain in a night is a fact1 so long as you merely see an item a+out it in the paper. Iet it wash through your living room an# ruin two thousan# #ollars< worth of furnishings1 an# it ta:es on true meaning an# significance for you. $or significance1 remem+er1 starts within the in#ivi#ual1 in feeling. Beauty still rests in the eye of the +ehol#er. 2vil is a thing that lur:s in the hearts of men. Things #on<t have feelings. 2vents #on<t. )laces #on<t. But people #o. *n# things an# events an# places can create feelings in people . . . trigger an ama@ing range of in#ivi#ual reactions. Iet a harmless ma:e slither across a roomB even in circumstances which ma:e it impossi+le for the sna:e to +e #angerous Ban# someone screams. Does he scream at the sna:e? =o. -e screams at his own feelings. .n the same way1 we C:nowC that most +al#ness is incura+le1 that aspirin is aspirin1 that no soap will ma:e an ugly woman +eautiful. But we go right on spen#ing fortunes annually for +al#ness cures an# +ran#8name aspirin an# +eauty soaps. .n#ee#1 in the largest sense1 all o+9ectivity is an outrageous myth. To assume that finite min#s can successfully catalog the infinite is in itself presumptuous1 an# in#icative of infinite ego. Eur whole pattern of life #emonstrates how tightly we<re shac:le# to the limitations of our species> how closely confine# +y our very humanness. Boy turns to girl instinctively. We tal: of communicating with e7traterrestrial +eings when we can<t even converse meaningfully with a chimpan@ee. The scientist ta:es it for grante# that human life is more important than that of the la+oratory animals he uses in his research. What #oes all this say? erely that each of us has an orientation to the worl# . . . a +uilt8in polarity1 an emotional compass. Though we +ow #own +efore that useful tool1 the concept of o+9ectivity1 most of the time our feelings still tell us which man to trust1 which girl to marry> the car to +uy1 the price to pay1 the faith to +elieve in1 the can#i#ate to vote for. "n#erstan#1 these feelings of ours may tell us wrong as well as right1 as any woman :nows when her hus+an# first glimpses her new twenty8#ollar hat. They offer no guarantee of intelligence or morality or taste. But they #o at least give us an intimately personal gui#e1 a stan#ar#. Ta:e away a man<s feelings1 +y lo+otomy or otherwise1 an# he<s re#uce# to a human vegeta+le. )ersua#e him to mistrust those same feelingsBvia an o+9ectivist e#ucation1 perhapsBan# he +o+s li:e a chip on the sea of life: #rifting1 aimless1 without force or focus. $or as we earlier implie#1 each of us is +y nature an egocentric sun aroun# which a private worl# revolves. . :now where . stan#1 so everything else falls into place +ecause it<s in a set relation to me. .n fact1 that<s the way it shoul# +e1 unless we stan# rea#y to give up all sense of purpose an# #irection.

Which +rings us1 ne7t1 to the matter of what +earing all this has on your story. The focal character: your rea#er<s compass -ow #o you ma:e rea#ers care a+out what happens in your story? BThey must care1 you :now. Etherwise1 they won<t rea#F So1 how #o you ma:e them care? &ou give them a sta:e in what happens. &ou put them in a position where they stan# to win or lose1 emotionally. To that en#1 you center your story on a character who stan#s to win or lose also1 so that your rea#ers can feel for him or against him. * story recounts events. But those events can<t or won<t stan# alone. They nee# to +e e7plaine#1 interprete#1 evaluate#1 ma#e meaningful. *+ove all1 they must +e translate# into feeling. What that means is that a story is essentially su+9ective1 not o+9ective. Consequently1 it nee#s to +e as strongly oriente# as a person. What is orientation? Eriginally1 to orient meant to cause to face the east1 as in +uil#ing a church so that its altar stoo# at the east en#. Iater1 the term was +roa#ene# to inclu#e any activity which ma#e clear to some+o#y what his proper relationship was to a given situation. Thus1 to orient means to point some+o#y in the right #irection. .n story1 that some+o#y is the rea#er. CTo give the rea#er an e7perience is only a part1 not the whole1 of the writer<s function1C o+serves critic 2#mun# $uller. C.t is giving us evaluate# e7perience that #istinguishes the great or the goo# writer1 whether the evaluation +e spelle# out specifically1 or whether it is tacit in the total conte7t of characters1 actions1 an# con#itions that he sets +efore us to represent his worl#. G.t is always the writer<s worl# that we enter in artBnever the o+9ective worl#.HC But though this evaluation of e7perience is the writer<s tas:1 an# though it is the writer<s worl# the rea#er enters1 there are all sorts of opportunities for confusion. Too often1 the writer falls into the trap of writing a+out thingsBa+out se71 a+out violence1 a+out scenery1 a+out war1 a+out #omestic +liss or #iscor#. -istorical fact or clinical #etail overwhelm him. The implications an# evaluations1 tacit in his thin:ing1 never quite reach the rea#er. .n +rief1 although his wor: may on the face of it +e cast rigi#ly in story form1 it isn<t actually fiction. $or a story is never really a+out anything. *lways it concerns1 instea#1 someone<s reactions to what happens: his feelings> his emotions> his impulses> his #reams> his am+itions> his clashing #rives an# inner conflicts. The e7ternal serves only to +ring them into focus. Er1 as the ol# rule8of8thum+ has it1 C2very story is some+o#y<s story.C

So1 enter an in#ivi#ual who1 for our purposes1 shall +e terme# the focal character. This figure is precisely what his title in#icates: the person on whom the spotlight focuses> the center of attention> the man whose reactions #ominate the screen. The focal character has three main functions: a. To provi#e continuity. +. To give meaning. c. To create feeling. What a+out continuity? Aiven half a chance1 events in a story ten# to hang in space1 li:e so many screams in the night. The focal character is a continuing factor to lin: them into a cohesive whole an# tie them to past an# future1 even though the action moves from '666 B.C. to *.D. '6661 from =ew &or: to San $rancisco1 an# from music hall to morgue. Eur attention is on him an# his reactions1 first an# foremost1 so everything else falls into place. -e also gives meaning an# significance to whatever happens.B eaning1 remem+er1 is always a conclusion you an# . #raw a+out something from the way a particular some+o#y +ehaves when face# with a specific instance. .f that some+o#y is our focal character1 an# if he lets go a scream of horror or a gurgle of #elight at the sight of the crown 9ewels or tomorrow<s hea#lines or a hot8pastrami san#wich1 then we have groun#s for assuming that something a+out the item in question is uniquely significant to him. Therefore1 until something happens to change our min#s1 well #eal with such fragments with the same #egree of attention or consi#eration he shows . . . use them to measure an# 9u#ge all the story<s #imensions. *s a rea#er1 thus1 my attitu#e towar# the rainstorm we cite# earlier will +e #etermine# +y whether the rain helps or han#icaps the focal character. Whether a setting is colorful or #ra+ . . . whether an inci#ent is important or inconsequential . . . whether another character is goo# or +a#Beach point will +e 9u#ge# an# interprete# with the focal character<s reactions as a gui#e. *t the same time1 your rea#er 9u#ges an# interprets the focal character himself. .t<s in this 9u#ging of the focal character that we enter the area of sai# focal character<s thir# function . . . the creation of feelings. What :in# of feelings? $avora+le feelings or unfavora+le feelings. $eelings for or feelings against. .t<s impossi+le to e7aggerate the importance of these feelings. The +iggest single reason that a focal character e7ists is to evo:e them. Why? Because your rea#er nee#s someone on whom to pass 9u#gment. .t wor:s this way: Sneering1 our focal character pours a glass of +eer over the hea# of the saloon<s cripple# swamper1 a harm. less1 helpless1 half8+right type. .nstantly1 without volition1 your rea#er +ristles with feelings of hostility an# outrage. Er again: * mur#erous +ully threatens our unarme# focal character with instant #eath unless he pours

the +eer over the swamper. .nstea#1 the focal character throws the +eer into the +ully<s face. Ii:e magic1 your rea#er<s heart hammers with a #ifferent :in# of feeling. 27citement races through him an# he rea#s on eagerly1 thrilling to the stiff8nec:e# courage lai# out +efore him on

the page. "nconsciouslyBperhaps in spite of himselfBhe passes 9u#gment on the focal character1 9ust as he #i# +efore. Why #oes your rea#er 9u#ge the focal character? Because he can<t help #oing it> can<t restrain himself. Convictions1 feelings1 are part of himBhis most inner +eing. When he +umps into the right stimulus1 they come +oiling forth1 reaffirming their own e7istence in heightene# tension an# spee#e# pulse. .f your rea#er #oesn<t 9u#ge1 count on it that the focal character is too +lan# an# innocuous an# uncommitte# to +e worth writing a+out. Without some character of whom he can approve or #isapprove1 in varying #egree1 your rea#er will have no stimulus to feeling. Without feeling1 he wont care what happens in your story. .f he #oesn<t care1 he stops rea#ing. *n# you<re #ea#. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN 2ven while your rea#er 9u#ges1 however1 his feelings merge with those of the focal character. That is1 he lives through the story with him. CWhen you un#erstan# the feelings of one of the characters in the moving picture1C says psychiatrist Davi# $in:1 Cyou are copying his tensions. &ou are feeling in yourself something of what he feels in the fictional situation. &ou are un#erstan#ing the story with your own muscle tensions an# with the spasms of your intestines an# with your own glan#ular secretions. Without these reactions1 the show woul# have no meaning. Without these reactions1 nothing in life woul# have meaning.C So1 your rea#er<s feelings a+out your focal character1 plus the focal character<s own feelings as communicate# to sai# rea#er1 unite to +ring the story itself to life. Together1 they provi#e the sense of purpose an# #irection that a goo# story nee#s. Without a focal character1 your rea#er is in the position of a city +oy plun:e# #own in the mi##le of some mountain fastness in +ac:woo#s Colora#o or ontana. -e<s completely free to travel1 +ut he #oesn<t :now which way to go. The +oy is1 in a wor#1 #isoriente#. "ntil he fin#s a lan#mar:1 or a tree to clim+1 or a compass to point him north1 or a stream or an .n#ian gui#e to follow1 he<s in #eep

trou+le. Dou+le that in spa#es for your poor rea#er. -e stan#s confronte# +y a story worl# fully as +affling to him as are the !oc:ies to the ten#erfoot. )eople move through this story worl#. 2vents transpire. Situation an# scenery change. &et somehow1 it remains #ra+ an# empty to your rea#er1 without significance or e7citement1 +ecause he has no home +ase from which to 9u#ge it. -e simply #oesn<t :now where he stan#s. What he nee#s is merely a light in the win#ow to gui#e himBa contemporary version of those ol# -ollywoo# story8 conference cliches1 CWhich is our +all team?C an# CWho #o we cheer for?C -e nee#s1 in#ee#1 a focal character whose actions reveal to him which en# of the gun he<s on . . . whether he<s cat or mouse1 wife or other woman1 winning or losing coach1 goo# guy or +a#. Does this mean that the term Cfocal characterC is a synonym for CheroC? =ot unless Sammy Alic: is a hero in Bu## Schul+erg<s What a:es Sammy !un. Er Dracula. Er 2lmer Aantry. Thing is1 CheroC has come to have connotations of the positive an# #esira+le in our thin:ing. * focal character may prove the opposite1 yet still intrigue us even as we loathe him. Therefore1 he mayBor#inarily willB+e the hero. But not always. *re Cfocal characterC an# Cviewpoint characterC the same? * viewpoint character is someone through whose eyes we see all or part of a story. .n effect1 we get insi#e his s:in. -e is not necessarily the person aroun# whom the yarn revolves1 however. Sherloc: -olmes is a focal character> the viewpoint is Watson<s. .n Dashiell -ammett<s The the viewpoint1 altese $alcon1 Sam Spa#e is the focal character . . .

ac+eth. Er

author8o+9ective. En the other han#1 $rancis Villon is +oth focal character an# viewpoint character in !o+ert Iouis Stevenson<s * Io#ging for the =ight. Same for ar: Twain<s -uc:le+erry $inn1 Walter -uff in Dames . Cain<s Dou+le .n#emnity1 ic:ey Spillane<s i:e -ammer1 an# an infinity of others.

So1 a focal character may +e a viewpoint character> +ut then again1 he may not. But #efinitely1 he will +e the central an# most important character1 +ecause he<s the one who #etermines your rea#er<s orientation.

.sn<t it possi+le to write a story without a focal character? Ef course it is. But the penalties frequently are much the same as might #escen# upon our city +oy if we were to give him a gimmic:e# compass1 whose nee#le points in one #irection one moment1 in another the ne7t. The lac: of a strong central figure to cheer for or throw roc:s at ta:es the steam out of the story. Direction1 continuity1 an# perspective all ten# to #isintegrate. .n William arch<s Company J1 for e7ample1 each chapter is from the first8person viewpoint of a #ifferent mem+er of a Worl# War . infantry unit. The writing is superior1 in#ivi#ual episo#es hol# consi#era+le interest1 an# the author eliminates possi+le confusion in a#vance +y e7plaining the whys an# wherefores of his proce#ure in the opening episo#e. But the unity a focal character woul# give 9ust isn<t there. The +oo: en#s up as a series of s:etches rather than a novel. The all8encompassing montage of war the author attempts is re#uce# to a +lur +y sheer #iffuseness. -ow #o you present a focal character most effectively1 so that ma7imum meaning an# feeling are conveye#? *n intriguing question. To answer it1 we first nee# to give attention to that fascinating microcosm which we term . . . The story worl# &ou nee# to remem+er three :ey points a+out the worl# in which your story ta:es place: a. &our rea#er has never +een there. +. .t<s a sensory worl#. c. .t<s a su+9ective worl#. 2ach of these items is of quite crucial importance. To +uil# a story worl# is to play Ao# in a sort of private Aenesis. &ou can un#erstan# the issues +est if you consi#er them as they relate to the worl# of realityBthe worl# in which you an# your rea#ers move from #ay to #ay. Thus1 our own worl# is a vast1 echoing1 #rafty place1 in which it<s easy to get lost. =o matter how much you travel1 there always are new corners to e7plore . . . o## alleyways you haven<t seen +efore. 2qually1 you #are assume little a+out your rea#er<s +ac:groun#. -e may not +e familiar with the 9ungles of ount Jenya1 or the rush of commerce along Singapore<s !affles )lace1 or Chicago<s South State Street in those +loc:s slea@y with #ecay1 or even the garish tastelessness or slic: contemporary note struc: +y the living room of the house ne7t #oor. So1 the only course is to paint each setting +efore sai# rea#er<s very eyes1 in full color an# sufficientBnot to mention pertinentB#etail to +ring it completely alive for him. =e7t question: -ow #o you +ring a setting to life?

The answer1 of course1 lies in the human animal himself. -is worl# is a sensory worl#Ba worl# of green grass an# white houses . . . purring :ittens an# thun#ering truc:s . . . Chanel =o. / an# curling woo# smo:e . . . fresh col# orange 9uice an# hot crisp +acon . . . sil:<s rich smoothness an# the harsh grit of volcanic ash. So1 you +uil# your story worl# of these same sensory impressionsBthe seen1 the hear#1 the smelle#1 the touche#1 the taste#. 2mphasis is on the vivi# image an# the impactful figure of speech. Then1 with analogies1 you lin: it all to the familiar1 even if it costs you an e7tra wor# or two or three. .t will +e worth it. Someone who<s never smelle# the lunar pits now may come to reali@e that they have a parallel in the acri#1 sulfurous1 flaming smo:e that +elches from the shaft of an e7plo#ing mine. $inally1 an# perhaps most important of all1 you consi#er the frame of reference in which this worl# e7ists. -ere is where you relate all that has gone +efore to your reference point1 your focal character. &ou #o this +y presenting your material su+9ectively1 as your focal character receives it. Why? Because each of us1 on the +asis of his goals an# attitu#es an# past e7periences1 reacts to his environment in his own unique an# private way. The manner in which . see things #epen#s as much or more on my own moo# as it #oes on the e7ternal stimulusBthe place or person or event. Ene man shu##ers at slum #irt> another +ristles at the sullen hostility that perva#es each grime8staine#1 gutter8stin:ing #oor front> another rela7es1 unaware of filth or fear1 +ecause here he<s at home in his own worl#. The wor#s a writer uses to #escri+e a setting must mirror such feelings. &our very phrases #istinguish a thing you li:e from one you #isli:e1 all efforts at o+9ectivity notwithstan#ing. *n# so you +uil# your story worl#Ba moo#y1 su+9ective +ailiwic:1 +rought to life so vivi#ly with sensory images that each an# every rea#er automatically fin#s himself transporte# there1 no matter how limite# his e7perience. But #on<t rela71 even then. &our 9o+ is 9ust +eginning. $or the story worl#1 far from +eing static1 is an ever8changing place. Story equals change . . . * story recor#s change. .t sets forth the #etails of how your focal character moves from one state of affairs an# state of min# to another. Ta:e the typical mystery. .t +egins with your hero somehow plunge# into 9eopar#y via mur#er. .t en#s when he +rings the :iller to 9ustice an#1 in so #oing1 eliminates the peril. Between those two points is movementBa #uality of movement1 in point of fact. 27ternal1 physical movement carries -ero through assorte# clashes with Villain1 until one or the other is #efeate#. )arallel with this runs a threa# of internal emotional movement. ost often1 it<s presente# introspectivelyBat least in part in thoughts or feelings. Sometimes1 however1 it<s merely implie#1 or #emonstrate# in physical terms. This internal movement reveals the continually fluctuating levels of tension that e##y through -ero in the course of the e7ternal struggle. Too1 here are the categories of reactive feelingBsuch items as shoc:

an# grief an# rage an# panic an# grim resolve1 an# a host of others so comple7 that they really can<t +e la+ele#. * love story? We +egin with +oy wants girl> we en# with +oy gets girl. Between lie an infinity of possi+le physical complications1 with emotional turmoil to match. *n# so it goes. .n fantasy1 heroine +ecomes witch> in science fiction1 spaceman +attles monster> in #omestic romance1 wife improves hus+an#> in western1 marshal cleans up town> in +usiness novel1 e7ecutive wins top post. .n each an# every case1 however1 one thing stan#s out: Some+o#y #oes something. The situation1 the state of affairs1 at the en# of a successful story is not the same as it was at the +eginning. *n# neither is the focal character<s state of min#. .n greater or lesser #egree1 he<s revise# his evaluations1 his attitu#es1 his i#eas of who is goo# an# what is +a# an# how to #eal with specific :in#s of trou+le. -is future is #ifferent than it woul# have +een ha# the story not ta:en place. .f nothing else1 he<s relieve# of uncertainty as to 9ust how his pro+lem will wor: outF Why is this factor of change so vital? The answer lies in your rea#er<s attention span. Bore#om attac:s in secon#s when no new stimulusB for which rea#1 <<change<<Bimpinges on him. .f you want proof1 see how longBor1 rather1 how +riefly Byou can force yourself to concentrate fully on a given o+9ect or fi7e# point. There<s no story in a static situation. * still life will never hol# your rea#er. Wor# photography isn<t enough. But change alone isn<t enough either1 if your goal is a successful story. What you see: isn<t action for its own sa:e1 +ut those specific changes that affect story #evelopment. The things that happen must move your character along towar# his goal1 closer an# closer to the place you want him to go. Concretely1 you want e7ternal #evelopments that will lea# him to feelBan# therefore +ehaveBin a constructive manner where the story pro+lem is concerne#. Shall we contrast this with much of the go++le#ygoo: that passes for complication in +eginners< stories? B*t #inner one evening. -ero or#ers stea:. But the waiter warns him against it . . . persua#es him to try oysters instea#. *fter rating them1 -ero feels a +it queasy. Eysters1 he #eci#es1 always seem to upset his stomach. -e<ll avoi# them in the future. =ow1 you #o have change here. There<s a switch +oth in the hero<s state of affairs Gan e7ternal force1 the waiter1 lea#s him to change his original or#er for stea:H an# in his state of min# Gfeeling illish1 he #eci#es not to eat oysters againH. But unless his queasiness an#;or his #ecision not to eat any more oysters have mar:e# +earing on the rest of the story1 you<ve merely waste# time1 space1 an# effort. En the other han#1 suppose a love8story hero #rops +y to surprise his sweetheart. -e #oes in#ee#Bshe<s in the arms of another man. Sha:en1 -ero tells her off1 or punches his rival<s nose1 or #eci#es to go call argie1 or leaves town in a +lin# rage1 cursing the fic:leness of all women. -ave changes ta:en place? &es. Do they affect the rest of the storyBits #evelopment1 its outcome? &es. .s your focal character<s state of min# change# +y it? .n#ee# it is1 even if only in terms of never again ta:ing too much for grante#. Does this mean you must eliminate all your pet fragments1 on groun#s that they contri+ute too little? En the contrary. The issue1 ever an# always1 is to ma:e them important to the #evelopment of your story. .f you want a +rilliant e7ample of what .<m tal:ing a+out1 get hol# of a copy of Clifton *#ams< The Dangerous Days of Jiowa Dones an# rea# Chapter ,. .t concerns a sunset. Aenerations of e#itors have screame# imprecations at writers who #ragge# in lengthy #escriptions of such natural phenomena. =ow1 here<s a sunset that occupies the +etter part of a chapter. &et everyone loves it. Why? Because Br<er *#ams1 a s:ille# han# an# then some1 has motivate# its inclusion> has ma#e it a matter of

vital importance to his hero> has centere# a life8an#8#eath struggle on it. *n# there1 in a nutshell1 is the whole issue involve# in the #uality of story movement. 27ternal events have no meaning in themselves1 no matter how +lan# or how violent they may +e. Their inclusion or e7clusion per se is completely inconsequential. They ai# in story #evelopment only as someone has feelings a+out them an# reacts to them. Therefore1 we must have change in +oth the e7ternal worl#1 your focal character<s state of affairs1 an# his internal worl#1 his state of min#. =either can stan# without the other. Enly as they interact1 meshing li:e finely toole# gears1 will your story roll forwar#. )recisely how #oes this interplay1 this #ual movement1 ta:e place? That<s a question that calls for more #etaile# analysis of the patterns of causation that rule the story worl#. . . . equals cause an# effect . . . There<s a story a+out a Chinese who sought to #ivorce his wife for infi#elity when she gave +irth to a chil# with o+viously Caucasian features. The 9u#ge grante# the #ecree . . . on groun#s that two Wongs #on<t ma:e a white. Er consi#er the light switch. &ou flip it. * lamp comes on1 an# all<s right with the worl#. .n the same way1 you pull the trigger1 an# your gun fires. &ou put a coin in a slot> a can#y +ar comes #own the chute. &ou overeat> your weight goes up. We e7pect things to procee# in an accustome# fashion1 a fashion that ma:es sense to us. When they #on<t1 we<re upset. .f you ta:e out a cigarette an# it starts to smo:e you1 you have a right to +e surprise#. CScience is +ase# upon the +elief that the universe is relia+le in its operation1C says scientist an# science writer *nthony Stan#en. )eople li:e the i#ea that there<s a reason +ehin# everything that happens . . . a cause for every effect1 as we so gli+ly put it. .t gives us a sense of security> a nice1 ti#y feeling that everything is in or#er an# that we<re in control so far as un#erstan#ing is concerne#1 even if not physically. So1 in i#le conversationBan# sometimes1 unfortunately1 even in that not so i#leBwe act as if cause an# effect lin: together at a one8to8one ratio. 2ach cause1 we imply1 +rings a+out a single effect. 2ach effect results from a single cause. *ctually1 our worl# sel#om operates quite this simply or neatly. The situations with which reality presents us more often than not prove nightmarishly comple7. When a traffic patrolman ma:es out an acci#ent report1 he chec:s items ranging from type of pavement to weather1 from presence or a+sence of stop signs to time of #ay1 from spee# of vehicle to alcoholic content of #rivers. Similarly1 an ulcer may +e #escri+e# as the result of too much hy#rochloric aci# in the stomachB+ut 9ust why is that e7cess aci# there? Tell a psychiatrist that you slugge# your wife +ecause she +ought a new min: coat1 an# he<ll have a fiel# #ay lecturing you on #isplacement1 represse# hostilities1 an# veile# aggressions. =ow most of us reali@e all this1 of course. The weir# chains of reasoning set up in TV hea#ache8ta+let commercials intrigue us an# whet our curiosity far more than they convince us. But we lac: time or energy to #e+ate the logic of the casual. .t<s easier to stic: with our fictions an# stereotypes an# oversimplifications1 that<s allB9ust as in other #ays it was easier to ta:e it for grante# that you<# sail off the e#ge of the worl# if you cruise# too far1 or that the cows ha# gone #ry +ecause the ol# witch8 woman #own the roa# ha# he7e# them1 or that the sun was really *pollo #riving a gol#en chariot across the s:y. $urther1 these same fictions an# stereotypes an# oversimplifications are perfectly legitimate as tools for living. )erhaps it isn<t entirely correct to say that cars cause smog1 or poverty causes crime1 or carelessness causes acci#ents. But the comple7 is li:e e#usa. .t can paraly@e us. Sometimes we 9ust can<t wait for all the evi#ence to come in +efore we act. 2ven a wrong assumption may gui#e us

a#equately until "ltimate Truth reveals itself. So we tal:1 however loosely1 in terms of cause an# effect. -ow #oes this cause8effect pattern relate to change? Change means simply that something happensBa woman +ursts into tears1 a plane e7plo#es in mi#8air1 the cover comes off a +oo:1 it rains this particular afternoon. .t<s an event in a vacuum1 as it were1 presently unlin:e# to anything +efore or after. When we tal: a+out cause an# effect1 on the other han#1 we aren<t 9ust saying that something happensB +ut that it happens +ecause something else happene# previously> that in consequence of 2vent =um+er %1 2vent =um+er ' comes to pass. * useful concept1 all in all. .t helps give meaning to our worl#. But +efore we can get ma7imum mileage from it1 for story purposes1 we must carry it 9ust a +it further1 so that we un#erstan# it as it applies to people. . . . equals motivation an# reaction Scene: a schoolroom. * tac:1 point up1 rests on the teacher<s chair. She sits #own1 then a+ruptly rises with a cry of anguish. -ere illustrate# we have a speciali@e# type of cause8effect pattern which we term motivation8reaction. .t is cause an# effect applie# to people. Cause +ecomes motivating stimulus . . . effect1 character reaction. What is a motivating stimulus? *nything outsi#e your focal character to which he reacts. What is a character reaction? *nything your focal character #oes in consequence of the motivating stimuli that impinge upon him. ore specifically? * character may react to anything . . . from the worl# coming to an en# to a puppy<s snuffling> from a +reath of fresh air to the thun#er of 9et +om+ers overhea#. -e may react +y anything . . . from #ropping #ea# of shoc: to feeling a momentary pang of #ou+t> from smiling1 ever so slightly1 in his sleep to signing the or#er that sen#s a million Dews to the gas cham+er. * motivating stimulus may come to you on a level at which you aren<t even consciously aware of it . . . at night1 for e7ample1 when the temperature #rops une7pecte#ly1 chilling you in your sleep +ecause your covers are too light. &ou may react 9ust as unconsciously1 without wa:ing1 +y hu##ling into a crampe# fetal +all in an effort to #efeat the col#. *n# so it goes. Someone pulls a gun> you stop short. * girl casts a si#ewise glance> you start forwar#. The cloc: stri:es> you get up. The music en#s> you sit #own. There<s a whiff of perfume> you straighten your shoul#ers. * s:un:

+lasts at you from +eneath the porch> you cringe into your coat. 2ach time1 one motivating stimulus> one character reaction. Together1 they constitute a motivation8reaction unit. 2ach unit in#icates some change1 however smallBchange in state of affairs> change in state of min#. )roperly selecte# an# presente#1 each one moves your story a step forwar#. Iin: unit to unit1 one after another1 an# your prose pic:s up momentum. Strength an# impact +uil#. Before you :now it1 the sentences race #own the page li:e a fast freight hurtling through the night. The situation cannot +ut #evelopF That is1 it cannot if you also un#erstan# such technicalities as . . . The pattern of emotion En this particular night the house is #ar: when you get home. * note on the hall ta+le tells you that your wife has left you for another man. &ou stare at the message stupi#ly at first1 num+ with #is+elief. Then1 in intermingling waves1 shoc: washes through you1 an# horror1 an# pain1 an# rage1 an# grief. $alling into the nearest chair1 you curse alou#. Enly then1 in spite of all your efforts to control yourself1 the curses change to a strange sort of laughter. *n# even while you laugh1 you fin#1 tears somehow are coursing #own your chee:s. What has happene#? a. &ou have receive# a motivating stimulus. This is the note. .t points up a change in your state of affairs1 your situation. +. This change in state of affairs causes changes in your state of min#. &our emotional +alance1 your equili+rium1 is shattere#. $eelings1 or#inarily neatly restraine# an# #iscipline#1 +rea: loose in a surging chaos. c. These feelings ta:e the overt form of o+serva+le reaction. &ou fall into a chair. &ou curse1 you laugh1 you cry. *n# there is the pattern of emotion. .t<s the mechanism which creates feeling in your rea#ers1 an# then helps them :eep those feelings straight. .ts secret lies in the or#er in which you present your material . . . a strictly chronological or#er1 so that one item follows another e7actly as they occur in point of time. =ever is any #ou+t left as to which element comes first1 or which is cause an# which effect. To that en#1 you preten# that only one thing can happen at a time: &our +ri#ge partner stu#ies his own han#1 an# then he loo:s across at the #ummy1 an# then he eyes your opponents1 an# then he frowns1 an# then he tugs at his ear lo+e1 an# then he twists in his chair1 an# then he puffs at his cigarette1 an# then he smiles wryly1 an# then he says1 CThin: you<re pretty smart1 #on<t you?C an# then he plays the ace. -e #oes not #o all these things at once1 the way it really happene#. =ow . grant you that . am1 to a #egree1 e7aggerating1 here. .t<s entirely legitimate for you to write1 C$rowning1 he twiste# in his chair1C or C)uffing at his cigarette1 he eye# Steve<s car#s +riefly.C But in general you avoi# all hints of simultaneity1 of events that ta:e place at the same time. The reason you #o this is roote# in the very nature of written communication. $or in writing1 one wor# follows another1 instea# of +eing overprinte# in the same space. Which ma:es it impossi+le truly to capture on paper the fact that a man +reathes an# sweats an# scowls an# #igests his #inner all at the same time. $urthermore1 any attempt to present simultaneity rather than sequence is +oun# to confuse your rea#er.

Why? Because simultaneity o+scures the cause8effect1 motivation8reaction relationship that gives your story meaning to him. G&ou can say that things happene# simultaneously1 you un#erstan#. But in point of fact you emphasi@e sequence1 chronological or#er: C*fter that1 everything happene# at once. -ans swung the +ottle1 an# elville1 #uc:ing1 whippe# out his :nife. *cross the room1 Scarne slashe# at the rope that hel# the chan#elier. The ne7t instant1 the +rac:ets gave way1C an# so on.H To repeat1 then1 you present your material so that one thing follows another in strictly chronological or#er. .n terms of constructing a motivation8reaction unit1 that or#er is this: a. otivating stimulus. +. Character reaction. G%H $eeling. G'H *ction. G(H Speech.

=e7t question: Whom #o you motivate? Who #oes the reacting? The answer1 of course1 ta:es us +ac: to your focal character. -e<s the man on whom the spotlight shines. -e<s the center aroun# which the action revolves. -e<s the orientational figure whose feelings give meaning to the events that transpire within your fiction<s framewor:. 2verything in your story1 everything1 relates to him. 2specially1 this pattern of emotion. The pattern itself isn<t at all #ifficult to han#le. The +ig thing to remem+er is that motivation always prece#es reaction. Eur worl# woul# turn topsy8turvy in#ee# if the teacher first 9umpe# an# crie# out . . . then sat on the tac:F 2ven worse1 to have motivation follow reaction is to invite your rea#er to ma:e his own interpretation of sai# reaction an#1 on the +asis of it1 then to refuse to +elieve the motive you assign. BThough even if he accepts it1 as a matter of fact1 its #isplacement from normal or#er will 9ar him at least slightly. C$ar across on the hillsi#e1 a shot rang out. Dohn stiffene#1C rea#s not too +a#ly. CDohn stiffene# when a shot rang out far across on the hillsi#e1C is aw:war#. Aiven enough such minor 9olts1 your rea#er will #evelop a vague #issatisfaction with your copy. -e may remar: only that it<s <9er:y1 sort of.C But you<ve lost him. Bac: to reaction. .t +rea:s #own into three components1 you will note: feeling . . . action . . . speech. These components< or#er too is set. $eeling prece#es action1 an# action1 speech1 +ecause feeling provi#es the #rive for +oth the others. Without some such inner force1 some source of motive impulse1 there woul# +e no overt +ehavior to reveal your focal character<s state of min#.

$eeling1 it might +e well to point out too1 is not the same as thought. Iet a car horn +last +ehin# you1 an# your heart leaps without conscious mental process. .n a wor#1 you feel. *s a matter of fact1 you pro+a+ly 9ump also. That is1 you act1 an# that action is an involuntary an# well8 nigh automatic process. Iater1 you may get aroun# to speech1 to snarling at whoever hon:e#. But feeling comes first1 an# them action. Behin# this sequential or#er lies the fact that feeling is +eyon# the control of the person feeling. &ou #on<t #eci#e to feel a particular way> you 9ust #o. *ction1 in turn1 can +e to a #egree controlle#. *n# where speech is concerne#1 control is almost a+solute. Thus1 speech #eman#s conscious thought> a certain amount of organi@ation. *ction<s #eman#s are lower . . . closer to the instinctive: *n ol# frien# une7pecte#ly appears. .ncoherent1 you still em+race him. * car runs #own your chil#. &ou race towar# him1 not even a+le to cry out. Er1 you enter an office for a 9o+ interview. &ou care what happens1 so you alrea#y have feelingsB uncomforta+le feelings1 negative feelings1 resentful feelings that you<re +eing stu#ie# li:e a paramecium un#er a microscope. But the personnel manager1 far from appreciating your unease or as:ing you to sit #own1 merely leans +ac: an# consi#ers you with col#1 wor#less #is#ain. CWho<re you?C he snaps finally. -is toneBthe whole situation1 for that matterBis a unit of motivation. .n spite of all you can #o1 panic races through you. )anic is feeling. Ii:e magic1 sweat slic:s your palms an# soa:s your armpits an# tric:les #own your spine. &our collar is su##enly too tight1 your clothes are too small. &ou twist an# choice. *ctions1 one an# all. *ll this time1 you also grope #esperately for wor#sBwor#s that 9ust won<t come. C.B.BC you mum+le inanely. C&oung man1 . as:e# your name. . . .C Shall we #raw a :in#ly veil1 an# trust that we<ve ma#e it clear that feeling prece#es action1 an# action prece#es speech? B*n#1

of course1 on a larger +asis1 that motivating stimulus prece#es character reaction? Time out for a few questions: ust all three reaction componentsBfeeling1 action1 speechB+e inclu#e# every time? Ef course not1 as almost any fragment of #ialogue will #emonstrate. -ere1 Dill is the focal character: C-i1 DillFC he calle#. C-ow<s it going?C CDust fine1 than:s.C C-i1 DillFC he calle#. C-ow<s it going?C is the motivating stimulus. Dill<s character reaction1 in turn1 spelle# out1 might rea# li:e this: $eeling: * glow of warmth at his frien#liness crept though Dill. *ction: She smile#. Speech: CDust fine1 than:s1C she sai#. Because they<re so o+vious1 however1 the writer #oesn<t feel it necessary to #etail feeling an# action. So speech alone carries the +all. *lternatively1 action might have +een #roppe# . . . feeling an# speech left in: otivating stimulus: C-i1 Dill1C he calle#. C-ow<s it going?C Character reaction: $eeling: * glow of warmth at his frien#liness crept through Dill. *ction: G=ET ST*T2DH Speech: CDust fine1 than:s.C . . . *n# so on1 through all the various possi+ilities. *re there any particular ha@ar#s to leaving out one or two of the reaction components? )rimarily1 there<s the #anger that you<ll confuse your rea#er . . . especially when the feeling component is the one you leave out. To ma:e clear the meaning a given action or speech is suppose# to convey often requires interpretation only feeling can provi#e. -e turne# away is action that might fit feelings ranging from +ore#om to helplessness1 from preoccupation to scorn1 from hurt to rage. <<Jiss me1 #arlingF<< coul# mirror passion1 anguish1 ten#erness1 contempt1 or what have you. )lease #on<t misun#erstan#1 however. .<m not recommen#ing that you always use all three components> +ut1 rather1 that you #evelop your sensitivity to clarity1 +alance an# the terse to the point where you can manipulate your materials with a nice s:ill an# #iscrimination. -ow much time shoul# elapse +etween motivation an# reaction? When you start to snee@e1 you snatch for your han#:erchief right now. =ot tomorrow. =ot ne7t wee:. The some way1 thin: of each stimulus your focal character receives as a #eman# for imme#iate action. Don<t summari@e1 grouping a #o@en or a hun#re# 8! units together. Brea: the pac:age #own to its in#ivi#ual components. *re you tempte# to write. C-e got upC? ay+e that single sentence is e7actly the one you nee#. But then again1 may+e you<# #o +etter to open as your character floats through a #ar: an# misty private worl#. Then1 su##enly1 soun# +rea:s in upon him: a clanging1 stri#ent cacophony1 so lou# that it seems it must surely spilt his s:ull. -e flails wil#ly1 lurching up out of the mists an# #ar:ness into a gru++y1 #awn8gray scene: his own room1 with the alarm cloc: 9angling +esi#e him. *n# so on. The thing to remem+er is that any motivation or reaction can +e fragmente# into smaller +its> an#1 generally1 you<ll achieve a greater sense of reality in your copy +y using the littlest pieces. .t<s li:e a magician performing a coin tric:. See it as a unit an# it seems a miracle. But .f you #o it in slow motion1 a step at a time1 it +ecomes a completely un#erstan#a+le e7hi+ition of manual #e7terity. .n the same way1 your copy shoul# leave the impression of a continuing stream of reality1 in which effect follows cause li:e a +urnt finger 9er:ing +ac: from a hot stove. 2ven if the reaction is merely to stare num+ly1 it shoul# start now1 not five minutes after the stimulus to shoc: is past an# gone. =o time shoul# elapse +etween. .f it #oes1 o##s are that you<ve +ro:en the flow +y leaving out a##itional motivation8reaction units that shoul# +e inclu#e#. To what #egree #oes each motivation8reaction unit stan# alone? To no #egree. True1 well8constructe# units can +e pulle# out of conte7t an# analy@e# as here. But this is

for purposes of stu#y only. .n any actual story1 what your focal character feels an# #oes an# says in his reaction will in turn lin: to the worl# outsi#e him. Sometimes there<ll +e a #irect relation1 a counterreaction: Bic:ham fires a shot. -is opponent fires +ac:. .n other cases1 the situation merely provi#es o+servation of further e7ternal change: Bic:ham squirms forwar# a fraction1 peering. Though still showing no awareness of him1 the tyrannosaur has move# a +it closer. Er1 on occasion when the heightening of suspense through #elaying action is an issue1 there may not even +e e7ternal change: Bic:ham stu#ies the #istant hillsi#e. There still is no sign of life. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN * story is a succession of motivation8reaction units. The chain they form as they lin: together is the pattern of emotion. *s a helpful step in learning how to forge such a chain successfully1 it might +e wise to pro+e a +it #eeper into the nature of the motivating stimulus. The motivating stimulus * motivating stimulus is anything outsi#e your focal character to which he reacts. $or a motivating stimulus to #o its 9o+ well1 it must have: a. Significance to your character. +. )ertinence to your story. c. otivity to your rea#er. * stimulus is significant to the #egree that it presents the e7ternal worl# as your character e7periences it. *lthough we may not view it through his eyes1 the picture we receive of it must reflect his state of affairs an# state of min#. * woman who goes to church to flirt with the man in the ne7t pew @eros in on one set of stimuli. -er neigh+or1 come to chec: on the styling of other parishioners< clothes1 reacts to a #ifferent group. * frien# that see:s spiritual uplift an# enrichment approaches with values that #raw her attention to things that1 to her1 mirror such uplift an# enrichment. &et all three sit si#e +y si#e within the sanctuary. .t<s merely the stimuli they note which ma:e the #ifference. .t is1 in +rief1 a matter of selection. Er consi#er a tiny mountain la:e. Thic:ly woo#e# slopes sweep #own to the water<s e#ge along half its shore line. Sheer cliffs rise gray an# for+i##ing on the far si#e. Two camping trailers an# a tent stan# in a patch of clear groun# #own close to the narrow south +each1 where a rutte# #irt roa# terminates. There are chil#ren at play . . . women coo:ing . . . a man who +ait8casts a hun#re# yar#s or so off to one si#e. The roa#1 in turn1 lea#s away from the la:e1 aroun# a spur of +rash1 them off along the e#ge of a mea#ow thic: with wil#8flowersBcolum+ine1 trillium1 +ellwort1 violets. =ow a pic:up truc: approaches1 +ouncing noisily along the roa#. $ar away across the mea#ow1 +ehin# a hilloc: an# almost in the sha#ow of another spur of +rash1 a pair of +ear cu+s frolic un#er their +lac:8 furre# mother<s watchful eye. Close to the center of the la:e1 a rain+ow trout 9umps1 an# the +ait8caster

on shore pauses1 ro# poise# li:e some sort of long1 strange1 quivering1 insectile antenna. What will your focal character notice a+out this scene? To what specific fragment will he react? .s his lens fi7e# on the trout? The +ears? G*n# if so1 which one?H The +lon#e chil# peering from the tent? The approaching pic:up? The soun# of the pic:up<s motor? The gray roc: faces of the cliff? The colum+ine? The +ellwort? The +ig1 raw8+one# woman in Ievis who hun:ers +y the fire1 po:ing sullenly at her frying +acon with a stic:? .t<s har# to overemphasi@e the importance of your focal character<sBan# yourBchoice. $or to a very consi#era+le #egree1 your rea#ers will #raw their conclusions as to the meaning of the focal character<s reaction on the +asis of conte7tBthat is1 the stimulus or motivation that provo:es it. 2specially is this true if sai# reaction is o+9ectively written1 non8introspective1 physical reaction. Thus1 a film e#itor may place a close8up of an actor<s face #irectly after a shot of an actress lying #ea# in a coffin. .nvaria+ly1 the au#ience will thereupon interpret the actor<s e7pression1 however +lan:1 as one of grief. But suppose1 instea#1 that our e#itor cuts the self8same reaction shot in after a frightening sceneBone in which a ma#man lunges at the camera with an a71 let<s say. This time1 the au#ience will promptly #eclare the actor to +e registering fury1 or horror1 or courage1 or shoc:1 or what have you. Do you see the issue? The right reaction is the #irect pro#uct of the right stimulus. Choose the correct fragment of motivation an# you control the #irection of your story. .f you want a particular reaction1 pic: a stimulus that will evo:e it. * goo# e7ternal motivation ma:es your character<s consequent +ehavior completely logical to your rea#er. Conversely1 the wrong motivating stimulus is the meaningless or am+iguous one. .t +ores or confuses or irritates the rea#er. Worse1 it may +ecome a false plant1 a false pointer . . . prepare him for something that isn<t going to happen> hea# him #own the wrong roa#. $or unconsciously1 your rea#er ta:es it for grante# that every stimulus in your story is +rought in for a purpose. .f a gun1 or a car out of gas1 or a loose +oar# in the porch floor is intro#uce#1 he assumes that you<ll pay him off for noting it +y giving it a function later. =ot to #o so will net you the same +ran# of #eserve# resentment you<# #raw from your wife if you were to have her +a:e a ca:e for a party which you secretly :new ha# +een cancele#. $or you to focus on a mysterious re#hea# or a scream in the night or a stolen wallet an# then not have it influence the course of your story can only ma:e you the target for rea#er outrage. So1 how #o you emphasi@e the significance of a stimulus properly? &ou use the technique of the motion8picture close8up. That is1 you #irect an# control your rea#ers attention +y telling him what you want him to :now an# that only . . . 9ust as the film #irector hammers home the importance of a trem+ling han# or an open #oor or a shattere# #oll +y filling the screen with it to the point that it #ominates everything else past all ignoring. To this en#: G%H &ou choose the effect you want this particular stimulus to create1 in terms of motivating your focal character to #esire# reaction an#1 at the same time1 gui#ing your rea#er to feel with him. G'H &ou pic: some e7ternal phenomenonBthing1 person1 eventBthat you thin: will create this effect. G(H &ou frame this stimulus so as to pinpoint the precise #etail that highlights the point you see: to ma:e.

G,H &ou e7clu#e whatever is e7traneous or confusing. G/H &ou heighten the effect1 +y #escri+ing the stimulus in terms that reflect your focal character<s attitu#e. By way of illustration1 let<s go +ac: to our scene at the mountain la:e. Eur focal character lies high on a roc:y1 woo#e# slope with a pair of +inoculars. -is purpose is to rescue an a+use# chil# whom he +elieves to +e a prisoner in the camp +elow. The effect we see: to achieve at the moment is one that will e7cite such intense feelings of compassion an# outrage in our focal character that he<ll +e +lin#e# to everything e7cept the a+solute an# urgent necessity of going ahea# with the rescue1 regar#less of personal peril. =ote1 now1 how sharply this choice of effect limits us> how strongly it turns us away from most of the potential motivating stimuli lai# out +elow. ea#ow1 +ears1 trout1 truc:1 lan#scapeBall must +e a+an#one#1 +ecause they offer little chance for the specific :in# of stimulus we nee#: a goa# to compassion an# to outrage. .s there anything that offers more potential? Ef course: the chil# herselfBthe little +lon#e girl peering from the tent. She<ll +e our motivating stimulus. -ow to highlight the point we want to ma:e? BWell1 suppose the chil#<s +een +eaten . . . punishe# for trying to run away1 perhaps. Bring her up +ig in the +inoculars1 all anguishe#1 tear8strea:e# face. *n#1 since :i#s #o cry for a variety of reasons an# even our focal character :nows it1 may+e we shoul# +lac: one of her eyesBan ugly1 swollen +ruise1 rich with +lues an# purples. .s the chil# suc:ing a thum+ or a lollipop? Blowing her nose? )laying with a puppy? =o. *ll such are e7traneous1 intro#uce possi+ly conflicting notes1 an# thus shatter the unity of the effect. So1 we<ll avoi# them. En the other han#1 perhaps it woul# +e worth while to give her a rag #oll to clutch to her ragge# +reast. * +ro:en rag #oll with the stuffing coming out1 to #raw a nasty parallel with her own con#ition an# thus strengthen unity of effect. Then1 on to #escription1 phrase# in terms to reflect your focal character<s attitu#es1 his moo#. *n# here we come to an important point1 alrea#y state# +ut worth +eating on a +it. $or all we :now1 this chil# is a +rat1 a hateful little monster. She receive# her +lac: eye when she clim+e# to the roof of one of the camping trailers in #irect #efiance of her mother<s or#ers1 then lost her +alance an# fell. .n fact1 she<# pro+a+ly have fracture# her stupi# s:ull if she ha#n<t lan#e# on another youngster1 +rea:ing his arm. That<s why the pic:up truc: is +ouncing along the roa#> the father ha# to ta:e the other chil# to town to get the fracture set. eanwhile1 Iittle iss =o7ious has succee#e# in floun#ering into the la:e. .t was the thir# time1 an# the rags she now wears are the only clothes her #istracte# maternal parent can fin# for her. *lso1 flailing in the water1 the #ear chil# lost the han#some new ten8#ollar #oll her father +ought her for her +irth#ay. So the rag #oll is one she stole from the little girl of a poverty8stric:en family #own the line. =ow all the a+ove an# more may +e true. -owever1 for our purposes here1 the important thing is that the focal character #oesn<t see it that way . . . an# always1 we #escri+e in terms of his state of affairs an# state of min#. So though our little #arling +e iss Iucre@ia Borgia1 Dr.1 our story will present her with strong overtones of Iittle 2va. So how #oes the focal character see her1 may+e? *gnes< face came into focus1 then. The +lon#e hair was matte#1 the worn plai# #ress in rags. She<# +een crying too1 apparently1 for there were tear8strea:s on her grime8smu#ge# chee:s. Dar: circles rimme# the great1 frightene#1 little8girl eyes1 an# when she turne# her hea# to the left a fraction1 a +ruise came

into view1 all ugly +lues an# purples1 swelling shut the li#s1 as if she were a grown man slugge# in a +arroom +rawl. iller lay very still1 his :nuc:les white on the glasses. . . . * motivating stimulus1 an# the start of the focal character<s reaction. Ene approach1 out of an infinity of possi+le approaches. 2ach of us woul# #o it #ifferentlyB#ifferently each minute1 evenBfor each of us can only +e himself as he is at this moment. *re all motivating stimuli this lengthily or this tightly #rawn? Ef course not> no more than all shots in a movie are close8ups. Thus1 the scene on the la:e might +egin: The la:e lay li:e a #rop of icy rain1 otivating stimulus: caught in a cleft of a thin green leaf. Character reaction: G=ET ST*T2DH $eeling: -un:ering #own in a clump of *ction: spruce high on the mountainsi#e1 iller consi#ere# it carefully.O G=ET ST*T2DH Speech: The camping trailers stoo# at the otivating stimulus: la:e<s south en#1 Ao##en<s tent +esi#e them. . . . . . . an# so on. Thing is1 close8ups are emphasis shots1 shots to ma:e a point. They hit the har#est1 count the most. When you<re trying to ma:e a point1 it<s +est if you #on<t miss the target. !ight? To that en#1 #on<t hesitate to frame tightly an# move in close . . . if you feel it<s necessary. Bac: to our lesson: .f the focal character #isli:es something1 you +ear clown heavily on its un#esira+le features in your #escription> an# vice versa. Thus1 if he sees a girl through love<s ha@e1 you never get aroun# to mentioning her harelip or off8color glass eye. Er1 you stress her positive points: her ten#erness1 her well8turne# an:les1 the glow of affection that lights up her face. O Carefully1 in this instance1 is a goo# e7ample of a wor# with connotations to color apparently o+9ective #escription. .t implies importance an#;or strong interest GWhy consi#er anything CcarefullyC if the item consi#ere# isn<t somehow vital or otherwise intriguing?H an# hints at #anger: The situation apparently ma:es caution a#visa+le. Er1 you #o +oth.

.f the focal character fears the villain1 on the other han#1 you focus on that gentleman<s cruelty1 his cunning1 his viciousness1 his lightning8fast refle7es1 his heavy thews1 the :nife8scars he +ears as to:ens of the night he cripple# three oros running amo: on )alawan. So much for significance. .t<s precisely as simple an# as comple7 as that. There remain two other vital characteristics of the effective motivating stimulus: pertinence1 an# motivity. The pertinent stimulus is one relevant to the matter at han#1 the imme#iate issue. But #on<t stop there. *lways1 the matter at han# itself has a function: to move your story forwar# . . . to #evelop the situation in the path you want it to ta:e. To that en#. G%H The pertinent stimulus must show some change in the e7ternal worl#Byour focal character<s state of affairs. G'H This e7ternal change must +e such as logically to evo:e some change in his internal worl# alsoBhis state of min#. G(H This internal change must reasona+ly lea# him to +ehave in the manner you want him to in or#er to move the story forwar#. Consi#er the scene at the mountain la:e. Eur purpose was to motivate our focal character to procee# with his a#venture. So1 we presente# an e7ternal stimulus thus: *gnes< face came into focus1 then. The +lon#e hair was matte#1 the worn plai# #ress in rags1 an# so on. Whereupon1 the focal character reacte#: iller lay very still1 his :nuc:les white on the glasses. . . . =ow suppose we change# the stimulus 9ust a trifle: *gnes< face came into focus1 then. The +lon#e hair was smooth an# neatly com+e#1 the worn plai# #ress clean even though in rags. She was laughing1 an# even at this #istance the +lue eyes seeme# to #ance with life. -ugging the +attere# #oll to her1 she loo:e# #own an# spo:e to it fon#ly. The reaction? iller lay very still. Then1 slowly1 his han#s rela7e# an# the color came +ac: to his whitene# :nuc:les. . . . Thus1 iller again is motivate#> again reacts1 showing feeling. But this feeling is #ifferent from the one +efore. .t points the scenes that follow in a potentially #ifferent #irection. *n# that<s the test of pertinence. =ot 9ust1 C.s this stimulus relevant to the imme#iate issue?C +ut also1 CDoes it :eep the story itself on target1 moving towar# the twin goals of outcome an# total effect . want it to achieve?C So much for pertinence. .t #eman#s merely that you view each 8! unit in the perspective of the story

as a whole. But it<s one thing for a story to move forwar#> another for it to seem to your rea#er as if it were so moving. Those motivating stimuli which help to in#uce this feeling that your story isn<t stan#ing still may +e sai# to have motivity. To +e motive1 a stimulus must spur your focal character to action. .nstea# of letting him rest on his laurels1 it 9er:s him up an# +oots him in the pants. To that en#: G%H The motive stimulus is one which #eman#s response. G'H The response #eman#e# is of such a nature as to :eep your focal character active. Too many varia+les are involve# to warrant ma:ing these points more e7plicit. .n general1 however1 what you nee# is the stimulus that #eman#s a#9ustment on the focal character<s part. $luffy white clou#s aren<t enough> a thun#erhea# that ma:es him race for cover may +e. Bea#s of moisture forming on a col# glass #on<t call for action> the glass slopping re# wine onto a snowy ta+lecloth #oes. BThough of course fluffy clou#s or +ea#e# glass may #o very well if they<re in such conte7t as to ma:e imperative imme#iate1 active response from your focal character. "n#erstan#1 please: This is not an appeal to eliminate all moo# an# color. The sense of movement isn<t the only1 or even necessarily the most important1 element in your story. otivity is a matter of #egree an# pacing1 not an a+solute. &ou<ll always have a host of stimuli that ignore it. -owever1 your story may sag if you forget a+out it altogether. Beware the ha+itual or Cfile8an#8forgetC type of thingF Better that a girl<s eyes challenge your character1 or an alarm +ell ring1 or a man sei@e him +y the wrist. $or then hell have to #eci#e 9ust what to #o a+out it1 an# act> an# that<s what ma:es for a sense of movement. So much for motivity1 an# for the motivating stimulus itself. =ow1 what<s on the other si#e of the fence? What1 specifically1 is involve# when your focal character reacts? The character reaction * character reaction is anything your focal character feels1 thin:s1 #oes1 or says in consequence of a motivating stimulus that impinges on him. To this en#1 it must +e: a. Significant. +. )ertinent. c.

otive. #. Characteristic. e. !easona+le. *ll our o+servations on the vital importance of careful selection an# #escription of motivating stimuli apply equally to character reaction. .n a##ition1 we may say that a reaction is properly significant only when it reflects precisely the image you see: to create. .t must capture the e7act sha#ings an# nuances of moo#. Ten#erness can +e a thing of infinite gra#ation1 an# so can cruelty1 or re9ection1 or lust. .f you try to #raw a picture of your character as +ehaving in a :in#ly manner an#1 in a##ition1 ina#vertently leave the impression that he<s somewhat of a fool for so +ehaving1 the +it may #o more harm than goo#. Why #oes a reaction confuse? ost often1 +ecause you the writer haven<t ma#e up your min# as to precisely the effect you see: to achieve. &ou must #eci#e1 #efinitely an# concretely. .s your character stupi#1 or stuporous1 or at loose en#s? .s he #efeate#1 or merely fa:ing #efeat? Then1 your #ecision ma#e1 you must implement it with the fight reactionB#emonstrate your character<s character an# state of min# in terms of the thing or com+ination of things he feels or thin:s or #oes or says. *+ove all1 ma:e it your rule that if a reaction is in any way confusing1 it must +e clarifie# or left out. What a+out the pertinent reaction? .t<s the one which lin:s the character to the story as you have conceive# it. .t moves him #own the roa# you want him to follow. .f the situation an# your concept #eman# rec:less courage1 he<ll +ehave #ifferently than he woul# if you<# planne# the scene for laughs or pathos. The motive reaction? .nsofar as practical1 let your character respon# actively to whatever happens to him. B.t<s even possi+le to ma:e a character quite actively passive1 you :now: <<Doe stoo# very1 very still<< . . . CSam force# the tension from his muscles> +reathe# #eeply in one last grim1 raw8nerve# effort to rela7C . . . CIimp1 silent1 -elen let the soun# wash over her in slee:ly ululating waves.C 2qually important1 the motive reaction often is #esigne# to +ring a+out further change in the worl# outsi#e your character: -ero<s fingers let go of the coin> his antagonist<s eyes flic:er as it falls. -eroine<s foot #epresses accelerator pe#al> car pic:s up spee#> traffic cop :ic:s motorcycle forwar#. * characteristic reaction is one that<s in :eeping with your character<s :nown character. The ilquetoast #oesn<t su##enly slug a gorilla. The strong silent type #oesn<t +urst forth with flowery speeches. .s your character phlegmatic? Volatile? Sullen? Ten#er? Wea:? )assionate? .rrita+le? &ou pays your money an# you ta:es your choice. But whatever he is1 it will have a +earing on each of his reactions. !easona+le means that your focal character<s reaction shoul# ma:e sense in terms of the motivating stimulus he<s receive#. "nless he<s +een esta+lishe# earlier as some sort of nut1 he #oesn<t +urst into tears over a fancie# slight1 or :nife a frien# for an inconsequential five8minute #elay1 or accept unwarrante# a+use from petty tyrants. .n other wor#s1 you shoul# not show him overreacting1 un#er8 reacting1 reacting incongruously1 or the li:e1 within the frame of reference of situation1 stimulus1 an# character.

So1 how woul# your character react? .n view of his motivating stimulus1 what will he #o? There shoul# +e no pro+lem if you lea# your rea#er step +y step. Iin: motivation an# reaction tightly enough1 an# he can<t help +ut un#erstan# how your character feels. Which means only that you1 first1 must see each motivating stimulus as your focal character sees it . . . with his +ac:groun#1 his attitu#es1 his #ynamics an# insights. Then1 you let him react in character. .f you<re a girl an# li:e a +oy1 your reaction to a pass will +e #ifferent than if you loathe him. Sai# reaction also will #iffer accor#ing to what specific :in# of girl you are . . . your ha+itual reaction to passes. .f you chance on a hol#up1 you<ll react one way if you<re an honest citi@en> another1 perhaps1 if you<re an e78con on parole. Well1 it soun#s easy1 anyhow. But it still #oesn<t tell us 9ust how far to go. The pro+lem of proportion Iife is an unen#ing succession of motivation8traction units. &our lungs lac: air> you #raw a +reath. &our stomach empties> you search for foo#. The sun grows hot> your sweat glan#s oo@e. 2very minute1 every hour1 every #ay1 your whole system wor:s to maintain that unique internal +alance physiologists :now as homeostasis. &et in any story1 some parts are presente# in greater #etail than are others. -ere1 whole chapters are #evote# to action that ta:es place in fleeting minutes. There1 a lapse of years may +e passe# over in a sentence. So1 how #o you #eci#e how much attention to give each element1 each segment? -ow long shoul# you write a given passage? Er how short? *nswer: &ou write to fit. To fit what? $eelings. -ow #o you measure feelings?

&ou chec: them with an emotional cloc:. There are1 you see1 two :in#s of time in this worl#: chronometrical1 an# emotional. Ene1 you measure with a watch> the other1 with the human heart. Chronometrical time is o+9ective. .t offers si7ty secon#s to every minute1 si7ty minutes to every hour. *n# your minutes an# my minutes an# the Areenwich E+servatory<s minutes are pretty much the same. 2motional time1 +y way of contrast1 is relative1 su+9ective1 an# +ase# on feelings. .n no two of us is it precisely the same. The late *l+ert 2instein summe# up the situation where emotional time is concerne#1 in a capsule comment on relativity: CWhen a man sits with a pretty girl for an hour1 it seems li:e a minute. But let him sit on a hot stove for a minute1 an# it<s longer than an hour.C What gives emotional time so wi#e a range? Tension. .f you<re rela7e#1 time races +y. .f you<re tense1 it stan#s still. What<s +ehin# tension? $ear: the fear that something will or won<t happen. Ta:e a +irth#ay picnic. The s:y<s +lue1 the temperature perfect1 the foo# super+1 your wife loving1 your #aughter #oting> an# all the while1 in the +ac: of your hea#1 you thin: small1 pleasant thoughts of how well things have wor:e# out for you through this past year. &ou<re rela7e#1 happy1 unafrai#. Time races +y. But suppose1 instea#1 that this is another1 not8so8happy #ay. &ou pace the floor in a sha++y hospital lounge that smells of fear an# phenol1 waiting for wor# to come #own as to whether your youngest chil# will live or #ie. )anic ri#es you> #raws your +elly into a chill1 roc:8har# :not. The secon#s #rag +y li:e hours> the minutes pile up in eons. 2ach footstep1 each #istant whisper1 ma:es your nerves 9ump. &our tongue grows thic: with too much smo:ing. &our eyes +urn. &our clothes feel #irty1 rumple#. 2ven though you shave# less than an hour ago1 your +ear# is stu++le rasping on your :nuc:les. . . . Because trage#y is in you> +ecause you live with the specter of a love# one<s #eath1 tension ri#es high an# time stan#s still. .n writing1 you translate tension into space: The more tense the situation as your focal character e7periences it1 the more wor#s you give it. Why? Because your rea#er nee#s a clear an# simple stan#ar# +y which to 9u#ge the #egree to which an event is important or inconsequential. Wor#age1 length1 gives him a yar#stic: with which to ma:e this measurement. .f you #escri+e a thing in tremen#ous #etail1 he figures there must +e something important a+out it. .f you #ismiss it with an asi#e1 he ta:es it for grante# that it hol#s no profoun# significance. The issue is never wor#s for wor#s< own sa:e1 however. En the contrary. Wor#s are merely the tool you use to ma:e crystal clear the reasons why your character is e7periencing fear an# tension in the first place.

To un#erstan# this properly1 loo: first at the nature of #anger. Danger is o+9ective. .t<s something that e7poses you to the possi+ility of in9ury1 loss1 pain1 or other evil. * spee#ing +ullet may +e a #anger. Same for a typhoi# germ . . . a new neigh+or . . . an ol# rival . . . a flash floo# . . . a roller s:ate on the #ar:ene# front steps. $ear is su+9ective. .t<s an in#ivi#ual<s feeling8response when he perceives #anger. =o one can translate #anger into fear until he +ecomes aware that sai# #anger e7ists. The spee#ing +ullet may stri:e you #ea# while you stan# rela7e# an# carefree1 laughing. The typhoi# germ enters your system un#etecte#1 while you thin: only a+out how goo# the water tastes. The new neigh+or appears frien#ly> the ol# rival1 a #ea# issue. So1 you feel no fear. But suppose you #o recogni@e the #anger. B)erhaps you glimpse the mar:sman as he +rings up his gun. Er it #awns on you as you #rin: that the water came from the contaminate# well. Er you catch the glance that passes +etween your neigh+or an# your wife. What then? Then1 fear may come . . . a su+9ective alarm signal that puts you on an emotional war footing . . . mo+ili@es all your resources of energy an# alertness for self8preservative effort. That mo+ili@ation involves a multiplicity of glan#ular an# muscular reactions. The common term for it is tension. -ow #oes all this apply to story? *s always1 the :ey factor is your focal character. &our story centers on him an# his #eveloping situation: the changes in e7ternal circumstance that we call state of affairs> the changes in internal attitu#e referre# to as state of min#. *ny change in state of affairs +rings with it the potentiality of #anger. Why? Because it forces your focal character to rea#9ust . . . to revise his +ehavior to fit the new situation. $ace him with an unfamiliar girl or +oss or car or #rin:1 or in9ect a new element into an e7isting relationship1 an# he must #eci#e how to act where it<s concerne#. So? The new +ehavior he chooses may not wor: out. -is attempte# rea#9ustment may only plunge him into trou+le. Consciously or unconsciously1 he :nows this. Therefore1 to a greater or lesser #egree1 he fears . . . even though he

might #eny any hint of such1 an# #eclare his state merely one of alertness or interest or attention. 2nter tension. =ote where this puts the issue: not in the event1 +ut in the character<s reaction to that event> not in e7ternal circumstance1 state of affairs1 +ut in the affecte# person<s attitu#e1 his state of min#. Thus1 your character<s e7ternal stimulus1 his change in state of affairs1 may +e notice of a promotion1 or a telegram announcing a million8#ollar inheritance1 or a pretty girl +egging him to :iss her. .t still can generate fear an# tension in him. Why? Because it forces him to choose a course of actionBone of many1 quite possi+ly. .f he chooses wrong1 the results may +e #isastrous. &et you never can :now for sure1 in a#vance1 whether the choice you ma:e will +e the right one. Ta:e the matter of the pretty girl1 for instance. &our character<s first reaction is to :iss her1 enthusiastically. *n# yet . . . shoul# he1 really? .sn<t it a +it out of line for any girl1 let alone a pretty one1 to come to a young man +egging :isses? What<s her motive? Why has she chosen him1 among all the men availa+le? .s she trying to compromise him? To ma:e another man 9ealous? To pull off some wil# pu+licity stunt at his e7pense? Can she +e emotionally #istur+e#B? The possi+ilities are well8nigh infinite. So1 your character hangs teetering on the +rin: of actionB reconsi#ering his situation1 re8evaluating his position1 trying to #eci#e whether or not the game is worth the can#le. .n +rief1 he faces a change in state of min#1 an# it +others him. Whichever roa# he ta:es1 he<ll never again +e quite the same. Iet him succum+ to the girl now1 without loss1 an# tomorrow hell +e a fraction +ol#erBan# not 9ust in regar# to girls1 either. Iet him succum+ with #isastrous results1 an# he may turn timi# or +itter or even vicious. Iet him with#raw1 turn #own his chance1 an# the result may +e self8righteousness or self8contempt. =ow not all situations in which your character fin#s himself will #eman# ma9or soul8searching. =either will all motivating stimuli that impinge upon him. The +iggest part of life is always routine. -a+it ta:es care of

it. $urther1 not all ha@ar#s that face your character will1 to the same #egree1 prove pertinent> story8relate#. * sol#ier may sleep through a +arrage which1 +y any o+9ective stan#ar#1 puts him in a position of total 9eopar#y. But you1 writer1 give it only casual mention +ecause +attle1 at this point1 isn<t the issue. Then1 our sol#ier receives a Dear Dohn letter1 reacts to it with a plunge into #eep #epression1 an# loses his will to fight. &ou thereupon #evote page after page to #etailing his every stimulus an# reaction1 +ecause this is a love story an# your character<s state of min# where his girl is concerne# is its core an# heart1 the crucial issue. *lways1 the points you +ear #own on are those that influence the #evelopment of your story. The time you nee# #etail is when your focal character<s state of min# changes. The place to summari@e is where no such change ta:es place. The tric: is to :eep as:ing yourself1 C-ow #oes my character feel a+out the changes that are ta:ing place in his worl#1 his state of affairs?C .f his course of action is clear8cut an# non8#angerous> if his state of min# remains smooth an# untrou+le#Bthen summary is permissi+le. .f1 on the other han#1 he<s in a spot where all his efforts seem to come to naught1 an# #isasters pile up1 an# he<s force# repeate#ly to as: himself1 CWhat shoul# . #o now to avert this catastrophe that threatens to engulf me?CBthen pour on the #etailF G.nci#entally1 it shoul# here +e note# that it isn<t necessarily necessary to go insi#e a character<s hea# in or#er to in#icate change in his state of min#. While introspection is1 at times1 a useful tool1 the o+9ectivist school of writing as e7emplifie# in -emingway an# -ammett has clearly #emonstrate# that it<s quite possi+le to show what<s going on +y #etailing +ehavior an# appearance.H To what #egree can you affor# to summari@e? -ere a little 9u#gment helps. E+viously1 you often can get away with more in a long story than a short one> an# s:ill in han#ling ma:es a tremen#ous #ifference. But in general1 you may +ri#ge almost any amount of time or space1 so long as your character<s pro+lem an# state of min# remain essentially the same. Thus1 a gigantic CfactCBa war fought1 a country swept away1 a #eca#e passe#Bmay +e presente# as a single unifie# motivating stimulus. Whereupon1 your character<s reactionBone small feeling1 a sa#ness at such wasteBmay suffice to +ri#ge the gap1 +ecause his original pro+lem an# state of min# have remaine# virtually the same through it all. Er1 to put it in #ifferent wor#s1 e7ternals have change#> +ut you<re still #ealing with the same ol# story1 of how your particular character #eals with his private #anger. Why use so much #etail at moments of crucial change? )artly1 as previously note#1 to impress your rea#er with the event<s importance. )artly1 to give proportion to your presentation . . . lay it out not on a plain or plateau1 +ut in pea:s an# valleys. B ore of this later.

)artly1 to +uil# up the scene an# mil: it #ry of every #rop of #rama. B ore of this later1 too. But a+ove all1 you use #etail to ma:e it a+solutely clear to your rea#er precisely why your character #oes as he #oes . . . the pattern his thought an# feelings follow> the strengths an# wea:nesses of his logic. * portion of that why is su+9ective . . . a matter of your character<s character. But another segment is more or less o+9ective: e7ternal factors which influence your character<s #egree of tension an# hence the amount of #etail in which you present the inci#ent. $ive aspects of this o+9ective segment are: a. =ecessity of rea#9ustment in your focal character1 an# thus necessity of change in his state of min#. +. Degree of change. c. .mme#iacy of change. #. Difficulty of #ecision. e. Difficulty of action. Thus1 you may or may not feel threatene# when a guest points out to you that you<ve erre# in serving cha+lis at room temperature rather than chille#. But a sentence of life imprisonment1 for most of us1 ma:es rea#9ustment an a+solute necessity. .n the same way1 the #egree of threat you feel when you catch your wife :issing your +est frien# is unli:ely to prove as intense as that which you e7perience if you fin# the two hi +e# together. .mme#iacy? * falling safe #eman#s one +ran# of rea#9ustment an# change in state of min#> the fact that you must remem+er to renew your lease ne7t month1 another. Where #ifficulty of #ecision is concerne#1 most of us woul# have little trou+le were we to have to choose +etween e7posure as +raggart an# white liar1 an# mur#er of the person who woul# e7pose us. But woul# your choice +e as easy if you #iscover that your #ea# father has em+e@@le# +an: fun#s1 an# you now must #eci#e whether to #evote your life to repaying the loss1 as a matter of principle1 when no one will ever :now the truth if you :eep silent? *gain1 #eci#ing what to #o may +e easy1 with a Bengal tiger on the loose. But #oing it may prove a trifle har#er. *n# so it goes. 2ach an# every factor must +e consi#ere#1 if your copy is to maintain proper +alance. Aiven a minor tension1 you may #eci#e that the change in state of min# involve# is so slight that you can affor# to ignore it1 gloss it over. * ma9or change1 on the other han#1 #eman#s #etailing . . . a su+tle change1 perhaps even more1 simply +ecause it<s har#er to ma:e clear an# +elieva+le. Ene thing1 however1 is certain: $ew aspects of writing are more vital. Everplay your tensions1 or un#erplay them1 or ignore them1 an# almost certainly your story will fail to satisfy. Difficulties1 in turn1 generally reflect an effort to get too much mileage from a given 8! unit. To clarify anything1 or +uil# up its importance1 #eman#s fragmentation. Brea: #own your material into

smaller an# smaller unitsF Spell out each flic:er of meaning or feeling. Detail each nuance. .f you #on<t :now why your character stoppe# tra#ing at one grocery an# switche# to another1 go +ac: an# consi#er concrete instances1 an# the trivia that ma#e those instances significant. )ro+e +eneath the generali@ations. )inpoint the impolite cler:1 the +a# eggs1 the nasty cashier1 the thum+ on the scales. Er even the scuttling coc:roach1 the penny overcharge1 the tiny overemphasis on CsirC or Cma<am.C Be petty an# finic:y an# gimlet8eye#. Aet #own to specifics. Deal on a +e#roc: level with each in#ivi#ual motivating stimulus an# character reaction. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN By way of recapitulation1 then . . . a. Summari@e facts an# mechanics. +. Detail that which is so emotionally pertinent that it hol#s the potentiality of creating tension or otherwise changing your focal character<s state of min#.

Writing the 8! unit -ow #o you go a+out writing a motivation8reaction unit? a. Write a sentence without your character. +. $ollow it with a sentence a+out your character. Ii:e this: =ow1 with a roar1 the re# Dag pic:e# up spee#1 careening rec:lessly as it hurtle# #own the #rive an# out onto the highway. Stiff8lippe#1 Bra# turne# from the win#ow an# groun# out his cigarette. Eur focal character here1 let<s assume1 is the gentleman y8clept Bra#. The first sentenceBthe one without Bra#1 the one in which he isn<t mentione#Bis of course a motivation sentence. .t #escri+es what it is that your character is going to react to1 an# it #oes so in terms precise enough to ma:e it plausi+le that he react in the manner you wish. ost important of all is the fact that your character #oes not appear anywhere in the sentence1 either +y noun or pronoun. This is especially true while you<re still a +eginner1 getting the feel of this #evice. $or e7ample1 you #o not fall into the trap of writing1 C=ow1 Bra# saw the re# Dag pic: up spee#1C etc. The reason you shoul#n<t #o this is that it<s very1 very easy for the inclusion of any mention of your character in a motivating sentence to transform sai# sentence into one of reaction> or1 at least1 to mi7 the whole thing up to the point where there<s a feeling of clutter to the sequence. BWhereas what you want is something that confuses your rea#er not at all . . . e7ternal circumstance pure an# simple1 state of affairs to motivate your focal character. &ou even ma:e it a point to watch your language: Ccareening rec:lesslyC is the terminology of an outsi#e o+server Bonloo:er1 not #river. The secon# sentence1 in turn1 is a reaction sentence. That is1 it<s a+out Bra#. .t #escri+es how he +ehaves in consequence of the action that ta:es place in Sentence %. -is state of min# is ma#e clear +y the use of the phrase Cstiff8lippe#1C an# the fact that he Cgrin#sC out his cigarette. *nother e7ample? -ow a+out a love story:

Dave<s han#s were very sure1 very s:illful. * strange1 raw8e#ge# sort of panic gripping her1 Sue pushe# him away. Sue is our focal character. Sentence %1 e7ternal to her1 provi#es motivation1 in the form of Dave<s action. Sentence a shows how she reacts. We even tell how she feelsBC* strange1 raw8e#ge# sort of panic gripping her . . .C By now1 someone no #ou+t is complaining that the one8sentence limitation isn<t vali#. -e<s right1 of course. Eften two1 or three1 or even more sentences may +e nee#e# in or#er to present a given motivation or reaction with proper impact. So what we<re really #ealing with is what might +e terme# one unit of motivation an# one unit of reaction. Thus1 ta:e 27ample %. That first1 motivating sentence leans over a +it on the cum+ersome si#e. Brea:ing it up an# ela+orating might ma:e it stronger: =ow1 with a roar1 the re# Dag pic:e# up spee#. Careening rec:lessly1 it hurtle# #own the #rive> then1 with a scream of protesting tires1 fishtaile# out onto the highway. ore vivi#1 right? 2asier to rea#F *n# we<ve even eliminate# the implication of simultaneity conveye# +y the <<as<< of the original version. Bra#<s reaction can stan# a little attention1 too: Stiff8lippe#1 Bra# turne# from the win#ow. C.<ve ha# itFC he snappe#1 grin#ing out his cigarette. CThe little +itch can go to hellFC &et though e7tra sentences may sharpen up your copy1 there still are virtues to the one8sentence rule. When you<re 9ust learning1 for e7ample1 you ten# to :i# yourself that you nee# a lot more ver+iage than really is essential. Aiven half a chance1 some of us woul# feel it necessary to mention that fury seethe# within Bra#> that his +lue eyes grew +lea:> that muscles :notte# at the hinges of his 9aws> that his nostrils flare# an# his fists tightene# an# his face flushe#. *s the saying goes1 the :itchen sin: woul# +e there too if we coul# only figure out a way to get it through the #oorF 2ven more important is the issue of confusion. The moment you get two sentences in a unit1 there<s also the #anger that you<ll give your rea#er the impression that there are two Gor moreH motivations in a row1 or two Gor moreH reactions. -ere<s a sample: Stiff8lippe#1 Bra# turne# from the win#ow. -e snappe#1 C.<ve ha# itC -e groun# out his cigarette. The pro+lem is that each new #eclarative sentence with your character as su+9ect ten#s to appear to constitute a fresh reaction1 unless you han#le it carefully. The moment you say some8 thing li:e1 C-e got up. -e crosse# the room. -e opene# the win#ow. -e peere# out1C your rea#er gets the feeling that all<s not well . . . classifies the passage as 9umpy an# 9er:y. =ow such choppiness is accepta+le for effect1 upon occasion. But overwor:e#1 it can #estroy you. The thing that +others your rea#er1 though he<s sel#om aware of it1 is the a+sence of anticipate# sentences of motivating stimulus. &our construction ma:es him feel as if they shoul# +e present. But they aren<t there. * reconstruction will show you what . mean: -e got up. CSteve1 waitFC The girl soun#e# 9ust a little frightene# now. -e crosse# the room. $ingers unstea#y1 she pluc:e# at the throat of her #ress. C)leaseB. meanBoh1 . feel so wea:1 so faint. . . .C

-e opene# the win#ow. !ain8freshene# evening air e##ie# into the room1 +ringing with it a rattle an# #rone of traffic noises. -e peere# out. 2ach of your character<s actions now is motivate#1 even though the writing is rough an# aw:war#. *n# high timeF Confusion is a lu7ury you simply can<t affor#. So1 see to it always that your line of 8! #evelopment is :ept a+solutely straight an# clear an# to the point. Does this mean that every choppy passage #eman#s insertion of motivations or reactions? =ot necessarily. Eften1 the answer is merely to 9uggle wor#s or sentence structure until you achieve a surface unity> an impression of continuity that #raws apparently #ivergent elements into a single motivation or reaction. $or e7ample: CAetting up1 he crosse# the room1 opene# the win#ow1 an# peere# out.C Simple1 eh? &ou shoul#n<t have any trou+le with that . . . even though you surely willF To maintain the flow of mounting emotional intensity in your copy1 continue to alternate sentences Gor1 if nee# +e1 larger unitsH of stimulus an# response1 cause an# effect1 motivation an# reaction: . . . an# so on1 step +y step1 as your characterBan# your rea#erBlive through the rising action of the scene. =ote also that such rising action is an interaction1 actually. $or 9ust as your focal character reacts to his e7ternal motivation1 so the worl# outsi#e reacts to him. Whatever he #oes will have an effect on others. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN So much for the 8! unit . . . the concept of motivation an# reaction as it applies to fiction. Deceptively simple at first glance1 it sometimes poses pro+lems of choice that are little less than fien#ish. $ools will sneer at the motivation8reaction pattern as mere mechanics> or1 with equally unhappy results1 will attempt to use it as a mere mechanical #evice. Clo#s will snatch at the first motivation that comes to han#1 then pair it with a painfully o+vious reaction. Iiterary nit8pic:ers will #rag forth a thousan# instances in which master craftsmen have achieve# +rilliant effects while appearing to ignore completely every precept here set forth. G*fter all1 shoul#n<t any of us +e a+le to #uplicate the feats of a professional mar:sman the first time we get a gun in our han#s?H Writers with +etter sense will recogni@e the 8! unit for what it is: a tool1 infinitely valua+le1 whose use they must master so completely that its s:ille# manipulation +ecomes automatic an# instinctive. -ow well it serves them will #epen# on their own sensitivity1 their choice of materials1 their insight into character1 an# their talent at #eci#ing which +its to +uil# up an# which to su+or#inate. -ow #o you least painfully achieve such mastery? The +est way1 . suspect1 is to write in whatever manner comes easiest for you1 paying no attention to any rules whatever. Then1 go +ac: over your copy an# chec: to ma:e sure that each reaction is motivate#> that each

motivating stimulus gets a reaction> an# that ineptitu#e in use of language has not in any way confuse# the issue. Do this conscientiously on a hun#re# pages of copy1 an# on the hun#re#8an#8first there<ll +e few errors in motivation or reaction. eanwhile1 it<s time you turne# at least part of your attention to the #ramatic scene as a useful tool for +uil#ing conflict. Top )ost +y -enry L We# ay %51 '6%6 /:'6 pm Conflict an# -ow to Buil# .t Ch. , * story is a chain of scenes an# sequels. -ow #o you +uil# a story? With scene. With sequel. Two +asic units. That<s all. aster their construction an# use an# you<ve won half the +attle. *t least. To that en#1 you nee# to learn five things: %. -ow to plan a scene. '. -ow to plan a sequel. (. -ow to write a scene. ,. -ow to write a sequel. /. -ow to mesh the two together. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN * scene is a unit of conflict live# through +y character an# rea#er. The +ig moments in your story are scenes. Er1 to put it the other way aroun#1 if you want some inci#ent or +it to loom large to your rea#er1 cast it in scene form. * sequel is a unit of transition that lin:s two scenes. -ow #o you han#le them? Iet<s start with . . .

The scene in s:eleton To repeat: * scene is a unit of conflict1 of struggle1 live# through +y character an# rea#er. .t<s a +low8 +y8+low account of some+o#y<s time8unifie# effort to attain an imme#iate goal #espite face8to8face opposition. What are the functions of scene? a. To provi#e interest. +. To move your story forwar#. -ow #oes a scene provi#e interest? .t pits your focal character against opposition. .n so #oing1 it raises a question to intrigue your rea#er: Will this character win or won<t he? 27hi+it *: !oun# K of a pri@e fight. Will Eur Boy :noc: out the villainBor vice versa? -ow #oes a scene move your story forwar#? .t changes your character<s situation> an# while change #oesn<t always constitute progress1 progress always involves change. *gain1 consi#er the pri@e fight: * hero :noc:e# out is in a far #ifferent situation than he was at the +eginning of the roun#. Same if he :noc:s out the villain. What unifies the scene1 hol#s it together? Time. &ou live through a scene1 an# there are no +rea:s in the flow of life. Ence the +ell rings1 there<s no surcease for the fighter. "ntil the +ell rings again1 he has to stan# an# ta:e his lumpsBmoment +y moment1 +low +y +low. Scene structure is as simple as a8+8c: a. Aoal. +. Conflict. c. Disaster. Dust to see how this wor:s1 let<s +uil# a scene or two or three. Ta:e our +o7er. -is goal is to :noc: out his opponent. -is opponent has a goal too: to :noc: him out. Warily1 they circle . . . feinting1 punching1 counter8punching. Conflict. =ow Eur Boy lan#s a soli# +low. -is a#versary lurchesB staggersBgoes #own. Eur man steps +ac:. Triumphantly1 he sweeps the arena with his glance. Enly then1 incre#i+ly1 in that tiny moment of #istraction1 the other fighter comes up from the canvas. -e throws a wil# hay8ma:er. .t connects. Eur man falls. Desperately1 he tries to rally. But his muscles have turne# to water. =um+ly1 he hears the referee count: C. . . eight . . . nine . . . tenFC * :noc:out. Disaster.

Aoal . . . conflict . . . #isaster. *ll the parts are there. .t<s a scene. Iet<s try it again1 with something not quite so neatly structure#. Start with a character1 any characterBDohn Dones1 say. We @ero in on Dohn as he sits #own +esi#e cute Su@y Smith at the campus malt shop. Why<s Dohn there? What #oes he want? 2nter goal: 2ver an# always1 in scene1 Dohn must want something. .n case classification systems intrigue you1 CsomethingC always falls into one of three categories: G%H )ossession of something . . . a girl1 a 9o+1 a 9ewel> you name it. G'H !elief from something . . . +lac:mail1 #omination1 fear. G(H !evenge for something . . . a slight1 a loss1 +etrayal. -ere1 this time1 we<ll +e ar+itrary: Dohn wants Su@y. But what #oes he propose to #o a+out it? *7iom: * goal is not a goal until it<s specific an# concrete an# imme#iate enough for you to ta:e some sort of action towar# achieving it. The essence of goal choice is #ecision to act. &our character<s #ecision. .#eally1 this #ecision shoul# focus on a target so e7plicit that you might photograph your hero performing the act to which he aspires. .f you can<t1 the goal isn<t yet specific an# concrete enough. CTo win love1C as a goal1 is wea:. CTo get Ietitia into +e#C? StrongerF ay+e Dohn<s goal at the malt shop is to persua#e Su@y to go to the prom with him tomorrow night. There1 helpe# along +y a pale moon1 soft music an# spi:e# punch1 he hopes to convince her that she shoul# marry him. 2nter conflict. Conflict is another name for opposition: a man trying to wal: through a loc:e# #oor. .t<s irresisti+le force meeting immova+le o+9ect . . . two entities striving to attain mutually incompati+le goals. $or one to win1 the other must lose. !ea#ers li:e conflict. .t creates an# heightens tensions in them1 as we<ll see later. Thus1 it ena+les them to vent represse# feelings of aggression an# hostility vicariously1 without #amage to themselves or others. Bac: to Dohn an# Su@y: -e wants her to go to the prom. To that en#1 he gets together with her.

Conflict presupposes meeting. * fighter can<t fight if his opponent #oesn<t show. Then1 he states his case. &our rea#er nee#s to :now what your hero proposes to attempt. Er at least that he proposes to attempt something. $or if no attempt is ma#e1 how can there +e struggle? .f Su@y is as eager for the #ate as Dohn is1 in turn1 you have no conflict> no rea#er8intriguing1 interest8 provo:ing question of who wins an# who loses> no scene. So we ma:e Su@y hesitate. .t seems she<s alrea#y tentatively agree# to go to the prom with Aeorge Aarvey1 the school<s star half+ac:. This means that Dohn<s going to have to fight if he<s to get his way1 achieve his goal. .f he ta:es no for an answer easily1 we can assume one of two things: G%H -e #i#n<t really want the #ate very much after all> or1 G'H -e lac:s the strength of character to fight for what he wants . . . hence is wea: an# ineffectual an# why shoul# anyoneBleast of all your rea#erBgive a #amn what happens to him? But let<s assume that Dohn is strong1 an# #oes want the #ate an# Su@y. So he fights1 via anything from +lan#ishments to persuasion to +lac:mail. $inally Su@y agrees. E.J.? =o. Why not? Because we<ve ma#e it too easy for Dohn. The conflict is too limite#1 the scene too soon playe# out. ay+e the two of them can #e+ate at greater length? =o. The en#less rehashing of a single issue soon grows #reary. .s there a reme#y? &es: Bring in a##itional e7ternal #ifficulties relate# to the situation. Effer new #evelopments: more hin#rances1 more o+stacles1 more complications. .n a wor#1 ma:e it har#er for your character to win his goal. Treat him rough. Throw roa#+loc:s at him. -ow can you #o this?

2mphasi@e the strength of the opposition. Buil# up the forces that +loc: Dohn. This is another way of saying1 let Dohn receive new an# unanticipate# information that ma:es his situation worse. This information may +e receive# ver+ally1 or it may come visually1 or via any of his other senses. .nformation is still information1 even though you acquire it +y opening a #oor an# #iscovering your +ri#e<s star:1 mutilate# corpse> or +y catching a scent of violets an# thus learning that your hus+an# still has contact with his mistress> or +y noting the +itterness of your #rin: an# reali@ing that "ncle *lph is trying to poison you again. Ii:e may+e1 here1 Dohn successfully +rushes off Su@y<s #ate with Aeorge. Whereupon she +rings up another matter: CWhat a+out Cecile?C Dohn shifts uncomforta+ly. C)lease1 Su@y. &ou :now that<s all over.C CAeorge #oesn<t thin: so.C .t<s a new tac:1 +ut Dohn rallies to it: Who1 he wants to :now1 is Su@y going to +elieve: him1 or Aeorge? Su@y sha:es her hea# ruefully. C.m sorry1 Dohn. But it isn<t a question of me +elieving.C CWhat #o you mean?C CDust what . sai#. .t isn<t me> it<s father.C C&our fatherF What a+out him?C C-e +elieves Aeorge.C *gain1 a twist: new information receive#> a new complication1 new trou+le. <<-e<s for+i##en me to #ate you1<< Su@y confesses. CWhat<s that got to #o with it? &ou<re a +ig girl nowFC C=ot that +ig.C ore groping on Dohn<s part. he as:s at last. ore fum+ling for an angle. CSuppose . can get him to change his min#?C

That woul# in#ee# solve the pro+lem1 Su@y agrees. *n# so it<s settle#: .f Dohn can persua#e her father to E.J. the #ate1 she<ll go with Dohn to the prom. Do you see how much more meat this scene now hol#s1 even telescope# as here? Than:s to new #evelopments1 new complications1 action an# interest continually rise. Dohn1 stimulate# +y the seeming progress of the opposition1 puts forth renewe# effort. *n# this in turn intensifies rea#er e7citement over which si#e ultimately will win or lose. $inally1 as we<ve seen1 he persua#es Su@y. But even this victory has consequences pro9ecte# into the future1 for it commits him to changing her father<s attitu#e . . . a chore which1 viewe# o+9ectively1 may prove to ta:e a +it of #oing. $or the moment1 however1 everything is sprigge# with roses. 2nter #isaster.

What is #isaster? Disaster is a hoo:. What<s a hoo:? * hoo: is a #evice for catching1 hol#ing1 sustaining1 or pulling anythingBin this case1 a rea#er. To this en#1 #isaster Gas we use the termH offers a logical yet unanticipate# #evelopment that throws your focal character for a loss. .t puts him +ehin# the eight8+all +ut completelyBCSu##en an# e7traor#inary misfortune> a calamity1C in the wor#s of r. We+ster. Such a #evelopment upsets your rea#er as well as your hero. .nstantly1 it raises a new question to hol# him fast on the tenterhoo:s of suspense: What oh what will the focal character #o now? Disaster comes in the form of new information receive#Bli:e the unanticipate# arrival of Aeorge Aarvey at the malt shop1 to illustrate the principle in terms of our e7ample. Aeorge is outrage# to #iscover that Dohn is attempting to +eat his time. -e swears that if Eur Boy ever again so much as loo:s at Su@y1 there<ll +e mayhem. To emphasi@e his point1 he throws Dohn +o#ily from the shop. Time out for a few o+9ections. G%H CBut suppose my hero #oesn<t have a goal when the scene starts?C Aoals are of two :in#s: goals of achievement1 an# goals of resistance. The first is e7plicit1 as in our e7amples> the secon#1 implicit. Iet<s illustrate: This time1 preten# that Dohn alrea#y has his #ate with Su@y sche#ule#. She<s agree# to it #elighte#ly. 2nter Aeorge. -e announces that he<s ta:ing over1 an# that he<ll ren# Dohn lim+ from lim+ if there<s any further tal: of #ating Su@y. E+serve: Though Dohn ha# no goal when this action starte#1 now1 a+ruptly1 he acquires one: to resist Aeorge. .n other wor#s1 the goal of achievement is Aeorge<s> that of Dohn1 counterpoint. So1 Dohn resists. Aeorge promptly turns to violence. The malt shop<s proprietor threatens to call the police. )anic:e#1 Su@y tells Dohn to forget the prom. Dohn refuses. WhereuponB#isaster. $or Aeorge throws him out1 precisely as in the original version.

G'H C. want to write a+out life1 not artificial1 contrive# conflicts.C )ar#on me1 +ut you #on<t want to write a+out life> not if you<# eschew conflict. $or again1 what is conflict? .t<s opposition. .t<s two forces striving to achieve mutually incompati+le goals. To #escri+e conflicts as artificial or contrive# is merely to #amn yourself for your own ineptitu#e in the han#ling of them. There<s conflict in +irth1 an# in life1 an# in #eath> in an a7 mur#er an#1 equally1 in the softly whispere# wor#s of a se#uction. Conflict is in the plight of the refugee who see:s a path across a hostile +or#er1 an# .n that of the stepmother who strives to +rea: through the sullen silence of her hus+an#<s chil#ren. .t engulfs the ol# man thrust from his 9o+ +y retirement rules1 an# the pu+lic8health nurse who tries to +ring solace to the parents of a malforme# chil#. Wherever you fin# him1 man stan#s in conflict with other men1 with nature1 an# with himself. -e can clash with a mountain1 an animal1 a ro+ot1 a #ollar1 a germ1 a neurosis1 a theory. * touching scene can +e +uilt aroun# the stu++ornness of a #rin:ing glass oppose# to a chil# too retar#e# to fee# himself1 or a grain of san# wearing at a pump valve. True1 man against man1 human opponents1 are most easily han#le# while you<re learning. But that only ma:es the challenge of less o+vious struggles all the more intriguing. &ou want to write a+out life? By all means. But #on<t confuse life with mere wor# photography. .t<s not a cruise through the alimentary canal with gun an# camera1 nor the sterile1 egocentric thought8spirals of the immo+ili@e# neurotic +roo#ing over his plight. Iife is conflict. .f you #eny it1 the scene in#ee# isn<t for you. But neither is commercial fiction. G(H CBut must a scene always en# in #isaster?C .t must raise an intriguing question for the futureBa question #esigne# to :eep your rea#er rea#ing. To that en#1 no +etter #evice has ever +een conceive# than the confrontation of your focal character with #isaster. That<s the reason the ol# movie serials always en#e# with a cliff8hangerB)earl White tie# to the railroa# trac:s an# the five8fifteen roaring roun# the curve. Ence you<ve gaine# sufficient s:ill1 however1 you can ma:e the #isaster potential an# not actual. Thus1 Aeorge might not throw Dohn out1 literally. ay+e he 9ust hints #ar:ly at trou+le to come1 all the more menacing +ecause it remains not quite specific. Similarly1 you can reverse the #isaster1 as it were. .nstea# of en#ing your scene on a #own8+eat note1 with the focal character suc:e# into a +ottomless whirlpool of trou+le1 you play the other si#e of the recor# an# set him up to ri#e for a fall. $or e7ample1 you might let him launch some #ia+olically clever scheme to #o in his foes. This gives you some #evastating question Choo:sC to pull along your au#ience: *re things really going to wor: out this well1 this easily1 for -ero? Will Villain fall for such a stunt? Er1 has he some tric: up his sleeve with which to turn the ta+les? G. must a## that though this Creverse# #isasterC system soun#s fine in the a+stract1 it<s har#er to ma:e wor: than appears at first glance.

$or one thing1 it ta:es the initiative away from your focal character an# gives it to the opposition. This forces your hero to wait more or less passively to see how sai# opposition is going to react. *n# that<s a #angerous situation1 always1 where you the writer are concerne#.H .n any event1 you #o have a choice as to how to en# a scene. So ta:e whatever path you prefer1 so long as you conclu#e with your story pointe# into the future: some issue raise# that will :eep your rea#er turning pages1 ever on the e#ge of his chair as he won#ers 9ust what<s going to happen nowF G,H CThe scenes you +uil# are ru#e an# cru#eBnot at all the :in# of thing . want to write.C )lease1 please1 frien#F =ever confuse e7ample with principle1 or #emonstration with #evice. *ll the illustrations in this +oo: are painte# in +right colors an# splashe# on with a +arn +rash. Su+tlety too often #efeats itself if you try to use it to ma:e a point. But that #oesn<t mean you can<t apply principle in a su+tle manner. There1 the issue is always you: the way you see your worl#> the :in# of story you want to tell. Thus1 your particular scene may involve neither lighting nor young love. The pattern wor:s 9ust as effectively when you use it to #evelop the plight of a fat1 aging recluse as he tries to circumvent efforts to evict him. *n# you can write it on any level1 inclu#ing star: un#erstatement1 or pathos1 or #ra+ tones of gray an# +eige. G/H CScene format as you #escri+e it is rigi#> mechanical.C ay . plea# guilty to oversimplification? What . offer here is merely a +eginning. .t<s a +asic approach> a spring+oar# to help launch you into fiction. Ence you<ve mastere# the elements of the form1 e7perience an# stu#y of pu+lishe# copy will teach you how to vary it in terms of your own taste an# 9u#gment. !emem+er 9ust one thing: *s a tool1 the scene is #esigne# to ma:e the most of conflict. To that en#1 it organi@es conflict elements. .t telescopes them. .t intensifies them. Without such a tool1 even your +est material may come forth #iffuse an# #evoi# of impact. G0H CBut surely not everything in story is scene?C True enough. What<s left is sequel. BBut more of that later. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN Where is scene planning most li:ely to +rea: #own? Some thousan#s of stu#ent manuscripts convince me that :ey errors are relatively few in num+er: G%H Erientation is mu##le#. &our rea#ers got to :now where he stan#s. That means he nee#s a character to serve as compass. Therefore1 even if your story<s focal character isn<t on stage in a given scene1 that scene still must have a focal character. )ic: this character +y whatever stan#ar# you choose> +ut #o pic: himF Then1 hol# him in the spotlight.

See that motivating stimuli motivate an# stimulate him.

a:e him react to them.

Whereupon1 your rea#er can use him as a yar#stic: with which to measure an# evaluate what happens. G'H The focal character<s goal is wea: an#;or #iffuse. That is1 it<s not sufficiently specific1 concrete1 an# e7plicit. The reme#y? GaH Jeep the goal a short8range proposition. a:e it something that the focal character can logically strive to achieve in a relatively limite#1 time8 unifie#1 face8toface encounter. G+H Be ruthless in forcing yourself to re#uce sai# goal to a single1 photographa+le act. * goal1 remem+er1 is the target your character shoots for in or#er to unify a particular scene. Therefore1 :eep it #ominantBthe center of attention1 li:e the #uc: at which you aim as the floc: passes overhea#. Ether targets may present themselves to your character in the course of a scene> grante#. B-ere<s a girl to flirt with him. There1 a chance to pic: up a sorely8nee#e# #ollar. Temporarily1 such may attract him. But you must hol# them to a su+or#inate level or your scene will veer off li:e a car in a s:i#. G(H The character himself is wea:. CWhy #oesn<t he quit?C is the :ey phrase here. .f enough is at sta:e for him1 he<ll fightF G,H The scene lac:s urgency. What is urgency? Time pressure. That means1 there must +e some reason for Dohn to act to attain his goal right now. *lways1 force him to ta:e imme#iate action. .f he can postpone his efforts without loss> if he can #ate Su@y as well ne7t wee: or ne7t month or ne7t year1 then urgency will vanish. En the other han#1 suppose that Dohn learns that the #ay after the prom Su@y leaves on a 2uropean tour. .t<s a gra#uation present from her *unt -eph@i+ah. Aeorge1 a favore# suitor1 will accompany the party. Dohn envisions a 9et8spee# romance +etween the two1 complete with marriage at the nearest *merican consulate. !esult: time pressure on Dohn to line up Su@y now. B)lus a feeling of urgency that won<t stop1 for your rea#er. G/H The opposition is #iffuse. * swarm of anopheles mosquitoes can very well prove more #angerous than a Bengal tiger. But the +ig cat offers unifie# an# o+vious menace1 an# that<s why a goo# many more people come #own with malaria than are eaten +y tigers.

.t<s also the reason why unifie# opposition is more useful in +uil#ing rea#er interest than is fragmente# opposition. Small1 annoying oppositions wear out your focal character rather than overwhelming him. Ii:e guerrilla fighters1 they hac: away at him without giving him a chance to 9oin +attle. But heroism or#inarily lies in stri:ing +ac:. &our character nee#s some one central figure he can #efeat an# thus resolve his pro+lem. This is where a villain comes in han#y. Broa# social forces may1 in the last analysis1 +e at the root of your hero<s trou+les. But it helps if you +ring them to life in the person of one in#ivi#ual1 if only so that Dohn has someone to punch in the nose at the clima7F G0H The opposition is wea:. The strength of your villain is the strength of your story. Writers who lac: confi#ence in their focal characters sometimes try to solve the pro+lem +y ma:ing villains wea:. !esult: wea: scenes. !eme#y: stronger villains. "n#er stress1 your hero may prove #oughtier than you thin:F G3H The scene is fragmentary or trivial. *nother name for this hea#ache is lac: of a#equate e7ternal #evelopment. The fact that someone spills a #rin: on your hero<s freshly8presse# pants #oesn<t offer meat enough to +uil# a scene1 unless further complications ensue. G4H The scene is monotonous. Same pro+lem> same solution. The :ey symptom here is a ten#ency on the part of your characters to go over an# over the same groun#1 haggling an# rehashing the same issues en#lessly. What to #o a+out it? GaH Throw in more e7ternal #evelopment. 2specially1 throw in more unanticipate# twists. .f the wife insists on calling the telephone num+er she foun# in her hus+an#<s wallet1 an# which he insists he :nows nothing a+out1 let one of the wife<s ol# flames answer. Then the happy couple at least will have something fresh to argue overF G+H Aive the characters themselves more #iversity. 27tra facets an# mo#ifying traits will :eep them from growing so #ull an# pre#icta+le. G5H The #isaster isn<t #isastrous enough. *gain1 #on<t +e afrai# to give your hero trou+le. The future shoul# always hinge on each scene<s outcomeBthat is1 its #isaster. .t shoul# have potentially #isastrous consequences for your character. .f it lac:s such1 who cares a+out it? G%6H The #isaster isn<t in#igenous to the scene. * #isaster shoul# +e unanticipate# yet logical. That means1 it shoul# grow out of your materials. 2very

writer uses *cts of Ao# now an# then1 in or#er to get his hero #eeper into trou+le. But as a general rule1 it<s wise to maintain some sort of relationship +etween your :ey story people an# a scene<s #isaster. Thus1 rival Aeorge Aarvey provi#es Dohn<s #isaster in our sample scene. * +elligerently #run:en +um might have cause# trou+le 9ust as well. But he<# have ha# little relationship to the story +eyon# mere complication> an# rea#ers #raw more satisfaction from motivate# action. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN Does all this soun# ever so complicate# to you? .t isn<t> not really. Ence you get the :nac: of manipulating your goal8conflict8#isaster pattern #eftly1 you can lay out a scene on a three8+y8five car# an# still have plenty of room left over to set #own . . . The sequel in s:eleton * sequel is a unit of transition that lin:s two scenes1 li:e the coupler +etween two railroa# cars. .t sets forth your focal character<s reaction to the scene 9ust complete#1 an# provi#es him with motivation for the scene ne7t to come. What are the functions of sequel? a. To translate #isaster into goal. +. To telescope reality. c. To control tempo.

-ow #oes sequel translate #isaster into goal? .t provi#es a +ri#ge that gives your characterBan# your rea#erBa plausi+le reason for stri:ing out in a particular #irection that will +ring Character into further conflict. 27hi+it *: The pri@e fight. !ecovering from his :.o.1 -ero faces the future. -e<s +een lic:e#. So1 shoul# he now retire from +o7ing . . . see: a rematch . . . attac: .#s opponent againBthis time1 outsi#e the ring? -is possi+le courses of action are virtually infinite. &et only when he reaches a #ecision as to which roa# to ta:e can your story logically procee#. Why? Because each roa# sets up a #ifferent goal. * #ecision to retire esta+lishes one o+9ective for our +o7er: to fin# a 9o+. Iet him see: a rematch1 an# he<s face# with a #ifferent pro+lem: to persua#e various powers that +e

that he<s not a has8+een. *n# so on. 2nter sequel: the #ecision8ma:ing area> the +ri#ge from one scene to another. * scene1 remem+er1 is a unit of conflict. &our rea#er rea#s it +ecause he li:es to live through a struggle with your character . . . +attle opposition . . . fin# an answer to the implie# question of who wins an# who loses. But sooner or later1 every +attle en#s: on a hoo:1 a question1 a #isaster. 2agerly1 then1 your rea#er rea#s on. -e see:s that happy moment when your story8forces once again come into conflict. -ere1 you must +e very1 very wary. $or conflict for conflict<s sa:e isn<t enough. Why not? Because it<s meaningless. That is1 it +ears no clear8cut cause8effect relationship to what<s gone +efore. .t<s not the result of1 or reaction to1 prece#ing struggles. When a stranger C9ust happensC to slug your character in a +arroom +rawl1 it<s conflict without cause within the limits of your story. *s such1 it<s also an evasion of the long8range issues. This your rea#er won<t accept. -e #eman#s that your character<s efforts have meaning. They must +e the consequence of prior #evelopment an# the pro#uct of intelligence an# #irection. So1 unless you<ve plante# proper motivation1 hell resent it if your +o7er1 for no apparent reason1 slugs a cop or stomps the arena #oorman. =or will he +e satisfie#1 for that matter1 if a gang of young hoo#lums chooses this particular moment to pelt your vanquishe# warrior with rotten eggs1 not even :nowing who he is. .n other wor#s1 your rea#er must have logic as well as interest . . . plausi+ility in a##ition to e7citement. Without such1 the very tension !ea#er see:s is li:ely to +e lost. $iction is +uilt on a suspension of #is+elief. .f your story people +ehave irrationally or without cause1 normal #iscernment rises to shatter the illusion you<re trying to create. &our rea#er insists that there +e a reason for each new +attle> that conflict +e motivate#> that it ma:e sense for your character to strive towar# a particular new goal. This is where sequel comes in. .mplicitly an#;or e7plicitly1 it reveals how your focal character chooses his new course of action. .t reassures your rea#er that this is a sensi+le person1 worthy of acceptance. To that en#1 sequel traces Character<s chain of logic> his pattern of rationali@ation. Thus1 sequel is aftermathBthe state of affairs an# state of min# that shapes your character<s +ehavior after #isaster has :noc:e# him #own. -ow #oes sequel telescope reality?

a:ing a #ecision may ta:e time. .t may #eman# movement. Eften1 it calls for intro#uction of new material . . . un#ramatic material1 even . . . to help your character #eci#e. *gain1 consi#er our +o7er. -ours or #ays or wee:s may pass +efore he can ma:e up his min# as to precisely what he wants to #o a+out his lost fight. )resente# in #etail1 such a time lapse will +og #own your story. $inally1 Character #eci#es to meet his opponent in inneapolis: a transition in space. &et the trip itself is unimportant. .t<s a mere means to the en# of a return match.

Travel with Character mile +y mile1 an# again your story will +og #own. Before Character can fight1 he must atten# to a host of un#ramatic #etails. There<ll +e meals to eat1 nights to sleep1 people to meet . . . plus en#less hours of routine training. Written in scene8type #etail1 all this will +ring your yarn to a grin#ing halt. &ou face a pro+lem of proportion. Summary is essential. Summary is what you get when you a+stract or a+ri#ge. .t<s that part of a story in which the writer says that things are happening1 or that they have happene#. .t<s telling1 not showing> or1 at +est1 a com+ination of the two. Summary telescopes reality. *n# this telescoping is sequel<s secon# function. -ow #oes sequel control tempo? .t lets you allocate space an# emphasis to get the effect you want. * story is a series of pea:s an# valleys> +ig moments an# small. .t<s not 9ust a continuing clima7. To that en#1 you wor: for moo# . . . select #etail . . . capture the flavor of life. Through ela+oration or e7cision1 you thrust the pea:s high1 cut the valleys #eep . . . hammer home the climactic moments without losing contact with the inci#ental. Thus1 where our +o7er is concerne#1 we must give the +ig fight its full #ue as clima7 an# mil: it of every ounce of impact.

*t the same time1 however1 in +rief space1 we must somehow convey the sense of time passing1 an# capture the grin# an# #reariness of the training routine. .n fact1 we must contrast the pea: of emotional intensity of the fight itself with the #ragging hours that go +efore. .t<s essential to spee# up here1 slow #own there . . . in +rief1 control the tempo. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN What unifies sequel an# hol#s it together? Topic. What is topic? The su+9ect of a #iscourse or any section of it.

What<s the su+9ect of sequel? .t<s your character<s reaction to his plight. .t<s preoccupation with the pro+lem the prece#ing scene pose#. .t says1 in effect1 <<.<ve +een #efeate#1 humiliate#1 overwhelme# +y a #isaster. What #o . #o now?<< With that preoccupation ri#ing him1 Character wor:s out an answer. Then he pinpoints it in a #ecision to attac: a new goal. Thus1 sequel has a %8'8( structure: G%H !eaction. G'H Dilemma. G(H Decision. -ow #oes his wor:? To #emonstrate1 let<s +uil# a sequel to follow the scene that starre# our fighter. The scene clima7e# in a :noc:outBfor Character1 #isaster. Where #oes that leave our man? What<s his state of affairs an# state of min#? -is manager will have a role in this: CSorry1 :i#> you<ve ha# it. Don<t call me> .<ll call you.C -is girl too1 may+e: CSure1 . love you1 honey. But marry a punch8#run: pugBwhat<s there in that for any+o#y?C State of affairs often is reveale# in the reaction of others to your character<s #isaster. -ow a+out state of min#? What woul# you e7pect? What<s happene# is enough to rouse fears in anyone: .s he really no goo#? -as he1 in#ee#1 ha# it? Together1 state of affairs an# state of min# constitute the aftermath of #isaster. Eut of it all1 a question rises: What<s Character to #o now? Shoul# he accept #efeat? $in# a new girl? Aet a 9o+ hustling pac:ing8cases in a warehouse?

Character +roo#s a+out it num+ly while the trainer strips off the gloves an# cuts away the +an#ages. -e goes on +roo#ing while he showers an# #resses. What happens #oesn<t matter1 save insofar as it len#s reality to the moment. The #isaster is all that counts> the #isaster1 an# your character<s preoccupation with it. Iater1 he wal:s the streets. There<s a stea: that somehow turns to ashes in his mouth1 an# #rin:s that +urn +ut #on<t +righten. That night he tosses1 sleepless1 on a lumpy mattress in a cheap hotel room. This +lac: #espairBit may go on for #ays or wee:s1 or it may +e over in a moment. Er1 perhaps1 the thing he feels isn<t #espair1 +ut fury1 or relief1 or grim #etermination. But whatever it is1 it<s reaction: your character<s reaction to his very real1 very personal #isaster. Then that too fa#es1 pushe# +ac: at least a trifle +y the nee# to face the future. What shoul# he #o? That<s the question. .t<s also Character<s #ilemma: a situation involving choice +etween equally unsatisfactory alternatives. Deftly or clumsily1 +lithely or +itterly1 our man wor:s out an answer. Decision emerges: -ell try to set up a rematch in inneapolis. .t<s a new goal. Eur character<s efforts to attain it will give rise to further conflict> another scene to catch an# hol# a rea#er. Iogically1 plausi+ly1 sequel has +rought it into +eing. =ow let<s try the pattern again . . . this time on our other scene1 the one that feature# Dohn an# Aeorge an# Su@y. Scene clima7: #isaster. What<s Dohn<s reaction to it? -umiliation1 of course. -ow woul# you li:e to +e thrown out of the malt shop1 right +efore the very eyes of the girl you<re trying to impress? So1 Dohn feels humiliation. )lus rage. )lus frustration. )lus half8a8#o@en other mi7e#1 unnama+le emotions that a## up almost to apople7y. Sensi+le enough1 right? "n#erstan#a+le? *ccepta+le? But what can he #o a+out it? Aeorge is +ig an# +rawny an# in star8half+ac: con#ition.

Besi#es1 in her panic1 Su@y has alrea#y +ac:e# #own on going to the prom. 2nter #ilemma. So1 Dohn goes off to lic: his woun#e# ego an# to +roo#: Shoul# he appeal to Su@y<s father? To Su@y herself? To *unt -eph@i+ah? !i#iculous thoughts1 all of them. 2ven Dohn can see it. &et he<s got to #o somethingBnot only +ecause he wants Su@y himself1 +ut +ecause he<s convince# that Aeorge is intereste# in her for purely mercenary reasons. =otice what this #oes for your rea#er: $irst8off1 he gets a chance to suffer an# worry with an# a+out Dohn. Secon#1 he consi#ers the possi+ilities that he himself might come up with. Seeing the wea:ness in each1 he reali@es that Dohn can<t ta:e those roa#s. Thir#1 he sees there<s a reason Dohn can<t quit. .n other wor#s1 here in the sequel we<ve intro#uce# a##itional elements to logic an# plausi+ility to hoo: your rea#er tighter to the story. )erhaps we even a## an inci#ent or two1 in which Dohn as:s frien#s for a#vice1 to no avail. G*n inci#ent is a sort of a+ortive scene1 in which your character attempts to reach a goal. But he meets with no resistance1 no conflict. When a +oy see:s to :iss a girl who<s equally eager to :iss him1 you have an inci#ent.H Er may+e there are happenings along the way1 in which Dohn meets acquaintances. But +ecause he<s preoccupie# with his pro+lem1 he fails to respon# to their greetings. G* happening +rings people together. But it<s non8#ramatic1 +ecause no goal or conflict is involve#.H Both these su+8units are legitimate enough. .n fact1 they<re #esira+le1 insofar as they a## touches of realism to your wor:. But since they lac: conflict1 they #on<t hol# enough real interest to sustain attention for long. So here stan#s Dohn1 +alance# precariously on the horns of his #ilemma. By now the whole situation seems so impossi+le to him that he +egins to won#er if he was a fool to give up Cecile for Su@y in the first place. CecileBF Suppose he were to ta:e Cecile to the prom instea# of Su@yF While she +ears him no love1 at this point1 she still might +e persua#e# if he coul# put forth the right incentive. ercenary little min7 that she is1 she might even agree to ma:e a play for Aeorge> an# if Aeorge respon#e#1 Su@y<s eyes woul# in#ee# +e opene#F

.t<s a long shot1 o+viously . . . the :in# of #eal that very well might +ac:fire. But un#er the circumstances1 it<s worth a try. $irst step: Sell CecileF .t is #ecision . . . a new goal for Dohn to strive towar#. *n# count on it1 conflict will inevita+ly follow. *t least1 it will if we ma:e proper use of our scene patternF !eaction . . . #ilemma . . . #ecision. *ll the parts are there. .t<s a sequel. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN Sequel an# scene: the search for a goal . . . then the struggle to attain it. These are fiction<s two +asic units. To lay out a story1 repeat the pattern to fill the #esire# length. scene . . . sequel . . . scene . . . sequel . . . scene . . . sequel. . . . Can you +egin with sequel? &es1 of course. B ore a+out this1 though1 when we get to the pro+lems of the +eginning. These are +asic tools. They wor:. )ractice using them every chance you get. Aoals1 conflicts1 #isasters1 reactions1 #ilemmas1 #ecisionsByou meet them a hun#re# times a #ay1 in fragmentary form1 whenever you come in contact with other people. So1 ta:e a#vantage of those fragments. Buil# forwar# an#;or +ac:war# from them1 ela+orating from chance remar:s or o+serve# #etails into complete scenes1 complete sequels> even com+inations. y late colleague )rofessor Walter S. Camp+ell use# to say that he +egan to sell as soon as he mastere# scene format. Ene of my former stu#ents echoes the sentiment. -e<s 9ust seen his thirteenth +oo: pu+lishe#. So1 is that all there is to fiction? 9ust learning to plan scenes an# sequels? Well1 not quite. .t also helps if you can write themF Writing the scene Whether you<re aware of it or not1 you<ve alrea#y acquire# most of the technical tric:s you nee# to write a scene. &ou pic:e# them up in Chapter (. What are they? a. Erientation. +. otivating stimulus.

c. Character reaction. #. )attern of emotion. e. B*n# all the other implications an# si#e issues Chapter ( set forth. * scene is a struggle1 a unit of conflict1 remem+er. So you put it together li:e the fight in which our +o7er was :noc:e# out: The +ell rings. $ocal character an# opponent come out of their corners1 each #etermine# to attain his private goal. *n# from there on1 it<s 9ust a matter of motivation an# reaction: for every move1 a countermove> for every punch1 a counterpunch . . . until one or the other goes #own or the +ell again rings. The +ig thing to +ear in min# is that a scene is unifie# +y time. There aren<t any +rea:s or lapses in it1 any more than there are in living. Consequently1 you write in a series of interloc:e# 8! units1 as continuous as water gushing from a faucet. 2ach motivating stimulus evo:es an appropriate reaction from the focal character. 2ach character reaction triggersBor at least is followe# +yBa pertinent motivating stimulus. "nit hoo:s to unit in a fast8lin:ing chain. State of affairs intermeshes with state of min#. Aoal is esta+lishe#. &our character<s efforts to attain it plunge him into conflict. -e fights through a seesaw pattern of furtherance an# hin#rance1 gain an# loss1 untilB9ust when he thin:s he<s wonB #isaster su##enly overwhelms him. .f you #o your 9o+ well1 your rea#er lives through the +attle with your story people. *n# +elieve it or not1 that<s all there is to itF BThough the specific points that follow may also prove helpful1 +y steering you away from common pitfalls. -erewith1 three #o<s: G%H Do esta+lish time1 place1 circumstance1 an# viewpoint at the very start of each an# every scene. Confusion infuriates your rea#er. To avoi# it1 :eep him properly informe#. 2specially is this necessary where changes in situation are concerne#: CThe s:y to the east was gray an# the street lights ha# gone out +efore Areer left the apartment.C CThe Three Brothers was a squat a#o+e +uil#ing1 hu##le# in a wil# croo: of the hills half a mile +eyon# the town.C C.t was too #ar: to see the man who shoo: him awa:e.<< CThe ur#erer never :new quite when it was he ma#e that final1 awful1 inevita+le #ecision to :ill.C G'H Do #emonstrate quic:ly that some character has P scene goal. The first half8page of a scene shoul# ma:e it clear that some+o#y has a goal. To this en#1 let that some+o#y show purposeBprefera+ly1 urgent purpose. a:e him act as if he ha# a goal . . . as if he were out to #o something specific an# important right now: C-e clung to the sha#ows1 stu#ying the place for the space of a cigarette.C CShe came in the night1 long after he<# given her up.C CThe lawyer calle# at nine8forty. -e sai# he represente# Daniel E<Connor1 an# that in the interests of 9ustice1 culture1 an# peace on earth1 it was vital that he see me right away.C

.#eally1 ma:e your character<s goal clear8cut an# e7plicit from the +eginning: CVery coolly1 very carefully1 he raise# the rifle an# #rew a +ea# on the +ac: of Sortino<s nec:: one #ea# #ictator1 coming up.C CCo7 sai#1 <. want some facts1 -effner. *ll the facts a+out what happene# on Calisto.<C CEne thing was certain: Charlene was going to leave this house. Tonight. -e<# see to that for sure.C But if you have trou+le pinning the goal #own that tightly right at the start1 the impression of purpose alone will carry the +all for a while. !emem+er1 too1 that li:e everything else in fiction1 a goal is +etter shown than tol#. The things your character #oes1 a #emonstration1 will come through stronger than mere wor#s. Why ma:e such a +ig thing of intro#ucing goal so quic:ly? GaH .nterest ri#es with purpose. The sooner you intro#uce the i#ea that some+o#y<s traveling towar# a given #estination1 the sooner your rea#er will +ecome intrigue# with won#ering what will come of the 9ourney. G+H Aoal often represents only the start of scene. .n other wor#s1 goal is primarily a spring+oar# to plunge your character into conflict. Ence he<s caught up in such1 the situation will change on him1 li:ely as not. So the more quic:ly you esta+lish goal1 the more quic:ly you can move on to the meat of action an# unanticipate# #evelopment that your rea#er loves. Thus1 may+e your hero wants to punch the villain in the nose1 or to o+tain an answer to one pointe# question. But +ug8eye# monsters are waiting for him in the cellar1 or the heroine has #isappeare#1 or the house+oat on the Sty7 has sun:. By the time the #isaster is reache#1 in fact1 no one even remem+ers the initial goal. &et that goal is still infinitely important1 for without it the scene itself woul# have ha# no e7cuse for coming into +eing. ust the goal always +e that of your focal character? =ot necessarily. )erhaps his role1 in this particular instance1 is less to achieve than to resist. But try to avoi# having him merely acte# upon too much of the time. .n most scenes1 he shoul# +e the aggressor Bactive1 #ynamic1 #riving forwar#. So much for scene goals. Whether they come forth on the printe# page as implicit or e7plicit1 all must +e ever so sharp in your own thin:ing. 2ach shoul# +e epitomi@e# into some single act so pertinent an# urgent that a character coul# +elieva+ly aspire to perform itBan# so concrete an# specific that you the writer coul# snap a picture of that performanceF G(H Do +uil# to a curtain line. Some scenes have punch an# some #on<t. The ones that #o have +een written so that the #isaster comes su##enly an# in unanticipate# formBa shoc:1 focuse# nee#le8sharp in a curtain line: C<Congratulations1 r. Aoss1< the alien sai#. <With you1 your race comes to an en#.<C CBut #ea# Wang<s fingers still clung to a tuft of Clare Jenne#y<s shimmering au+urn hair.C -e shove# the white8hot iron +etween Will 2vans< toes.C

=ow . grant you that this sort of thing can easily +e over#one. *lso that there are in#ee# a host of other factors that go to create punch. But when all the critical smir:s have fa#e#1 an# all the intellectual laughter has #ie# #own1 or#inary rea#ers will still +e rea#ingBavi#ly1 enthusiasticallyBstories that cap off their scenes with curtain lines. *n# now1 three #on<ts: G%H Don<t write too small. There are those who<ll tell you a scene can<t +e #evelope# satisfactorily in less than four pagesBa thousan# wor#s. They 9ust might +e right1 too. Why? GaH Because scenes constitute the most important portions of your story1 an# it ta:es space to impress your rea#er with the importance of anything. G+H Because most of us nee# space1 if we<re to +uil# to any :in# of emotional pea:. GcH BecauseBin +rief1 fragmentary scenesByou<re har# put to offer enough of the :in# of color1 characteri@ation1 conflict1 complication1 maneuvering1 punch8an#8counterpunch1 an# unanticipate# #evelopment that it ta:es to hol# rea#er interest. $our pages1 then? =o1 let<s not ma:e it anything ar+itrary or resem+ling a rule. But on the other han#1 let<s not try to put across a clima7 in a paragraph eitherF * Dohn Collier can get away with it. The rest of us #on<t #are to write too small. G'H Don<t go into flash+ac:. $lash+ac: is some+o#y remem+ering in the present what happene# in the past. .t +rings your story1 your present action1 to a #ea# halt for the #uration. =ow there<s a place for this :in# of thing1 upon occasion. But that place is not within a scene. Why not? GaH .t<s essentially unrealistic. ost of us1 when we<re in conflict1 are far too involve# with :eeping our hea#s a+ove water to in#ulge in any great amount of reverie. G+H .t strains rea#er patience +a#ly. When you write a story1 you try to sweep your rea#er along with you on a rising wave of tension. )articularly is this true in those units of struggle we call scenes.

Ao into flash+ac:1 an# tension ten#s to #rop to @ero. Why? Because you<ve halte# forwar# movement an# present action1 an# your rea#er :nows that what<s alrea#y past 9ust can<t +e change#. Then1 when you return to the present1 you have to start +uil#ing e7citement again from scratch. *re these groun#s enough to warrant your :eeping past history out of your scenes? $or my money1 yesBespecially since flash+ac:s fit more neatly into sequel anyhow. G(H Don<t acci#entally summari@e. *ctually1 you #o summari@e even in scene1 of course. The fact that your heroine a+sent8min#e#ly pic:s her nose in an em+race #oesn<t necessarily #eman# mention1 nor is its e7clusion misse#. En the other han#1 there are certain slips that snea: into everyone<s copy1 at one time or another. They<re #angerous. They 9ar rea#ers. They crac: or shatter story illusion. =o one can ever hope to ma:e a complete list of such1 of course. But here are a few samples of the :in# of thing to watch out for: GaH C-e tol# her thatBC This is in#irect #iscourseBa paraphrasing an# summari@ing of the actual wor#s spo:en. !un from itF What you want is speechBthe genuine article1 #own to the last slur an# contraction. G+H C-e hunte# for the elevator without success.C That<s what you tell me1 anyhow. But .<# rather see what happene#: Definitely hurrying now1 he lope# #own the corri#or to the left. Still no elevator. =ot even a fire stairs . . . . . . an# so on. Step +y step an# +low +y +low. *fter all1 that<s how your character live# it. GcH CTime passe#.C Then s:ip to where things start to happen. G#H CThey ha# a couple of #rin:s.C Why not CBeer here1C grunte# )aul. Iair# consi#ere# for a moment. C a:e mine rye an# water1C he sai# finally. The thing to +ear in min# is that nothing ever really comes alive in summary. Iife is live# moment +y

moment1 in Technicolor #etail. To capture it on paper1 you have to +rea: +ehavior #own into precise an# pertinent fragments of motivation an# response. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN *n# that<s enough instruction. .f not too much. Ence you un#erstan# the fun#amentals1 the way to learn to write scenes is to write scenes. While you<re practicing1 though1 you might li:e to consi#er a few thoughts on . . . Writing the sequel When you sit #own to write a sequel1 you<re face# with pro+lems in three ma9or areas: a. Compression. +. Transition. c. Cre#i+ility. Consi#er your focal character. Time: post8#isaster. -e<s lost his girl. -is 9o+<s no more. The frien# he truste# has +etraye# him. =ow1 he tries to #eci#e what to #o> how to rea#9ust to his change# circumstances. To that en#1 he must pace the floor an# wal: the streets an# face the #is#ain of a #o@en #ifferent people. -ow #o you squee@e it all into a paragraph or a page? Similarly1 a wee: may pass +etween the time he<s struc: #own an# the time he starts towar# a new goal. .n that wee:1 he may travel from ilwau:ee to a#agascar> from +ruises to +looming health> from +lac: gloom to wil# elation. -ow #o you ma:e the 9ump from time to time an# place to place an# state to state an# moo# to moo#? Disaster ten#s to paraly@e a man. Beaten #own1 he fin#s it har# to rally. &et only a few lines after the +low #escen#s1 story requirements #eman# that he charge into the fray anew1 un#aunte#. -ow #o you ma:e it +elieva+le? &ou alrea#y :now the answer to all three of these questions. .n the process1 it also gives you the essential tool you nee# to han#le compression1 transition1 an# cre#i+ility properly. -ow #oes topic #o this? To +e preoccupie# with a topic is actually to +e preoccupie# with a particular set of feelings. .f your girl runs out on you1 in all li:elihoo# you feel hurt an# angry. .f your +oss fires you1 you feel angry an#

panic:y. .f your frien# +etrays you1 you feel grieve# an# confuse#. Er1 perhaps1 your own feelings are #ifferent. That #oesn<t matter. What #oes is that until you #eci#e what to #o a+out the situation1 your feelings can<t help +ut +e the thing uppermost in your min#. Therefore1 in writing sequel1 you act on the assumption that feeling is the common #enominator that unites all other elements. Then1 you move from one such element to another across what might +e terme# an emotional +ri#ge . . . su+or#inating facts> emphasi@ing feeling. Ta:e compression1 for e7ample. &ou s:ip or summari@e the emotionally non8significant or non8 pertinent1 as pointe# out in The )ro+lem of )roportion in Chapter (. .f what<s nee#e# is a picture of Iisa1 an# the process of portraiture isn<t itself #evastatingly important1 we very well might en# up with some such a+ri#gment as <<=ow the s:etch too: form. .n a few #eft lines1 Iisa stoo# re8create# there on paper.C Since few #etails can +e inclu#e#1 when you<re trying to :eep wor#age #own1 the selection of those you use +ecomes a matter of ma9or concern. $requently1 the +it that serves you +est is the sym+olic fragmentBthe tear +lin:e# +ac:1 the +uffalo s:ull +leaching on the prairie1 the +e#+ug crawling along a pillow. * whole frame of min# may +e summe# up in a moc:ing+ir#<s song> a way of life in the fact that the plum+ing has +een stolen out of a vacant house. The tric: is to fin# the single feature that captures the essence of what you want to say. &ou nee# the lone item which1 +rought into close8up1 spea:s volumes a+out your character<s state of min#. Iin: enough such #etails into an impressionistic montage an# there<s virtually no limit as to how much groun# you can ma:e a sentence cover: $og an# smog an# soot8strea:e# snow. Steaming summer nights in =ew Erleans> the parche# miles going across Wyoming. -e :new them all1 in the months that followe#> :new them1 an# ignore# them1 +ecause there was no room in him for anything +ut hate. Transition offers much the same situation. &ou nee# to +ri#ge time or space or moo# or circumstance or what have you. To that en#1 you spotlight your focal character<s #ominant feeling: .s it #epression? !age? )assion? $ear? 2mphasi@e that feeling imme#iately +efore the lapse in time or space or action or whatever +egins . . . an# then again imme#iately after sai# lapse en#s. .n other wor#s1 set up your material so that the chosen feeling is the element the C+eforeC an# CafterC situations have in common. Iet<s say1 for instance1 that the feeling is guilt. Eur technical pro+lem1 in turn1 is that we nee# to 9ump from $ri#ay night in =ew &or: City to on#ay morning in Tulsa.

Sleep came quic:ly1 easily1 to his surprise. Enly then he wishe# it ha#n<t1 +ecause it +rought strange1 #ar:1 half8nightmares with it . . . weir# #reams in which .rene somehow always stoo# +esi#e him1 mute1 #ar: eyes accusing. The sense of guilt those images engen#ere# still nagge# at him when he #eplane# in Tulsa morning. . . . on#ay

Because feeling is the #ominant factor in your story1 it<s also the most favore# +ri#ge. But you can1 upon occasion1 use wellnigh anything as a #eviceBweather1 for instance: C. hate it when it #ri@@les on an# on this way1C she sighe#. C. hope it clears +efore we leave.C But the rain was still coming #own when Si#<s car swung into the #rive. . . . Cre#i+ility? .t<s the element you nee# most when you set a+out translating #isaster into goal. To achieve it. G%H Set your focal character against a +ac:#rop of realistic #etail. Though he +e #roppe# #own on *rcturus1 a hero nee#s to eat sometimes1 an# sleep1 an# perhaps even +athe. *ll a+out him1 too1 life #rifts along. )eople chat an# haggle1 love an# la@e1 laugh1 grum+le1 gam+le. $or the sa:e of cre#i+ility1 your rea#er nee#s to fin# these elements of the familiar in your story. -igh a#venture is fine1 +ut too much of it all at once smac:s of the comic +oo:1 an# it<s nice occasionally to have relief from tension. Such lulls are #evelope# +est in sequel: the transition +etween #ramatic scenes. G'H )ush your focal character in the right #irection. &ou want your hero1 #efeate#1 to go after a 9o+ out of town. But if he leaves the moment the villain triumphs1 your rea#er will sneer. So1 you follow up the initial #isaster +y having Eur Boy<s +oss fire him. -is lan#la#y tells him she<s got to have his room for someone else. The ).T.*. protests that he<s a +a# influence on the young. =ow1 if your character ta:es off the way you want him toBthough vowing to return1 of courseB!ea#er will class it as un#erstan#a+le +ehavior. Why? Because you gave him proper motivation in the sequel. G(H Iet your rea#er see the focal character<s chain of logic. This is the reaction si#e of the motivation coin set up in G'H1 a+ove. .n large measure1 it means simply that you give your character a chance to thin: things through. Because he<s +etween scenes1 he isn<t un#er imme#iate attac:> isn<t loc:e# in conflict. So1 what with more time an# solitu#e1 it<s plausi+le that he shoul# here thin: as well as act. We might even #rop into flash+ac: with him . . . appraise those e7periences in his past which influence his attitu#es where the present an# future are concerne#. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN *gain1 in sequel as in scene1 you learn to write +y writing. Aet +usyF

.ntegrating scene an# sequel "p to this point1 we<ve treate# scene an# sequel almost as if they were separate entities. *ctually1 of course1 they must complement each other . . . lin: together smoothly into that unifie#1 cohesive whole that<s :nown as story. *re there any pro+lems involve# in thus mel#ing the two together? What points shoul# you +ear in min# as you com+ine them? -erewith1 a few o+servations on the su+9ect which it might pay you to consi#er: a. &ou control story pacing +y the way you proportion scene to sequel. *s a general rule1 +ig scenes equal +ig interest. Iong sequels1 in turn1 ten# to in#icate strong plausi+ility. So1 in writing1 you must #eci#e which element is most important to you at each given point. Thu#8an#8 +lun#er melo#rama may 9ump from #eath threat to fist8fight to rape to am+ush1 virtually without sequel. .t<s all conflict> no transition. Some of the more precious literary pieces1 on the other han#1 offer en#less #iscussion of the protagonist<s psychic turmoil as he tries to #eci#e whether he shoul# or#er ice cream tonight1 or sher+et. The only hint of strife is a warming of his chee:s as he o+serves the waiter<s raise# eye+row. *ll of which gives us a few practical hints. G%H .f your story ten#s to #rag or grow +oring1 strengthen an# enlarge the scenes. Buil# up the conflict. G'H .f an air of impro+a+ility perva#es your masterpiece1 lengthen your sequels. $ollow your character step +y stop1 in #etail1 as he moves logically from #isaster to #ecision. )roportioning thus +ecomes a matter of in#ivi#ual taste. While e7tremes that mount to Call sceneC or Call sequelC e7ist1 most of us prefer to ta:e the mi##le groun# an# stri:e some sort of +alance. +. Scenes #ominate story #evelopment. *ny story1 #iagramme#1 resem+les a mountain rangeBa succession of pea:s an# valleys. &ou spotlight the pea:s1 the +ig #ramatic moments1 +y presenting them as scenes. G%H -ow +ig you +uil# a scene #epen#s to a consi#era+le #egree on its placement in the story. *n opening scene that features the fall of the !oman 2mpire may roc: your rea#er +ac: on his heels. But what #o you #o for an encore? Too large a #ose of vitamins at any given point always carries with it the ha@ar# that everything which follows will seem anticlimactic. Consequently1 it<s goo# sense to arrange your scenes1 your pea:s1 in or#er of ascen#ing importance an#;or intensity.

G'H &ou can control scene placement1 to some #egree1 +y manipulating sequel. )artly1 this means that you can e7pan# or contract sequel so that scenes fall farther apart or closer together. )artly1 it means that a sequel frequently inclu#es material which coul# 9ust as well or +etter +e #evelope# as a scene. $or e7ample1 here<s an inci#ent in which your hero stops to get gas. To +uil# it into a scene1 all you nee# to #o is in9ect conflict: ay+e your guy irritates the atten#ant1 who in turn releases his hostility +y somehow Cacci#entallyC immo+ili@ing G#isasterFH the car. )artly1 finally1 it means that small scenes may +e re#uce# to sequel. .nstea# of ma:ing Character have to pressure Doctor Dones in or#er to get in to see arie at the hospital1 you let the nurse on the war# a#mit him as a matter of routine. c. $le7i+ility is all8important. 2ach story offers #ifferent pro+lems. * mechanical approach won<t solve them. &ou must stan# rea#y to a#apt your metho#s to your materials. Thus1 officially1 a sequel involves reaction1 #ilemma1 an# #ecision. &et if a man is #rowning1 #o you nee# to state e7plicitly that he #eci#es to try to :eep his hea# a+ove the surface? Er is it enough that he fights his way up from the #epths . . . +rea:s water . . . flails1 gasps1 struggles? .t<s that way1 often1 in sequel. .f your character #oes something in a manner that in#icates he<s pic:e# a goal1 we assume it represents a #ecision1 accept it1 an# let the rules go +y the +oar#. .n the same way1 at first glance scene often seems to flow #irectly into sequel. &et e7perience soon will teach you that often you +uil# impact if you allow a time8+rea:1 great or small1 after the scene8#isaster<s curtain line . . . as if your focal character were num+e# +y shoc:1 perhaps. -ere1 for instance1 a hero gets the wrong answer: <<.<ve trie# to tell you1 2#1C she sai#. C.<m not going with you.C .t was one of those momentsBthe :in# that last an# last an# last. Then1 when he finally foun# his voice1 he #iscovere# that he #i#n<t have anything to say. )ivoting1 he stro#e #own the wal:1 +ac: to his car. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN .f you can write scene an# sequel1 you can write stories. But you<ll write them easier an# +etter if you also un#erstan# the strategy of fiction: a most intriguing su+9ect1 in its way1 an# the topic of the chapter 9ust ahea#.

/. $iction Strategy * story is a #ou+le8+arrele# attac: upon your rea#ers. &ou want to write successful stories. To that en#1 it will +e a help if you first un#erstan# two things: %. Why your rea#er rea#s. '. The source of story satisfaction. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN -ow #o you #efine story? &ou #on<t. Why not? Because it<s impossi+le to arrive at any useful1 meaningful1 all8inclusive #efinition. 2ach person who rea#s an#;or writes is #ifferent. 2ach #efines story to fit his own tastes1 his own pre9u#ices. Tennyson<s Ia#y of the Ia:e an# -enry iller<s Tropic of Capricorn +oth have +een terme# stories. Same for assorte# s:etches1 vignettes1 anec#otes1 wor# photography1 chronicles1 plays1 fol: tales1 an# what have you. The piece which !ea#er * li:es an# la+els goo# is1 to !ea#er B1 #istasteful an# +a#. CStrongC an# Cwea:C mean #ifferent things to #ifferent people. So #o <<triteC an# <<fresh1C Cprofoun#C an# Cshallow1C Co+scureC an# Crich with hi##en meanings.C Definition tries to re#uce a host of o+9ects or events or e7periences to their lowest common #enominator. .t suc:s out their life for the sa:e of a post8mortem on #ea# flesh an# +are +ones. .n#ivi#ual #ifferences go +y the +oar#. Such an approach is of little value to a writer. To +ring a story into +eing1 you nee# to of it not as a thing1 +ut as something you #o to a specific rea#erBa motivation> a stimulus you thrust at him. &our goal1 in turn1 is to elicit a particular reaction from this rea#er. &ou want to ma:e him feel a certain way . . . suc: him into a whirlpool of emotion. To #o this . . . to ma:e your rea#er feel the way you want him to feel . . . is your story<s whole an# total

function. =ow this can prove a tric:y +usiness. .t #eman#s s:ill. There are techniques to +e learne#1 9ust as in figure s:ating or +a:ing angel8foo# ca:e or playing the piano. The aggregate of all these tric:s an# tools1 these #evices you use to help your story fulfill its function properly1 may +e sai# to constitute process. Iearn to wor: in terms of function an# of process1 an# you<re on the shortest1 straightest roa# to success as a fiction writer. The function of a story is to create a particular reaction in a given rea#er. Therefore1 this might +e a goo# point at which to consi#er au#ience +riefly. &ou use one :in# of saw to cut woo#1 another to shape metal1 a thir# to slice mar+le. The same principle applies to rea#ers. Don<t try to +e all things to all men. "niversality of appeal is a myth. Superman an# arcel )roust sel#om stri:e spar:s in the same au#ience. So1 accept #ifference1 in literary preferences as in women<s hair#os. Quit wasting your time preten#ing that it #oesn<t e7ist1 or that there<s some esoteric way aroun# it. Does this mean that you shoul# consciously slant your story to a certain rea#er? &es. But not to any rea#er. The one you want is the one who shares your tastes an# interests. $or you1 too1 are in#ivi#ual. &ou can<t change yourself at will to suit a given pu+lic. &ou must accept yourself the way you are. Then1 see: out an au#ience that sees the worl# the same way you #o. Can you +e sure such an au#ience e7ists?

&ou can. .n#ivi#ual you are in#ee#> an# #ifferent. But not that #ifferent1 for you<re human also. *n# then? aster story #ynamics. -ow #o you go a+out that?

&ou start with one simple statement: * story is the recor# of how some+o#y #eals with #anger. .sn<t that #efinition? Ef course. But it<s more rule8of8thum+ an# statement of what happens than it is an all8inclusive formulation. .<ll a#mit in a#vance that it won<t satisfy every critic1 every rea#er. .t applies more often than not1 though1 on a practical level. *n# it<s fle7i+le. Ence you get hol# of how to use it1 you<ll fin# you can a#apt it to almost any taste1 or type of story. 2ven more important1 it<s the +est possi+le place to start if you want to learn. . . . Why your rea#er rea#s &our rea#er rea#s action +ecause it creates a pleasura+le state of tension in him1 line +y line an# page +y page. But #on<t analysts say that the thing that ma:es a story goo# is structure? They<re only half right. $or as the late !aymon# Chan#ler once o+serve#1 CThe i#eal mystery RisS one you woul# rea# if the en# was missing.C Why woul# anyone rea# such a mystery? Because it hol#s your attention as it unfol#s. The clima7 is important1 true> +ut not to the e7clusion of that which goes +efore. Though the over8all pattern of a story may +e ever so soun#1 the rea#er won<t ever :now it if he tosses the +oo: or maga@ine asi#e in the mi##le of first page or first chapter. This is the reason why a writer<s approach to his story must +e #ou+le8+arrele#. -is rea#er must +e capture# an# hel# +y what<s offere# him at this moment: not the whole> not the ultimate pattern1 +ut the present e7perience. .mme#iate an# continuing involvement is what counts. !ea#er attention must +e sei@e# right now. What sei@es attention?

Tension. *ll attention is +ase# on it.

Tension1 to reiterate a few points ma#e in Chapter (1 is a physiological phenomenon: Ctension . . . *ct of stretching1 or tensing> state or #egree of +eing straine# to stiffness. -ence: a ental strain> intensity of striving. + =ervous an7iety1 with atten#ant muscular tenseness.C GWe+ster<s Collegiate Dictionary1 $ifth 2#ition.H When your muscles contract1 you have tension. Some tension is voluntary. ore is involuntary.

The thing that creates involuntary tension1 most often1 is fear. That is1 you e7perience an unpleasant emotional reaction at the prospect that something will or won<t happen: &our wife will say un:in# things if you lose your 9o+. &our frien#s will laugh at you if you free@e up in the mi##le of your high8school speech. &ou<ll feel intensely alone an# unhappy if your mother #ies. E+9ectively1 the issue may +e ever so slight. =o ma# mur#erer threatening you with an a7 is nee#e#. .t<s your feeling alone that counts. $or when you feel fear1 it ma:es your muscles tighten up1 an# plunges you into a state of tension1 mil# or e7treme or in +etween. What creates fear? Danger. What is #anger? Change. When any given situation is altere#1 the result is a #ifferent situation. This new state of affairs may #eman# a#9ustment on your part. Such a#9ustment may +e +eyon# your capacity1 an# thus may en#anger your survival or happiness. *nything en#angering survival or happiness creates fear. Two factors are involve# in this process: a. )erception. +. 27perience. )erception means merely that you must +e aware a change is ta:ing place. 27perience warns you that this particular change may e7pose you to in9ury1 loss1 pain1 or other evil. ust +oth e7ist1 in or#er for you to e7perience fear an# its concomitant1 tension? &es. .t<s li:e the stories the newspapers carry every once in a while a+out a chil# caught +lithely playing with a co+ra1 or the li:e. The chil# perceives the sna:e1 +ut he lac:s the e7perience to :now that it is #angerous. -ence1 the chil# feels no fear1 no tension. Er1 e7perience tells you that guns are #angerous. But if you #on<t perceive that one is pointe# at your

hea#1 your #egree of tension remains unaltere#. But suppose +oth perception an# e7perience e7ist? Consi#er a party. &ou<re intro#uce# to several new people. This is change. =ew elements have +een +rought into your sphere of awareness. But if the situation #oesn<t go any further1 your tension increase will +e relatively limite#. Suppose1 however1 that one of the strangers is a tall1 #ar:1 han#some man. =ow1 enter e7perience: &our wife is a woman particularly suscepti+le to such men. *t once1 your tension level rises. $or whether you ac:nowle#ge it or not1 fear has entere# your life. Specifically1 you<re afrai# that she<ll involve herself in an affair with this particular man. Er again: Ene of the strangers is a man you intensely #esire to impress1 in or#er to win a much8nee#e# promotion. !esult: a mar:e# rise in your inner tension. .t<s +ase# on your fear that somehow you<ll fail to create as favora+le an image as you wish to. Er again: Ene of the girls ma:es a !ip1 somewhat slighting remar: a+out your taste in ties. 2m+arrassmentBfear that your taste is in#ee# ina#equateBsen#s tension soaring in you1 out of all proportion to the motivation you<ve receive#. -ow #oes all this apply to story? CWe go to the theatre to worry1C remar:s the late Jenneth CWhether we acgowan in his * )rimer of )laywriting.

see a trage#y1 a serious #rama1 or a come#y1 we en9oy it fully only if we are ma#e to worry a+out the outcome of in#ivi#ual scenes an# of the play as a whole.C That<s why a story must #eal with #anger. =o #anger1 no worry. Why shoul# we want to worry? Because tension is vital to the survival of any species. .t repre8

sents awareness1 alertness1 prepare#ness for action. .t<s rea#iness for fight or flight> the automatic reaction of each an# every organism in the face of peril. )ro# a tiger> he attac:s. )ro# a ra++it> he runs. Both leap from spring+oar#s of instinctive tension. Ta:e away that a+ility to react to threat with tension1 an# a hostile worl# overwhelms the victim. Because tension has this survival value1 man:in# as a species has learne# to en9oy it1 in controlle# amounts. So1 to varying #egrees1 an# in accor#ance with our in#ivi#ual tastes an# meta+olisms1 we involve ourselves in situations which create tension in us. We play han#+all. We hunt +ig game. We get in fights. We se#uce our neigh+ors< wives. *n#1 we rea#. 2specially fiction. Why fiction? 27perience# #irectly1 tension8in#ucing situations can prove #angerous. )hysically #angerous . . . #angerous on the level of reality. * han#+all game may rapture an aging heart. The hunte# animal may turn hunter. * :illing +low may en# the fight. The neigh+or may resort to firearms or a messy lawsuit. So? So1 for most of us1 tension achieve# secon#han# proves less ha@ar#ous an# therefore more satisfactory than actual e7perience. That<s why we go to foot+all games an# pri@e fights . . . listen +y ra#io to astronauts< reports . . . gossip an# follow #isasters on TV newscasts an# peruse the true8crime maga@ines an# the confessions. We<re ever avi# in our search for other people<s trou+les. Sharing their peril gives us a :ic:. $iction1 in turn1 creates an especially vivi# vicarious tension for us. .t +rings a character face to face with #anger1 so that he feels1 or shoul# feel1 fear. *n# then? $ear is contagious. When you live through a properly written story with a character1 his e7periences an# tensions +ecome yours. &our 9o+ as a writer is to control an# manipulate this tension. To that en#1 an# using your central character as a vehicle1 you create it1 intensify it1 focus it nee#le8sharp1 an# then release it. Through the character1 your rea#er empathi@es matching emotions1 matching tensions. * plot is merely your plan of action for thus manipulating tension. *n# the simplest formula is still that

set #own +y ol# -. Be#for#8Dones1 :ing of the pulps1 more than thirty years ago: CAet your hero in #angerBan# :eep him in #angerFC .n essence1 the ha+itual rea#er is a tension a##ict. Tension is what he hopes to +uy when he tosses #own his quarter or half8#ollar at the corner newsstan#. This is the reason that he spen#s his time an# money on your story. This is why he rea#s. The source of story satisfaction What1 specifically1 is the source of story satisfaction? * most intriguing questionBeven though you have to approach it 9ust a +it o+liquely in or#er to get a properly comprehensive answer. Iet<s go: * story is the recor# of how some+o#y #eals with #anger. But in a story1 #anger isn<t 9ust #anger in the a+stract. .t<s a #efinite an# imme#iate menace to a particular person. Specifically1 it<s a threat to your focal character. .t<s this fact which gives your story its form. 27hi+it *: &our focal character1 +lithely going a+out his +usiness. 2nter #anger. !eacting1 your focal character lights this peril until1 eventually1 he wins or loses. The #uration of the #anger #efines the limits of your story. !oughly spea:ing1 we can say that the story +egins when the situation plunges Character into 9eopar#y. .t en#s when he emerges from the sha#ow of sai# ha@ar#. )lot8wise1 the +eginning of your story creates tension. The mi##le +uil#s up an# intensifies it. The en#1 in turn1 +rea:s #own into two segments: clima71 an# resolution. .n clima71 the tension you<ve create# is focuse# sharply. *n#1 finally1 resolution sees the tension release#1 in character an# in rea#er.

Which +rings us +ac: to our original question: What1 specifically1 is the source of story satisfaction?

*nswer: !elease of tension. *ll through the +eginning an# mi##le an# clima7 of your story1 the e7citement of #anger :eeps your rea#er tense an# eager1 line +y line an# page +y page. But e7citement #oesn<t constitute satisfaction. aintain tension too long1 or carry it too far1 an# it +ecomes as unpleasant as e7ten#e# tic:ling. &ou +egin to ache for it to en#. &ou want to let go1 give up . . . rela7 an# rest awhile. To trigger such release is the whole an# total function of your story<s resolution. .t pays off your rea#er . . . rewar#s him with a sense of satisfaction an# fulfillment for the strain of un#ergoing tension. .n other wor#s1 the way your story turns out is your rea#er<s :ey source of satisfaction. * story is a fight. Danger is the focal character<s opponent. So1 $rien# !ea#er wants to :now what happens to your imperile# hero . . . who wins the +attle1 an# how. Ieave him hanging in suspense a+out it1 an# you throw him into the state of frustration of an avi# +all fan #ragge# +o#ily from the par: in the ninth inning1 with the score tie#1 the +ases loa#e#1 an# the worl# series hanging in the +alance. .f the en# of a story is Cright1C your rea#er<s tension is release#. -e sin:s +ac: satisfie#1 rela7e#1 fulfille#. .f it isn<t1 he<s left raw8nerve# an# 9ittery> on e#ge. *t +est1 he feels let #own an# #isappointe#. To ma:e a story en# <right1< as: yourself one simple question: -ow #oes your hero #efeat his #anger? The answer is always the same: -e #emonstrates that he #eserves to win. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN So much for the +roa# outlines. =ow1 let<s loo: at the factors involve# in a +it more #etail. !elease of tension1 it was note# a+ove1 is what gives your rea#er satisfaction. So1 what releases tension? $ear creates tension. Dissipation of fear releases it. .f you<re afrai# the +oss plans to fire you1 a raise or a promotion may improve your outloo:. .f you<re #u+ious a+out your chances with a girl an# she smiles at the right moment1 that smile may change your min#. .f the issue is ulcers1 a few K rays might calm your nerves. Do all #issipations of fear give the same #egree of release> the same satisfaction?

=o. $ear is a comple7 thing1 an# a matter of #egree. &ou never can eliminate it completely. The promotion may create #ou+ts in you as to your a#equacy to the new 9o+. The girl<s encouragement may ma:e you won#er1 later1 whether she encourages others also. The K rays can set you searching for another ailment to account for the pains you feel. .t<s the same in story. =ot all #issipations of fear give your rea#er the thing he see:s. What #oes he see:? -e see:s security. What constitutes security? Safety. $ree#om from #anger or fear of #anger. What gives this sense of security to your rea#er? The feeling that he controls his own #estiny> that he<s not a pawn of +lin# fate or a helpless victim of chance or a hostile universe. .t<s the same for all of us1 in life as in fiction. .nfinitely small1 pitifully wea:1 we face a worl# that<s +oth frightening an# over8whelming. So1 a #o@en times a #ayBa hun#re#> a thousan#Bwe question our own a#equacy: Can we really cut it in our pressure8la#en private situation? Do we actually stan# a chance to win happiness? Constantly1 we nee# encouragement an# reassurance. We yearn for some small #emonstration that it<s worth our while to go on fighting. .f happenstance alone is what #eci#es the issue1 we :now we<re lic:e# +efore we start. Iuc:<s 9ust not sure enough to tie to1 an# we<ve got e7periences to prove it. What we want1 instea#1 is a setup where what we #o has a +earing on outcome. We nee# to feel as if how a man +ehaves1 his personal performance1 helps to #eci#e the way he fares in this life. We li:e the i#ea of in#ivi#ual worth an# in#ivi#ual rewar#. .n practical terms1 this means that a character<s fear shoul#n<t +e cleare# away +y acci#ent or coinci#ence. -appy circumstance shoul#n<t solve his pro+lems. &our rea#er gains no ultimate story satisfaction from a resolution in which lightning stri:es the villain1 or the convenient #eath of an *ustralian uncle en#s the hero<s financial crisis. -e wants an outcome in which man masters fate. .t<s one of his #eepest emotional nee#s. To create this sense of control1 this feeling of security1 you must relate your story material to reality in such a manner as to help give life meaning to your rea#ers1 +y reaffirming their wishful thin:ing an# emotion8+ase# convictions. To that en#1 in each story you write1 you esta+lish a cause8effect relationship +etween your focal character<s +ehavior an# his fate> his #ee#s an# his rewar#s. -ere<s how:

a. &ou pit your character against #anger. +. &ou let him #emonstrate whether he #eserves to win or lose. c. &ou fit the story<s outcome to his +ehavior1 in terms of poetic 9ustice. Thus1 the +eginning of a story hypothesi@es: G%H * state of affairs1 present or pro9ecte#1 that sym+oli@es happiness to your hero. G'H * #anger that threatens his chances of achieving or maintaining that state of affairs. .t<s helpful1 at this point1 to cast these two elements into the form of a story question: CWill Doe win 2llen #espite the crippling of his arm?C CWill the Things from Space wipe out the human race an# Eur -ero with it?C CCan Su@y prevent her too8loving mother from spoiling the chil#ren?C The answer to this question constitutes the resolution of your story1 an# grows out of your hero<s #emonstration of whether he #eserves to win or lose. -ow #o you arrange for your hero to #emonstrate this1 in terms that ma:e for rea#er satisfaction? &ou focus his fight with #anger #own to a moral issue. *t the clima71 he acts on this issue> chooses which of two conflicting roa#s to ta:e . . . which of two antithetical courses of action to pursue. .n what sense is the climactic issue moral? Ene roa#<s right> the other1 wrong. What constitutes a <<right<<? "nselfishness. *#herence to principle #espite the temptation of self8interest. *n# CwrongC? Selfishness. *+an#onment of conviction for the sa:e of personal a#vantage. What<s the #eci#ing factor in your character<s choice +etween these roa#s? 2motion. -is own su+9ective feelings. The :in# of person he intrinsically is. .sn<t selfishness often more logical than unselfishness? for him to follow the wrong roa#? ightn<t it +e more sensi+le1 more intelligent1

Ef course. But our o+9ect here is to test your character<s character1 not his intelligence> his instinctive reactions1 not his logic. Does this mean your hero shoul# +e unintelligent?

En the contrary. $urther1 he shoul# use to the full every ounce of +rain8power he possesses. But moments come to all of us when thin:ing8through isn<t enough. .f a thic:8hea#e# cler: gives you too much change1 you can accept it> or1 you can call his attention to the error an# give the money +ac:. Crumpling someone<s fen#er in a #ar:ene# par:ing lot1 you can leave a note> or1 you can merely #rive away. Welcome# too well far from home +y the wife of a goo# frien#1 you can ta:e a#vantage of the opportunity> or1 you can +ow out. When such times come1 we must actBspontaneously1 instinctively1 on the +asis of the things we +elieve1 the way we feel1 the :in# of men we are. )rinciple an# character are the issues. -ow #oes all this +ear on your rea#er? -ow #oes it help him to achieve the sense of security he see:s? Because your rea#er lives through the story with the focal character1 he shares the testing of that character. .nstinctively1 he :nows that he himself isn<t necessarily strong enough or intelligent enough or luc:y enough always to +e a+le to #efeat #anger. But no matter how wea: or #ull or ill8omene# he may +e1 he tells himself that he can act on principle . . . #o the thing he :nows emotionally to +e right1 even though such a course seems #estine# to lea# to sure #isaster. So? So1 you then resolve the story pro+lem. .f the character #oes right1 you give him victory. &ou let him #efeat his private #anger. .n +rief1 you rewar# your character for his #isplay of virtue. Whereupon1 fear #issipates. Tension e++s. The character rela7es1 safe an# satisfie# an# happy . . . an#1 with him1 your rea#er. 2ven granting the vali#ity of all this . . . isn<t it a chil#ish pattern1 ill8suite# to mature rea#ers? That #epen#s on you: your s:ill as a writer. The pattern can +e presente# chil#ishly1 of a certain. Thousan#s of times it<s +een #one cru#ely1 on a comic8+oo: level. But it<s also the configuration in Ee#ipus an# Crime an# )unishment> in Ef -uman Bon#age an# the -oly Bi+le. S:ill an# su+tlety are the only issues. But #oesn<t a writer falsify reality when he uses such a pattern? .sn<t it pure hypocrisy to preten# that a cause8effect relationship e7ists +etween #ee# an# rewar#1 even in the confines of a story? The answer here falls into two parts: G%H To prove satisfying to a given rea#er1 a story must necessarily reaffirm that rea#er<s own philosophy of life. G'H

-istorically1 sociologically1 an# philosophically1 a strong case can +e ma#e for the cause8effect pattern as it e7ists in life as well as fiction. Where )oint % is concerne#1 most *merican rea#ers +elieve in the pattern here outline#> the cause8 effect relationship set forth. .t therefore is the most effective approach to a mass au#ience. En the other han#1 it o+viously will offer no satisfaction whatever to the writer who wants to present a #ifferent philosophy of life. *ll that means is that sai# writer shoul# wor: out a pattern more in :eeping with his +eliefs an# write his stories to it. .t<s #one every #ay: witness some of the material occasionally pu+lishe# as novels or in maga@ines. -owever1 +ecause any +oo: has limitations as to length1 .<ve chosen here to pass such +y1 in or#er to focus more fully on the form #ominant in commercial fiction: the approach ta:en +y most selling writers. )oint ' warrants further imme#iate consi#eration. $or most of us have an unfortunate ha+it of ignoring the #oughnut in favor of the hole> of +ecoming so enamore# of the e7ception as to overloo: the rule. * story shoul#n<t #o so. *ctually1 in this life1 e7ceptions notwithstan#ing1 most of us get a+out what we #eserve. This isn<t any acci#ent. *ll society is +ase# on the principle of mutual ai#. )recisely +ecause he<s so helpless an# alone1 man limits his selfishness1 his pursuit of an# preoccupation with self8interest1 in or#er to en9oy the +enefits to +e gaine# from living at peace with his fellows. C$ree enterpriseC is hel# in chec: +y frau# laws. Spee# limits an# stop signs restrict free#om of movement. Safety regulations control con#itions of wor:. )olice protection re#uces the nee# for arming of the in#ivi#ual. =or are our controls merely e7ternal. -onesty1 truthfulness1 :in#ness1 integrity1 chastity1 piety1 courage1 #ignity1 humility1 sensitivity1 honorBthese are more than 9ust wor#s. They<re inner stan#ar#s1 restrictions on self8interest an# self8in#ulgence. )eople live +y them. Eften1 there<s #isagreement on 9ust how far such limitsBinternal or e7ternalBshoul# e7ten#. The rules vary from time to time an# place to place an# culture to culture> an# in#ivi#ual circumstances alter cases. But most men1 most of the time1 a+i#e +y them. When they #on<t1 the result is anarchy. Because man acts on principle1 sacrifices self8interest to the larger cause of his own stan#ar#s1 or#inarily he +enefits. The main reason1 of course1 is that our fellow men continually sit in 9u#gment on us. Courage1 moral or physical1 attracts attention. The fact of :nown honesty opens avenues +efore us. Epportunity :noc:s on the #oor of the man #evote# to #uty. Jin#ness an# har# wor: an# loyalty are note#. Contrariwise1 the schemer1 the sharp operator1 the malcontent an# the philan#erer soon are la+ele# an#

appropriately #ealt with. !ewar#s of the spirit loom even larger than rewar#s of the letter. Though pu+lic ignominy may crucify the conscientious o+9ector1 he still can stan# tall an# prou# if he<s #oing what he +elieves is right. Court8martiale#1 a Billy itchell remains a +etter man than his accusers1 an# he :nows it. What a+out the e7ceptionsBthose in#ivi#uals who refuse to play +y the rules? GaH !elatively spea:ing1 they<re isolate# an# few in num+er. The #ay they grow so numerous as to #ominate the picture1 the rules changeBwitness *merica<s repeal of )rohi+ition. Er1 the society itself collapses1 as in the case of the !oman 2mpire. G+H They #o get caught. Cheat in school1 your ignorance later loses you a 9o+. Cheat on the traffic laws1 a tan: truc: +ecomes your funeral pyre. Cheat in a crap game1 a perceptive soul with a switch+la#e perforates more than your ego. GcH They live with guilt. -ypertension an# insomnia an# ulcers are constant occupational ha@ar#s for them. Eften they ma:e psychotherapists wealthy. But even if they escape such1 conscience still travels with them in most cases1 an# their triumphs all taste of +itter ashes. .n essence1 life an# action ali:e assume that ruthless self8interest ta:es the short view of any issue. The man without principle is in effect +loo# +rother to the alcoholic whose perspective on life has narrowe# to the pro+lem of how to get 9ust one more +ottle1 or the arme# +an#it so preoccupie# with the seventy #ollars in a cash register that he never stops to figure out what his hourly wage will +e if he pays for the caper with a five8year prison sentence. The implicit truth of all this is the +e#roc: upon which our society is erecte#. $iction merely epitomi@es it . . . telescopes an# con#enses the +roa# picture into capsule form so that it may more easily +e #igeste# +y the average rea#er. *s !aymon# Chan#ler once o+serve# in commenting on the fantastic aspects of the har#8+oile# mystery1 CSuch things happene#1 +ut not so rapi#ly1 nor to so close8:nit a group of people1 nor within so narrow a frame of logic. This was inevita+le +ecause the #eman# was for constant action> if you stoppe# to thin: you were lost.C MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN * goo# story provi#es your rea#er with )leasura+le Tension plus "ltimate Satisfaction. These are the fun#amentals. This is what constitutes the #ou+le8+arrele# attac:. The carrying out of that attac:1 however1 #eman#s a +it more #etail: #etail a+out the most effective tric:s for #eveloping the +eginning of your story1 an# also its mi##le an# its en#. $or a loo: at such1 turn to the ne7t chapter.

0. Beginning1

i##le1 2n#

* story is movement through the eternal now1 from past to future. *ll stories are Ca+outC the same thing: #esire versus #anger. 2ach concerns a focal character<s attempt to attain or retain something in the face of trou+le. To translate this general principle into a specific piece of fiction1 you nee# a grasp of five +roa# su+9ects: %. -ow to line up story elements. '. -ow to get a story starte#. (. -ow to #evelop mi##le segments. ,. -ow to +uil# a clima7. /. -ow to resolve story issues. The first step in this #irection is to get the +asic outlines of your story clear in your own min#. * certain amount of organi@ation is essential. Iac: of #irection an# form can sen# you off into a trac:less ma@e of false starts an# +lin# alleys. To avoi# such confusion1 there are worse tric:s than to lay out your material in a starting line8up. -ow to line up story elements $ive :ey elements go into every soli# commercial story. The line8up arranges them in #ynamic form1 so that you can chec: their strength or wea:ness. These are the five elements: a. Character. Without a focal character1 you have no story. -e +rings it into +eing when1 affecte# +y an# reacting to e7ternal events1 he fights +ac: against the #anger that threatens him. +. Situation. =o focal character e7ists in a vacuum. -e operates against a +ac:#rop of trou+le that forces him to act. That +ac:#rop1 that e7ternal state of affairs1 is your story situation. c. E+9ective. * focal character who has nothing he wants to attain or retain can<t +e en#angere#1 an# so has no place in any story. Whether he succee#s or fails is immaterial. -e still must strive. #. Epponent. Dig a #itch1 an# you fin# that even the earth resists you. But o+stacles personifie# in an opponentB who not only resists +ut fights +ac:Bma:e for more e7citing rea#ing.

e. Disaster. 2very story nee#s to +uil# to a clima7. So1 you threaten your focal character with Something "nuttera+ly *wful which he must face close to the en#1 9ust +efore you let him off the hoo:. B*n# #o try to ma:e each item as specific an# concrete as possi+leF =e7t1 these five elements are cast into two sentences. B=o more than two1 either. -ere we want +lac: versus white1 forces in conflict. The star:er an# sharper1 the +etter. 27tra wor#s only +lur the issue. 2very writer nee#s the self8#iscipline of forcing himself to slash away ver+iage an# get #own to essentials. Slic:ness an# su+tlety can come later. So1 we nee# two sentences1 an# two only. Sentence % is a statement. .t esta+lishes character1 situation1 an# o+9ective. Sentence ' is a question. .t nails #own opponent an# #isaster. -ow you put together this olla8po#ri#a is unimportant. The +ig thing is to force yourself to #o soF *ny effective story must incorporate the materials of conflict if it<s to prove effective. .f you #on<t go through this ritual1 or one similar1 over an# over again you<ll :i# yourself into thin:ing you have a story where none actually e7ists. So1 now1 let<s try out the pattern. En a science8fiction story1 for e7ample: When humans su##enly +egin Situation: to grow to twelve8foot height1 Sentence % Character: Dohn Storm GStatementH E+9ective: tries to fin# out why. But can he #efeat Epponent: the traitors in high places Disaster: who want to :ill him in or#er to ma:e the change appear to +e the result of an e7traterrestrial plot? Sentence ' GQuestionH The issue in a story always is CWill this focal character #efeat his opponent1 overcome his private #anger1 an# win happiness?C &our rea#er gets ma7imum tension release from the resolution if Sentence '1 the story question1 is so frame# that it can +e answere# with a clear8cut CyesC or <<no.<< * +roa#er or less rigi# approach GC-ow can Sam win 2smerel#a +ac: from Daco+?C CWhy #i# ol# ansfor# fire the swamp?CH ta:es emphasis off the +asic conflict an# moves it over to a pu@@le element. Such a curiosity angle is valua+le as a component of your storyBa twist1 a complication1 a su+8plot. But avoi# it as a #ominant1 over8all story question. Though intellectually intriguing1 perhaps1 in most instances it proves less suspenseful to a mass au#ience than #oes the simpler1 more o+vious1 CWill he win or won<t he?C pattern. This is +ecause your rea#er rea#s first an# foremost for emotional stimulation. -e has no great #esire to

thin:. * story that hinges on analysis or logicBno matter how elementaryBhol#s little appeal for him. -e prefers to :eep the cere+ral factor su+or#inate. *s a su+8plot or the li:e1 it<s there1 pleasantly present if he happens to feel in the moo# for it. But it<s not so important that he can<t s:im over it without #amaging the story<s total impact if he wants1 tonight1 to rea# 9ust for what he #escri+es as Crela7ation.C "se of the starting line8up approach in no wise limits your range. -ere1 for e7ample1 it<s applie# to a confession yarn: Ionely1 frustrate#1 an# tire# Situation: of living in a home where she<s treate# as an unpai# servant1 Sentence % Character: wi#owe# .rene Boone GStatementH E+9ective: wants to marry wi#ower $ran: Dawes. Will she lose this chance for happiness +ecause her selfish1 sanctimonoius Sentence ' Epponent: #aughter1 Connie1 GQuestionH Disaster: accuses her of immorality? Er1 here<s the :in# of story that might +e #evelope# on almost any level1 from the lower8+rac:et men<s maga@ines to a literary novel: Sic: of the conformity an# hypocrisy that go Situation: with his high8pai# 9o+1 an# with a mo#est life income assure#1 Character: Dale Boulton Sentence % E+9ective: #eci#es to retire ten years early1 to go live on a GStatementH shanty8+oat an# po:e through crum+ling river ghost8towns1 in fulfillment of a +oyhoo# #ream. Can he ma:e the +rea: successfully1 when Epponent: his hostile wife1 San#ra1 Sentence ' fights him all the way an#1 GQuestionH Disaster: finally1 threatens to have him #eclare# incompetent? *n# there you have the starting lineup . . . as useful a tool as you<ll ever fin#. Ene warning: This sort of #evice is an ai# only. * semi8mechanical proce#ure1 its purpose is to help :eep you remin#e# of the #ynamic elements in your story. *n# that<s all. Ii:e any mechanical or semi8mechanical approach1 it<s anything +ut foolproof. .n no sense will it su+stitute for thin:ing "nless you a#apt it to your own temperamentByour own i#eas an# tastes an# rea#ersBit very well may #o you far more harm than goo#. =or is it the only such way to go a+out things. Iester Dent<s ol# aster $iction )lot has serve# a similar function for many an# many a writer. Ethers prefer the CThree EC systemBE+9ective1 E+stacle1 Eutcome. CWho wants to #o what1 an# why can<t he?C is a pattern8pregnant question that<s starte# hun#re#s of -ollywoo# scripts #own the roa#. Whatever approach you ta:e1 you yourself remain the most vital factor. The fresh i#ea1 the unique twist1 the su##en insight into character1 the enthusiasm that captures an# e7cites your rea#er<s imaginationBthese are yours an# yours alone. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN

The concept of +eginning1 mi##le1 an# en# spring from life itself: &ou<re +orn1 you live1 you #ie. *t si71 you enter school. $or twelve long years you wrestle with frien#s an# enemies an# teachers an# su+9ects. Then1 you<re gra#uate#. &ou ta:e a 9o+. &ou wor: it har#. &ou move on again to something +etter or worse. &ou go to the races. There<s a start an# a run an# a finish. * foot+all game or a +ullfight see conflict open an# seesaw an# close. The sun rises. The #aylight hours pass +y. The sun sets. These things you :now. *s corollaries1 you :now also that for the in#ivi#ual human +eing1 whatever happens G%H has #uration1 an# G'H is in a continuing state of flu71 a process of #evelopment an# change. Time forms a framewor: that puts limits on +oth your trage#ies an# your triumphs. 2ach situation coalesces1 shapes an# is shape#1 #issipates. So1 though *#vance# Thin:ers proclaim the cosmos to +e self8renewing an# unen#ing1 you pay them little hee#. &ou<ve too many imme#iate pressures to #eal with1 #ay +y #ay. $urther1 we li:e it that way. Both a#venture an# security go with #elimitation. Show me the long view of my fateBor that of the human race1 or 2arth1 for that matterBan# li:ely .<ll hang myself in the nearest corner. The imme#iate is +etter. There<s hope an# e7citement in the prospect of a new town1 a new 9o+1 a new girl. !elease comes with completion1 closure1 the en# of a #ay or a pro+lem. The visitor who +rea:s in on the clima7 of your favorite TV show stri:es spar:s of irritation in you. The legen# of the Wan#ering Dew is a frightening thing. Within time<s framewor:1 for each of us1 feeling reigns supreme. .t #oesn<t matter how much you tal: a+out o+9ectivity or perspective. *s a feeling unit1 you still have to sweat out your mortal span minute +y minute an# hour +y hour an# #ay +y #ayBevery moment1 with none s:ippe#> an# each one +rings its own reaction. Does automation claim your 9o+? 2conomists< reassurances have a hollow ring to this noon<s empty +elly. When your girl marries someone else1 you feel the hurt right now1 an# what #ifference #oes it ma:e to you that ne7t year you<ll fin# someone else less fic:le? The man in grief is closer :in to the chil# whose +alloon has +urst than he is to theologian or philosopher. $iction may not too aw:war#ly +e #efine# as life on paper. .t1 too1 flies the flag of feeling an# ta:es the short8term point of view. .t1 too1 ranges through a worl# in which the moment is what counts1 an# life an# the events that ma:e up life have a +eginning an# a mi##le an# an en#. C. want a story to have form1C W. Somerset augham has sai#1 Can# . #on<t see how you can give it that unless you can +ring it to a conclusion that leaves no legitimate room for questioning. But even if you coul# +ring yourself to leave the rea#er up in the air1 you #on<t want to leave yourself up in the air with him.C -ow #o you +ring yourself an# your rea#er +ac: to the groun#? Well1 let<s start from . . .

-ow to get a story un#er way The function of your story<s +eginning is to let your rea#er :now there<s going to +e a fight . . . an# that

it<s the :in# of fight that will interest him. To that en#1 +eginning spotlights three things: #esire1 #anger1 #ecision. Someone wants to attain or retain something. Something else threatens his chances of so #oing. -e #eci#es to fight the threat. The thing Character wants1 the #anger that threatens fulfillment of this #esire1 an# the #ecision he ma:es1 #etermine what specific rea#ers will en9oy the story. Ene li:es se7 an# violence1 another ten#erness an# love1 another the competitive striving for success1 another intellectual stimulation. !elatively few college professors are Tar@an fansB an# even fewer sharecroppers succum+ to $innegans Wa:e. The tric:1 for the writer1 is merely to pinpoint au#ience taste . . . then to refrain from attempting to inflict his copy on the wrong people. The pro+lems of +eginning +rea: #own into si7 categories: a. Where to open. +. -ow to open. c. What to put in. #. What to leave out. e. -ow to intro#uce nee#e# information. f. When to close. Iet<s ta:e these one at a time: a. Where to open. &ou can start a story in any way an# at any point an#1 regretta+ly1 .<ve rea# the manuscripts that prove it. But that #oesn<t mean that some +eginnings aren<t +etter Grea#: Cmore effectiveCH than others. Thus1 you can open on a lan#scape or a fist fight1 a still life or weather tal:1 or a close8up of a character or an o+9ect. Er on any of a thousan# other angles. Confession e#itors sometimes say1 CStart on the #ay that<s #ifferent.C * -ollywoo# a7iom recommen#s1 CStart with an ar8 rival.C )ulp writers use# to a#vocate starting with a fight. * general rule1 across the +oar#1 has +een that you shoul# start with trou+le. So1 where shoul# you start? Which imme#iately +rings up another question: What #o you nee#1 to start a story?

&ou nee# change. CStart on the #ay that<s #ifferentC? Something ma#e it that wayBa change from someone<s accustome# routine> what ha# +een. CStart with an arrivalC? *n arrival is in9ection of a new element into a situation> therefore1 a change. CStart with a fightC? Some #eviation from the status quo cause# that fight to e7plo#e at this particular time an# place. CStart with trou+leC? Trou+le is only a name for what happens when new #evelopments can<t +e fitte# into an e7isting pattern. So1 change is the thing you nee# to start a story. =e7t question: -ow #o you +uil# the +eginning of a story aroun# change? &ou nee# four things: G%H *n e7isting situation. G'H * change in that situation. G(H *n affecte# character. G,H Consequences. These four items are liste# here only as ingre#ients of the +eginning1 you un#erstan#> necessary elements> components. =o or#er of presentation is implie#. =ow1 what<s there to say a+out each one? By the e7isting situation1 we mean the state of affairs in which your focal character functions. .n a su+ur+an home on a quiet wee:#ay morning1 that state of affairs may +e placi#. En a +attlefiel#1 it may +e violent. *t a high8level +usiness conference1 every wor# may crac:le with tension. *long a sha#y cree:8+an:1 the moo# may +e one of peace an# rela7ation. But whatever the situation1 your focal character accepts it. .t follows an anticipate# routine.

2nter change. Change is some new element or relationship in9ecte# into the e7isting state of affairs. Something happens that ma:es the original situation #ifferent. )erhaps the temperature #rops1 or the sun comes up1 or a stranger enters1 or a girl says yes. .n the quiet househol#1 change may +e a lea:y pipe or a visiting neigh+or or a +ac:firing truc: that wa:es the +a+y. En the +attlefiel#1 it may +e a machine gun that 9ams1 or a sniper<s +ullet that :ills the squa# lea#er1 or an enemy rush that cuts off a unit. B=ot that changes necessarily appear to +e #isastrous. Aoo# newsBnew information receive# on anything from health to weatherBmay upset a situation every +it as much as +a#. So: Change impinges on an e7isting situation. *n# someone is affecte# +y it. This affecte# character is one whose state of min# is somehow altere# +y the mo#ification in state of affairs. This1 of course1 presupposes that the character has a state of min# to alter. That is1 he can<t +e a +lan: when you intro#uce him. -is +ehavior must reveal alrea#y8e7isting attitu#es1 principles1 pre9u#ices1 #irection. So1 face# with a change in his state of affairs1 this character reacts in characteristic fashion. =or #oes it matter whether his actions are warrante#1 o+9ectively1 +y the facts of what has happene#. -ow he interprets those factsBhow he feels a+out them1 su+9ectivelyBis what counts. $or if you ro+ a grocery store tonight1 an# tomorrow morning a squa# car pulls up in front of your rooming house1 you very well may 9ump to an# act on the conclusion that you<re a+out to +e arreste#Beven though1 in actuality1 the officers have stoppe# merely to investigate a smo:ing trash pile. .n the same way1 loss of one frien# may spell loneliness to a man1 even though he moves through a crow# of others. any a woman sees trage#y an# ol# age in the first slight creping of her s:in. =ame# West Coast manager1 an e7ecutive quits +ecause he thin:s he rate# a home8office 9o+. Situation1 change1 character. Three essential ingre#ients #own> one more to go. Consequences. That one can spell the #ifference +etween success an# failure when you start a story. Situation: * +right1 +ris: winter #ay. Change: Win#Bicy1 +iting1 out of the north. Character: * pe#estrian. Sweeping #own1 win# stings pe#estrian. -e shivers . . . turns up his collar . . . hugs his coat tighter a+out him . . . hurries on home. *n# that<s all.

Same way1 a girl runs a re# light. * cop stops her. The girl smiles. The cop tears up the tic:et. The girl #rives off. =o aftermath. By tomorrow the inci#ent is forgotten. *n ol# woman lives for her son<s rare visits. -e comes. She +erates him for his neglect. -e ignores her an# goes away again. The state of affairs is +ac: where it +egan. To start a story1 a change must prove the trigger for continuing consequences. That is1 it must set off a chain reaction. !espon#ing to change1 your character must #o something that +rings unticipate# results. -e must light a fire he can<t put out. Thus1 regar#less of your story<s original situation1 or the initial change1 sooner or laterBan# prefera+ly soonerBthe affecte# character must fin# himself in an intolera+le state of affairs. What<s intolera+le? *nything is intolera+le which en#angers a person<s chances of attaining or retaining something su+9ectively important to him. Er1 to put it even more simply1 it<s anything he fin#s too upsetting to ignore. .f you li:e to wal:1 an# arthritis +egins to stiffen up your feet1 it<s a painful annoyance. .f your livelihoo# #epen#s on wal:ingBthat<s intolera+le. Win or lose1 you<ll fight against it any way you can. * wife contemptuous of you is an affront to your pri#e. Ene who +ac:s her contempt with #eman#s for a #ivorce an# property settlement that will leave you penniless is intolera+le. The la@y1 insolent1 #iso+e#ient chil# may +e frustrating an# infuriating. The one who sets fire every chance he gets forces you to #o something a+out him.

27isting situation plus change plus affecte# character plus consequences equal #esire plus #anger. Desire plus #anger plus #ecision opens any story. Decision is a factor we<ll ta:e up later. $or now1 9ust remem+er that the stronger your character<s #esire an# the stronger the #anger that threatens it1 the stronger your opening. .f the intolera+le element can +e personifie#Bgiven life in an active opponentBthat<s even +etter. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN So much for the ingre#ients you mi7 into your story<s +eginning. *n# that +rings us +ac: to the place we starte#: Where #o you open? 2ach story constitutes a new an# unique pro+lem. =o one ever :nows for sure 9ust which spot is the +est from which to start. Aiven i#entical material1 no two writers woul# +egin at precisely the same point. But in generalB? There<s an ol# rule8of8thum+ that you shoul# open 9ust +efore the trou+le starts . . . or 9ust as the trou+le starts . . . or 9ust after the trou+le<s starte#. Iet<s mo#ify that a +it . . . su+stituting change for trou+le. Change is what creates your story. So1 start as close to change as possi+le. ore specifically1 start 9ust +efore the change impinges . . . 9ust as it ta:es place . . . or 9ust after. Thus1 if a torna#o is what precipitates your story1 you might open with generali@e# concern a+out the weather this particular morning . . . or with the torna#o sweeping #own . . . or with your focal character +lea:ly surveying the shattere# wrec:age of his farmstea#. .f a +eautiful +lon#e is to +e slain1 we coul# +egin with her alive an# in characteristic action . . . or reeling +ac: with a shrie: +efore the :iller<s onslaught . . . or lying in alley or par: or +ou#oir1 stiff an# star: an# #ea#. B*n# 9ust in case . ma:e <change< an# <trou+le< seem too close to synonymous in the e7amples a+ove1

note that the pattern wor:s 9ust as well on two miners stri:ing it rich: Epening % shows them on the verge of giving up . . . Epening ' lets san# swirl from one<s pan to reveal a #o@en nuggets . . . Epening ( fin#s the miners +y their fire that night1 gloating over their triumph. Which of these approaches is +est for your particular story? That<s your #ecision1 an# no one else can ma:e it for you. -owever1 certain points are worth consi#eration: G%H Epen too far ahea# of your initial change1 an# you may +ore your rea#er. This #oesn<t mean that you can<t @ero in first on e7isting situation. But to#ay<s rea#ers ten# to +e impatient. &ou either hoo: them fast or not at all. $ilm people say that in 2urope you can start a picture with half8a8#o@en clou# shots1 9ust to set the right moo#. But in the "nite# States1 your au#ience +egins to shift in its collective seat on shot '1 an# shot ( ha# +etter have a +om+er hurtling through the overcast unless you want to play to an empty house. Similarly1 in fiction1 a +eginning that opens with a half8page #escription of the ol# family manor will pro+a+ly :ill you #ea#1 #ea#1 #ea#. G'H Epen on the change itself1 an# your rea#er may feel he<s hanging suspen#e# in a vacuum. To evaluate any phenomenon1 you nee# perspective. * change that comes out of nowhere1 unrelate# to any +ac:groun# or e7isting situation1 may lose most of its impact. The +low struc: +y a thug in a +arroom +rawl has #ifferent implicationsBan# touches a #ifferent rea#er interest levelBthan the punch thrown +y a preacher. G(H Epen after the change has ta:en place1 an# you may fin# yourself force# to san#wich in a lumpy mass of e7planation later. C. #roppe# to one :nee an# fire# twice1C wrote Carroll Dohn Daly1 +eginning one of his !ace Williams stories in Blac: as: many years ago. *lthough this is the very first line1 o+viously the change in state of affairs that precipitates the yarn has alrea#y ta:en place1 offstage1 an# Williams is reacting to it. This :in# of fast ta:e8off is fine1 if you<re as #eft at it as Daly was. But many a new writer1 tac:ling it1 has #ifficulty incorporating a smooth e7planation of precisely how the whole +usiness starte#. So there you are. 2very opening has its pro+lems1 an# you yourself must choose +etween them. *n# if you choose wrong? Well1 so what? &ou won<t +e the first or the last man to learn the har# way1 from his own mista:esF +. -ow to open. .n terms of actual presentation1 a goo# first paragraph is one that persua#es your rea#er to rea# the secon#. To this en#1 you shoul# write )aragraph % in such a manner that it piques your rea#er<s curiosity. To rouse curiosity in anyone1 raise a question in his min#. Specifically1 ma:e him won#er1 <<-ey1 what<s this lea#ing

up to?<< -ow #o you #o this? &ou present your material in terms which in#icate that you are lea#ing up to something. This #eman#s that you state an#;or imply: G%H "niqueness. G'H The unanticipate#. G(H Deviation from routine. G,H * change a+out to ta:e place. G/H .nor#inate attention to the commonplace. Classification of approaches in this manner is as an ai# to clarity only. .n practice1 the #egree of overlap +etween categories is great1 an# there<s no point to trying to :eep them separate. G%H "niqueness. To +e unique is to +e without a li:e or equal. To call attention to uniqueness is to ma:e your rea#er won#er what you<re lea#ing up to. The 9o+ can +e #one o+viously: CShe was the only artificial woman in the worl#.C Er1 su+tly: C-e coul#n<t sleep that night.C GThat is the :ey wor#. .t implies that most nights he can sleep . . . +ut something #ifferent a+out this one prevents him from so #oing.H Er1 on a variety of levels in +etween: C.t was a #ifferent sort of a town.C CThe contrast +etween the two girls was what he notice#.C C.t<s this wee: or never1< Susan sai#.C G'H The unanticipate#. .f the +eautiful +lon#e turns out to have multifacete# insectile eyes1 or the +oo: on Aran#ma<s parlor ta+le is illustrate# with luri#ly pornographic pictures1 or the hero starts out the story +y proclaiming himself a #amne# foolBit<s unanticipate#. .ntrigue#1 rea#ers rea# on1 to fin# out what<s +ehin# it all. G(H Deviation from routine. .nstea# of getting off the elevator at her usual floor this morning1 2unice ri#es two stops higher1 then wal:s +ac: #own. r. -ersey approaches the front #oor of his home . . . gets out his :ey . . . pauses . . . wal:s +ac: #own the steps . . . goes aroun# the house to the +ac: #oor an# enters there.

rs. Arimes1 professional sourpuss1 sails gaily #own the corri#or1 ra#iating sweetness an# light upon everyone she meets. *gain1 rea#ers won#er why. G,H * change a+out to ta:e place. .f a man<s lawyer calls an# as:s him to #rop +y1 your rea#er assumes that something<s in the win#. Same when a +oy win:s at a girl in a +ar1 un#er the very eyes of her +urly escort. Er if some+o#y hears the hoof+eats of a galloping horse1 coming closer an# closer #own the roa#. G/H .nor#inate attention to the commonplace. Descri+e a #oor:no+ in tremen#ous1 painsta:ing #etail1 an# a rea#er will figure there must +e a reason for giving it such unusual attention. -e<ll rea# on to fin# out what that reason is. * gran#mother<s gnarle# han#s1 the sha++iness of a run8#own house1 a little girl peering out from +ehin# her +u++le gumBportray them with special care an# they<ll hoo: rea#ers. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN =ee#less to say1 these aren<t the only ways to +egin. Start with a still life. Descri+e it s:illfully enough an# your rea#er1 :nowing that it can<t stay still forever1 will assume a change must +e impen#ing. irror routine activity1 an# he<ll conclu#e that something will happen soon to +rea: the routine. Show purposeful activity1 an# hell +e prepare# for it to create or colli#e with opposition. .n the same way1 you can +egin on either motivating stimulus or character reaction> on the search for a goal or on the struggle to attain it. &ou can start with the +ig picture an# move to the small1 in the manner of the motion picture<s familiar long8shot1 me#ium8shot1 close8up pattern. Er1 you can reverse the process . . . +egin with the close8up1 the significant #etail1 an# then pull +ac: to view the +roa#er frame of reference that is the #etail<s setting. *s a matter of fact1 you have a certain amount of leeway in your first paragraph an# on your first page. Why? Because your rea#er wants so +a#ly to +e entertaine#. Therefore1 he assumes that sooner or later what he rea#s will relate to something satisfying an# e7citingB#esire1 #anger1 a character fighting for fulfillment an# future happiness. The place where story openings go wrong is when a writer ri#es this rea#er assumption too har#. That is1 Writer ta:es it for grante# that !ea#er will suffer #ra+ness an# ineptitu#e in#efinitely. So1 he plo#s through his first page or two or three1 laying groun#wor: an# that<s all. -e #oesn<t wor: for interest. The vivi# noun1 the active ver+1 the colorful phrase1 the intriguing #etail1 the clever twist1 the #eft contrastBthese aren<t for him. *+ove all1 he #oesn<t plan his presentation to ma:e his rea#er curious as to what those first few crucial lines are lea#ing up to.

*n# that<s literary suici#e. .t<s not enough1 in an opening1 9ust to set the stage or to intro#uce the characters or to have something happening. What hoo:s your rea#er isn<t the present1 +ut the future. -e wants to +e reassure# that something worth rea#ing a+out is going to happenBan# he wants that reassurance now. So1 give him what he wants. Show him that your story #eals with something specialBsomething outsi#e the framewor: of routine an# #ay8to8#ay anticipations. Show him now. !ight from the start. The ne7t line1 the ne7t paragraph1 the ne7t page may +e too lateF c. What to put in. To +egin a story1 you must create a story worl#. &ou start with your rea#er<s min# a +lan:. Then1 a step at a time1 you lift him away from reality an# transport him into the imaginary lan# you have conceive#. To travel thus into the story worl#1 your rea#er instinctively as:s three questions: G%H Where am .? G'H What<s up? G(H Whose s:in am . in? &our 9o+ in +eginning your story is to provi#e answers to these questions. BThough not necessarily in any particular or#er. -ow #o you present this information to your rea#er most effectively? &ou pinpoint the significant. What<s significant? That inci#ent or #etail is significant which epitomi@es an#;or sym+oli@es an#;or captures the essence of whatever aspect of the story worl# you<re attempting to communicate. Descri+e a girl as a C#i@@y +lon#e1C an# you tag her far +eyon# mere appearance. $airly or unfairly1 her hair sym+oli@es her as a particular type of woman. .n calling attention to it1 you give it weight as a #etail which hol#s significance1 an# your rea#er will so use it in evaluating her. .n the same way1 a CCharles *##ams sort of house1C for many1 con9ures up a moo# of the maca+re. .t epitomi@es feeling in the image of a gloomy1 #ecaying1 mansar#8roofe# Victorian mansion. Connotations of sensitivity an# taste sel#om are implie# when you refer to a man as C+ull8nec:e#.C * o#igliani print on the wall esta+lishes one tone for a room> a nee#lepoint sampler1 another. .f coc:roaches are crawling over greasy1 egg8smeare# #ishes in the sin:1 a still #ifferent note is struc:. This process of sym+oli@ation +y significant #etail isn<t unique to fiction. &ou fin# it every #ay in

routine living also1 whenever you use a picture that alrea#y hangs in someone<s min# as a sign or reference point to help la+el an unfamiliar o+9ect. * han#y a#aptation of the principle of association1 it #raws upon comparison1 similarity1 contrast1 analogy1 an# the li:e. .t forms the +asis for the stereotyping which1 while frequently un9ust an#;or unwarrante#1 is also ever so convenient. What if no o+viously sym+olic #etail is imme#iately at han#? Create one. That is1 spotlight some phenomenonBanything at all. Then1 let a character react to it. The interpretation he places on it1 the conclusions he #raws from it1 will at once en#ow it with Csignificance1C where your rea#er is concerne#. Thus1 +ring a rain spot on the ceiling into focus as a significant #etail1 an# it may in all seriousness +e viewe# as sym+olic of GaH recent +a# weather1 G+H a lea:y roof1 GcH a poverty8stric:en family<s pri#e1 G#H a prou# family<s #eterioration1 GeH a chin: in the villain<s armor1 GfH the heroine<s vulnera+ility1 GgH a stain on honor1 GhH aristocracy<s feet of clay1 GiH proof that trou+le is a common #enominator which touches rich an# poor ali:e> an# so on1 to an# past infinity. .n other wor#s1 you +low up any fragment in any situation to a close8up so +ig it fills the screen. Then1 you have someone state or imply that it<s important to an# in#icative of a particular frame of reference. WhereuponBcount on it Byour rea#ers will go along. *n# if you thin: this is a ri#iculous e7aggeration1 pause for a few minutes this evening to glance over your favorite manual of $reu#ian #ream interpretation. 27ten# this same process of creating significance +y association an# con#itioning to a sort of running gag1 an emotional #oor+ell1 an# it gives you a han#y #evice for esta+lishing an# reesta+lishing moo# with minimum wor#age. Thus1 let your hero note an# feel as +lithe1 at one point1 as the moc:ing+ir#<s song he overhears. &our pu+lic then will +e #elighte# when1 later1 you use a sour note from the +ir#<s mi#night serena#e to reflect -ero<s conviction that life is #oing him #irt. Does the heroine shut him out? The +ir#<s song now soun#s sa#. Does the villain fall in the horse trough? The +ir# lets go with a ca#en@a similar to a ra@@+erry. *n# so on. Carrie# far enough an# use# with sufficient s:ill1 this reiteration of emotionali@e# #etail +ecomes what<s sometimes calle# a gimmic:Bone of the most useful #evices for resolving your story. But more of that later. !ight now1 let<s consi#er +riefly how +est to help your rea#er answer the first of his three questions a+out the story worl#. G%H Where am .? &our rea#er nee#s to :now your story<s locale: .t won<t #o to have him thin: he<s on the seacoast when he<s really in the slums. Does the action ta:e place in a +arroom1 a +allroom1 a +e#room1 a +arn? .s it mi##ay1 mi#night1 #us:1 or #awn? -e must :nowF &ou nee# to convey this information to him earlyBthe sooner1 the +etter. Etherwise1 he may ma:e false assumptions that throw him for a loss later.

But no matter how important this information may +e1 you #on<t #are in#ulge in long8win#e# e7planations or #escriptions. Such ta:e up too much space an# +ore your rea#ers. So1 what #o you #o? &ou use the significant #etail1 of course. Which is to say1 you pluc: a sym+olic fragment or two or three from the setting. By #escri+ing them in such terms as to provi#e an implicit or e7plicit interpretation1 you give your rea#er the impression you want him to have. *re the groun#s neat? Then say that the flower +e#s appear to have +een aligne# with a micrometer an# the grass mown +oth ways +efore a trimming with manicure scissors. .t will #raw a sharper picture than several paragraphs of more generali@e# #etail. Saw#ust on the floor of a +ar says more a+out it than any cataloguing of the +ottles on the shelf. Squalor can occupy pages of #escription1 or you may 9ust o+serve that the shanty<s walls ha# crac:s so wi#e you coul# throw a cat through them. There<s more to esta+lishing locale than this1 of course. But it<s a start1 an# the fine points will wait a few pages1 till we can ta:e time out to #iscuss the technique of e7position. $or now1 let<s move on to Question =um+er ': G'H What<s up? *s pointe# out a+ove1 your +eginning must esta+lish time an# place> a locale. .t also must set forth a situationBan e7isting state of affairs> the way things stan# as your story starts. Situation +rea:s #own into two components: GaH What<s going on? G+H Who<s involve#? Iet<s +egin with . . . GaH What<s going on? Ene of the har#est things a writer has to learn is that CWhat<s going on?C means precisely thatBCWhat<s happening right now?CB=ot1 CWhat has gone on?C or <<What<s the +ac:groun# an#;or past history of the present action?<< -ow #o you thus communicate present action? &ou show what happens. &ou show it as it happens1 moment +y moment1 in strict chronological or#er. The sense of this at once +ecomes apparent if you stop to reali@e that the present is the only thing you can show. The past is alrea#y gone. &our only lin: to it is memory. The future waits in the wings1 not yet on stage. .t may +e set forth only as con9ecture or imaginings.

-ere<s a sentence: CThe ancient wagon ha# +een wallowing heavily across the prairie all #ay now.C E.J.? =o. C-a# +eenC instantly tells us that we<re #ealing with past action. *n# while the put certainly has a place in many stories1 that place isn<t in the +eginning. -ow +etter to han#le it? CSagging un#er its loa#1 the ancient wagon wallowe# heavily across the prairie.C )resent action. * wor# picture of the here8an#8now. .f there<s soun#1 let<s hear it:

C. . . rattling an# crea:ing an# groaning.C .s o#or a factor? CThe air1 #espite the #ust1 hel# also a para#o7ical steaminess of wilting vegetation.C -eat? C2ven the tough1 low8growing +uffalo grass seeme# to shrin: from the +la@ing rays of the morning sun1 high now an# clim+ing higher.C -ow a+out a change in the situation? C*hea#1 far in the #istance1 smo:e roseBa slen#er1 wispy plume.C What happens when we put all these together? Sagging un#er its loa#1 the ancient wagon wallowe# heavily across the prairie1 rattling an# crea:ing an# groaning. The air1 #espite the #ust1 hel# also a para#o7ical steaminess of wilting vegetation. 2ven the tough1 low8growing +uffalo grass seeme# to shrin: from the +la@ing rays of the morning sun1 high now an# clim+ing higher. *hea#1 far in the #istance1 smo:e roseBa slen#er1 wispy plume. *n# so it goes. With manipulation of language an# selection of #etail1 you capture a state of affairs on paper. =o matter what fragment you nee# to intro#uce1 you call it to your rea#er<s attention as an imme#iate stimulus1 a present action. Won<t you ever #eviate? Ef course you will1 a thousan# times. But when you #o go into past or future at the +eginning of a story1 it shoul# +e a matter of conscious an# intentional technique1 #esigne# to create a pre#etermine#

effect an# to solve a specific1 clearly thought out pro+lem. .t shoul# not represent mere clumsiness an# lac: of insight. ost of the time1 you<ll get +est results if you ma:e it a ha+it to stic: with the here8an#8now approach. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN Beyon# CWhat<s going on?C lie other implicit questions: CWhat shoul# +e going on?C <<What else #o you nee# to esta+lish a proper story worl#?C *nswer: Conflict. Desire plus #anger. -ow #o you esta+lish conflict? &ou face some+o#y with opposition. B*t which point1 555 woul#8+e writers cry out1 CBut how can you esta+lish conflict without telling past history? -ow can you have a fight without a +ac:groun#?C Eur answer here goes +ac: to our original point: Show what happens as it happens1 moment +y moment1 in strict chronological or#er. &ou #on<t have to :now what<s gone +efore in or#er to see some+o#y slug some+o#y else. 27planations can come later. *ll you nee# is a man or woman with a goalBa he or a she or an it going someplace. Then1 +ump this +eing into opposition1 an# you<re in +usiness. E+viously1 such a clash shoul# have some +earing on or relationship to the central issue of your story. But all that ta:es is a +it of planning. The important thing is to fin# a stri:ing1 self8e7planatory scene1 so that you can esta+lish the element of struggle an#1 through it1 hoo: your rea#ers early. .n this connection1 what<s sometimes terme# a +one of contention or weenie may help you to #emonstrate that something<s at issue1 even though for the moment your rea#er #oesn<t un#erstan# how come. Thus: The paper clip lay on the #es: +etween them. .t was an ol# clipB#iscolore#1 somewhat +ent1 with a couple of small rust spots visi+le upon it. .#ly1 Elivas reache# for it. .n a voice #angerously gentle1 Sheehan sai#1 CTouch it1 you son of a +itch1 an# .<ll cut your throat.C Elivas< han# stoppe#.

&ou see? .tself unimportant1 perhaps1 the paper clip is a sym+ol of the relationship +etween these men. Their reaction to it an# to each other +ring a host of elements into focusBthe state of min# of each> their cali+er an# potential> all sorts of things. So1 whether the paper clip itself is intrinsically of worth or consequence or notBan# it quite possi+ly may +eBit serves here primarily as a +one of contention +etween these two. E+9ectify8 ing an issue1 it creates conflict in a stri:ing1 self8e7planatory scene. *n# your story gets un#er way. G+H Who<s involve#? 2ver an# always1 your story #eals with people. The +eginning is the place where you intro#uce them to your rea#er. To intro#uce any given character effectively1 you must first of all +ring him on in character. That is1 the character must +ehave li:e the :in# of person he is. Etherwise1 how can your rea#er :now what to e7pect of him? That<s why1 in a less sophisticate# perio#1 the villain so often :ic:e# a #og in Chapter %1 or the hero save# a chil# from a +ully. To#ay1 we smile at such o+viousness. But the principle is still soun#1 when use# with even a mo#icum of taste an# 9u#gment. To +ring a character on in character #eman#s three things: ;%; The character must have character. To say that someone Chas characterC means that you :now where he stan#s. -e<s for or against something. -e e7hi+its #esire1 #irection. The same i#ea applies to your story people. * successful character is more than 9ust warm meat. -e<s a living1 +reathing human +eing1 with all the #rives an# am+itions an# attitu#es an# pre9u#ices of such. * #ra+ nonentity who +len#s into the woo#wor: simply isn<t strong enough. To interest your rea#er in a character1 therefore> to ma:e him care a+out someone1 pro or con1 you must give him some #efinite something to which to react. The character must e7hi+it traits #esigne# to arouse emotion. -e must +e for or against things1 in wor# or #ee#1 a+out which your rea#er too feels strongly. &ou may not li:e a man who #rin:s too much1 or +eats his wife1 or pic:s his teeth in pu+lic. But at least he gives you cause for your attitu#e. So1 too1 #o you 9u#ge the man who gam+les his life on his faith that he can clim+ a #angerous mountain . . . or who refuses to lie #espite his employer<s threats . . . or who stays with his wifeBor a woman not his wifeBin the face of community scorn an# con#emnation. ;'; The first time he appears1 the character must perform some act that characteri@es him. Character can<t +e #emonstrate# save in action. What others say a+out you may +e merely reputation. &our own self8#escription can range from #elusion to plain8out lie. But when you actBah1 then the car#s are #own an# we see the stuff you<re really ma#e ofF

$or this reason1 you as a writer shoul# #evise inci#ents that will force your story people to reveal early Bor at least hint atBtheir true natures1 in action. 2ach must #isplay1 an# thus esta+lish1 that aspect of himself which is of top importance to the story. .s your man a thief? Show him stealing. * scholar? Iet him a+an#on the party for the li+rary. *m+itious? -ave him maneuver a chance to impress someone who can help him. =ote1 please1 how this implies that one trait1 one aspect of personality1 stan#s #ominant in each character. )lay it precisely that way. -uman patterns are infinitely comple71 grante#. But a story focuses on a crisis in someone<s life. "n#er crisis con#itions1 a single trait frequently #oes #ominate. .f you #on<t thin: so1 try sometime to persua#e a teen8age girl to +rea: away from the +ehavior patterns of her group1 or a fat8an#8fiftyish male to stic: with a #iet. Thus1 while each of us possesses a host of attitu#es an# traits1 not all get equal emphasis at a given moment. To#ay1 passion may #rive me to the e7clusion of all else. Tomorrow1 it may turn to #isgust> or1 un#er the pressure of a change of circumstance1 +e mo#erate# or oversha#owe# +y a #esire for security or fame or intellectual achievement. $or the #uration of your story1 then1 let one trait stay #ominant in each character. Jeep Tom honest1 Dic: cruel1 -arry stupi#. BWhich is not to say that you shoul#n<t mo#ify the picture upon occasion. )erhaps Tom is gree#y as well as upright. Cruel Dic:1 on the si#e1 is a #oting father. *n# though -arry can<t count past ten with his shoes on1 he<s a wi@ar# where motors are concerne#. Such #ivergences1 such contrasts1 such apparent contra#ictionsBin large part1 a story<s sense of reality springs them. But #o :eep one trait in the spotlight. $or the moment your rea#er grows confuse# +ecause emphasis is too evenly #ivi#e# BG.s Tom primarily honest or primarily gree#y?HB you<ve lost him. ;(; The characteri@ing act must +e +oth pertinent an# characteristic. This simply means that you shoul# match characteri@ing act to role. .f your story #eman#s a man whose #ominant trait is courage1 with all other aspects of personality ignore#1 then for heaven<s sa:e #on<t show him at the start +ehaving in a manner that places prime emphasis on how :in#ly he is. .n the same way1 an# for the same reason1 try not to present a character in a characteri@ing act that<s non8typical of him. Don<t +ring on a sourpuss in one of his rare moments of congeniality1 for e7ample. &our rea#er will1 9ustifia+ly1 resent it1 when he later #iscovers that the guy or#inarily goes roun# +iting +a+ies. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN So much for #ynamics. En the Chow8toC si#e of intro#ucing characters1 there are three main points to remem+er: ;%; .ntro#uce characters realistically. That is1 give an impression of the person firstBCa cute little chic: with re# hair1C Ca sham+ling1 sla+8li:e man1C <<a sha#owy little woman in a +ig feathere# hat that woul# always +e remem+ere# long after she herself was forgotten.C Why han#le it this way? Because that<s the way most of us see people. We pay no hee# to #etails until person an#;or #etail +ecome important

to us. *pply the same i#ea when you write. &our han#iest tool in capturing a first impression is our ol# frien# the significant #etail. Center your #escription on whatever stic:s out li:e a sore thum+1 the way a cartoonist #oes when he caricatures a prominent person. The +ig ears1 the +uc: teeth1 the pot+elly1 the turne#8up noseBthese are the han#y tags to tie to. $urther1 failure to note such at the start will +ree# all sorts of trou+le for you later1 when your rea#er #iscovers that the girl he assume# was pretty an# petite actually is tall1 sallow1 an# overweight. any charactersBthe minor onesBwill nee# no more than the most o+vious1 a++reviate# :in# of la+el. The others you can +uil# as you go1 salting in more #etail an# #escription as it<s require#. En the other han#1 there is one situation that warrants more than impressionistic #etail to +egin with. That<s when another character is for some reason eager to appraise the person to +e intro#uce#. 27hi+it *: ama1 as she glimpses Sonny<s +ri#e8to8+e for the first time. But even here1 a little restraint or#inarily is #esira+le. ;'; Bring your characters on in action. The #ay when rea#ers woul# hol# still for a long8win#e#1 static #escription of a character1 complete with family tree1 is long gone. =ow1 they want him alive1 +reathing1 #oing somethingBprefera+ly1 something interesting. So1 figure out some +usiness for your +oy or girl1 as if you were a theatrical #irector +loc:ing out a play. *n# prepare your rea#er for each impen#ing entrance1 whether +y a :noc: at the #oor or a su##en awareness of the scent of lilacs or the soun# of running feet. Do not 9ust let someone pop out of nowhere. * menace1 especially1 loses half its punch for $rien# !ea#er if he<s not aware that something unpleasant is a+out to happen. ;(; Don<t +ring on too many people at once. -ere . have no choice +ut to contra#ict flatly all the hallowe# a#vice you<ve rea# a+out the nee# to intro#uce all your characters in a hurry. True1 it<s goo# to get them on stage early. But it<s even more to the point that no one will remem+er or give a hoot a+out them if they<re presente# as a mere 9um+le of names an#;or faces. * vivi# entrance that hoo:s your rea#er<s interest is infinitely more vital. G(H Whose s:in am . in? To +egin a story1 tra#itionally1 you must first esta+lish time1 place1 circumstance1 an# viewpoint. Time1 place1 an# circumstance we<ve alrea#y #ealt with. =ow1 what a+out viewpoint? Viewpoint is the spot from which you see a story. .t<s the position an# perspective you occupy in or#er +est to savor a fictional e7perience. Er#inarily1 that vantage point is insi#e some+o#y<s s:in. That is1 your rea#er will live through your story as some specific character e7periences it. -e<ll see an#

hear an# smell an# taste an# touch an# thin: an# feel precisely what that person sees an# hears an# smells an# what have you. *n# he<ll see1 etc.1 nothing which that character #oesn<t. =o loo:ing through walls. =o secon#8guessing motives. =o snea:ing aroun# insi#e some+o#y else<s +rain. ay+e this puts $rien# !ea#er insi#e the focal character1 the center of attention. Er perhaps he<ll +e another ma9or participant in the action. Er1 he may +e a manor playerBan o+server1 a +ystan#er1 a si#eliner. Er1 he may +e the author1 or even Gthough not so commonly these #aysH Ao#. Er1 if your story<s long enough1 you conceiva+ly will intro#uce several #ifferent viewpointsBma9or1 minor1 author8 o+9ective1 or what have you. -ow #o you esta+lish viewpoint at the +eginning of your story? The tric: is simple: *s early as possi+le1 you let your rea#er :now that he<s loo:ing at the story worl# through a particular person<s eyes . . . living the story1 as it were1 insi#e that person<s s:in. Ii:e this: Smiling greasily1 Quintus Jerr sprea# his car#s on the ta+le. CThree aces1 r. Devereau71C he o+serve#. r. Devereau7 eye# the car#s +lea:ly. Why was it1 he won#ere#1 that he so often seeme# to run afoul of cutthroats an# connivers? -ere1 viewpointBspecifically1 r. Devereau7<s viewpointBis esta+lishe# the moment we intro#uce that wor# won#ere#. The only way you can :now that someone is won#eringBor thin:ing1 or feeling1 or aching1 or what have youBis to +e insi#e his s:in1 living an# e7periencing with him. .t<s an effective #evice1 an# one that #oes the 9o+ in a hurry. But suppose we playe# it a #ifferent way: Smiling greasily1 Quintus Jerr sprea# his car#s on the ta+le. CThree aces1 r. Devereau71C he o+serve#.

r. Devereau7<s eyes flic:e# to the paste+oar#s. -is lips seeme# to #raw a trifle thinner. C. see them.C CWell1 then . . .C Beaming now1 Jerr reache# for the pot. -ere1 we see e7ternals only . . . what<s #one1 what<s sai#. *n# precisely +ecause nothing<s reveale# which woul# place us insi#e either character<s min# or s:in1 your rea#er reali@es that you<re ma:ing li:e some sort of literary motion8picture camera equippe# for soun#. Viewpoint: author8o+9ective. *uthor8o+9ective it will stay1 too1 until you move into the heart or +rain of some particular person. B

Er1 you can write the entire story on an o+9ective level1 if that appeals to your taste. Thus it goes. Ene way or another1 viewpoint is esta+lishe#. &our rea#er1 in his turn1 ma:es appropriate assumptions as to where he stan#s . . . consi#ers the events that transpire in properly o+9ective or su+9ective fashion. .n the process he also +ecomes aware1 to a greater or lesser #egree1 of each character<s traits an# attitu#es an# state of min#. But that<s a su+9ect that calls for greater #etail later. eanwhile1 it<s enough that your rea#er<s foun# a s:in to +e inF MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN Where am .? What<s up? Whose s:in am . in? Those are the questions your rea#er as:s when he +egins a story. .n answering him1 +ear in min# two #os an# two #on<ts: GaH Do prepare your rea#er for what<s ahea#. The ha+it of planting an# pointing is one of the easiest yet most effective ways to strengthen your story. G+H Don<t give +um steers. * wrong assumption infuriates your rea#er. -elp him to guess right +y careful planting.

GcH Do esta+lish in action. This is 9ust another way of saying1 CDon<t tell it> show itFC Wherever possi+le1 translate information into people #oing things. G#H Don<t get too eager. Try to crow# in too much too fast1 an# you<re on a sure short cut to #isaster. #. What to leave out. The thing to leave out of the +eginning of your story is past history. Why? Because your rea#er<s interest centers on the future1 not the past. -e wants to :now what will happen as #esire struggles against #anger> not what #i# happen that le# to the present conflict. $ans pay a lot more for pri@e8fight tic:ets than they #o for reminiscence. The reason for this is as ri#iculously simple as it is often overloo:e#: =othing can change the past. .t<s over> #one. So1 what suspense can it possi+ly hol#? &our story<s +eginning thus shoul# stic: to present action . . . what<s happening right now. What<s happening1 in turn1 shoul# center on #esire colli#ing hea#8on with #anger . . . the conflict of irresisti+le force with immova+le o+9ect1 as it were.

-ow a+out the +ac:groun# of this conflict?

ust it forever +e forgotten?

En the contrary. Bac:groun# can a## insight to present pro+lems . . . provi#e motivation for future action. Quite possi+ly it<s of ma9or importance to your story. &ou nee# merely to +e careful as to where an# how you +ring it in. Ways to present it? Try these: G%H $lash+ac:. $lash+ac: is someone remem+ering in the present what happene# in the past. There<s one :ey point to remem+er where flash+ac: is concerne#. Don<t open with itF .n the early stages of a story1 you see1 interest often is a fragile an# tenuous thing. Though your rea#er is in search of entertainment1 he<s +y no means sure that he<ll fin# precisely what he wants in your particular story. Bore him with flash+ac:1 past history1 even +riefly1 an# li:ely as not he<ll turn to someone else<s yarn. Ence his interest is arouse#1 however1 it<s entirely possi+le that he<ll ache to acquire the self8same #ata he<# have spurne# a page or two or three +efore. So1 #o try to open on a stri:ing1 self8e7planatory scene. -ol# the flash+ac: for later1 after the en# of the +eginning Ga su+9ect with which we<ll #eal shortlyH1 when the story question is esta+lishe# an# !ea#er firmly hoo:e#. .f a girl<s going to slap a +oy<s face1 an# he in his turn then will :noc: her #own1 let me see the +it first1 +efore you e7plain the +ac:groun# of their quarrel. Believe me1 the #elay will ma:e me an infinitely +etter listenerF G'H Discussion of past action. Such #iscussion is flash+ac: ver+ali@e#. Don<t put it at the +eginning either. *lso1 an# no matter where in your story you present it1 #on<t let it #rag out an# +ecome a +ore. To avoi# such1 use these three tric:s: GaH $igure out a way to show the event itself1 instea# of having people tal: a+out it. G+H !e#uce the content of the comments1 +y consoli#ating two or three events into one1 limiting the num+er of points to +e ma#e1 an# the li:e. GcH !e#uce the length of the comments1 +y ma:ing the spea:ers tal: with normal succinctness1 instea# of with that phony fulsome quality that mar:s speech for the convenience of the author. B ore a+out this1 too1 later1 when we get to the technique of e7position. G(H Summary of past action.

This amounts to flash+ac: in the author<s wor#s. Two solutions: GaH

Translate history into action. G+H Quit thin:ing your rea#er nee#s to :now as much +ac:groun# to rea# your story as you nee# to :now to write it. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN .s there anything else you shoul#n<t put into your opening? &es: too much. $or e7ample1 too many characters1 too #etaile# a setting1 too involve# a setting situationBthe list coul# go on forever. Clutter an# confusion are mortal enemies of goo# fiction. The thing to strive for is the clean1 sharp1 simple line. To that en#1 you nee# to #evote some attention to . . . e. Techniques of e7position. What is e7position? 27position is whatever your rea#er nee#s to :now a+out what happene# in the past1 in or#er +etter to appreciate what<s going to happen in the future. &our worst foe here is a literary plague calle# author convenience. *uthor convenience is what ma:es a writer have a character say1 <<$ather1 is your sister Iucille1 whose hus+an# Aregory #ie# last *ugust an# left her penniless1 coming to visit us?C .s this a normal question for anyone to as: his father? Ef course it isn<t. But a less8than8inspire# writer coul# thin: of no more intelligent way to get the facts of past action +efore his rea#er. This is the same writer who insists on telling us how the heroine<s twin sister was +orn with a horn8 shape# +irthmar: +ecause a +ull chase# their mother across the pasture while she was enceinte. -e also has the villain<s accomplice e7plain the villain<s propose# plot against the hero to the villain. =or is it any pro+lem for -ero to acquire this same #ata1 since the villain<s mistress is happy to volunteer it to him. $urther #iscussion reveals that the :iller is a #angerous man

with a :nife. *n# *uthor1 in ever8so8convenient asi#es1 remar:s that a minor character is a #ia+etic1 an# that the hero is still very much emotionally involve# with the villain<s sister. =ee# . say more? This o+viously is not the right way to present +ac:groun# informationF To write successful e7position1 motivate your rea#er to want to :now the past. That means: a:e the past important to him.

Which is to say1 ma:e the facts to +e presente# important to your storyBan# to the people in your story. Then1 set sai# facts forth in a manner that allows your characters to appear as normal1 intelligent human +eings1 an# not cretins. Techniques which may help you to achieve this worthy en# inclu#e the following: G%H Cut to the +one the amount of information you give your rea#er. .s all the #ata as to what cause# that horn8shape# +irthmar: really necessary? G'H Brea: up the essential content. .nstea# of shoving a half8page of past history at me in a lump1 li:e soggy1 #ripping laun#ry1 may+e you coul# plant the pasture1 in one spot1 as part of the setting> the +ull in another1 as a continuing menace> sister<s +irthmar: in a thir#1 with a se78tinte# situation to carry it1 an# so on. G(H a:e someone nee# the information. &ou motivate rea#er attention when you set someone in search of nee#e# information. But your rea#er recogni@es that the villain alrea#y :nows the #etails of his own plot1 so any scene that involves his accomplice telling him a+out it automatically rings as phony as a lea# nic:el. G,H a:e that CsomeoneC have to fight to learn what he nee#s to :now. .f . want you to Tell *ll an# you #on<t want to1 conflict an# story interest are in the ma:ing. En the other han#1 if the villain<s mistress starts to volunteer information1 -ero an# !ea#er li:ely will hea# for the nearest e7it . . . much the way you #o where *untie #eci#es the time has come to share all the #etails of her latest operation with you. G/H Tie information to action. Tell me a given man is #angerous with a :nife1 an# . may or not +elieve you. Iet me see him carve some+o#y up1 an# my hair stan#s on en# with no resort at all to conscious logic. . may even grow willing to listen to a few luri# #etails a+out the guy<s past historyF G0H otivate some character to pay attention to anything you want your rea#er to notice.

&ou esta+lish a character<s #ia+etesBa vital plot issue1 perhapsBmore vivi#ly if you let him give himself a shot of insulin in another character<s presence. Whereupon1 Character =um+er ' is

appropriately motivate# to as: if your #ia+etic is on heroin1 an# an e7planation of the facts +ecomes in or#er. G3H )resent your #ata su+9ectively1 in most instances. .f the hero is emotionally involve# with anyone1 your rea#er rates the insi#e #ope. Iet him e7perience the pain or passion or yearning in viewpoint . . . not hear a+out it through the writer1 secon#han#. G4H *+ove all1 let no one tal: a+out anything he woul#n<t normally #iscuss. There<s a thing in this worl# calle# reticence. .t prevents some women from #iscussing the clinical #etails of their se7 lives> some men from tal:ing a+out their #reams or failures> some chil#ren an# a#olescents from opening up to a#ults> some ol#er people from #welling too much ver+ally on #eath. *ll of us feel a certain reticence1 at one time or another1 to some #egree or another1 on some su+9ect or another. Consi#er reticence1 ne7t time1 when in the name of e7position you<re tempte# to en#ow a character with an un#uly loose lip. .ntelligence also must +e consi#ere#. Dust +ecause you nee# a particular fragment of #ata #oesn<t mean that you can legiti8 mately wring inane o+servations from an otherwise sharp character an# have your rea#ers accept it. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN .n fact1 intelligence is an element you might very well apply to the whole cotton8pic:in< +usiness of techniques of e7position. f. The en# of the +eginning. Desire plus #anger give you a +eginning for any story. But what #etermines where the +eginning of your story en#s? This is anything +ut an aca#emic question. * +eginning that #rags on too long inevita+ly costs you rea#ers. =ot to mention sales. &et that #rag1 that fum+ling1 is totally unnecessary. Ene simple rule eliminates it. So1 again: What #etermines where the +eginning of your story en#s? Decision. *s early as possi+le1 ma:e your focal character commit himself. Iet him #eci#e to fight the #anger that threatens his #esire1 instea# of stalling or +ac:ing off or running from it. The moment he so #eci#es1 +y wor# or #ee#1 your +eginning is over. &our story has +egun. Why? * story is the recor# of how some+o#y #eals with #anger. "ntil your focal character ma:es up his min# to fight the #anger1 rather than to run from it1 you have no story. The thing that hoo:s your rea#er1 in the opening1 is curiosity. The thing that hol#s him the rest of the way1 straight through to the final paragraph1 is suspense. Curiosity is the element1 on page one1 that ma:es your rea#er won#er: What<s this lea#ing up to?

So1 what is it lea#ing up to? The fact that there<s going to +e a fight. What<s the fight a+out? .t concerns your character<s efforts to achieve a goalBto attain or retain something in the face of #anger. 2nter the story question: Will your focal character win1 or won<t he? 2nter suspense also. Suspense is reaction. .t<s a feeling your story #evelops in a rea#er. &ou compoun# it of hope plus fearB the fear something will or won<t happen. To have suspense1 you must have uncertainty of outcome. That<s where your story question comes in. *s note# earlier1 it<s always the same: Will St. Aeorge succee# in slaying the #ragonBor won<t he? Will Sam +eat 2#<s time with Su@yBor won<t he? Will Doe convince r. !ice he<s the man for the 9o+Bor won<t he?

Will the sergeant ma:e it through the enemy linesBor won<t he? Will 2llen get her hus+an# off the +ottleBor won<t she? The :ey ingre#ient each time is #ou+t> uncertainty of outcome. That #ou+t1 that uncertainty1 is what ties your rea#er to your story. .n other wor#s1 you open your story with curiosity8arousing #evices1 #esigne# to esta+lish G%H that your focal character has a goal1 an# G'H that this goal is somehow threatene#. *fter which1 suspense ta:es over: Does your focal character win or lose> achieve his goal or miss it? The issue is the moment of commitment. True suspense comes only when you esta+lish the story question. *n# the story question moves into focus only when your character1 #esiring1 loo:s #anger full in the face an#

then ta:es up the challenge that the situation offers. .mplicitly or e7plicitly1 he must say1 <<.<ll fightFC +efore your story can +egin. *s soon as he says it1 the +eginning automatically en#s1 an# we move into the story proper . . . the +o#y of the central conflict. This is the moment when your rea#er a##s suspense8involvement to mere interest. "ntil now1 there<s always +een the chance that Sam will let 2# have Su@y without a struggle> that Doe will shuffle #ully away to a 9o+ on the section gang when r. !ice turns him #own> that the sergeant will surren#er> that 2llen1 #espairing1 will 9oin her hus+an# in alcohol<s em+race. With commitment1 however1 your focal character ta:es his stan# +esi#e the feu#ist who cries1 C.<ll #ie +efore .<ll runFC Tal:<s #one. -esitation<s over. =ow1 his #ecision<s ma#e. *n# whether that #ecision is intelligent or foolish1 he has no choice1 in your rea#er<s eyes1 +ut to fish or cut +ait. Whereupon1 instinctively1 sai# rea#er grips +oo: or maga@ine a little tighter an# frames his private version of the story question: CWill this guy winBor won<t he?C MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN . can<t overemphasi@e how important this matter of commitment is. *n ama@ing num+er of potentially goo# stories +og #own 9ust +ecause the central character refuses to come to grips with the issues. Consequently1 Character himself seems passive1 the +eginning gives an effect of #ragging on forever1 an# the rea#er is #enie# all possi+ility of the vital CWill8he8or8won<t8he?C involvement that glues him to the story. So: Do let your hero #eci#e to fightF Closely relate# to this is the matter of peripheral versus mainline action in +eginning a story . . . starting with an imme#iately intriguing si#e issue instea# of attac:ing the central pro+lem. .t shoul# +e o+vious +y now1 . trust1 that you have wi#e latitu#e in selecting the curiosity8+ait to hoo: your rea#er. But if you choose a si#e issue on which to open1 you nee# to +ear in min# that you must esta+lish a clear an# percepti+le relationship +etween this peripheral material an# your main story issue. Starting with an intro#uctory scene in which your focal character #allies with a se#uctive +lon#e will only prove infuriating to your rea#er1 if sai# +lon#e plays no vital role in the +o#y of your story. .n the same way1 your hero<s #ecision to commit himself must center squarely on the core of the story1 rather than something e7traneous. Thus1 in or#er to get a mystery off the groun# fast1 you might +egin with the mur#er of your focal character<s sister. -e promptly commits himself to avenge her. Iater1 however1 it #evelops that his wife is suspect1 an# the rest of the story centers on his efforts to

clear her. !esult: a confuse#1 #iffuse1 unsatisfactory story. .f the ven8 geance motif is to #ominate1 then it shoul# #ominate all the way. .f wife8clearing is the issue1 then set up your situation so your hero commits himself to it at the start1 leaving vengeance su+or#inate# or eliminate#. $inally1 +ear in min# that suspense is compoun#e# of hope as well as fear. .n other wor#s1 your rea#er must care what happens. Etherwise he won<t worry> an# worry is the +ig pro#uct that a writer sells. &ou can<t care if the character himself shows no signs of caring. $eeling1 remem+er1 is largely a matter of share# reaction. =either can you care a+out something o+viously trivial an# unimportant. What<s most importantBfor all of us? -appiness. Whatever our character #esires an#;or whatever en#angers that #esire must1 potentially1 affect his future happiness. The transient or inconsequential 9ust aren<t goo# enough. They #on<t provi#e sufficient motivation to ma:e him commit himself to fight. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN *n# that<s more than enough a+out #esire an# #anger an# #ecision. ore than enough a+out the +eginning of your story1 too. .t<s time we move# on . . . on into consi#eration of solutions to the pro+lems you encounter as you write the mi##le scenes. -ow to #evelop mi##le segments C* mi##le1C says *ristotle1 Cis that which follows something1 as some other thing follows it.C &ou alrea#y :now how to write the mi##le segment of your story. &ou mastere# the essential techniques when1 in Chapter ,1 you learne# to manipulate search an# struggle1 sequel an# scene. The mi##le consists of a series of sequels an# scenes lin:e# together> nothing more. &our focal character searches till he fin#s a goal that suits him . . . then struggles to attain it. When further #ifficulties assail him1 the process is repeate#. Beginning starts a fight +etween #esire an# #anger. 2n#

+rings a :noc:out punch to resolve the conflict1 one way or the other. i##le lies +etween the two. .t<s the +o#y of your story . . . that portion which #etails the e++ an# flow of +attle. Starting with esta+lishment of the story question1 it carries your focal character forwar# to that climactic moment of #ecision which mar:s the +eginning of your story<s en#. -ow #o you #evelop the mi##le? Iife1 it has +een sai#1 facetiously an# otherwise1 is a series of a#9ustments. So is a story. Change is what forces you to a#9ust. Some changes wrea: more havoc than #o others. Some a#9ustments are easier to ma:e than others. .n all pro+a+ility1 .<ll regroup easily if the pro+lem is merely that1 for to#ay1 o:ra has +een crosse# off the cafe menu. *ccepting the fact that my wife is #ea# may ta:e consi#era+ly more #oing. Conviction for a mur#er . #i#n<t commit coul# very well push me past the +rea:ing point. .n each case1 face# with a change1 you try to figure out what to #o ne7t. That is1 you search for a goalB a su+stitute for o:ra . . . activities to help fill the lonely hours a love# one<s #eparture leaves . . . revenge for the per9ury that put you +ehin# +ars. Then1 once you<ve #eci#e#1 you #o your +est to follow the course you<ve chosen. &ou strive to reach your #estination. *gain1 change intervenes. *gain1 you a#9ust via search an# striving. This routine is repeate# as many times as space will allow. *n# there you have the pattern an# #ynamics of the mi##le. There<s no point to +ela+oring them further. There are1 however1 a few specific rules8of8thum+ that may help you . . . a #on<t1 four #o<s1 an# a #on<t1 chosen to pinpoint some of the errors that trap too many writers: a. Don<t stan# still. The #ifference +etween the en# of your story an# its +egin8

ning lies in the amount of information rea#er an# hero have at their #isposal. Thus1 a love story might open as a girl first +ecomes aware that a particular +oy e7ists. Si7teenBor (%0Bpages later1 she ple#ges herself to +e his. Between page one an# page si7teen1 or what have you1 Airl acquires certain #ata. .n consequence of certain events an# #rives an# conflicts1 she learns various things a+out Boy: the :in# of person he is> how he reacts> how she herself reacts to his reactions. )lease# with what she fin#s1 she +ehaves in a manner appropriate to love8story resolution in that particular mar:et. This lengthy process of story #evelopment represents change for AirlBchange from one state of affairs to another1 an# from one state of min# to another. Which is as it shoul# +e. Change in a story must ta:e place well8nigh continuously. Why? Because each change moves your story closer to its conclusion. .f it #oesn<t1 it<s the wrong change. =o story unitBnot even a paragraphBought to +egin an# en# with the state of affairs an# state of min# of each person involve# e7actly the same. 2ven the falling of a leaf shoul#1 implicitly or e7plicitly1 +ring into focus the su+tle variation of feeling tone that it engen#ers. *lways1 there must +e some new fragment of fact or thought implie# or state#> some fresh #evelopment1 some growth of insight1 some hint of fluctuation in relationship. ay+e Airl fin#s her rival<s earring in Boy<s poc:et. ay+e Boy notes irrita+ly that Airl wears too much lipstic:. ay+e there<s sullenness in a glance1 or ten#erness1 or precisely the right or wrong wor#s spo:en. ay+e the sun<s 9ust warm enough1 or a rainstorm stran#s Boy an# Airl in the mountains. But whatever the time or place or circumstanceBcount on it1 something happens. Ene way or another1 great or small1 a change ta:es place to help or hin#er. Why must this +e so? )artly1 +ecause your story nee#s to #rive ahea#1 straight towar# its conclusion. 2ven more so1 +ecause your rea#er nee#s these facts1 these insights1 in or#er properly to share your focal character<s e7perience.

ost of all1 +ecause without such change your story grows static1 an# hence +oring. When that happens1 your rea#er quits rea#ing. *n# that<s a lu7ury you can<t affor#. * static scene or story may even +ore you1 its author. When that happens1 it +ecomes har# to write. Why? Because the only thing any writer really has to write a+out is change. When there isn<t any change worth noting1 your unconscious instinctively recogni@es it an# goes on stri:e. B*fter all1 how long can anyone sit staring fi7e#ly at a still life? .n fact1 whenever a given yarn +ogs #own1 it might +e worth your while to as: yourself three questions: G%H Where<s this scene an# story going? .t #oes have a goal1 #oesn<t it? G'H What change will help it get there? .n what respect might this situation +e #ifferent? Coul# #ay +e night? Coul# apartment +e office? Coul# Character * +e present or a+sent? Coul# the money +e foun# instea# of lost? G(H -ow will each character react to such a change? Will it please him? "pset him? $orce him to change his plans or attitu#es? MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN !emem+er: The #ifference +etween the en# of your story an# its +eginning lies in the fact that rea#er an# hero have gaine# information in the course of events recounte#. .nformation is the fruit of change. So1 incorporate appropriate change into every unit. +. Do maintain unity. &ou the writer nee# some sort of yar#stic: to help you #eci#e what to put into your story an# what to leave out. Where mi##le is concerne#1 this yar#stic: is the story ques8 tion . . . the issue1 whether #esire will #efeat #anger: Will your focal character attain his goal1 or won<t he? Bac: to *ristotle: <<. . . a thing whose presence or a+sence ma:es no visi+le #ifference is not an organic part of the whole.C *nything that helps or hin#ers your focal character<s efforts shoul# go into your story. *nything that #oesn<t1 shoul#n<t. That soun#s simple enough1 #oesn<t it? So where #o the pro+lems arise? They grow out of the fact that1 in or#er to achieve his story goal1 your character must first attain a whole series of scene goals.

Thus1 ontmorency<s o+9ective in your story may +e to win election as state senator. But to #o this he must1 en route1 gain support of :ey people in precinct1 county1 an# state organi@ations . . . raise campaign fun#s . . . overcome his wife<s fears an# the antagonism of his employer . . . #efeat a host of other woul#8+e can#i#ates for the office1 at all levels. Short of a novel1 you o+viously can<t cover all this groun#. But you will #evelop certain selecte# +itsB the ones which you consi#er most importantBas scenes. =ow the situation set forth in each scene must +e sufficiently #ifferent from the rest that your rea#er<s interest is hel# firm. To go over an# over the same groun# isn<t unity> it<s #isaster. )recisely at this point1 trou+le gallops across the hori@on. $or as you lay out in#ivi#ual scenes1 repeate#ly you<ll fin# yourself tempte# to write in characters an# locales an# actions that pop out of nowhere to intrigue you. Ii:e1 here<s this gorgeous galBor this glamorous s:i resortBor this wil# wisecrac:Bor this won#erful ironic thing where the honeymooners< plane crashes right there on the runwayB The only #ifficulty is1 these items have little or no +earing on your focal character<s goal an# efforts1 an# the story question. When that<s the caseBleave it outF =o matter how superficially appealing an inci#ent may +e1 forget it unless it ties tight to the story question. Er1 if it<s so overwhelming that you can<t leave it aloneBthen pace the floor till you fin# a way to forge some sort of +on# +etween it an# the crucial issues. *s a corollary to the a+ove1 certain scenes must +e inclu#e#1 even though you have no yen to write them. *gain1 it<s +ecause they have a vital +earing on the story question. .f your hero<s whole future #epen#s upon his freeing himself from a given girl1 an# then you play the +it offstage1 covering with his casual remar: that he Cgot ri# of her1 all right1C your rea#er<s thwarte# anticipations very well may flame into open anger. So there<s the heart of this particular #o: .nclu#e whatever influences the outcome of the story question. Ieave out those things that #on<t. =ot to #o so will #estroy the unity of your story. c. Do +uil# to a clima7. .n practical terms1 C+uil# to a clima7C means Cincrease pressure on your focal character.C Which is to say1 Cincrease tension an# e7citement for your rea#er.C To that en#1 see to it that the changes you intro#uce constitute complications. What is a complication? * complication is a new #evelopment that ma:es your focal character<s situation worse. What ma:es your character<s situation worse? *nything that en#angers his chances of attaining his story goal. The way this wor:s out1 or#inarily1 is that your focal character pic:s an imme#iate goal which1 he +elieves1 will move him a step closer to his story goal. Then1 he ta:es action to attain that imme#iate goal. These efforts +ring him up against opposition. Conflict follows1 complete with assorte# strainings an# strivings an# maneuverings. $inally1 the fight comes to a clima7. *n# thenB Disaster.

What .<m #escri+ing is1 o+viously1 a scene. .t<s also a complication. Why? Because your focal character hasn<t 9ust faile# to win. !ather1 his efforts have thrown him farther than ever +ehin# the eight8+all. The new e7ternal #evelopment we la+el as #isaster pulls the rug out from un#er him totally. .n effect1 he now must a#9ust to a whole new situation . . . one worse than the one he confronte# at the scene<s +eginning. Thus1 #etermine# to :eep mysterious prowlers away from his home1 your hero supplements the si78foot chain8lin: fence with a particularly savage #og. This upsets his wife. -er i#ea is to move. While they<re still arguing the point1 there<s an animal scream of anguish outsi#e. -ero rushes into the yar#. There<s the #ogBchoppe# in haft with a machete. =ote how this affects your hero<s situation. Before1 he stoo# infuriate# an# a#amant. =ow1 he sees livingBpar#on me1 #ea#Bproof that neither fence nor #og can protect him an# his family from their hi##en foe. $urther1 sai# foe assumes new #imensions of the hi#eous. .f this menace can somehow get insi#e the fence an# :ill a #og an# then vanishBwell1 how can anyone +e safe1 an# how far may foe go? Er1 here<s a girl eager to impressBan# thus arouse personal interest on the part ofBher han#some 9unior8e7ecutive +oss. To this en#1 she #emonstrates super8efficiency an# gives all sorts of little e7tra services. Whereupon1 fat ol# senior8e7ecutive lecher or#ers her transferre# to his officeBan# she :nows that if she refuses to accept the assignment1 she<ll have to leave the company an# so lose all contact with her chosen guy. Er1 wi#owe# mother tries to tie teen8age son to her with the tra#itional silver cor# . . . tal:s him out of ta:ing a 9o+ in another town +ecause1 she claims1 she so #esperately nee#s the financial help that comes of his living at

home. *t which point1 he signs to go to Sau#i *ra+ia with an oil company1 so that he can provi#e her with more cash. Do you see how this system wor:s? *ll you have to #o is string together a series of such episo#es1 each en#ing with your focal character in hotter water than +efore. !esult: a continuing rise in tension1 until eventually you reach the climactic pea: you see:. -erewith1 a few useful tools to help you in your efforts thus to create complications1 intensify tension1 an# +uil# to a clima7: G%H Buil# with scenes. * character in a scene is a character in conflict1 an# conflict +ree#s tension. G'H Don<t confuse #elay with complication. * +oy waits for a girl. She #oesn<t show up. $inally1 phoning1 he learns that she thought he was going to #rop +y +ar home to get her. Though #isgruntle#1 he #rives on over for her1 an# they start on their #ate nearly two hours late. * #etective see:s to locate a missing witness. The man has move#. *fter consi#era+le legwor:1 the #etective at last fin#s him. $ishing1 a fat1 mi##le8age# farm wife snags her hoo: . . . falls in the cree: as she attempts to free it. By the time she gets herself an# her tac:le ashore1 she<s in somewhat less than a gay moo#. .t ta:es her the +etter part of an hour to #ry her clothes an# #rop her +aite# hoo: +ac: in the water. =ow such inci#ents are common an# useful in fiction. But #on<t call them complications. Why not? Because they merely #elay the action. They #on<t ma:e the character<s situation worse. Consequently1 they #on<t increase your rea#er<s tension. * rule8of8thum+ of complication might vary well +e1 CEut of the frying pan1 into the fire.C .n other wor#s1 if your character #oesn<t get +urne#1 you #on<t have a complication.

Can such +its +e #evelope# into complications? Ef course. .f Boy1 waiting for Airl1 were pic:e# up as a ro++ery suspect1 or fell in with a gol#8#igging floo@y1 or lost a chance for a promotion +ecause he an# Airl #i#n<t ma:e it to the +oss<s party1 the situation woul# +e #ynamic instea# of static. That is1 the #elay woul# have plunge# him into trou+le . . . create# new pro+lems for him to cope with . . . shape# an# influence# his future. *n# that<s complication. Same way if a #angerous criminal ha# +een free# +ecause the #etective coul#n<t fin# the witness in time for the trial. !esult: The #etective is place# on suspension. * complication. Er suppose a gossipy neigh+or ha# sprea# a rumor that the farm wife was having an affair1 +ecause he glimpse# her na:e# on the cree: +an: while she was #rying her clothes. .sn<t her plight then ma#e more #ifficult? Which isn<t to say that #elay1 as #elay1 can<t +e most useful. But #elay in an# of itself is a su+or#inate element1 not at all on a level with or fit to su+stitute for complication. G(H Tie your characters to your story. .t<s har# to +uil# tension if your rea#er is continually won#ering why the central character #oesn<t ri#e out of the story to greener pastures. *fter all1 how much sense #oes it ma:e for the marshal to stan# an# +e shot at1 or the heroine to accept her 9ealous lover<s violence an# a+use1 or the teacher to go on teaching #espite poor pay1 pupil #is#ain1 an# community ingratitu#e? $or this reason1 you nee# to train yourself1 at every 9uncture1 to chant one ritualistic question: <<Why #oesn<t he quit?C =o answer is accepta+le that #oesn<t offer a mighty soli# reason for your guy<s continue# presence. !easons for a character<s not quitting fall into two categories: physical situation1 an# emotional involvement. * high proportion of story people have +oth. )hysical situation may range from the financial Gyour hero will lose his shirt unless he fights out the story issueH to the geographic GDoe<s got to come in out of the #esert an# face the +a##ies who hol# the spring or he<ll #ie of thirstH.

2motional involvement covers everything from a mother<s refusal to a+an#on her chil# to a sol#ier<s stu++orn pri#e in his #e#ication to #uty. -ow #o you acquire such situations an# involvements for your story? &ou #evise them. Which is to say1 you use the +rains an# imagination Ao# gave you to thin: them up. G,H Balance your forces. )ut a high8school foot+all team on the fiel# against the Areen Bay )ac:ers1 an# it<s no contest. Same for a little ol# la#y in a wheelchair1 confronte# with a two8hun#re#8poun# homici#al maniac. Er a convent girl #elivere# into the han#s of a professional pimp. To +uil# to a clima71 you nee# well8matche# opponents. =either si#e shoul# have such mar:e#ly superior strength as to ma:e the outcome a foregone conclusion. This is not to say that you can<t #o won#ers with Davi# an# Aoliath. When you<re tempte# to try it1 however1 remem+er one thing: Davi# ha# a sling. That was his ace in the hole1 the #erringer up his sleeve. *ssaile# +y overwhelming o##s1 your character1 too1 nee#s an equali@erBsome tric:1 some angle1 some trait of character that gives him at least a remote fighting chance. ay+e the high8school team has a science8fiction8type :i# quarter+ac: who can control passes +y mental ra#io. ay+e the little ol# la#y is a retire# psychology professor who consi#ers the maniac a challenge. ay+e the convent girl hol#s such su+lime an# innocent faith in the goo#ness of all men that she sha:es even the pimp. *n# so it goes. Both forces in your story1 hero an# villain ali:e1 must have the strength or cleverness or perseverance or what have you that<s nee#e# to ma:e their struggle a fight in fact as well as name. They must +e foemen worthy of each other<s steel. G/H -ave enough at sta:e. .f . have T%.%' total in my poc:et an# a hol#up man stic:s a gun in my ri+s1 it won<t +e too surprising if . #on<t put up a fight. But will . surren#er as easily if the sum is T5666 an# it represents my age# parents< life savings? Er1 if .<m messenger for a hoo#lum an# :now he<ll fit me with a concrete overcoat if . lose the money? Er1 if . have a pri@e# reputation as tough an# #angerous that will +e forever shattere# if . let this cheap thug clean me?

The more . have at sta:e1 the greater will +e the pressure on me to fight. The greater that pressure1 the higher the tension1 an# the stronger the chances of +uil#ing to a powerful clima7. =or is your focal character the only one you nee# to thin: of in these terms. Aive each person in your story something at sta:eBso much that he fights #esperately. $or any man among us struggles har#er if he :nows his foe will :ill him if he can. G0H $orce continuing a#9ustments. Both hero an# villain must continue to play #ynamic roles throughout your story. =either shoul# +ecome static. 2ach must a#9ust as the story progresses. Whenever one ma:es a move1 it shoul# evo:e a countermove +y the other1 in a clear8cut1 motivation8reaction pattern. *n# whenever one si#e seems to +e ma:ing progress1 it shoul# +e a signal for the other to put forth renewe# effort. G3H Jeep the action rising. *lways arrange your scenesBor groups of scenesBin an ascen#ing or#er of intensity. Why? Because the main line of your story<s #evelopment must continually increase your rea#er<s tension. Try merely to hol# it at the same level1 an# $rien# !ea#er will feel as if it<s falling off. Whereupon1 his interest in your story will sag. .t will help1 here1 if you thin: of your story as a series of pea:s an# valleys. The valleys we<ll ta:e up later1 when we tal: a+out +alancing your story. *t this point1 we<re #ealing only with the pea:s. The pea:s are your scene clima7es. .n general1 each shoul# carry your rea#er to a higher level of tension than the one +efore. That is1 each shoul# increase your rea#er<s fore+o#ing of potential #isaster. .t shoul# ma:e him #evastatingly aware that your focal character may not attain his goal. .n a long storyBa novelette> a novelBscenes may +e groupe# into larger units. Then1 some scenes will +e preparation1 groun#wor:1 +uil#8up1 foothills. The true pea:s1 in such cases1 will +e the clima7es of the ma9or story segments. They<ll tower li:e mountains1 each higher than the one which prece#es it.

-ow #o you manage this? * goo# i#ea is to #eci#e in a#vance which moments in your story are the +ig ones. That is1 which +lows struc: against your hero are the most #evastating? Which scene #isasters shatter him the worst? Then1 separate those +ig moments1 an# plan appropriate +uil#8up for each one. The +igger the moment1 the +igger the +uil#8up. -ere an eye for story values can prove a crucial thing. The flam+oyant1 the spectacular1 the cosmic mean less than nothing. *lways1 always1 you must measure in terms of the effect the event has in relation to your focal character<s feelings an# the story question. * stea: #inner may +e more important than a #eath1 a quic:8#rawn +reath more e7citing than the sac: of !ome. .n the same way1 crow#ing two clima7es too close together will #rain the punch from +oth. *n# if the issue is too few clima7es versus too many1 choose too few every time. Buil#8up can give the few importance. Too many automatically come out as melo#ramatic #rivel. * girl may have one affair1 or two1 or even three1 an# still rate as a +est8seller heroine. )ush her into a #o@en1 an# she<s 9u#ge# a tramp. G4H Bo7 in your hero. To +o7 in our hero1 restrict his free#om of choice where movement an#;or course of action are concerne#. Er#inarily1 the first phase of a story gives the focal character a fair amount of leeway. Ii:e the queen in a chess game1 he can move in almost any #irection he #esires. Then1 threatene#1 he commits himself to fight for what he wants. That #ecision +loc:s off a num+er of avenues previously open to him. "nless he<s willing to +etray himself or others1 he can no longer run1 or ignore the situation. -e must center his attention on one area of activity until his pro+lem is solve#. .n the same way1 each scene narrows his ra#ius of action . . . cuts #own on the choices he can ma:e. Trappe# in a ma@e of #angers an# #ecisions1 contra#ictions an# #ilemmas1 he attempts one course after another1 only to #iscover that each in its turn is a #ea# en#. The frien# he relies on +etrays him. The weapon he see:s is missing. The time he nee#s runs out. The assumptions he ma:es are wrong. *ll of which increases tension . . . +uil#s the sense of rising action in your story. Step +y step1 then1 your central character is force# into a +ottlenec:1 a funnel. Iess an# less frequently are there a variety of #irections in which he still can turn. $inally1 he reaches a point at which he<s restricte# to a choice +etween two specific1 concrete1 alternative courses of action.

But that<s a su+9ect we<ll ta:e up later. $or when your hero reaches it1 he<s also reache# the +eginning of the en#. $or now1 the important thing to remem+er is that1 in the mi##le stages of your story1 you must +e sure that this narrowing ta:es place. &our 9o+ is to spot holes an# plug them> to foresee escape routes an# +loc: them> to cut off your hero from all apparent hope. .f you #on<t1 your rea#er<s going to see those holes1 an# scream +ecause your hero #oesn<t #uc: out through one. *n# i#iot heroes sel#om please. G5H Drop a corpse through the roof. .<ve save# this point for last +ecause1 though o+vious1 it<s so often overloo:e#. Which is tragic1 since it very often can ma:e the #ifference +etween a pe#estrian story1 an# one with verve an# spar:le. The CcorpseC referre# to a+ove is the unanticipate#. ore specifically1 the #isastrously unanticipate# . . . an# the unanticipate#ly #isastrous. .n9ection of the unanticipate# is a ma9or function of #isaster in your scene pattern. So1 :eep your #isasters #isastrousF Throw in the least li:ely #evelopment1 the startling twistF Don<t +e afrai# to shoc: or hurt your hero. -eBan# your rea#ersBwill thrive on such a+use. $or nothing helps more to +uil# e7citing clima7es. .f this soun#s li:e a plea for +loo# an# thun#er1 please remem+er that you1 as a writer1 are suppose# to have sufficient taste an# intelligence an# 9u#gment to a#apt such suggestions as this to your own chosen fiel#. BThough how much #ifference there is +etween the unanticipate# as e7emplifie# in the rawest pulps an# that foun# in more CliteraryC circles is open to question1 in view of some of the writings of such figures as William $aul:ner1 Tennessee Williams an# Cal#er Willingham. *n# 9ust in case you won#er precisely to what ultimates this matter of the unanticipate# can +e carrie#1 . give you1 in conclusion1 an e#itorial communique . once receive# from my ol# frien# -owar# Browne1 who now ma:e fa+ulous sums of money in -ollywoo#1 +ut who at the time was ri#ing her# on a chain of pulp maga@ines. -erewith1 r. Browne: .<ve got an assignment for you1 :ee#. . want '/1666 wor#s a monthBone storyBthat is *CT.E=F The type of yarn1 for instance1 where a group of people are maroone# in1 say1 a hilltop castle1 with a violent storm raging an# all the +ri#ges out an# the electric power gone an# the roof threatening to cave in an# corpses falling #own the stairs an# hanging in the attic an# +oar#s crea:ing un#er some+o#y<s weight

in the #ar: GCCan that +e the :iller?CH an# flashes of lightning illuminating the face of the mur#erer only the sonofa+itch is wearing a mas: that ma:es him loo: even more horri+le1 an# finally the girl has +een given into the safe:eeping of the only person who is a+solutely not the :illerBonly he turns out to +e the :iller1 +ut he has ta:en the girl where no one can get to save her an# you #amn well :now he is raping her while every+o#y stan#s aroun# helpless. Do these stories in the style Burroughs use# to use> you :now1 ta:e one set of characters an# carry them along for a chapter1 putting them at the en# of the chapter in such a position that nothing can save them> then ta:e another set of characters1 rescue them from their #ilemma1 carry them to a hell of a pro+lem at the en# of the chapter1 then switch +ac: to the first set of characters1 rescue them from their #ea#ly peril1 carry them along to the en# of the chapter where1 once again1 they are seemingly #oome#> then rescue the secon# set of characters . . . an# so on. Don<t give the rea#er a chance to +reathe> :eep him on the e#ge of his go##am chair all the way through. To hell with clues an# smart #ialogue an# characteri@ation> #on<t worry a+out corn. A.V2 2 )*C2 *=D B*=A B*=AF a:e me +reathless1 +u#F What more can anyone say? What more coul# anyone want to? #. Do strive for +alance. -i:e up a mountain sometime. &ou<ll fin#1 very shortly1 that some slopes are steeper than others> some trails more #evious or #ifficult. -ere1 you<ll move slowly . . . there1 swiftly. *n# up ahea# you<ll want to stop an# rest an# catch your +reath. * story is li:e that mountain. &ou #on<t present it all in the same manner or at the same pace. * pulse of tension runs through itBhere1 strong an# vi+rant> there1 more rela7e#. Thus1 the main line of the actionBthe #evelopment from clima7 to clima7Bcontinually rises. &our focal character stan#s in ever greater #anger. So1 the pea: of each ma9or story segment1 whether scene or group of scenes1 is higherB more tense> more e7citingBthan the one +efore. But if you attempt to maintain this same high level of e7citement +etween the pea:s1 your rea#er soon +ecomes e7hauste#. Everstimulate#1 continually un#er e7periential an# emotional +om+ar#ment1 he loses his sense of proportion an#1 quite possi+ly1 quits rea#ing out of sheer fatigue. So1 you give him a chance to rest a +it along the way. Between pea:s1 you let him rela7. &ou #o this in the moments that follow each #isaster. That is1 you slow the pace1 re#uce the tension1 in those portions of your story that are terme# sequel: reaction to #isaster1 rea#9ustment to change# situation1 search for new goal or approach1 groun#wor: an# +uil#8up1 preliminary

feints an# thrusts an# conflicts. .n other wor#s1 you +alance your pea:s1 your clima7es1 with valleys. -ow? The first step is to #evise ways to +uil# your +ig moments1 your clima7es1 to the #esire# heights. -ere are five of the many tools that help you #o this: G%H Aroup as much significant action as possi+le into each scene. Too often1 a writer is tempte# to set forth his story in a loosely connecte# series of simple1 trivial scenes. * simple scene may show your focal character try to persua#e his girl<s mother to tell him why Sophronia has #itche# him. $ailing to get satisfaction from her1 he tac:les Sophie<s father . . . then her +rother. String the three scenes together1 an# o##s are that you rac: up more length than tension. En the other han#1 if your focal character starts on ama . . . whereupon )apa charges in an# or#ers ama to :eep quiet an# Character to leave the house . . . an# Character tries to pressure )apa into tal:ing . . . only 9ust then Brother enters an# assaults CharacterBwell1 you may fin# you<ve +uilt to quite a pea:. *ll of which is not to say that the simple1 uncomplicate# scene #oesn<t have a place. But for clima7 purposes1 you<ll get more mileage from units in which you arrange an# compress your material in a manner #esigne# to achieve ma7imum effect. G'H a:e the situation #eman# action. * +u@@ing fly is an annoyance. * +u@@ing rattlesna:e encourages you to #o something a+out him. .n general1 the more #angerous a situation1 the more important it looms in your character<s eyes1 an# the more incline# he is to ta:e action. *ction +egets reaction an# conflict1 an# the +etter are your chances1 out of it1 to +uil# a +ig scene. The inconsequential1 in contrast1 lac:s re# +loo# an# vitamins. .t<s unli:ely to provi#e a +asis for any ma9or clima7. G(H .ncrease time pressure. .f the a+ove8mentione# rattlesna:e soun#s off as you cross your yar# at #us:1 you<ll pro+a+ly put off hunting him till morning. .f he<s in the same room with you1 you feel a #egree of impulse to #o something right now. Which is why urgency helps1 ever an# always1 when it<s time to +uil# a clima7. G,H $oresha#ow your story<s clima7. &our rea#er ta:es it for grante# that a story<s clima7 will center on an e7plosive show#own +etween #esire an# #anger.

Therefore1 as your story progresses1 the tension engen#ere# +y each new crisis grows. 2specially is this so if you :eep +uil#ing up the strength of the opposition an# a sense of potential ultimate #isaster. .t<s as if each step your character ta:es forwar# +rings him closer to im8 pen#ing #oom. -e<s li:e a man trying to +rea: #own a #oor in or#er to save a love# one1 :nowing even as he #oes so that a +erser: gorilla is waiting for him on the other si#e. G/H )ace your presentation1 mechanically1 to increase your rea#er<s sense of tension. Tension #oes things to people. "n#er its pressure1 perceptions an# reactions heighten. &ou move faster. &ou respon# quic:er. Time stretches out. There<s a 9er:y1 staccato1 e7aggerate# quality to everything you say an# #o. These are elements you can capture in your copy. &our rea#er1 rea#ing1 catches the e7citement of the moment +y the very way you write1 the wor#s you use. What :in# of wor#s? Short wor#s. -arsh wor#s. )ointe# wor#s. Slashing wor#s. What :in# of writing? Terse writing. *ction writing. Short sentences. Short paragraphs. The tunnel vision that shuts out everything e7cept the moment an# the #anger. The prolongation of crisis that stretches time li:e a ru++er +an#. -ow #o you learn to write such copy? &ou hunt #own the moments that thrill you in the other man<s story. Then1 you copy them1 wor# for wor# an# line for line . . . stu#y them in typescript . . . e7periment with wor# su+stitutions an# with sentence changes until you uncover the way he turns his tric:s. *fter which1 with his tools +urie# #eep in your unconscious1 you<re rea#y to go on again an# write more effective clima7es of your own. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN So much for pea:s. =ow1 in the perio# imme#iately following each clima71 each #isaster1 you re#uce tension.

These five techniques will prove useful to this en#: G%H )ace your presentation to re#uce tension. -ow? By reversing everything sai# in G/H1 a+ove. That is1 lengthen sentences a little1 perhaps. )aragraphs1 too. Consi#er euphony when you choose wor#s. Wor: more for flow> less for the staccato an# the punch. *gain1 the other man<s copy is your +est gui#e+oo:. *n# the reason . recommen# no mo#els to you is +ecause your taste is your own1 an# private . . . a su+9ective thing> so what seems goo# an#;or well #one to me might very well prove completely wrong where you<re concerne#. Ene warning1 though: )lease #on<t go to e7tremes. Because . tal: a+out short wor#s an# short sentences to create a sense of tension #oesn<t mean that anyone1 ever1 shoul# forget the nee# to +alance short with long. *n# to confuse polysylla+ics an# convolute# sentence structure with tension re#uction is even worse. *gain1 it helps to have horse sense if you want to +e a writerF G'H a:e #ecision the issue. The situation that #eman#s action1 it was pointe# out a+ove1 is a useful tool in +uil#ing tension an# clima7. To rela7 tension1 in turn1 focus less on such imme#iate striving . . . more on search. Thus1 when . lose my girl or my 9o+ or my status1 . have to #raw +ac: an# regroup . . . rally my inner resources an# try to figure out what to #o now> which way to go. Do . hunt another girl or 9o+ or point of prestige1 or #o . slash my wrists or 9oin the army? .n other wor#s1 . must ma:e some #ecisions. -ow . go a+out ma:ing them will #epen# on my own personality an# +ac:groun#> my emotional patterns. ay+e . wal: the streets. ay+e . get #run:. ay+e . try to fin# a priest to tell my trou+les to. Be that as it may. .n all cases1 passage of time will +e involve#: time to react1 time to thin:1 time to wor: things out. 2ventually1 .<ll choose a new goal to strive for1 a new course of action to pursue. But in the interim +etween the moment when Dame $ortune :noc:s me #own an# the one when . finally get +ac: up to fight again1 secon#s an# minutes an# hours an# #aysBor may+e even wee:s or monthsB will tic: +y. .n your copy1 you use that time lapse to re#uce tension . . . give your rea#er a chance to rest from his e7citement. *n# it<s pro+a+ly your most useful tool in this regar#1 since you can telescope it or e7pan# it to fit your nee#s. G(H Decrease urgency1 time pressure. -ow? Iet the #isaster put your character in a situation in which he can ta:e no action until tomorrow or ne7t wee: or what have you. ay+e the man he nee#s to contact is out of town1 or the lo#ge is snow+oun#1

or there<s nothing to +e #one at the legislature till the +ill comes out of committee. G,H Develop non8tension factors. * story is the recor# of how some+o#y #eals with #anger. But no matter how threatening the situation1 +etween moments of crisis life goes on. &ou eat. &ou sleep. &ou shop1 change a tire1 ma:e polite conversation1 ta:e in a movie. .gnore such routine1 trivial though it may seem1 an# your story ta:es on a somehow sha#owy1 unsu+stantial air. .nclu#e it1 inserte# +etween clima7es1 an# you increase the feeling that you<re #ealing with actual people1 real events. .n the process1 you also give your rea#er a chance to catch his +reath. .n the same way1 si#e issues come up in the lives of all of us. There<s a +oy you li:e1 an# so you ta:e time out from your own concerns to help him fin# a 9o+. * stuffe# shirt irritates you> you pause a moment to #eflate him. &ou<ve promise# to spen# a wee:en# with frien#s in Dallas. 2ven though it hol#s no satisfaction for you1 you feel o+lige# to :eep the #ate. Similarly1 your rea#er :nows the people in your story only to the #egree that you #evelop them on paper. &et their reactions are important. -e nee#s to un#erstan# them as people an# not puppets. That calls for e7ploration of attitu#es1 philosophies. .s this man<s morality that of the -onest Bra:eman1 so calle# +ecause he never stole a +o7car? Does this woman<s outspo:en +elief in equality1 in practice1 ma:e Christians 9ust a +it more equal than Dews1 or vice versa? .s sympathy an emotion a character feels for alcoholics1 +ut not for the girls in the home for unwe# mothers? The moments that you ta:e to give such #imension to your people also help you to slow pace a fraction1 as nee#e#. * setting can +e as flat as a canvas +ac:#rop. Er you can a## #etails that ma:e it come to life. *n# the +est place to insert them is in the lull that follows #isaster . . . in the pause +etween clima7es1 where emphasis is more strongly on #ecision than on the striving an# urgency an# #anger out of which you +uil# your story pea:s. G/H Change viewpoint. When you change viewpoint1 tension #rops. Why? Because instantly1 your rea#er is face# with a totally new an# #ifferent situation. -e must a#9ust not only to a change in time an# place an# circumstance> he must also get insi#e some+o#y else<s s:in. That some+o#y sees the story issues through private eyes. -is +ac:groun# an# attitu#es an# pro+lems aren<t the same as those of the character your rea#er was living an# e7periencing with +efore. -ero1 heroine1 villain1 +ystan#erBeach has his separate outloo:.

That new outloo:1 those unique attitu#es1 must +e ma#e clear to your rea#er each time you change viewpoint. Which ta:es time1 an# space. $rien# !ea#er can<t 9ust #o a flip an# automatically +e some+o#y new. -e has to rea#9ust> learn his new role. !esult: tension re#uction . . . an opportunity to pause an# rest awhile. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN $rom valley you +uil# to pea: . . . then #rop +ac: #own again an# start anew. *n# thus #o you create a sense of +alance an# of pacing in your story. e. Do snip off the threa#s. The mi##le of your story is a time of +uil#ing. .t<s also a time of tapering off. .f a story is of any length1 a num+er of issues are li:ely to #evelop as a#9uncts to the story question. Thus1 the central character see:s to clear himself of a mur#er charge. Ene of the factors that helps to increase pressure on him is the reaction of family an# of frien#s. =ot to mention associates an# enemies an# casual acquaintances. Specific frien#s. Specific mem+ers of his family. Specific associates an# enemies an# acquaintances. Ta:e his girl<s father. "pset +y certain past history of the hero1 he swears that such a man never will +e allowe# to marry his #aughter. *n opportunist associate1 in turn1 snags -ero<s 9o+. *n# a tough cop1 angere# over an em+arrassing inci#ent1 stan#s #etermine# to force -ero to leave town1 no matter how the case comes out. =ow all these angles are necessary1 if the story is to +uil# to a proper pea:. But if they ri#e clear through past the clima7 to the moment of resolution1 they<ll +e #ifficult to win# up in any reasona+le wor#age. Consequently1 the en# of the story will #ri++le off unsatisfyingly in a series of anticlima7es. To avoi# this1 the wise writer cuts things #own to si@e +efore the clima71 +y snipping off su+or#inate threa#s as mi##le +egins to merge with en#. Thus1 -ero perhaps #iscovers that Airl<s father was1 in his #ay1 a +it of a #og himself. The ol# man feels guilty a+out it. That<s why he<s so ra+i# over any hint that -ero has +een less than perfect. When -ero faces him with these facts1 $ather sees the error of his ways an# flips over to -ero<s si#e. .t<s a threa# snippe# off1 an# it<s out of the way +efore the clima7. Similarly1 -ero may #eci#e he #oesn<t want the 9o+1 or he may come up with a +etter offer1 or receive recompense from his contrite employer. The cop1 in his anger1 may attempt to frame -ero1 +e caught at it1 an# himself +e force# to leave town. .n each case1 elimination of minor issues simplifies an# shortens resolution. 2ven more important1 it

clears the stage for the clima71 so that the rea#er can #evote his full an# un#ivi#e# attention to the +ig <<Will8he8or8won<t8he?<< issue pose# +y the story question. f. Don<t rehash. &ou :now how it soun#s when a phonograph nee#le gets stuc:1 an# the same strain of music repeats en#lessly. i##le8area copy too often follows the same route. The story stops moving forwar# . . . +ogs #own on reiteration of one theme. When you write a story1 in effect you present a sequence li:e the alpha+et: *8B8C8D828$8A8-8.8D8J8I1 an# so on. .t shoul# not rea#1 *8B8C8D8D8D828$. Ene DBor $1 or -1 or KBis enough. &ou nee# to esta+lish the necessary information an# move on. To have your character go through the same routine un#eviatingly1 again an# again1 is sure to +ring +ore#om. Same for reiterate# threats1 all essentially the same1 mouthe# +y the villain. What<s the cure for repetitiousness? Change. The unanticipate#. =ew elements an# twists continually in9ecte#. * story that #oesn<t stan# stillBone with soun#ly structure# sequels an# scenes1 searchings an# strivings. Aiven such1 everything else will wor: out. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN Iet<s en# this section on the same note we struc: at the +eginning: The mi##le consists of a series of scenes an# sequels lin:e# together. .f you frame each soli#ly> if you incorporate all component elements> if you force yourself to :eep each in#ivi#ual fragment fresh1 then your story will move an# +uil# an# hol# your rea#er1 in fit preparation for what<s to follow: that climactic moment of #ecision that mar:s1 in goo# fiction1 the +eginning of the en#. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN -ow #o you +ring a story to an en#? G%H &ou set up a situation in which your focal character has a choice +etween two specific1 concrete1 alternative courses of action. G'H &ou force Character to choose +etween these two courses. G(H &ou ma:e him translate this choice into an irrevoca+le climactic act. G,H &ou rewar# or punish Character for this act1 in accor#ance with poetic 9ustice.

G/H &ou tie up any loose en#s. G0H &ou focus fulfillment into a punch line.

Why follow such a pattern? .t provi#es your rea#er with story satisfaction1 though release of tension. -ow #oes it trigger such release? Two +asic issues are involve#: %. What #oes your character #eserve? '. What #oes he get? These two factors1 in turn1 correlate with the two su+#ivisions of your story<s en#: clima71 an# resolution. Clima7 gives final1 conclusive proof of what your focal character #eserves. !esolution sets forth what he gets. Thus1 tension +uil#s on the conflict +etween #esire an# #anger that you esta+lish at the +eginning of your story. 27periencing with the focal character1 your rea#er yearns to see sai# character attain his goal. But so powerful is the opposition that he fears1 simultaneously1 that his man won<t ma:e it. =ow1 enter the #eci#ing factor: What #oes the focal character #eserve? -ow to +uil# a clima7 .t<s in his a+ility to perceive principle an# separate it from self8interest that man is #istinguish from the animal. This isn<t to +e consi#ere# vali#ation of any specific principle1 you un#erstan#. )rinciples may +e right or they may +e wrong> an# certainly they change as man moves through time1 space1 an# circumstance. But in 9u#ging +ehavior +y ethical stan#ar# rather than mere e7pe#iency1 we esta+lish an a+solute +y which to test character an# to orient ourselves meaningfully to life. Enly in terms of principle can we #emonstrate the triumph of free will over #eterminism . . . of cause8effect pattern over +lin# fate . . . of spirit over e7ternal reality. .t<s principle an# principle alone that gives meaning to the whole concept of control of circumstance. )rinciple also provi#es the +asis of clima7. .n a#herence to or a+an#onment of principle1 your focal character proves ultimately an# +eyon# all #ou+t what he #eserves. Clima7 itself merely #ramati@es this a#herence or a+an#onment. .n the process1 it #emonstrates the relationship +etween cause an# effect in para+le form1 so clearly that no one can miss it. .f the character acts on conscience1 #espite the pressure of self8interest1 he attains his goal. .f he #oesn<t1 his efforts fail. .t<s as simple as that.

*ll of which serves to reaffirm your rea#er<s philosophy of life1 with its +uilt8in assumption that self8 sacrifice for the sa:e of a larger issue is worthy of rewar#. -is fears an# tensions are release#. -e rela7es into that happy state that comes with fulfillment an# satisfaction. *s a corollary to the a+ove1 a narrative that concerns action unrelate# to principle can never +e more than chronicle> can never rise to the status of story. Sans principle1 +ehavior can<t +e evaluate# an# consequently ceases to +e fit su+9ect for fiction. C* storyteller is passionately intereste# in human +eings an# their en#less conflicts with their fates1C o+serves screenwriter Du#ley =ichols1 Can# he is fille# with #esire to ma:e some intelligi+le arrangement out of the chaos of life1 9ust as the chair8ma:er #esires to ma:e some useful an# +eautiful arrangement out of woo#.C *n# )rofessor $ran:lin $earing a##s1 <<.t is this intelligi+le arrangement that the rea#er see:s1 whatever his level of sophistication an# regar#less of whether he is a+le to +e articulate a+out it.C $iction thus is +asically a tool to give life meaning. .t #oes this1 as we<ve seen1 +y esta+lishing a cause8 effect relationship +etween the focal character<s +ehavior an# his fate> his #ee#s an# his rewar#s. So a story without pattern is a contra#iction of terms. The trou+le with the Cslice of lifeC approach is that it most often is formless an# so lac:s the power of resolution. *s a sociological #ocument1 a case stu#y that #raws attention to a pro+lem1 it may prove e7cellent. But it<s not a story. When the en# of a film a+out a retar#ate sees the mentally #eficient focal character wal: off #own the street into a future no #ifferent from his past1 it resolves nothing. Consequently1 it leaves the viewer in a state of frustration> unrelease# tension. *n# as #ramatist -owar# Iin#say has remar:e#1 CThe play that en#s in mere frustration for the people in whom the au#ience is emotionally inter8 este# will not satisfy them1 for frustration is one of the most unhappy e7periences in our lives.C =ow1 +ac: to clima71 an# to the first three steps liste# preliminary to the +eginning of this section: G%H &ou set up a situation in which your focal character has a choice +etween two specific1 concrete1 alternative courses of action. .n goo# fiction1 a climactic moment of #ecision mar:s the +eginning of the en#. So1 how #o you set up such a moment? * story1 remem+er1 is the recor# of how some+o#y #eals with #anger. .t +egins when #esire +umps into opposition1 an# your focal character commits himself to fight for what he wants. This gives you a story question: Will Doe attain his goal? Will he overcome the forces that oppose him1 or won<t he? !esult: Conflict. Suspense. Tension. The mi##le of your story #evelops1 +uil#s up1 an# intensifies these elements. Conflict grows sharper. Suspense mounts. Tension rises higher. There<s a limit to tension1 however. Sooner or later1 at the en# of the story1 it must +e release#. The moment of #ecision provi#es the trigger mechanism to #ischarge it. "p to this point1 your focal character<s courage an# intelligence an# strength have carrie# him. But you an# . :now that there are moments when courage isn<t enough1 an# neither is intelligence1 or

strength. When such moments come1 there<s only one recourse left for us. $eeling. That is1 we act on emotion> impulse. We #on<t thin:. We respon# spontaneously1 on a visceral1 well8 nigh instinctive level1 without regar# for rules or logic or for ha@ar#. We throw ourselves +etween the chil# an# the spee#ing car. We step from the ran:s to +ac: a frien#. We spea: out for truth when silence woul# serve self8interest +etter. Er1 if such are our emotional patterns1 we +rea: an# run in panic. We har#en our hearts to pity or ten#erness or ar#or. We snatch the cash an# say to hell with conscience. $eeling reflects something #eeper an# more profoun# than strength1 or intelligence1 or even courage. .t comes from the heart an# guts1 not the hea#. .t spea:s for the man or woman you really are> the secret self> the na:e# .. .t<s this secret self that clima7 tests. Why? Because you can fool the worl#1 an# sometimes you can even fool yourself. But you can<t fool your own feelings. They tell the truth a+out you1 every time1 without regar# for rationali@ations or e7cuses. That<s why clima7 is so vital. Enly as we see a man in crisis1 when un#er stress he acts on feeling1 can we gain the final1 conclusive proof we nee# to #etermine whether or not he #eserves to attain the goal he see:s. &our rea#er li:es that. .f he himself were to +e 9u#ge#1 he hopes it woul# +e on such a +asis. -e :nows that e7ternals can #eceive. -e recogni@es his #eficiencies in strength an# intelligence an# status. Ever an# over again1 reality has force# him to ac:nowle#ge flaw an# wea:ness. But his feelings1 his impulsesBthose are #ifferentF -e lives in a worl# of goo# intentions. -e sees himself as1 at heart1 a man of principle an# honor. That<s his inner reality. .n an ultimate test1 he feels that he woul# prove it. So you test your focal character +y the same stan#ar#.

To that en#1 you strip away all pretense from him. &ou ma:e him reveal himself as he really is. -ow? &ou offer him an easy way to reach his goal. Thus1 .cha+o# has sweate# +loo# for si7teen pages now1 in his pursuit of fair Arisel#a. .t<s time to +ring the +usiness to an en#. So1 you +uil# a clima7 scene. .n it .cha+o# #iscovers that his rival1 !o#eric:1 was #river of the hit8run car that cripple# Arisel#a<s +rother. !o#eric: promptly agrees to let Eur -ero have the la#yBprovi#ing that .cha+o# will remain #iplomatically silent a+out !o#eric:<s guilt. .t<s a fair enough #eal1 isn<t it? What Arisel#a #oesn<t :now

won<t hurt her1 an# wealthy !o#eric: will even go so far as to en#ow Brother for life. Besi#es1 Brother was only a #run:en +um to start with. .cha+o# #eteste# the very sight of him. *s an alternative1 if .cha+o# refuses to play +all1 !o#eric: will accuse him of the crime1 plus +lac:mail. True1 Arisel#a may not +e convince#. But enough #ou+t will +e raise# in her min# that things will never +e the same +etween her an# .cha+o# again. So1 .cha+o# now has an easy way to reach his goal: *ll he nee#s to #o is :eep quiet. -e also has a #isastrous alternative: to spea:1 an# lose Arisel#a. .n fact1 with all !o#eric:<s wealth an# power arraye# against him1 he might very well en# up convicte# of hit8run himself. Two specific1 concrete1 alternative courses of action. They constitute a for: in the roa# for .cha+o# . . . a test situation to +ring final1 conclusive evi#ence as to whether or not he<s worthy of rewar#. .f he accepts !o#eric:<s offer1 he gets Arisel#a an#1 in her1 fulfillment of all his #reams. .f he refuses1 the payoff is +lac: o+livion. En all counts.

=ot much of a choice1 is it? .ntelligence1 logic1 an# self8interest stan# shoul#er to shoul#er on the si#e of +uying !o#eric:<s scheme. *gainst itBwell1 what is there? Square8type puritan pre9u#ices against conspiring to help a criminal eva#e the penalty for his crime? Silly scruples over marrying a girl un#er false pretenses? Qualms of conscience involving wor#s li:e right an# honesty an# love an# 9ustice? *+stractions all. They count for nothing. That is1 unless principle means more to you then victory. *n# that<s the way you set up the situation for a clima7 scene . . . an easy path to goal on the one han#1 a #isastrous alternative on the other1 an# your focal character stan#ing at the for: in the roa#. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN What are the most common wea:nesses1 in clima7? GaH The focal character isn<t properly +o7e# in. .n other wor#s1 the perceptive rea#er Gan# an ama@ingly high proportion of rea#ers are perceptiveH instantly spots loopholes in a clima7 situation: CWhy #oesn<t Su@y 9ust tell Dohn that her #a#<s gone +ro:e?C C.sn<t Brent +right enough to reali@e that his aunt was senile when she ma#e him promise to stay on in that ol# house?C CWhat :eeps Iin: from calling the police?C !esult: a spoile# clima7. !eme#y: a writer who thin:s his story through1 then plugs all loopholes an# +o7es in his focal character +efore the clima7. G+H =o +arrier of principle +loc:s the easy way. *ll her life my mothers hate# whis:y worse than sna:es. =ow she lies #ying1 an# .<m too +ro:e to give her proper care. To ma:e matters worse1 my fiancee returns my ring. * man who can<t loo: after his #ying mother has no +usiness ta:ing a wife1 she says. 2nter the town +ootlegger. -e offers to loan me the cash . nee#1 on my tacit agreement to let him set up a secret still in the swamp on other<s farm.

Shoul# . ta:e the money? .t<s an easy way out. But there<s also a matter of principle involve#> a moral issue. $or in sanctioning the still .<ll +e +etraying everything

that

other +elieves in.

Ef such materials are soli# clima7 situations +uilt. Suppose1 however1 that it<s an ol# frien#1 an# not the +ootlegger1 who offers me the money. What then? 2ven to as: the question is to see the clima7 fa#e away. Why? Because the function of clima7 is to test character1 an# without principle at sta:e there can +e no test. The frien#<s money has no strings attache#. . can accept it with no qualm of conscience. !esult: no conflict. *n# no clima7. Shall we spell out the message? When we tal: a+out an Ceasy way1C it<s easy from a material stan#point only. En a moral level1 it must nail your focal character to the cross. Though CpracticalC consi#erations +ac: it %66 per cent1 it shoul# +ear an emotional price too high for your character to pay. GcH The alternative to the easy way isn<t sufficiently #isastrous. The way to ma:e a focal character sweat in clima7 is to +uil# his alternative to sheer catastrophe. Thus1 in G+H<s e7ample1 -ero stan#s to lose not 9ust other1 +ut Airl too.

)artly1 this is +ecause it<s too easy on a hero to center the clima7 on his saving or sacrificing someone else<s interests. *ll of us #o won#ers with rationali@ation in that area. .f other is ol#1 alrea#y #ying1 an# . can ma:e a show of virtue +y refusing whis:y moneyBwell1 may+e it won<t +e so har# to stan# on principle1 at that. When my own nec:<s in the noose1 on the other han#> when .<m set to lose not 9ust a #ying mother +ut the girl . love so #esperately as well1 . perhaps ten# to thin: a +it more realistically. The temptation to ta:e the easy roa# is stronger. But over an# +eyon# this1 you +uil# tension higher if1 to stic: with principle1 your hero must throw himself completely an# utterly into the teeth of fate. Then1 a CrightC #ecision sacrifices everything> gains nothing. *ll common sense1 all logic1 all self8interest1 +ar his way. G#H The focal character<s goal isn<t important enough an#;or attractive enough to him. * man see:s a goalBsomething he yearns to attain or retain. -is pursuit of it +rings him face to face with a situation that ree:s of potential calamity1 #isaster. Ene step more1 an# he<ll plunge over the +rin:. What #oes he #o then?

-e +ac:s off. $ast. That is1 he #oes so unless the something he see:s is ever so important to him1 su+9ectively. The casual1 the trivial1 the transientBas motivations1 they 9ust aren<t strong enough. What constitutes a goo# goal? .t<s one which1 in the character<s eyes1 stan#s as his :ey to future happiness. Consi#er the chil# who #ou+ts his mother<s love. .f only the +as:et he ma:es can +e the +est in all the :in#ergarten crafts class1 perhaps she<ll ta:e him in her arms. Iife without those arms is too terri+le a thought to +ear. .t colors the chil#<s whole picture of worl# an# future. Therefore1 construction of a superior +as:et is a goo# goal. Q.2.D. *n ol# man sits writing his memoirs. -e has no hope that the scrawl will +ring him fame or money. But if he can only e7plain the things he<s #one an# why he<s #one them1 perhaps his son will some #ay rea#1 #raw insight from the wor#s1 an# cease to sneer. There can +e happiness even in the #ream that someone #ear may un#erstan# you after you<re long gone. So1 what constitutes a goo# goal? *ny o+9ective that your focal character envisions as shaping his future1 his chances for happiness. What #oesn<t? *nything he #oesn<t see as affecting1 an# affecting su+stantially1 the life he<ll lea# an# the way he<ll feel in #ays an# years ahea#. GeH The situation isn<t +uilt up sufficiently. The clima7 is the +iggest moment of a story> its pea: of pea:s. To #ismiss it casually is to throw all your other wor: away. So much for climactic situation. =ow1 let<s move on to our secon# point:

G'H &ou force the character to choose +etween the two courses availa+le to him. To ma:e a choice +etween self8interest an# principle is #ifficult for any of us1 in any situation1 at any time. 2specially if catastrophe hangs over us li:e the swor# of Damocles. )art of your 9o+ in clima71 therefore1 is to show precisely how har# such #ecision8ma:ing is. -ow #o you #o this? &ou prolong the agony for your hero. Sometimes1 that means +reast8+eating an# hair8pulling. Ethers1 merely a moment of aching tension1 with flashes of significant #etail against the silence. .n any case1 your focal character must sweat an# suffer1 whether we watch the scene from insi#e his s:in or out. *n# then1 at last1 he #eci#es. Decision itself involves two pro+lems: GaH -ow #o you force it? G+H What tips the scales in the right #irection? Where GaH<s concerne#1 urgency is of course the answer. The girl turns to leave. The villain raises his gun. The frien# cries out for help. Whereupon1 your character must #eci#e . . . right now. .n G+H1 however1 the question itself ten#s to +e mislea#ing. $or there<s no tric: to ma:ing your character go the way you want. &ou 9ust hit the right :eys on your typewriterF ore critical is an unstate#1 implie# issue: -ow #o you ma:e your rea#er +elieve that -ero woul# choose emotion over logic? )hrase it that way1 an# once again the answer is simple: &ou use a gimmic:. "n#erstan#1 a gimmic: is +y no means the only way to get your character to react as you wish. But it<s certainly one

of the most practical an# useful #evices for so #oing. By all means1 master it. *ctually1 a gimmic: utili@es the principle of con#itione# reaction1 much as the !ussian physiologist8 psychologist )avlov use# a +ell to train #ogs to salivate on #eman#. .n fact1 we may #efine a gimmic: as some material o+9ect or sensory phenomenon ma#e to serve as an emotional +ell. &our first step in #eveloping a gimmic: is to choose such an o+9ect or phenomenonBone that evo:es a strong emotional reaction in your hero. &ou also #emonstrate that this emotional reaction is lin:e# to a#herence to principle where sai# character is concerne#. &ou #o this early in the story. )refera+ly1 you #o it several times. Then1 at the critical moment in your clima71 when the focal character hangs on the verge of ta:ing the easy way1 you reintro#uce the gimmic: once more. )romptly1 your character reacts1 precisely as he #i# +eforeBwith emotion> with a su##en upsurge of passion for principle. En the crest of that upsurge1 he ma:es his <<rightC #ecision> an# it<s instantly logical an# +elieva+le to your rea#er that he shoul# #o so. Why? Because he1 the rea#er1 has +een con#itione# to e7pect an emotion8+ase# reaction from the character whenever the gimmic: comes on stage. Thus1 let<s say that1 early1 you ma:e your rea#er aware that -ero wears a silver St. Christopher<s me#al on a chain a+out his nec:. .n some passing inci#ent1 it<s +rought out that -ero<s mother gave it to him1 an# that he wears it not only +ecause it was her last gift1 +ut +ecause it ma:es him feel closer to her . . . remin#s him to live up to the stan#ar# of rectitu#e that she set. Ether such inci#ents follow1 at intervals through the story. 2ach time1 -ero respon#s similarly1 with #eep feeling for his mother an# her virtue> with quic:ene# pulse an# heightene# conscience. =ow comes the clima7. -ero stan#s at the for: in his private roa#1 torn +etween right an# wrong1 goo# an# evil1 principle an# self8interest. Which way will he go? What course will he follow?

The villain +uffets him. -ero<s shirt tears open. The chain +rea:s. The me#al sails across the floor. The me#al. Sym+ol of all -ero<s mother meant to him. $or an instant1 -ero stares at it> an# in that moment lies #ecision1 surging up on the ti#e of emotional response an# past con#itioning a simple silver trin:et +rings. Do you see how gimmic: operates? &ou can use it in almost any story1 cru#ely or su+tly accor#ing to your tastes an# s:ill. -ere1 it ta:es the form of a we##ing ring . . . there1 a strain of music . . . a +attere# +ullet . . . a +ro:en #oll . . . a wisp of fragrance that remin#s someone of a half8forgotten girl<s perfume. So small a #etail1 the gimmic:. *n# so +ig. Because it hol#s the power to e7plo#e clima7 into #ecision. So: -ero<s min# now is ma#e up. We<re rea#y for the thir# step in our clima7 pattern. G(H &ou ma:e the character translate his choice into an irrevoca+le climactic act. There<s a saying very pertinent to clima7: CDon<t 9ust stan# there. Do somethingFC Doing something1 in clima71 means translating #ecision into an irrevoca+le climactic act. =e7t to #ecision itself1 it<s the most important facet of your clima7. Why? Because #ecision remains meaningless till you act upon it. The roa# to hell is pave# with goo# intentions. *ll of us are quic: to come forth with well8meaning resolutions. We promise to +e :in#er1 to stop smo:ing1 to put our #irty clothes in the laun#ry hamper1 to mow the grass each an# every wee:. * #ay or a month later1 we<re +ac: yelling at the wife1 ma:ing li:e a chimney1 leaving the +e#room a litter of soile# un#erwear an# smelly soc:s1 an# +lithely ignoring the shaggy yar#. So it is in clima7 also. Decision alone won<t #o the 9o+. What you see: is a roa# to resolution of your storyBone that will pave the way for release of your rea#er<s tension. That #eman#s a change in the situation set up +y the clima7. $urther1 sai# change must +e wrought +y your focal character1 not luc: or +lin# fate. To that en#1 the pea: of clima7 is a pivot. .t flips the situation over. The rest of the story1 the resolution1 hangs on it. Such a flip #eman#s motive force. The climactic act provi#es it. So1 let<s lay #own an a7iom: * clima7 is always an act.

That act is performe# +y the focal character. "ntil he moves1 nothing happens. *n# virtuous thoughts are not enough. The earlier portions of the clima7 are merely +uil#8up to this moment. The climactic act itself stan#s as a pinnacle1 li:e a +urning glass that +rings the rays of the sun into sharp focus in or#er to start an all8consuming fire to follow. $or in the instant that he ma:es his play1 your character changes the whole +alance of the story situation. *s an a##e# +onus1 such an act saves you all sorts of e7planation. &our character<s #ecision1 as such1 may never +e ver+ali@e#. -ero pro+a+ly won<t even +e aware of his mental processes. -e 9ust #oes the thing that conscience an# feeling tell him he must #o1 an# the act itself says more than wor#s. What1 particularly1 characteri@es the climactic act? .ts irrevoca+ility. Caesar1 crossing the !u+icon1 +urne# his +ri#ges +ehin# him. Ence the :nife is thrust or the trigger pulle#1 the mur#erer never can return life to his victim. * climactic act shoul# +e li:e that: an ultimate commitment. When your hero signs the paper or throws the switch or spits in the villain<s eye1 it shoul# close the #oor forever on the possi+ility of his turning +ac:. Consciously or otherwise1 your focal character :nows this. *cting1 he waives the privilege of changing his min# later. Such a move sen#s tension soaring. Before1 your man ha# a choice. -e coul# a+an#on principle an# ta:e the easy roa# to his o+9ective. -e #i#n<t have to lay out his hopes an# #reams as a +urnt offering. =ow1 however1 all chance to choose is thrust asi#e. There remains only the har# roa#1 the roa# of sacrifice an# suffering1 with its apparently inevita+le #isaster. *cting1 Character challenges fate an# the villain to #o their worst. .n so #oing1 he #istills the story question #own to essence: Will the course he<s chosen crucify him?

Tension hangs at a pea: while !ea#er awaits answer. Why? Because !ea#er<s own heart is in it. Whether he can put it into wor#s or not1 he :nows that in the climactic act he has seen man rise a+ove self8interest. *n# that1 to most of us1 comes out as heroism. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN So1 at long last1 your focal character has #emonstrate# that he #eserves to win. What now? Specifically1 what #oes the focal character get? -ow to resolve story issues The resolution of a story is the payoff. .t rewar#s or punishes your focal character for his #ecision in crisis1 as epitomi@e# in the climactic act. .n the process1 it releases tension an# leaves focal character an#;or rea#er with a feeling of fulfillment. The steps +y which you trigger this release an# create this feeling are three in num+erBthe fourth1 fifth an# si7th points liste# when we +egan our #iscussion of how to en# a story: G,H &ou rewar# or punish the focal character for his climactic act1 in accor#ance with poetic 9ustice. G/H &ou tie up any loose en#s. G0H &ou focus fulfillment into a punch line. =ow1 let<s consi#er each of these items in #etail. G,H &ou rewar# or punish the focal character for his climactic act1 in accor#ance with poetic 9ustice. Aiven a correct #ecision1 what the focal character wants #etermines what he gets. Thus1 his #esire to attain or retain something launches the story. .t<s his goal. .n his eyes1 at least1 his future happiness #epen#s on sai# attaining or retaining. Because this is so1 he fights whatever forces threaten this o+9ective. .ncreasing 9eopar#y an# tension only increase his efforts. This conflict +etween #esire an# #anger finally focuses into a clima71 in which the focal character must choose +etween principle an# self8interest.

.f1 in that moment1 the character stan#s on principle #espite all ha@ar#1 an# thus #emonstrates that he #eserves to win1 you rewar# him with attainment or retention of the thing he wants1 the goal he see:s. .n other wor#s1 cause lea#s #irectly to effect. Dee# +rings rewar#. *s soon as you :now your hero<s goal1 you also :now how your story is going to en#. But :nowing a #estination an# wor:ing out the route to reach it are two very #ifferent things. )ractical pro+lems have to +e face# along the way . . . pro+lems which you1 the writer1 must solve. So1 how #o you move your focal character from #ecision to rewar#? *gain1 three steps are involve#: GaH Iet your focal character suffer through a +lac: moment of anguish after clima7. G+H !everse his situation with an unanticipate# #evelopment. GcH Aive him his rewar#. 2ach of these three items is important. Slight any one of them an# you<re in trou+le. $urther1 none of these issues am quite as simple as appears at fist glance. To han#le them effectively1 you nee# to un#erstan# them in terms +oth of #ynamics an# mechanics. Ta:e GaH: GaH Iet your focal character suffer through a +lac: moment of anguish after clima7. The reason your rea#er rea#s1 we<ve sai#1 is so that he can worry. .n the moment imme#iately after clima71 that worry comes to its sharpest focus. Why? Because the focal character1 acting1 stan#s convince# that he<s lost> that the seemingly inevita+le #oom the course of principle threatene# is a+out to #estroy him. .t<s a moment when1 to him1 all hope is gone. 27periencing with the focal character1 your rea#er shares this feeling. .t +rings his fear to its highest pitch. Therefore1 you #on<t #are hurry or slight that moment. Iet your rea#er chill toBan# thus en9oyBit to the fullF The +lac:er things loo:1 the longer the moment hangs. .n consequence whereof1 the higher your rea#er<s pitch of tension rises1 an# the greater will +e his sense of release an# relief when the flip finally comes. G+H !everse the focal character<s situation with an unanticipate# #evelopment. The story is a western. Er science fiction1 or mystery1 or a#venture. =ow1 in the clima7 scene1 while minor characters stan# +y in aching silence1 Villain gives -ero an unpleasant choice: Iet -ero +etray the cause for which he fights1 an# Villain will let him live. Iet him refuse1 an# he<ll #ie. essily.

-ero chooses: -e<ll #ie. .n the process1 he<ll try to ta:e Villain with him. =ot that he has a chance. The o##s are far too long for that. But at least he<ll go #own fighting. -e starts forwar#. Villain tightens a finger on the trigger of his weapon. .t<s a moment that lasts an eternity. The chill +reath of #eath seems to free@e the scene. Enly then1 as -ero ma:es his play1 an# Villain +ares teeth in a sa#istic grin1 a voice cries1 <<=oFC Whose voice it is1 an# why the cry is uttere#1 are unimportant here. The vital thing is1 something happens. Something unanticipate#. Something that upsets the +alance of the situation. So1 here1 someone cries1 C=oFC .n the +rief moment that the Villain hangs #istracte#1 -ero #rives in har#. Villain<s shot goes wil#. *n# -ero is on his way to victory. There1 in its cru#est an# +loo#iest form1 stan#s the secret of story resolution: *n unanticipate# #evelopment has reverse# the focal character<s situation. =ot that triumph follows automatically or without effort1 you un#erstan#. -ero still may have to +lee# an# +attle. But his sacrifice of self in clima7 opens the way to a reversal. CThe art of life1C Dustice -olmes once sai#1 Cconsists in ma:ing correct #ecisions on insufficient evi#ence.C -ow +etter can you #escri+e the focal character<s plight at a story<s clima7? Seeing only part of the picture1 he still must ma:e his choiceBhis sacrificial #ecisionBan# act upon it. Whereupon1 you the writer reveal the rest of the picture: the things which have a +earing that your character #i#n<t :now. The varia+les1 the unperceive# factors. Ii:e what<s going on insi#e the villain1 or how another character will react1 or the fact that some+o#y<s gun is loa#e# or empty1 or that there<s water instea# of poison in the hypo#ermic nee#le. =or is this any falsification of reality1 even remotely. Iife is full of shoc:s an# twists an# flips. 2very man Dac: of us has ever so often feare#1 +ut still plowe# straight ahea#> an#1 plowing1 foun# our fears were groun#less. =ot a #ay passes +ut someone startles us with his reaction. * hun#re# times we face #isaster1 only to fin# that the +lac:est clou# can in#ee# have a silver lining. * goo# reversal #eman#s three things: ;%; .t must +e #esire#. .f your rea#er #oesn<t wantBwant

#esperatelyBto see the focal character save#1 even the +est of twists is unli:ely to impress him. &ou must ma:e !ea#er care what happens to your hero. ;'; .t must +e unanticipate#. &ou lose half the impact1 at least1 if your rea#er guesses in a#vance what<s going to happen. The o+vious 9ust won<t #o. ; (; .t must +e logical. Believa+ility is the payoff for proper preparation: planning an# planting. *n effect without a legitimate cause spells #isaster every time. Aiven these three elements1 however1 reversal will prove effective in a story on any level. Don<t allow the fact that we here use an action8type e7ample to pre9u#ice you. =o matter what :in# of fiction you prefer to write1 once a sacrifice is ma#e1 the climactic situation changes: $ather revises his estimate of Son<s potential. Airl recogni@es Suitor<s worth. onster +ac:s #own +efore raw courage. 27ecutive ta:es new cogni@ance of Su+or#inate<s sense of #uty. Wife sees that -us+an# really loves her. Desire# yet unanticipate# yet logical #evelopments1 one an# all. Such a #evelopment1 in turn1 is what starts release of rea#er tension. .t +egins the answer to the story question: Will this focal character survive the ha@ar# that threatens attainment of his goal1 or won<t he? Specifically1 the reversal #emonstrates that the course of principle your hero chose in crisis isn<t really going to crush him. .n so #oing1 it cuts fear sharply. !esult: a matching #rop in tension . . . a #rop that relieves an# satisfies your rea#er. -ow #o you lay the groun#wor: for a reversal? -erewith1 five hints: ;%; Jnow every #etail of your clima7 situation. B*n# that means1 :now them preciselyF 2ven go so far as to #raw a map or plan of the setting if it<s not completely clear to you. The general is your worst enemy. .n terms of pure mechanics1 -ero may nee# a win#ow that isn<t there1 or an electric cor#1 or a te7t on astrophysics. ;'; Jnow your characters. Iist them1 every one. Then1 as: yourself what each is #oing at this particular moment1 an# how each will react to the fact of your character<s #ecision. ;(; !emem+er that au#acity often carries the #ay. Tonight<s paper carrie# a story a+out a househol#er who saw a thief stealing the tires from -ousehol#er<s pic:up truc:. So1 -ousehol#er went out with a shotgun to stop the theft. Thief promptly pulle# a Csmall pistol1C or#ere# -ousehol#er +ac: into #welling1 an# then #rove off with tires an# shotgunF ;,; Bear in min# that people react favora+ly to unselfishness. .f the man . #etest #isplays moral courage1 . may conclu#e that he<s more worthy than . thought him. Whereupon1 . may act upon that +elief to help him. $urther1 an act of principle an# courage can sometimes free your hero himself from the +on#age of his own fears. Ence he<s ta:en the first step1 inertia<s paralysis +rea:s. Committe#1 he has nothing left to lose. So1 li:e

a +erser:er1 a oro run amo:1 he rises a+ove what he always imagine# were his limitations. ;/; *+ove all1 remem+er that your role of writer ma:es you go# within the +oun#aries of your story. .n time of nee#1 a change in circumstanceBanything from weather to locale to the villain<s attitu#eBwill always solve your pro+lem. GcH Aive him his rewar#. -ow #o you rewar# a character? &ou let him attain his goal1 in letter or in spirit. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN Beginning writers sel#om pay enough attention to the nature of rewar#. Because this is so1 too often they also tal: cynically a+out the ChypocrisyC of fiction an# the eternal nee# for a ChappyC en#ing. *ctually1 the happy en#ing is infinitely less important than the satisfying en#ing. Aiven rea#er fulfillment1 you #on<t necessarily have to close with a clinch1 the arines lan#ing1 or the villain snarling1 C$oile# againFC

$orget the phony1 therefore. Distortion of reality will get you nowhere. What your rea#er see:s is less nirvana than the feeling1 CThis is as it shoul# +e.C -ow #o you create this feeling? The first step is to release tension. Source % for tension1 alrea#y #iscusse# in #etail1 is #anger. .t culminates in the climactic moment1 with its threat of #isaster for your hero. To release tension stemming from this source1 you eliminate the ha@ar#. .n so #oing1 you #issipate character<sBan# rea#er<sBfear that some specific something will or won<t happen. Whereupon1 tension e++s. Source ' is #esire. Desire1 you<ll recall1 is the groun#8swell from which all #anger springs. .t prece#es peril. $or what trou+le can you give a focal character who #oesn<t care what happens to him? .mplicitly1 #esire to live must e7ist +efore there can +e a fear of #eath. -ow can you worry a+out what a woman #oes1 if she means nothing to you? Does money matter1 when you<ve alrea#y ta:en a vow of poverty? Whether we<re consciously aware of it or not1 #esire is in all of us1 every moment. Somewhere #eep

insi#e1 we ache> we yearn> we hunger. Eut of such #esire1 in your focal character1 springs goal . . . a goal so vital to him1 su+9ectively1 that early in your story he commits himself to light to achieve it against all o##s. Specifically1 he wants to attain or retain some particular something. When you want anything +a#ly enough1 the wanting creates tension in you. * continuing tension that gnaws an# churns an# +urns. "ntil your focal character gets the thing he wants1 therefore1 this #esire8+orn tension rolls insi#e himB an#1 vicariously1 insi#e your rea#er. To release that tension1 you give Character what he wants. &ou allow him to attain his goal. .t<s at this point that a host of writers go astray. Why? Because they assume that the thing the focal character gets must match to the letter the goal he see:s. .f he wants a million #ollars1 a million #ollars he must have. Does the heroine yearn for a re# #ress? Then give it to herF *n# so on #own the line1 all the way to the ru+y from the i#ol<s eye1 the +an:er<s house1 violent vengeance against a hate# rival1 an# Cleopatra reclining on a tiger s:in. This isn<t rewar# or poetic 9ustice. .t<s nonsense. The reason is that often there<s a vast #ifference +etween state# goal an# true goal. Though they may +e the same1 frequently the gap +etween them is as wi#e as that +etween sentimental an# intrinsic value1 where the :erchief or tintype or loc: of hair an ol# man treasures may +e thrown out +y his heirs as trash. .n the same way1 physical goal is primarily a sym+ol. *s a sym+ol1 it represents an emotional nee#. *n# it<s this nee# which the sym+ol represents that rewar# must satisfy.

Such a nee# is li:e a hunger1 an inner thirst. .t ma:es its host a #riven man. Eften1 however1 the man #oesn<t even reali@e the nee# is there. -e only feels an unrest1 a #issatisfaction. Whereupon1 consciously or unconsciously1 he pic:s a goal to strive for1 in the +elief that once he attains it he<ll +e happy. $requently1 he<s mista:en. What he really nee#s is to satisfy his inner hunger. Such satisfaction is more vital +y far than acquisition of fame or girl or gol#. Ta:e the man a+ove who claims he wants a million #ollars. *ctually1 his nee#Bthe thing the million #ollars represents to him1 on an unconscious levelBmay +e to feel an inner sense of his own worth an#1 with it1 the self8confi#ence to tell his arrogant +oss to go to hell. Aive him that confi#ence1 an# he<s happy even though he still stays +ro:e. Ii:ewise1 the girl who longs for a re# #ress may not truly care a+out the #ress at all. .t<s love she<s see:ing1 actually. But #eep insi#e1 she sees herself as far too #ra+ an# unattractive ever to win the man she wants. So1 the #ress is only a means to her emotional en#. Iet her once fin# love1 an# she<ll +lissfully forego the garment. The ru+y from the i#ol<s eye1 in turn1 may +e the ver+ali@e# target of someone who see:s a sense of power> for who +ut a +rave an# #angerous person woul# ever #are to try to steal it? The +an:er<s house1 li:ely as not1 stan#s as a status sym+ol1 an# the man who wants it really see:s proof that he<s as goo# as anyone in town1 #espite the fact that his father was the local #run: an# his mother too: in washing. * #rive to violent vengeance can grow from a nee# to impress a girl who #is#ains you as wea: an# ineffectual. The fantasy of wooing Cleopatra on a tiger s:in spea:s of loneliness an# #eep8seate# yearning for affection. Quite possi+ly it<s less se7ual craving than it is hunger for ten#erness an# warmth1 em+o#ie# in a living woman. So much for the #istinction +etween state# goals an# true goals. =ow1 how #o you use that variance to help resolve your story pro+lem an# rewar# your hero? ;%; &ou #etermine the emotional nee# +ehin# your focal character<s state# goal. -ere1 the issue is one of character #ynamics. We<ll #iscuss it at length in the ne7t chapter. ;'; &ou #evise a way to satisfy that emotional nee#. -ow #o you satisfy an emotional nee#? &ou so change your character<s outloo: that he achieves fulfillment. $ulfillment is a feeling1 a state of min#. State of affairs runs a poor1 poor secon#.

To change a character<s outloo: means that you let him see what he really wants. That is1 you allow him to perceive an# achieve the true goal that lies +ehin# his state# goal. &ou help him to un#erstan# that wor: or a#venture is more important to him than girl or money1 or that success isn<t always su+ur+ia an# Broo:s Brothers< suits. $acing up to the fact that you #on<t have the talent to +e a concert star can free you. Some marriages are +etter +ro:en than men#e#. There can +e happiness through the tears when a son or #aughter finally fin#s the strength to leave home. 2ven #eath can upon occasion +e a triumph. .f you #on<t +elieve me1 ta:e time out some #ay to rea# Tal+ot un#y<s fine story1 <<The Soul of a !egiment.C -ow #o you change a character<s outloo:? &ou show him the negative si#e of his state# goal an# the positive si#e of his true goal. Iet<s say the issue is vengeance. *ll through your story1 Character has live# for the moment when he coul# plunge his :nife into the villain. =ow1 that moment<s here. 2vil1 arrogant Villain lies at -ero<s mercy. To slay an evil1 arrogant man can +e a triumph. .t gives you a sense of power an# virtue. But suppose this prou# figure now +rea:s an# cringes . . . crawls in the #irt an# +egs for mercy. What #oes that #o to your state# goal? Before1 you saw Villain as strength an# menace incarnate. *s such1 he was a challenge to you. =ow1 his mas: is torn away1 his faca#e shattere#. What lies reveale# is fear an# wea:ness. With that change in Villain comes an en# to challenge. &ou<re really the strong man> he1 the wea:. To :ill him now woul# serve only to #egra#e you. -is humiliation is enough. That<s the negative si#e of your state# goal. Simultaneously comes reali@ation that the fear an# self8#ou+t that earlier #rove you on have vanishe#1

an# it #awns on you that those flaws in your own self8image1 not Villain1 were your true opponents. Because this is so1 from here on out you can face the worl# serene an# unafrai#. =ever again will you nee# to question your own stature. That<s the positive si#e of your true goal. *## positive an# negative together1 an# you have tension release#1 #esire attaine# . . . fulfillment> resolution. Er suppose your fon#est #ream has +een to marry a girl with a million #ollars. B=ot 9ust any such girl1 you un#erstan#> one particular one. To that en#1 you<ve gone through hell in terms of the rising action of your story. But the clima7 turns the tric:. *t last Airl stan#s rea#y to accept you. &ou<re a+out to attain your state# goal. =ow1 however1 you #iscover that her i#ea of marriage is to :eep you as a sort of house petBan# that<s certainly a negative aspect of your state# goal. =or is this totally her fault. She<s the pro#uct of her +ac:groun#1 her up+ringing. -er view of the worl# is something that she ta:es for grante#. Seeing this1 you reconsi#er your own motives . . . reali@e at last that what you<ve felt for Airl isn<t love1 in fact1 so much as it is a #rive for status1 which you<ve misinterprete# as the quic:est roa# to in#epen#ence. .n#epen#ence: That<s what you really want> that<s your true goal. *n# you can achieve it +etter without Airl than with her . . . +esi#es which1 she #eserves more than a parasitic hus+an# who #oesn<t really love her. * positive angle on true goal1 right? Airl faces the facts1 when you e7plain it. She can<t change> neither can you. &our #ifferences are too great to resolve. The parting scene is ten#er1 touching. *n# you go off fulfille#1 even though sans girl.

-ow #o you resolve a story? &ou :now your focal character. Then1 you let him :now an# +e true to himself. *s a writer1 you have no higher #uty1 to yourself or to your rea#er. *n# this in spite of the fact that sai# rea#er may never reali@e the source of his satisfaction. BWhich is as it shoul# +e1 of course. Story technique is the writer<s +usiness only. .t<s li:e plastic surgery: The +est nose8+o+ or face8lift is the one that goes un#etecte#. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN What a+out the negative character . . . the wea: man1 the evil man1 the man who can<t or won<t ma:e the right #ecision at a story<s clima7? -ow #o you resolve his story? &ou punish him. That is1 you #eny him his goal1 in letter an#;or in spirit. &ou #o this +ecause such a character pri@es self8interest a+ove principle. -e proves this in clima71 when he chooses the easy roa# instea# of stan#ing firm for right. .n so #oing1 he #emonstrates himself to +e unworthy of rewar#. .f1 then1 in spite of his mis#ee#1 you #o rewar# him1 you create a conflict in your rea#er. -ow? &our rea#er1 too1 has emotional nee#s. Ene of the #eepest of these1 as we<ve pointe# out1 is his #esire to +elieve that there is or#er in the worl#> that life hol#s meaning. .n rea#ing1 !ea#er see:s reaffirmation of this +elief. -e wants to feel that cause lea#s to effect> that #ee# influences1 rewar#. Deny this1 in your story1 an# in effect you tell him that his whole philosophy is wrong> that he<s a fool for all the sacrifices he himself ma:es #aily. !esult: frustration. So1 tension #oesn<t slac:> it +uil#s. *n# !ea#er loses his precious sense of story satisfaction. This is why a#olescent cynicism proves such a +lin# alley as a theme for fiction. The clever criminal

who gets away with crime1 the man of principle ma#e a fool of or #estroye# +y circumstance1 the woman who cheats successfully on her hus+an#1 the triumph of the ruthless an# the evilBthey mar: your wor: as amateur. .n life1 such people stan# as the e7ception1 not the rule. .n fiction1 almost invaria+ly1 they #raw a quic: re9ection. *s a matter of fact1 even the so8calle# C+iter8+itC story Gin which the central character receives richly #eserve# punishment at the clima7H has only the narrowest of mar:ets. a:e your CheroC a mur#erer who<s trappe# +ecause he overloo:s one tiny clue an#1 count on it1 the yarn will prove twice or three times as har# to sell as the story with a positive central character. )art of the reason for this is +ecause the pattern itself has grown so worn an# trite. ore important1 however1 is the esta+lishe# fact that most of the time1 most rea#ers woul# rather rea# a+out the worthy man who wins. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN So much for the mechanics an# #ynamics of rewar#. Ence rewar# is +estowe#1 the story question is answere#. Suspense #rops sharply. is release#. But you still nee# to roun# out your story1 +riefly1 an# +ring it to a neat conclusion. With that in min# . . . G/H &ou tie up any loose en#s. $ace one fact: The moment your story question is answere#1 your story itself en#s1 for all practical purposes. Therefore1 #on<t hol# your rea#er any further past that point than nee# +e. Stall a +it too long1 an# you may lose him. &our 9o+ from here on out is to say goo#8+y1 in as few wor#s an# pages as you can. *t the same time1 you #on<t #are move too fast1 or you<ll lose emotional impact. Er#inarily1 a few pagesBcertainly not more than a chapter1 even in a novelBof #enouement shoul# +e enough. Iong e7planations will prove unnecessary1 if you<ve snippe# off su+or#inate threa#s early1 in accor#ance with instructions. So1 wor: for a short conclu#ing section. En the other han#1 +e careful not to leave characters unaccounte# for or loose en#s #angling. -ow #o you avoi# such? ost rea#er tension

&ou go +ac: over your wor:. )ainsta:ingly. Chec: plot #evelopment1 point +y point. *s: yourself if there are questions that you<ve left unanswere#. Eften1 too1 a rea#ing +y someone who #oesn<t :now the story will +ring holes an# loose thin:ing to your attention. Be careful though. What you nee# is honest appraisal1 not flattery or half8+a:e# critical opinion. $inally . . . G0H &ou focus fulfillment into a punch line. -ow #o you write a proper punch line? &ou strive for euphoria. 2uphoria may +e #efine# as a sense of well8+eing an# +uoyancy. .t<s the feeling that follows the #raining off of the last vestiges of rea#er tension. To create it1 you hunt for a final paragraph1 an# a line to en# it1 that will epitomi@e your character<s or charactersF< fulfillment. Since a story is the recor# of how some+o#y #eals with #anger1 this final paragraph an# line shoul# ma:e clear to your rea#er that sai# #angerBan# the tension an# trou+le it create#Bare at an en#1 so far as the characters are concerne#. Completely. En the other han#1 <<. . . an# so they live# happily ever afterC isn<t quite enough. Iife goes on1 an# your rea#er :nows it. Therefore1 you nee# to inclu#e some in#ication that your characters still have a future. Ether trou+les may come. .n fact1 assorte# woes may +e hanging fire right now. But they<re not yet on stage1 so your people can still glow happily in the relief an# release of this moment<s triumph. The actual writing of a goo# punch line can +e a nerve8rac:ing1 floor8pacing1 time8consuming 9o+. The most common approach1 perhaps1 is simply to 9ot #own each an# every i#ea that comes to min#1 no matter how remote. Then1 settle for whichever one seems +est. Beyon# this1 here are three tric:s which may help: GaH Try1 earlier1 to esta+lish the i#ea that a particular event1 a significant #etail1 represents fulfillment to your hero. Throughout the story1 -ero<s +een striving to ma:e time with Airl1 without success. &ou conclu#e1 CThis time1 she was :issing him.C Conceiva+ly1 your rea#er may #eci#e that -ero has in#ee# attaine# his goal. G+H * comic or apparently pointless line may turn the tric:Bif only +emuse it #emonstrates conclusively that trou+le an# tension are over. 27hi+it *: CWor#s came through the tears: <Steve . . . oh1 Steve1 you<re homeFC CThe steel#ust :ept on gra@ing.C

*ctually1 no one gives a hoot a+out the horse. .t<s 9ust that +y shifting attention to him1 we confirm that #anger is #issipate#. GcH .gnoring the present for the future may carry the implication that all<s en#e# an# all<s well. CSeth cut in: <.<ll ta:e care of it soon<s . can1 2#. But right now1 -elen an# me nee# to run over to !e# !oc:. We got some things to ta:e care of.< C MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN Thus #o you write the en#ing to your story. The :ey issue to +ear in min# is that the thing your rea#er remem+ers +est is what he rea#s last. .n consequence1 a strong en#ing may save a wea: story. .f the en#ing #isappoints1 on the other han#1 !ea#er quite possi+ly will feel that the story as a whole is a failure. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN Beginning plus mi##le plus en# equal story. -ere in this chapter we<ve choppe# them up1 #issecte# them1 #ealt with each almost as if it were a separate entity. They<re not. 27cept analytically1 as here1 story components have no life separate from the whole1 any more than a han# or a hea# or a stomach can survive apart from the parent +o#y. To allow atomistic concepts to rule your thin:ing when you write is as futile as to try to assem+le a living cow from ham+urger. CWhat<s wrong with my thir# act?C a playwright as:e# #ramatist Aeorge Jaufman. C&our first1C Jaufman answere#. That<s a lesson every new writer nee#s to ta:e to heart. * successful story is always an integrate# unit. Treat it as a mishmash of +its an# fragments an# it #isintegrates. =either shoul# you accept a +rea:#own such as this chapter offers as attempting to esta+lish a set pattern. The purpose of fragmentation is to show you what ma:es a story tic: . . . #evices with which you create effects> a few of the tools you use to manipulate rea#er feeling. 2ach story1 however1 is unique an# in#ivi#ual. Tric:s an# techniques must +e a#apte# to its special pro+lems. =o universal +lueprint is worth the paper on which it<s repro#uce#. That<s the reason . put such stress on function an# #ynamics . . . the why +ehin# the superstructure. $or the thing a +eginner nee#s is un#erstan#ing1 not a copy camera. * rule is a roc: aroun# your nec:1 if you let it #ominate intelligence an# imagination. 2specially is this true when you set out to create people to populate your stories . . . which same is the su+9ect of our ne7t chapter.

3. The )eople .n &our Story * story is people given life on paper. * character is a person in a story. To create story people1 you gra+ the first stic: figures that come han#y> then flesh them out until they spring to life. This process of character creation is no more or less #ifficult than any other phase of authorship. &et the mere mention of it fills too many woul#8+e writers with all sorts of trepi#ation. Why? Because we spen# our lives with people1 +ut we sel#om pay attention to them. *s the late Sir *rthur Conan Doyle once cause# Sherloc: -olmes to comment1 C&ou see1 +ut you #o not o+serve.C Which is 9ust another way of saying that the human animal is really a mystery to us. We #on<t :now what he loo:s li:e1 we #on<t :now how he +ehaves or why1 we #on<t un#erstan# what it is a+out him that +ores us or e7cites us. The un:nown is always frightening. To +e force# to #eal with it1 face to face1 sen#s us into panic. =o such consternation is warrante#. &ou learn to +uil# characters the same way you learn anything else in this writing +usiness: &ou ta:e the 9o+ a step at a time1 wor:ing in terms of function an# process an# #evice. What specific points #o you nee# to master? &ou<ll fin# them in the answers to five questions: %. -ow #oes a character come into +eing? '. -ow #o you +ring a character to life? (. -ow #o you give a character #irection? ,. -ow #o you ma:e a character fascinate your rea#er?

/. -ow #o you fit a character to the role he has to play? So much for generalities. =ow1 let<s get #own to cases. -ow #oes a character come into +eing? To what e7tent is a character li:e a real personBa living1 +reathing human +eing?

*t a generous estimate1 a+out one one8thousan#th of %1 per cent. The reason this is so is +ecause a living person is infinitely comple7. * story person1 on the other han#1 is merely a simulation of a living person. So1 he<s infinitely simpler. Space an# function limit him. Thus1 even the longest +oo: can capture only a tiny segment of any human +eing. To try to get #own the real person woul# #eman# a li+rary at least. The corte7 of a man<s +rain has more than ten +illion nerve cells. The 2mpire State Buil#ing coul#n<t house a computer with that many tu+es1 an# a scientist says that a machine to play un+eata+le chess woul# have to +e Cslightly larger than the universe.C What<s more1 there<s no nee# in fiction to go into all the facets of a living +eing. * story is the recor# of how some+o#y #eals with #anger. Ene #anger1 for a simple story> a series of interrelate# #angers1 for one more comple7. .n neither case can you possi+ly involve the fun range of a personality. So? So1 you #evelop a character only to that limite# #egree that he nee#s to +e #evelope#1 in or#er to fulfill his function in the story. &ou give an impression an# appro7imation of life1 rather than attempting to #uplicate life itself. To that en#1 you oversimplify the facts of human personality1 since to #o otherwise complicates your tas: to the point where it +ecomes completely impractical1 if not impossi+le. *n# that +rings us +ac: to our original question: -ow #o you +ring a character into +eing? &ou plan a story. Sometimes1 in so #oing1 you +egin with a character. But some8 times you #on<t. $or #espite a host of literary fol:8tales1 a story may start from anythingBthe most evanescent of fragment in a writer<s min#. Sometimes1 that fragment may +e a person1 or some aspect of a person. But it may equally well +e a moo#1 a situation1 a setting1 an o+9ect1 an inci#ent1 a conflict a complication1 a wor#1 a flash of imagery or sensory perception. Ence you have this fragment1 you +egin to +uil# your story. By accretion1 as mystery writer $re#ric

Brown once phrase# it. By gra#ual a##ition1 +ouncing your i#ea aroun# in free association until other thought8fragments1 magneti@e#1 cling to it. 2ventually1 it a##s up to a story. &our characters1 too1 come into +eing gra#ually. Eften1 in the early stages1 they may +e faceless> mere #esignations of roleBChero1C Cvillain1C Cgirl1C an# the li:e. Then1 a little at a time1 you fin# yourself in#ivi#uali@ing them. )ictures +egin to form in your min#B vague at first> then sharper. The girl +ecomes a re#hea#1 the hero has a ha+it of gulping an# staring +lan:ly1 the villain +eams cor#ially at the very moment that he twists the :nife. Where #o you get these fragments? $rom o+servation. $rom thought an# insight. $rom imagination. Ta:e o+servation. *ll your life long1 automatically1 you store up a reservoir of impressions. .mpression of people are among them. &ou see what they loo: li:e1 how they +ehave1 the way in which they thin:. Them1 when you ta:e to writing1 an# nee# characters1 you fin# yourself selecting an# 9uggling an# recom+ining these components. *n# there stan#s a ma9or source of writer trou+le. $or o+servation isn<t always an automatic process. Soon1 if you<re at all perceptive1 you #iscover that your eye for #etail ten#s too often to +e sloppy1 inaccurate. Whereupon1 you ta:e to paying closer attention to people . . . see:ing out types an# in#ivi#uals that intrigue you . . . stu#ying them consciously in an effort to enrich your store of raw material. )articularly1 you stop ta:ing so much for grante#. .nstea# of accepting vague impressions1 you hunt for specifics. &ou +rea: #own +ehavior into cause an# effect1 motivating stimulus an# character reaction. &ou search out significant #etailsBtrivia that create or +etray feeling. But o+servation alone isn<t quite enough. We have to supplement it with thought an# insight. Why? Because1 in #ay8to8#ay living1 we ten# to accept rather than analy@e> to ta:e for grante#1 more than un#erstan#. Consequently1 when we try to +uil# story people1 we fin# that we lac: a grasp of mental mechanisms> motivations. To reme#y this #eman#s conscious stu#y. Sometimes1 that stu#y ta:es us to the li+rary. But life itself may prove a +etter teacher. 2ven psychiatrists a#mit that

novelists pioneere# the +ehavioral area +efore them. Certainly1 in any event1 you nee# all the un#erstan#ing you can get. Character1 human personality1 is a su+9ect no writer ever masters completely. But with a little effort1 you can +roa#en your #iscernment enough to satisfy your rea#er. 2nter imagination. * human +eing is more than o+serve# fragments> more than mental mechanisms too. Specifically1 each of us is an entity1 a personal an# private whole that transcen#s its components. To un#erstan# a man1 you have to grasp the essence of that wholeness . . . its Aestalt> the totality of its configuration. So also with story people. The parts 9ust aren<t enough. &ou have to integrate them into a larger pattern. "ntil you #o1 they won<t coalesce into what appears to +e a living person. Conceptuali@ing this Aestalt1 this wholeness1 is imagination<s tas:. .t +rings the character to life. To claim that this is always simple woul# +e to lie to you. Character creation can +e a comple7 operation . . . one that calls for every +it of s:ill an# inspiration you can muster. $urther1 each character constitutes a separate pro+lem1 in#ivi#ual an# unique. Some #eman# much la+or1 some little. Some spring to a sem+lance of life full8grown1 with virtually no conscious effort. Ethers require en#less floor8pacing. *n# still others1 for no percepti+le reason1 never come through clearly1 fully +elieva+le1 no matter how much you sweat or strain. &ou simply can<t seem to tune in on their wave8length. Which means? &ou too are human an# have private limitations. *n# that<s goo#. The writer who sees himself as a surrogate of Ao# is on the roa# to paranoia. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN .t<s question time again: a. -ow many characters shoul# you have in a story?

=o more than a+solutely necessary. 2ach ta:es e7tra wor#s1 e7tra space1 e7tra effort. Throw in too many1 an# you may even lose or confuse your rea#er. +. -ow #o you #eci#e whether or not a character is necessary? The +est rule is to +ring in no one who #oesn<t in some way or other a#vance the conflict . . . which is to say1 the story. .f a story person isn<t for or against your hero1 leave him out. 2very character shoul# contri+ute something: action or information that helps or harms1 a#vances or hol#s +ac:. c. Can<t this still leave you with more characters than you can safely han#le? Ef course. The tric: here1 however1 is to consoli#ate. *s: yourself if waiter an# +ellhop an# room cler: can<t +e com+ine#> if the contri+utions they ma:e can<t +e atten#e# to as well +y one person as +y two or three. #. *re goo# characters really as contrive# as this woul# ma:e them seem to +e? They are. * story isn<t facts or history> it<s the pro#uct of a writer<s imagination. Consequently1 everything a+out it is contrive#. The only issue is1 #o you contrive s:illfully1 so that your rea#er #oesn<t #etect that element of contrivance? Er1 is the 9o+ inept an# aw:war#1 with your han# as o+vious as that of a +um+ling puppeteer? e. Woul#n<t it +e +etter to write a+out real people? =o> an# for three reasons: G%H * real person may recogni@e himself in your story. -e can resent this1 in terms of aBfor youB #isastrous lawsuit. G'H * real person sel#om fits your story nee#s precisely. So long as you write fiction an# not fact1 you nee# to wor: with people e7actly suite# to their tas:s. Create a character1 an# you can tailor him to fit the situation. )ic: one from life1 an# more often than not reality gets in the way. G(H * real person is har# to wor: with. $requently1 your contact with or :nowle#ge of a real person +loc:s you when you try to write a+out him. &ou grope1 trying to remem+er e7actly how he #oes a thing. &ou #raw +ac: from ma:ing him +ehave the way he shoul#. These reactions may not even reach a conscious level. *ll you :now is1 all at once you 9ust can<t write. Therefore1 your +est approach is to ma:e no attempt to pattern your character after anyone you :now1 e7cept perhaps in the +roa#est terms. &ou shoul# avoi# #etaile# copying1 in fact1 even if it ta:es conscious effort. f. -ow #o you shape #evelopment of your characters? Stress is the formative factor> the thing that ma:es or +rea:s a man. So1 plunge your people into conflict. Iet pressure strip away the gloss an# reveal them as they really are. .n so #oing1 #on<t hesitate to play the tune +y ear. The inspiration of the moment1 the heat of your own fervor1 may pro#uce results that startle youF g. What a+out character growth?

-ere we have a point much +elove# an# +ela+ore# +y the critics. But most stories occupy a +rief time span. The action runs no more than forty8eight hours1 say> or twenty8four. -ow much growth #o you yourself1 or your frien#s1 e7hi+it in such a perio#? En the other han#1 in the novel that covers years1 your char8 acters #o in#ee# grow. Er1 to put it more precisely1 they learn +y e7perience. Which means that if you show them living through the specific events that teach them their lessons1 there<s no pro+lem. h. Don<t some writers claim that their characters come alive an# themselves control a story<s #irection1 #espite the writer<s contrary wishes? They say so. What such a writer means1 however1 if he only reali@e# it1 is that he +ecomes so fascinate# with the personality he<s create# that he prefers to write a+out that personality instea# of the story he originally ha# in min#. This can +e goo#1 or it can +e #isastrous. $ascination with anything ma:es wor: easier an#1 in fiction1 results in a more vivi# pro#uct. En the other han#1 preoccupation with a character sel#om su+stitutes for soun# story structure. The personality run wil# too often throws everything else off +alance. *s a general rule1 therefore1 the character who stays within the framewor: of his function turns out +est. i. Doesn<t such a limitation ma:e many characters shallow an# superficial? *ctually1 #espite all screams of anguish from the literati1 many characters have no #epth1 an# nee# none. Such characters start as <<DohnC< or C ary1C an# go no further. The tric: in this is to weigh each character as you +uil# him. *s: yourself how much attention he warrants. .f the role he plays is only a wal:8on +it1 #eal with him in the simplest terms. &ou pay little hee# to the man who #rives your ca+1 in life. &ou pay a great #eal to your wife. .n most cases1 the same principle applies to fiction. 9. What #o you #o if a minor player completely captivates you? This offers the same ha@ar# we #iscusse# in question h1 a+ove. When it happens1 you have to #eci#e whether to reshape the story to fit the character> or1 cut the character +ac: to fit his original function. There<s no way to avoi# the choice.

This is not to say that you shoul#n<t ma:e a +it player colorful an# intriguing1 you un#erstan#1 so long as you hol# him within the framewor: of his role. :. -ow much shoul# you flesh out your not8so8minor characters? Aive them precisely as much attention as their importance in the conflict nee#s an# warrants. l. .s it a goo# i#ea to set up #ossiers on your charactersB#etaile# +iographies an# the li:e? This too is a matter of #egree. Carrie# too far1 it can +e #angerous1 simply +ecause it<s so time8 consuming. .f you follow the routine some +oo:s suggest1 #own to whether or not your heroine li:es pineapple ice1 you may very well en# up with fine +ac:groun# stu#ies of your peopleB+ut no hours or energy left to write the story. m. Shoul# you group characters into such categories as <<simple1C Ccomple71C Cflat1C Croun#1<< Cin relief>C an# so on? Such la+els are tools of the critic1 not the writer. They<re ar+itrary1 analytical1 an# after the fact. Slap them on in a#vance1 an# they ten# to paraly@e creative thin:ing. n. -ow can you +e sure that you un#erstan# the psychology of your story people correctly? Difference of opinion is what ma:es horse races. Behaviorists wor: on one set of assumptions1 $reu#ians another. * #etective an# a social wor:er an# a clergyman may each #raw #ifferent conclusions as to the motivation of a given act. &our i#eas a+out why a man ta:es a certain path can quite possi+ly prove as vali# as another<s. .n characteri@ation1 as in anything else1 you have to act on the courage of your convictions. .f you intrigue your rea#er with your concepts1 he<ll go along. -ow #o you +ring a character to life? C* <living< character is not necessarily <true to life><C #eclares poet8#ramatist T. S. 2liot. <.t is a person whom we can see an# hear1 whether he +e true or false to human nature as we :now it. What the creator of character nee#s is not so much :nowle#ge of motives as :een sensi+ility> the #ramatist nee# not tra#er8stan# people> +ut he must +e e7ceptionally aware of them.C What #o you say a+out a character an# his +ehavior to ma:e him seem vivi# an# cre#i+le to your rea#er? &ou ma:e him loo: an# act li:e a living person. Which is to say1 you give him an appearance of life. To this en#1 you use learne# tric:s an# techniques of presentation. The :ey to effective character presentation is contrast. The worl#<s population to#ay is num+ere# in the +illions. &et each in#ivi#ual remains #ifferent. There still are no two fingerprints ali:e. Story people must +e thus #ifferentiate# also. Continuously1 from start to finish. Etherwise1 how can your rea#er :now who<s who? -ow can he #eci#e which character he li:es? Ii:ing characters is vital to your rea#er. So is #isli:ing1 an# feeling pity an# contempt an# respect an#

ten#erness an# se7ual e7citement. Why? Because without such variations of emotional reaction1 the rea#er can<t care what happens to your people. .f he #oesn<t care1 he can achieve no sense of inner tension when they<re en#angere#. .t<s to gain such tension1 remem+er1 that your rea#er rea#s. Therefore1 you must give him vivi#1 contrasting story people . . . men an# women who stri:e spar:s in him1 an# in whose moccasins he can wal:. To #ifferentiate +etween your characters1 you #o five things for each: a. Determine #ominant impression. +. $it impression to role. c. o#ify the picture. #. atch character to cast.

e. *ssign appropriate tags. What #oes each point involve? Iet<s ta:e them one at a time: a. Determine #ominant .mpression. Consi#er what happens when1 in life1 you meet a person for the first time. Ene way or another1 whether you will it or not1 he ma:es a #ominant impression on you. That is1 you fin# yourself la+eling him as a #ignifie# person1 or a cruel man1 or a se7y woman1 or a flighty girl1 or a row#y +oy1 or what have you. )recisely the same process ta:es place in fiction. So1 to shape your rea#er<s reaction to a story person1 you #eci#e what image you want sai# rea#er to receive. +. $it impression to role. Suppose you<re #irecting a play. &ou want to pic: an actor for the hero<s part. .mme#iately1 the question arises: Shoul# you cast to type or against type?

This merely means that1 in life an# in fiction1 each of us has certain preconceive# notions as to what certain categories of person are li:e . . . stereotypes1 as it were. Thus1 most of us thin: of a hero1 a lea#ing man1 as tall1 #ar:1 han#some1 physically prepossessing1 an# so on. .f1 as #irector1 . pic: an actor who matches this stereotypeBa tall1 #ar:1 han#some1 physically prepossessing manB .<m sai# to +e casting to type: .<m fitting actor to au#ience preconception. .f1 on the other han#1 . choose an actor who contra#icts this au#ience preconceptionBan ugly man as hero> a gaw:y1 aw:war# girl as heroineB.<m casting against type. .t goes on the same all #own the line. ay+e . pic: other to fit Whistler<s picture1 complete even unto roc:ing chair. Er1 perhaps . visuali@e her as a +ea#y8eye#1 gin8gu@@ling1 vitriol8tongue# ol# +itch. Chil# may +e sweet innocence personifie#> or1 she ma:e ta:e form as an evil8min#e# little monster or a ragamuffin tom+oy. )artly1 of course1 your #ecision on such issues will +e a matter of personal taste. But there are also a few o+9ective facts you shoul# ta:e into consi#eration. *ny stereotype has familiarity on its si#e. .t ma:es for rea#ing . . . #eman#s no thought1 no rea#9ustment. Though you run some minor ris: of rea#er +ore#om1 *+ie<s .rish !ose an# the strong1 silent heroes of ten thousan# TV westerns stan# on your si#e. When you contra#ict stereotype1 on the other han#1 you lose familiarity +ut you a## realism an# interest. !ea#ers :now that not all policemen are .rish1 not all gangsters gorillas1 not all girls +eautiful. They<re e7cite# +y the very novelty of a -uc: $inn or a )hilip Carey. =ow1 +ac: to story: When you write1 you<re in the position of the #irector a+ove. &ou have to #eci#e whether the #ominant impression you pic: for a given character fits or contra#icts your rea#er<s stereotype of the figure who shoul# +e assigne# such a role. .f you #eci#e to contra#ict to## stereotype1 you must +e prepare# also to #evise ways to get !ea#er to accept that contra#iction. &es1 it can +e #oneBwitness !e7 Stouts use of pon#erously o+ese =ero Wolfe as a mystery hero1 or the hypocrisy that stan#s as the tra#e8mar: of 2lmer Aantry. But thus to go against the ti#e #eman#s that you attac: the tas: with open eyes an# forthright recognition of the pro+lem. c. o#ify the picture. -ere stan#s your character1 suite# out in the armor of #ominant impression. =ow1 as: yourself a question: .s this a true picture? Consi#er the #ignifie# person. .s he really #ignifie#Bor is the appearance of #ignity merely a mas: he<s a#opte# to hi#e stupi#ity? .s the cruel man totally cruel . . . cruel to certain people only . . . or using the appearance of cruelty to hi#e the fact that he<s really so sentimental as to +e a pushover for any appeal? .s the se7y woman in fact eager to go to +e# with all comers1 or #oes she hol# se7 in such fear

that she must hi#e her panic +ehin# lew# tal: an# pretense of promiscuity? Does the flighty girl<s appearance of flightiness conceal col# calculation? .s the +oy<s row#iness a mas: for shyness? *ll of us are1 in truth1 a ma@e of inconsistencies an# contra#ictions. That<s what ma:es man interesting. Capture the para#o7 in print1 an# your characters will +e interesting also. E+versely1 the person or character who<s all +lac: or all white1 all goo# or all +a#1 all honor or all lust or all servility1 may #o very well in a +it part. But he lac:s the #epth to hol# sustaine# attention. .f you #on<t +elieve me1 try rea#ing a year<s Dic: Tracy strips at a single sitting. The more effective character possesses +oth strengths an# wea:nesses. They mo#ify the #ominant impression. The scholar1 ir:e# at a poor haircut1 reveals a human touch of vanity. The #run: turns #own a #rin: +ecause his young son is stan#ing +y. The concert pianist cancels an engagement to help care for her sister<s newest +a+y. Ef such are actual people ma#e. They #on<t want 9ust one thing. They aren<t limite# to a single feeling. Despite surface consistency1 conflicts an# contra#ictions upon occasion rage insi#e them. &our story people shoul# show the same range of inner contrast. Ene warning1 though: Dominant impression shoul# remain #ominant> ma9or mo#ifying elements limite# in num+er. Too great comple7ity +lurs the picture for your rea#er. #. atch character to cast. Er#inarily1 a story involves people1 plural. 2ach person shoul# ma:e a #ifferent #ominant impression. .f three characters all pulse #ignity at every turn1 each will #etract from the impact of the others. What you want is variety1 not sameness. e. *ssign appropriate tags. * tag is a la+el. &ou hang tags on story people so that your rea#er can tell one character from another. *n impression1 #ominant or otherwise1 is create# +y the tags a character +ears. Blac: hair is a tag. .t helps #istinguishe# the raven8tresse# girl from another who<s a +lon#e. * stutter is it tag. .t sets apart one character from others who spea: without impe#iment. Shuffling your feet is a tag. .t :eeps people from confusing you with your frien#1 who stri#es along. )essimism is a tag. .t mar:s its victim as #ifferent from the 9o:er. Tags also may translate .nner state into e7ternal action. 2ach time the +rother in *rsenic an# El# Iace shouts CChargeFC an# #ashes up his imaginary San Duan -ill1 we<re remin#e# that he lives in a private worl#. What types of tags are there? ost fall into four categories: G%H *ppearance. G'H Speech. G(H

annerism. G,H *ttitu#e. *ppearance is o+vious. Some men are tall1 others short> some han#some1 others ugly> some +lue8eye#1 some +rown1 some +lac:. Women may +e well8groome# or sloppy1 ol# or young1 with goo# posture or +a#. Speech1 too1 in#ivi#uali@es. ost college professors tal: #ifferently than most truc: #rivers. ost prostitutes have a voca+ulary miles apart from that of most preachers< wives. * Te7as #rawl is #istinct from =ew &or:ese. 2ach of us has ha+itual e7pressions1 from CWell1 now . . .C to CIoo:ing at this +usiness8wise. . . .C We fum+le1 grope1 spea: precisely or pe#antically or slangily or to the point. Eur use of language reflects +ac:groun#1 e7perience1 occupation1 social status1 psychology1 an# a host of other things annerism? Some men scowl. Some women flutter. &ou :now han#8ru++ers1 ear8lo+e tuggers1 eye8 #o#gers1 +uttonholers. The #oo#ler1 the nail8cleaner1 the pipe8puffer1 the gesticulator1 an# the scat8 squirmer all are commonplace. Tags of attitu#eBsometimes calle# traitsBmar: the ha+itually apologetic1 fearful1 irrita+le1 +ree@y1 vain1 or shy. E+sequiousness is an attitu#e1 an# so is the ha+it of comman#. -ere1 too1 are foun# the men an# women preoccupie# with a single su+9ect1 whether it +e golf or +a+ies1 +usiness or yar# or stamps or fishing. $or all preoccupations1 in their way1 represent ha+it of thought or view of life. The :ey thing to remem+er a+out tags is that their primary purpose is to #istinguish . . . to separate one character from another in your rea#er<s eyes. Therefore1 it<s important that you #on<t acci#entally confuse sai# rea#er. Don<t #uplicate tags. Ene fat man1 one lush +lon#e1 one profane engineer to a story is enough. Same way for names. Dac:1 Dohn1 an# Doe in the same scene will mi7 up rea#ers. Ii:ewise for -anson1 Thomson1 Dohnson. There are worse roles than to chec: off each initial letter an# terminal sylla+le as you use it1 9ust so no careless scanner goes astray. * secon# function of the tag is to characteri@e. To that en#1 fit la+el to personality. .f a man is timi#1 let it show in han#sha:e an# #iffi#ence an# speech. * woman who glances si#ewise at a stranger an# hitches her s:irt a+ove her :nees as she sits #own tells more a+out herself than a paragraph of author comment. *gain1 names enter. While CDohn StrongheartC an# Cless TrueloveC have gone out of style1 it still #oesn<t hurt to choose Dohn<s cognomen with an eye to its connotations of vigor an#;or masculinity. *s for Tess1 styles in girls< names change. C*gatha1<< CBeatrice1C an# <<ChrisC each ten#s to point to a #ifferent #eca#e of +irth. =ow1 three points of application to remem+er: GaH Do use enough tags.

Sometimes1 one or two tags for a given character are enough. C=ow the #oor opene#1 an# a heavy8set1 crew8cut man po:e# his hea# in. C-ey1 any+o#y here #rive a +lue Buic:?C may prove entirely a#equate for someone with only a wal:8on +it. But if a character is going to play a ma9or part1 constant reference to his wavy hair or +ulging eyes or grimy nails eventually will get to +e a +ore. Solution? ore tags. Eften1 you<ll fin# it #esira+le to use la+els of all four types for a single in#ivi#ual . . . may+e even several of each. Thus1 our man may +e +urly1 +lac:8haire#1 an# stu++le8chinne# . . . fum+le for wor#s an# spea: .n incoherent fragments . . . lic: his lips an# scratch his chest an# shift from foot to foot . . . com+ine +elligerence with a ten#ency to +eat aroun# the +ush whenever he<s as:e# a #irect question. G+H Do +ring on tags on action. C-e ha# +lue eyesC is the worst possi+le approach. CThe +lue eyes glinte# col#lyC? BetterF Eften1 the +est tric: is to try to fin# some +it of stage +usiness on which to hang the tag. Thus1 for a prou# woman: CShe stoo# there for a moment1 the violet eyes ever so stea#y. Enly the slightest trace of heightene# color showe# in the smooth chee:s. CThen1 with a quic:1 #eft movement1 she mappe# the purse shut1 turne# still without a wor# an#1 +lon#e hea# high1 left the room.C *n irasci+le character? CAet outFC he roare#1 9owls purpling.C * haughty character? CJurt +rought up the monocle1 stu#ying $rances as if she were some sort of +ug.<< *n aw:war# character? <<* strange1 sham+ling figure1 he move# to the chair. But as he reache# it1 something seeme# to happen to the too8 large feet1 an# all at once the #rin: was flying one way an# the ashtray another while he an# the chair crashe# to the floor together in a tangle of gangling arms an# legs an# ill8fitte# clothing an# shaggy hair.C Well1 you get the i#ea. GcH Do wave tags often. Don<t assume that your rea#er will remem+er a character from page to page. $ocus attention on your man<s tags1 his la+els1 whenever he appears. .f a girl has #ar:1 wavy hair1 let her run her fingers through it1 smooth it1 +rush it +ac: complain how it won<t hol# a permanent1 or the li:e1 at virtually every turn. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN So much for the five steps of character presentation. Ef course1 in applying such a gui#e1 you won<t necessarily follow the or#er in which the steps are set forth here. * character or#inarily ta:es form a little at a time1 as .<ve pointe# out1 so you #on<t want to limit yourself to any set proce#ure. But the +asic principles are those outline#1 an# if you use them as a chec:list1 wor:ing an# stu#ying an# e7perimenting as you go1 they<ll help you create realistic1 +elieva+le story people1 with the appearance of life stampe# on them.

-ow #o you give a character #irection? Though contrive# +y a writer1 a goo#Bthat is1 effectiveBcharacter shoul# appear to move un#er his own power. -e nee#s to act without ostensi+le pro##ing from his creator. To that en#1 you provi#e a pattern of rationali@ation for sai# character . . . an e7cuse for him to +ehave the way you want him to. The simplest way to #o this is to ma:e the goal a character see:s sym+oli@e1 to him1 satisfaction of personal1 private inner nee#s. To ma:e a goal sym+ol of such nee#s #eman#s that you supply your character with two elements: a. Iac:. +. Compensation. Which means? 2ach of us wants to feel a#equate to his worl# . . . in control of his situation an#1 thus1 of his #estiny. *nything that en#angers a character<s sense of control in#icates a lac: in him . . . an ina#equacy. .f my wife nags1 or my 9o:es fall flat1 or the promotions . see: go to other men1 . may eventually come to #ou+t myself. When a man +ecomes aware of such a lac:1 an# even if he can<t figure out precisely what #istur+s him1 he grows tense an# restless: unhappy1 #iscontente#1 ill at ease. To relieve this tension1 he ta:es some sort of action . . . escapes from the nagging wife in wor:1 a+an#ons humor for +oo:s1 eases the sting of #isappointment at failure to get ahea# +y ta:ing refuge in gossip or sullenness or ho++ies. Defeate#1 emotionally spea:ing1 he su+stitutes one :in# of +ehavior for another1 in or#er to achieve a private victory. -e pays for what he lac:s1 his ina#equacies1 with con#uct #esigne# to ma:e up for them. *s a psychologist woul# phrase it1 he compensates for his #eficiencies. &our character<s nee# to control #estiny1 to feel a#equate to each #eveloping situation1 is what gives him his strength1 his #rive1 his motive force: in a wor#1 his #irection. -is goal1 in turn1 reflects that #irection. .f he can attain it1 he feels1 his sense of ina#equacy will vanish1 never to return. .n other wor#s1 to your character1 goal is a sym+ol of fulfillment. To you1 as his creator1 it<s the ultimate pro#uct of lac: plus compensation . . . the o+9ectifie#1 finely8 focuse# essence of his inner nee#s. So much for the general pattern. .t constitutes a perfectly respecta+le1 if limite#1 theory of personality. *n# where the psychiatrist frequently must #eal with people who stu++ornly refuse to fit into his #iagnostic rule8+oo:1 you can ma:e your character +ehave as if your theory were well8nigh a+solute.

$urther1 you stan# free to #eviate at will. BWhich you<ll #o1 have no #ou+t1 as you gain self8 confi#ence1 insight1 an# e7perience. .n the interim1 this approach provi#es you with a +asic structureBa s:eletal hypothesis to wor: from while you learn the ropes. =ow1 let<s consi#er each factor in more #etail. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN *ny feeling of ina#equacy1 it shoul# +e o+vious1 is an in#ivi#ual matter. The stimulus or situation that creates a sense of lac: in one man may leave another utterly untouche#. .n the same way1 there are as many ways to compensate as there are human +eings. This is +ecause a personBor a characterBis primarily a point of view. -is attitu#es are the #ynamic aspects of his +eing. The #irection he ta:es an# the roa# he travels #epen# on them. They constitute his private1 su+9ective1 in#ivi#ual mo#e of a#9ustment. They<re the reason one man runs from the threat of violence1 an# another tries to tal: his way out1 an# a thir# reaches for the nearest clu+. * point of view is the sum of how a character sees an# reacts to: G%H -imself. G'H -is story plight. G(H -is worl# an# life in general. To esta+lish a character<s point of view1 you first must provi#e a +ac:groun# that will logically evo:e it. uch of that +ac:groun# may never get #own on paper. uch of what #oes get #own will +e for your eyes alone. &our rea#er nee#n<t :now it. But if it #oesn<t e7istBif you yourself haven<t thought it throughBthen count on it1 the #ay will surely come when your character won<t +ehave the way you want him to. Er1 if he #oes1 his reactions will prove so wil#ly inconsistent an# out of character as to shatter the picture of him that you<ve trie# so har# to +uil#. So1 you give your character a history. Because Character learns +y e7perience1 even as you an# .1 his patterns of thought an# feeling an# +ehavior will +e #istille# from the totality of his past lac:s an# compensations. 2ach successful or unsuccessful attac: upon a pro+lem shapes an# mol#s his way of #ealing with new crises. So #oes each failure1 each frustration . . . each effort1 each hurt1 each false start1 each with#rawal.

To create a character<s +ac:groun#1 you can #o worse than to start with a survey of his areas of uniqueness. Specifically1 consi#er what he1 as an in#ivi#ual1 has to wor: with1 in terms of: GaH Bo#y. G+H 2nvironment. GcH 27perience. G#H .#eas. Ta:e +o#y. * woman is #ifferent from a man. The fact of that #ifference1 in our society1 may ma:e her feel frustrate#1 ina#equate1 inferior . . . #eprive# of opportunities that shoul# rightfully +e hers. .n her min#1 at least1 +ecause of her se71 a lac: e7ists that ten#s to strip her of control over her own #estiny. * small man1 in turn1 may +e intensely1 +itterly aware that he lac:s the physical strength of his larger rival. *n ugly girl reacts #ifferently than one secure in +eauty. * clumsy +oy envies his +rother<s +etter coor#ination. The +al# hea#1 the +ig nose1 the withere# han#1 the crosse# eye1 the slow wit1 the stiff :nee1 the wea: heart1 the ulcerBall are notorious for their effect on the person whom they afflict> all may constitute lac:s that shape the attitu#es an# patterns of their hosts. =or nee# any such a## up to a han#icap +y o+9ective stan#ar#s. .t<s not the physical fact that counts> +ut1 rather1 the way the in#ivi#ual views it. =o one else may notice the #roope# li#1 the sagging stomach1 the minor #eafness. But if you resent it1 it may color your whole approach to others. The slight frec:ling that charms a girl<s frien#s still may grow in her min# to sheer #isfigurement. 2nvironment? The slum chil# an# the country +oy aren<t the same. =either are the resi#ent of the sleepy college town an# the =ew &or:er. 2ast an# West each mol#s its people. So #o aine an# ississippi. Wilshire Boulevar# may loom +roa# an# #eep as the Aran# Canyon to an aspiring actor who lives two +loc:s on the wrong si#e. Aopher )rairie +ree#s re+ellion an# resentment in the nonconformist. The girl at home on Chicago<s !ush Street fin#s she feels uncomforta+le an# ill at ease when1 9er:e# out of conte7t1 she<s force# to live in Jeo:u:. The +oy from )ainte# )ost has trou+le a#9usting to Areenwich Village. The Iouisiana Ca9un or the West Virginia mountaineer may not fit into life at an army post. 27perience #ifferentiates factory han# from cowman1 preacher from pe##ler. Iac: of it may petrify the virgin on her we##ing night1 or panic the new recruit un#er fire for the first time. The man perfectly at home at a +anquet can feel hi#eously out of place in a cheap +ar . . . an# so can the waitress who now enters the Wal#orf #ining room as guest. .t<s the same with i#eas. *mong ol# frien#s1 . may #o well. But a gli+ly contemptuous son1 fresh home from college1 ma:es me feel ina#equate an# inferior. Son1 in turn1 may writhe in helpless fury when a

Communist traine# at the Ienin .nstitute e7poses him as a +a+e in arms politically. The +oy who<s lost his religious faith feels acutely uncomforta+le an# aware of #ifference un#er the accusing eyes of his #evout family. *n# so #oes the woman who thought her taste impecca+le until1 to#ay1 a visitor laughe# at the ta+le setting. =ee#less to say1 all these analytical entities ten#1 in life1 to overlap. 2ach of us is a compoun#ing of comple7ities. =o one can say for sure that a man is the way he is primarily +ecause he was +orn with a tongue8tie that minor surgery correcte#1 or grew up on a Arosse )ointe $arms estate1 or nearly #rowne# at nine when a sail+oat overturne#1 or went from ichigan to -arvar# Iaw School1 or serve# as a naval officer +efore he too: an e7ecutive post with Chrysler Corporation1 or marrie# a girl from Ia:e $orest an# ha# two chil#ren +y her1 or chose to espouse the Democratic cause in a #istrict soli#ly !epu+lican. But a## them all together1 an# you have a personality that<s in#ivi#ual an# unique. 2ach factor colors our man<s feelings1 his thin:ing1 his +ehavior. Jnow him in terms of those factors1 an# #espite all surface similarities he stan#s out in mar:e# contrast to other men. -e is1 in +rief1 a character you can wor: with in a story. *n# that<s why it<s so well worth your while1 in +uil#ing characters1 to survey each person<s areas of uniqueness. $rom them1 you can pro9ect some of the secret fears an# lac:s an# feelings of ina#equacy that #rive your man or woman1 an# thus #etermine in#ivi#ual #irection an# ma:e each appear to move in#epen#ently1 un#er his or her own steam. Beyon# this1 it also helps if you<ll ta:e time to consi#er your character<s involvements in: GaH Iove. G+H Wor:. GcH Society. -ere1 the issue is simple: an #oesn<t e7ist in a vacuum. * character without relationships to his fellow men is +oun# to prove flat as a car#+oar# cutout. Ta:e love. -ow #oes your man feel a+out women? Why? .s he marrie#? .f not1 why not? .f so1 #oes he love his wife? *s much now as when they marrie#? 2ven more? *n# again1 if not1 why not? .n the same way1 how #oes a chil# feel a+out his parents? -is +rothers an# sisters? -is playmates? -is neigh+ors? -is teachers? -ow #o these e7periences an# reasons color an# shape his attitu#es? Wor:1 in our society1 offers equal opportunities for stu#y. $ailure to ta:e it into account can +ring into +eing such ri#iculous figures as the cow+oy who always has cash to hang aroun# the town saloon1 yet never is o+serve# actually punching cattle.

$urther1 employer an# employee view the worl# from separate angles. Ban:er an# grocer an# farmer an# office manager operate in #ifferent frames of reference. "nion an# non8union painter approach their pro+lems in mar:e# contrast. The attitu#es of lawyer an# engineer are miles apart. Society? Whom #oes your character associate with1 an# why? *re his close frien#s on a level with him Bsocially1 e#ucationally1 in terms of income? .f not1 why not? Does he rela7 alone or in company? *re his companions chosen from the sta+le or unsta+le1 the home+oun# or the rovers1 the +eatni:s or the su+ur+anites? *gain1 such information is of little value per se. .t offers you no magic :ey to character #ynamics. What it #oes provi#e is an a##itional metho#1 more or less systematic1 of trac:ing #own possi+le areas of ina#equacy an# lac:. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN =ow1 what a+out compensation? Compensation1 as state# earlier1 is what your character su+stitutes for what he hasn<t got . . . the price he pays to ma:e up for his lac:s1 the +ehavior with which he attempts to ease the sting engen#ere# +y feelings of ina#equacy. Compensation +rea:s #own into two +asic reaction8patterns: G%H $ight. G'H $light. Thus1 if . feel sufficiently at a loss a+out something1 . may attempt to counter+alance this feeling +y striving towar# some specific goal an#;or way of life which1 to me1 sym+oli@es superiority. Er1 overwhelme# +y my own frustrations an# sense of wea:ness1 . may with#raw from the +attle an# try to preserve my ego from further +ruises +y refusing to strive1 on one e7cuse or another . . . #enying the worth striving in general1 or focusing on a si#e issue1 or #eveloping physical or psychological symptoms which prevent my ta:ing action. The fighter is a familiar figure. We see him #aily in the ninety8seven8poun# wea:ling who +ecomes a Charles *tlas . . . the small man who ma:es up for his si@e +y #eveloping such #rive an# am+ition that he amasses a fortune . . . the homely woman who achieves the charm of an 2leanor !oosevelt . . . the stutterer who rises to the heights of a Demosthenes. Those who resort to flight are with us too. -ere<s the woman who forgets her fa#ing +eauty in a +ottle . . . the +oy who thwarts successful parents< pressure +y failing in school or on the 9o+ . . . the girl1 secretly frightene# +y the sheer enormity of life1 who plays it so cool as to re9ect all emotional involvement . . . the man who mas:s present failure with tales of college foot+all glory . . . the hypochon#riac female1 fearful of pain an# responsi+ility ali:e1 who claims her heart<s too wea: for her ever to +ear chil#ren . . . the hoo#lum whose sense of inferiority is so #eep8seate# that he lives outsi#e the law . . . the coe# who ma:es up for an unsatisfactory love8life with continual overeating.

&our character1 too1 forever see:s release from his frustrations. Ii:e other men1 he fin#s that release in either fight or flight. -ow he achieves it shoul# +e part of the past history you assign him. .f he<s a fighter1 he sei@es upon some specific thing1 some act1 the performance of which will1 he +elieves1 give him the sense of fulfillment that he see:s. .n flight<s more his ha+it1 he<ll #o#ge the issueB#uc: responsi+ility or involvement1 chase women1 a+an#on am+ition1 go in for sweet lemons or sour grapes. Er may+e1 li:e many of us1 he<ll com+ine the two: sometimes fighting1 sometimes running1 in accor# with circumstance an# his own impulse. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN Iac: plus compensation equals rationali@ation of +ehavior equals a character who appears to move un#er his own power. Create your story people on that +asis. 27perience an# e7perimentation will #o the rest. *s for specifics1 here are a few miscellaneous points to +ear in min#: G%H )ay attention to self8image. Consciously or otherwise1 each of us sees himself in a particular lightBas attractive or honest or #ashing or ugly or what have you. Then1 we react as if this su+9ective image were an accurate an# o+9ective picture1 an# attempt to live up to the role in which we<ve cast ourselves. When you write1 you nee# to ta:e into account this self8concept your character has +uilt up. .f 2# consi#ers himself first of all a gentleman1 an# if his i#ea of gentlemanliness preclu#es lou# or +oisterous +ehavior1 then hol# his activities within the limits of that image. Eften1 the image itself is false1 of course. * woman may still thin: of herself as the <cute< girl she was twenty years ago. * chil# tries to live up to a#ult comments that he<s a Clittle #evilC instea# of a normally mischievous +oy. !egar#less1 the image remains important. The psychic #ivi#en#s the woman<s self8concept originally pai# her may have +een so high that now she can<t +rea: the chains of her own con#itioning. * loosely tosse#8off la+el can +light a chil# so +a#ly that it casts a sha#ow across reality. Consequently1 whether a character<s min#8picture +e true or false1 you can<t affor# to ignore the image. G'H Jeep each character consistent. -a+its1 William Dames once sai#1 ten# to +ecome ha+itual. Characters< reaction patterns operate on the ha+it level. The volatile girl stays volatile1 the stoli# man stoli#. Everreaction or un#erreaction or irrational reaction often amount to a way of life for the in#ivi#ual concerne#. !ecognition of this fact is your most useful tool where :eeping a character consistentBan# thus +elieva+leBis the issue.

G(H

a:e +ehavior tell the story.

.n life1 you 9u#ge a man more +y what he #oes than what he says. -is powers of rationali@ation may ma:e his self8image sheer #elusionBwitness the familiar figure of the Cgreat loverC who<s seen +y the girls in his office as a filthy8min#e#1 foul8mouthe#1 clammy8han#e# ol# lecher. Therefore1 +e sparing of psychological analysis an# con#ucte# tours of the unconscious. .mplication can +e gol#en. Iet your rea#er #raw his own conclusions as to the forces at wor: within your story people. $or your own part1 most of the time1 your +est +et is to show your man1 in characteristic action1 an# let it go at that. G,H De#uce cause from effect. This is a plea that you not conceive characters +y the num+ers. !ather1 play +y ear wherever possi+le1 especially when you first start wor: on a story. Then1 later1 as: yourself why 2ugene tore up the fifty8#ollar +ill1 or Jitty +egge# Bla:e to ta:e her +ac:. -ypothesi@ing from possi+le lac:s an# compensations1 you may come forth with startlingBan# effectiveBinsights. G/H .ntegrate inner an# outer man. Tags an# impressions mirror #ynamics. .f what<s going on insi#e them. arie is punctilious or *n#y sullen1 it says a great #eal a+out

Therefore1 match e7ternal +ehavior to #ynamics1 an# vice versa. =e#<s fussiness a+out perfect grooming may reflect #ou+ts of inner worth. Iin#a<s secret guilts an# hostilities may reach the surface in a ten#ency to ta:e more than her share of +lame. "n#erstan#1 you #on<t nee# to tal: a+out or e7plain such. But you<ll write +etter if you yourself have a pretty goo# i#ea of the motive forces +ehin# everything each character #oes. G0H Strive for contrast. .nsi#e your characters as well as out1 your rea#er li:es variety. So1 no two story people shoul# have inner #rives that match precisely. .f *le7 cringes over his lac: of e#ucation1 let -owar# #raw #irection from loss of a mother who ran off when he was only ten. Does Iaura +uil# her ego +y sleeping aroun#? Then it might prove effective contrast if Vivian ta:es pri#e in her competence at wor:. G3H Don<t over+uil#. 2ven in a novel1 there<ll +e only half8a8#o@en people you or your rea#er nee# to :now in #epth. Where the rest are concerne#1 type casting an# surface freshness via tags will #o the 9o+ nicely. Which is to say1 you waste time an# energy when you over8+uil#. Beware the temptation to ma:e every spear8+earer a ma9or pro9ect. ore li:ely than not1 it<s 9ust an unconscious e7cuse to avoi# getting on with the story. G4H Iearn your craft. =o writer can ever :now too much a+out people.

uch of this :nowle#ge can +e gaine# from thought an# careful o+servation. -owever1 a little preliminary rea#ing may help to orient you to the tas:. Two simply written +oo:s that will a## to your insight are "n#erstan#ing Ether )eople1 +y Stuart )almer1 an# The .mportance of $eeling .nferior1 +y arie Beynon !ay. Both are availa+le in paper+ac:. .n a##ition1 if your li+rary has a copy1 you shoul# chec: out o#ern Clinical )sychiatry1 +y *rthur ). =oyes. Since it<s a me#ical te7t1 an# fairly heavy going1 .<# suggest that you rea# 9ust Chapter ,: << ental echanisms an# Their $unctions.<< .t #escri+es +riefly the various ways in which people try to a#9ust to pro+lem situations1 an# the things you<ll learn are well worth whatever effort you e7pen#. -ow #o you ma:e a character fascinate your rea#er? When a character e7cites an# fascinates a rea#er1 sai# rea#er wants to rea# a+out him . . . e7perience with him. Er1 as an e#itor woul# phrase it1 the rea#er i#entifies with Dac: or Susie. .f your characters #on<t thus intrigue rea#ers1 your stories won<t sell. Therefore1 it<s worth your while to learn how to in9ect the elements that e7cite an# fascinate1 9ust in case they fail to #evelop spontaneously as you characteri@e +y ear. -ow #o you persua#e your rea#er to i#entify? &ou shac:le him to the character with chains of envy. That is1 you ma:e the character someone who #oes what your rea#er woul# li:e to #o1 yet can<t. &ou esta+lish him as the :in# of person !ea#er woul# li:e to +e li:e . . . a figure to envy. $urther1 an# no matter what you may have hear# to the contrary1 !ea#er i#entifies with every truly successful character1 not 9ust one per story. Why? Because envy :nows no limits. &ou may envy one man his wealth1 another his poise1 a thir# his success with women. .n one way or another1 in one #egree or another1 consciously or unconsciously1 an# whether you a#mit it or not1 you

envy a host of other writers their achievements. The fact that you focus on one in particular at a given moment #oesn<t mean that you can<t feel 9ust as strongly a+out another1 instants later. What is envy? We+ster<s Collegiate Dictionary spea:ing: CTo envy is to +e #iscontente# at another<s possessing what one woul# li:e for oneself.C What #o e7citing1 fascinating1 successful story people possess that your rea#er woul# li:e to have? Courage. Courage to #o what? Courage to attempt to control reality. What is reality? !eality is limitations. .t<s law1 natural or man8ma#e . . . physical1 statutory1 psychological. What opposes reality? .magination. $antasy. *ll the things that man conceives of1 yet cannot or #are not #o. Specifically? The impossi+le. The unattaina+le. The for+i##en. The #isastrous. This isn<t to say your character must achieve such things1 of course. The issue is courage1 not victory. Conflict is what counts: man<s struggle against the worl# an# all the overwhelming o##s it mounts against him. The e7citing character is the one who challenges fate an# attempts to #ominate reality1 #espite all common sense an# logic. =ow . :now this #oesn<t soun# li:e what e#itors mean when they tal: a+out i#entification. The wor# is use# so loosely that it<s +ecome a sort of meaningless literary catchall1 into which people throw anything an# everything for which they lac: a proper pigeonhole. *ctually1 i#entification is a speciali@e# psychological term1 variously #efine#: C* metho# of tension re#uction through the achievements of other persons or groups or in some cases through the merit of inanimate o+9ects.C C* process +y which an in#ivi#ual imagines himself +ehaving as if he were another person.C C* mental mechanism +y which an in#ivi#ual en#eavors to pattern himself after another.<< When an e#itor uses the wor#1 what he really means isBan# here we complete the circleBthat a particular character e7cites an#;or fascinates him to the point that he lives through the story with that

character1 enthusiastically. Because 2#itor fails to recogni@e the true issues1 he #evelops a series of private rationali@ations as to what constitutes i#entification. These fall into three ma9or categories: a. -e #eci#es that you i#entify with the recogni@a+le character. What ma:es a character recogni@a+le? The familiar. That is1 the character chews to+acco or li:es cucum+ers or spen#s all his spare time fishing or ta:es great pains with his #ress. *ll this is goo#. *s pointe# out earlier1 when we #ealt with techniques of character presentation1 it a##s reality to your story people. But it has little to #o with i#entification as such. +. -e claims that you i#entify with the li:a+le character. What ma:es a character li:a+le? The similar. Er1 to put it even more simply1 the li:a+le person is someone who agrees with us. .f you<re a Baptist #eacon1 you<ll have #ifficulty li:ing a character who<s an outspo:en atheist. .f you<re a staunch !epu+lican1 you pro+a+ly won<t li:e a Communist character. *n# while this has some small +earing on i#entification1 it still isn<t the heart of the matter. c. -e #eci#es that you i#entify with the interesting character. What ma:es a character interesting? The contra#ictory. .n fiction as in life1 we ten# to ta:e the totally pre#icta+le for grante#. .f you :now in a#vance that Aoo# El# Doe always will react to trou+le with a temper tantrum1 or to goo# news with an or#er for another +eer1 you quite possi+ly may fin# him pleasant enough1 +ut you<re unli:ely to pay too much attention to him. &our interest an# attention are save# for the man who1 while consistent in his inconsistencies1 has elements of the para#o7ical in his personality that :eep you guessing. Dohn D. acDonal#<s +urly sol#ier of fortune1 Travis cAee1 is a goo# case in point. -e<s :in# an# sensitive. &et when a girl is sufficiently upset1 he may slap her face instea# of trying to console her. Why? Because he sees she<s #rawn too tight to +enefit from solace. What she nee#s is an e7cuse to +rea: loose1 to cry. The time for gentleness comes later. .s this +ehavior consistent with cAee<s character? &es. But it<s also unanticipate# an#1 at first glance1 contra#ictory. Consequently1 it sharpens interest. But though close to the target1 interest in a character won<t necessarily ma:e you i#entify with him. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN *ctually1 the factor on which i#entification rests1 an# the thing too many e#itors miss1 is a concept calle# wish8 fulfillment. What is wish8fulfillment?

Brea: it #own for yourself: * wish is a #esire. To wish is to want1 to yearn for1 to crave. $ulfillment1 in turn1 is satisfaction. To fulfill a person is to gratify entirely his #esires in a particular area.

)ut the two together1 an# you get wish8fulfillment: the satisfaction of a craving. -ow #oes this tie in with fiction1 an# i#entification? Iet<s ta:e it a step at a time1 starting from reality itself. !eality frustrates us. We cannot or #are not overstep the various laws lai# #own for us +y man1 nature1 an# practicality. $rustration1 as pointe# out earlier1 is anything +ut pleasant. Therefore1 emotionally1 we yearn for a worl# more to our li:ing. We crave to control our #estinies. &et +y an# large1 #ay to #ay1 most of us are afrai# even to try to #o so. * fictional character1 on the other han#1 :nows no such limits. -e<s free to ac:nowle#ge for+i##en impulses1 gam+le with #isaster1 challenge the impossi+le1 reach for the unattaina+le. By living through a story with such a character1 your rea#er shares these e7periences. Vicariously1 his represse# #esires come out into the open. 2motional nee#s fin# satisfaction. Without en#angering himself1 he gets to e7pan# his hori@ons . . . #o things he<# never #are attempt in life. Thus1 to a #egree1 he relieves tensions +uilt up +y life<s frustrations. *n# there stan#s the real reason you fin# a character e7citing an# fascinating: -is story activities help to satisfy some aspect of your own emotional hunger. Er1 as we put it to +egin with1 you i#entify +ecause1 unconsciously1 you envy the courage of the character who challenges worl# an# fate. To create a character who<ll fascinate your rea#er1 then1 you must give sai# character the opportunity to #isplay such

courage. To that en#1 ma:e him attempt: G%H The impossi+le. G'H The unattaina+le. G(H The for+i##en. G,H The #isastrous. The impossi+le is the stuff that #reams are ma#e of . . . pure fantasy> man<s revolt against natural law itself. When you visuali@e yourself wal:ing through walls1 or flying across the s:y without +enefit of aircraft1 or rising from the grave1 you ta:e this route. The unattaina+le lies closer to han#. -ere we confront The Cler: Who *spires to arry the Boss<s Daughter. Close +esi#e him stan# The Detective Who ust $in# the ur#erer +efore -is Belove# .s 27ecute# Tomorrow orning . . . The &oung 2ntrepreneur Who ust Translate T%661666 in Iia+ilities into T%616661666 in *ssets +y the Time the Ban: Epens . . . The *ging -ousewife Who ust Delight Daughter<s !ich $iance with Iife as She .s Iive# in &e El#e $amily -ovel. Whatever the issue1 some+o#y must reach for something that appears to +e +eyon# his grasp. The for+i##en? Deny me even a wormy green apple1 an# in my thoughts it will taste in#escri+a+ly sweet> for as any psychologist will tell you1 no nice girl woul# #ream of #oing the things that every nice girl #reams of #oing. So1 in fiction1 your minister may rea# #elighte#ly of mur#er1 your +an:er of theft. *#ultery has a tantali@ing flavor to a host of su+ur+an housewives who<# +e truly horrifie# to learn that the girl ne7t #oor ha# :isse# the mil:man. Which e7plains1 in large part1 the success of Iolita as a novel1 )lay+oy as a maga@ine. Disaster constitutes a challenge epitomi@e# in our fascination with the human fly an# the airplane8wing wal:er of the %5'6s. We thrill to the hi#eous threat of atomic war. Eur e7citement fee#s on cataclysm. The narcotics a##ict1 the racing #river1 the re+el1 the surgeon fighting #eathBall hol# us spell+oun# +ecause they flirt with calamity. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN The impossi+le1 the unattaina+le1 the for+i##en1 the #isastrous: These constitute the raw materials with which you com+ine courage1 in or#er to create story people who e7cite an# fascinate. Conversely1 you cut #eep into your chances for any +roa# success if you choose your ma9or characters from the ran:s of the wea: an# passive. =othing is #rearier than the story that centers on #ull1 apathetic people +orne #own +y trivial pro+lems1 without the strength or imaginationBthe courageBto rally an# fight +ac:. *s -owar# Browne once phrase# it1 C!ea#ers want heroes1 not victims.C 2ven a minor character acquires allure when he steps out

of his rut an# in some way #efies fate. -ere1 you have the girl who<s se7ually promiscuous. There1 the man who overe7ten#s himself financially in or#er to promote a new housing pro9ect. *nother man tries to maneuver political favors from an ol# enemy. * woman #reams that her cripple# chil# may somehow +e ma#e whole. Because the girl toys with the for+i##en1 your rea#er rea#s a+out her eagerly. an =um+er . gam+les with #isasterB again1 you have a fascinating character. *ttempting the unattaina+le1 an ' grips your au#ience. )oignancy vi+rates in the mother<s impossi+le #ream. Some of these people may play mere +it parts. But +ecause they ha@ar# so much> +ecause they face such o##s1 your rea#er fin#s himself striving with them for the moment as they challenge fate1 however casually or +riefly. .t<s entirely possi+le1 of course1 that reality will overwhelm such characters. The girl may en# up #ea# in an alley or a cheap hotel room. an %1 gam+ling so #esperately1 might lose an# 9ump out an office win#ow . . . an ' go #own into humiliating o+livion . . . the woman with the cripple# chil# fa#e to a tearful1 heart8+ro:en specter. But that<s all right too. $or the moment1 each of them playe# his role an# hel# your rea#er1 +ecause they #are# to fight against all o##s. .s this a #evice for melo#rama only? =o1 it isn<t. ac+eth is here1 an# also =elson *lgren<s an with the Aol#en *rm . . . !o+ert 2. Iee )rewitt of $rom -ere to 2ternity1 an# Walter Tevis< -ustler. There<s nothing a+out the character who #ares that isn<t true to life. &ou meet him every #ay. The #ifference +etween him an# other people is that one way or another1 in one #egree or another1 as saint or sinner1 croo: or chancellor1 he insists on trying to stan# up on his own two feet li:e a man an# control his #estiny. Which is what ma:es anyone worth writing a+out. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN What else is there to say a+out how to ma:e characters fascinate your rea#er? Three things. G%H )inpoint the emotional nee#s of your specific rea#er group. When an e#itor tells you that his teen8age pu+lic has trou+le i#entifying with your eighty8year8ol# heroine1 he means that this particular coterie of rea#ers fin#s little a+out sai# heroine to envy. -er situation is so remote from theirs that1 courageous or not1 she isn<t a person they<# li:e to +e li:e. Which is to say1 at least one character in any story shoul# in some way show an# satisfy nee#s that parallel those of your rea#er. *n# the more specifically this is #one1 the +etter. Such a character nee#n<t necessarily +e li:e your rea#er on the surface1 un#erstan#. Differences in age an# se7 an# +ac:groun# can1 to some #egree1 +e overcome. &ou #on<t even have to cast your man as a #ominant figure in the story.

But it<s well8nigh essential that he possess an# satisfy specific rea#er emotional cravings. The general is not enough. Why? Because emotional response isn<t something you1 the writer1 can impose. The hunger is there first1 always1 #eep insi#e the rea#er. The focus of that hunger varies from rea#er to rea#er an# group to group. Wish8fulfillment1 control of #estiny1 may center on curiosity a+out an# #esire for se7ual e7perience1 in an a#olescent +oy. .n his father1 the issue perhaps is escape from a #ra+ worl# of routine wor:. Ioss of status an# fear of #eath quite possi+ly preoccupy his gran#mother. -is mother longs for an en# to poverty . . . some touch of grace an# +eauty> glamour. To appeal to a given mem+er of this family1 your story must provi#e some character who challenges fate1 an# who #oes so in an area an# manner that fits the specific rea#er<s special nee#s. .n other wor#s1 to +ring a rea#er<s emotional hunger to the surface1 you must give him a character who reflects an# pro9ects it. Ta:e ic:ey Spillane<s i:e -ammer1 with his violence an# a+use of women. *s a character1 he<# prove a failure if the men who rea# a+out him #i#n<t alrea#y unconsciously feel pent8up aggression an# hateBmuch of it focuse# on frustrations create# +y the females in their lives. .n the same way1 a young girl may yearn for affection1 romantic love. So1 you offer her some character who #emonstrates the power to evo:e such. The mee:1 the re+ellious1 the lonely1 the with#rawn1 the fanciful1 the cautious1 the power8hungryBall have their private patterns. *n# each searches fiction for the character whom he<# li:e to +e li:e1 in some specific way or other. Because this is so1 there can +e no true universality of appeal in fiction. The story or the character who fascinates everyone is a myth an# non8e7istent. The writer must pic: a target au#ience an# shoot for it Bwith a rifle1 not a shotgun. Sir *rthur Conan Doyle ha# the right i#ea when he preface# his famous a#venture novel The Iost Worl# with this verse: . have wrought my simple plan .f . +ring one hour of 9oy To the +oy who<s half a man1 Er the man who<s half a +oy. But even when you fin# the character or characters who spar: the nee#s of your particular rea#er group1 often there are other matters that you must consi#erBfeelings of guilt1 for instance. These spring from the very pleasure the rea#er #erives from a character<s violation of ta+oos. To ease these qualms1 you may have to insert punishment for mis#ee#s1 or provi#e your hero with a private morality that 9ustifies #eviation from esta+lishe# co#es. -ow #o you #eci#e 9ust what to #o1 in the face of such a host of pro+lems? &ou stu#y your rea#er group. Iearn to un#erstan# its mem+ers1 collectively an# as in#ivi#uals. Tal:

with them face to face1 every chance you getBnot as a writer1 +ut as a casual acquaintance. Search out their interests1 their pro+lems1 their favorite topics1 their enthusiasms1 their feelings. Then1 #esign characters to fit these rea#ers< nee#s. Does all this soun# #ifficult? .t is. But it also can proveBpar#on the wor#Bfascinating1 to the writer eager to achieve control of his own #estiny. G'H Don<t try to ma:e virtue ta:e the place of courage. *#mira+le qualities are fine as su+or#inate characteri@ing elements. But fascination is +orn of valor1 not virtue. &ou may loathe -arry Dia#em1 in Cal#er Willingham<s 2ternal $ire. )ro+a+ly you #espise his goals. But he continues to fascinate1 even if with horror1 simply +ecause he moves ahea# so ruthlessly in his #efiance of all that most of us hol# #ear. * saintly character1 on the other han#1 may fall ever so flatBnot +ecause he<s saintly1 +ut +ecause he #oesn<t1 in a##ition1 challenge fate. G(H -ave faith in your own 9u#gment. Ene of the most successful characters . ever create# was hero of a story written on assignment an# pai# for in a#vance. The e#itor1 previous purchaser of at least a quarter8million wor#s of copy from me1 +ounce# the yarn +ecause1 he sai#1 no rea#er coul# i#entify with my man. Iater1 the story was pu+lishe# in another maga@ine1 an# as a paper+ac: +y *merican1 British1 an# Aerman houses. The lesson here is as state# a+ove: -ave faith in your own 9u#gment. E+versely1 #on<t confuse the e#itor with Ao#. 2#itors use# to say that *merican rea#ers coul#n<t i#entify with oriental characters. BThen1 )earl Buc: came along with The Aoo# 2arth. They also claime# that a character ha# to +e physically attractive. B2nter Clarence Bu#ington Jellan# with Scattergoo# Baines.

They insiste# that characters to any #egree amoral or immoral woul# outrage the pu+lic. BChec: your corner newsstan# on this point. 2#itors have their pre9u#ices an# preconceptions1 even as you an# .. But you #on<t have to accept their i#eas as gospel. .f a character fascinates you1 then ta:e it for grante# that someone else also may +e intrigue#1 regar#less of any rules a given mar:et lays #own. *fter all1 there<s always another e#itor aroun# the cornerF

-ow #o you fit a character to the role he has to play? Certain people perform such vital functions in a story that often they #etermine its success or failure. Ethers1 though perhaps less important1 offer special pro+lems. Such characters rate a little e7tra attention1 so that you<ll :now how to ma:e them effective in their roles. These characters are: a. The hero. +. The villain. c. The heroine. #. The sensitive character. e. The character8in8#epth. =e7t question: -ow #o you #eal with each? a. The hero. -ere1 we<ll limit ourselves to two points only.

G%H Do have an in#ivi#ual hero. ust a hero +e an in#ivi#ual? Can<t <<heC +e a group? Both in theory an# practice1 the i#ea<s wea:. Why? Because a group is ma#e up of in#ivi#ual people1 an# #anger is su+9ective. The thing that constitutes a menace to me may prove of little concern to you. Ioss of a particular girl or 9o+ or cherishe# o+9ect #evastates -ero *1 perhaps1 only to +e #ismisse# with a shrug of the shoul#ers +y -ero B. Thus1 even though thousan#s or millions of people are affecte#Bas +y a war1 a floo#1 a #epressionB your story +ecomes meaningful only as you @ero in on in#ivi#uals. The fact that a regiment marches into +attle #oesn<t change the fact that each sol#ier will react in his own intimately personal fashion. -is private involvements1 his past con#itionings1 his aspirations for the futureBthese are what count> for it<s through them that you focus the emotional responses of your rea#er. -e nee#s someone to cheer for. The ol# -ollywoo# attac:1 CWhich is our +all team?C remains vali# in the vast ma9ority of cases. Aive your hero associates1 therefore1 if you will. But #on<t so su+merge him among them that he gets lost. -e must remain the center of attention an# of interest. $or without a clear an# o+vious hero1 a story is lia+le to en# up a pasticheBa patchwor: of anec#otes an# character s:etches1 intriguing as an e7periment1 +ut so #iffuse as to +e of #ou+tful appeal to most rea#ers. G'H Don<t let your hero resign from the story. Where your hero<s concerne#1 the +ig pro+lem is to :eep him heroic. * hero<s primary characteristic is in#omita+ility. -e has a goal he see:s to attain or a way of life he wants to retain. 2ven if he changes #irection somewhat along the way1 the roa# he follows is his very own. -e stic:s to his guns1 no matter what. $or in the wor#s of !o+ert A. .ngersoll1 CWhen the will #efies fear1 when #uty throws the gauntlet #own to fate1 when honor scorns to compromise with #eathBthis is heroism.C When a hero fails you1 or#inarily it<s +ecause your rea#er comes to reali@e that your man is1 or shoul# +e1 willing to a+an#on the fight an# quit the story1 even though you as writer continue to hol# him on stage. Solution? Aive -ero strong motivation1 +oth outsi#e an# in. That is1 let circumstance or the villain trap him so that he can<t run. Then1 in a##ition1 ma:e what<s at sta:e sym+olic of -ero<s whole pattern of +eing1 his style of life. $or if the internal issue is vital enough1 he<s left with no choice +ut to fight on1 regar#less of the o##s against him1 or forfeit his status as a man. 27hi+it *: -eroine is in #ire peril. .f -ero +ac:s #own1 she<ll #ie for sure.

That<s e7ternal motivation. .n a##ition1 -eroine has often e7presse# her #ou+t that -ero is capa+le of really loving anyone. -e :nows that if he a+an#ons her to her fate1 he<ll automatically prove her right an# thus #amn himself forever in his own eyes. That<s internal motivation. )ut the two together1 an# you create a character who<ll fight1 fight1 fight. *t the same time1 #on<t confuse in#omita+ility an# i#iocy. *s a writer1 you<re suppose# to +e a+le to thin: realistically an# #evise +elieva+le situations. There<s no virtue in the totally incre#i+le hero who stan#s in the mi##le of ain Street1 waiting for si7 sinister gunmen to shoot him #own. *nyone in his right min# woul# run for cover li:e a scare# ra++it1 an# your rea#er :nows it. So1 #o have an in#ivi#ual hero1 an# #on<t let him resign. =or is there any rule that says you can<t use all other characteri@ing tric:s an# techniques in or#er to help sai# hero come to life. +. The villain. )sychologically1 a story<s villain is ever so important. -e constitutes a stranger figureBa scapegoat on whom your rea#er may concentrate unconscious impulses to hostility an# aggression. &our rea#er nee#s such a scapegoat. $or through him1 !ea#er releases feelings that conscience for+i#s him to purge in real life. $urther1 an# #espite sociological theori@ing to the contrary1 villains #o e7ist. * man with veste# interestsBwhether these +e economic1 political1 romantic1 or otherwiseBcan #efen# sai# interests ruthlessly. .f you #on<t +elieve me1 try telling your imme#iate superior that you<re out to get his 9o+. To #evelop a villain properly1 you nee# to un#erstan# three things: G%H The villain<s role. G'H The villain<s characteristics. G(H -ow to ma:e a villain effective. !ole8wise1 the strength of the villain is the strength of your story. Why? Because a villain is the personification of the #anger that threatens your hero. .f the #angerBthat is1 the villainBis wea:1 then your story<s +oun# to +e wea: also.

Why shoul# #anger +e personifie#? $or two reasons: GaH )ersonification concentrates the #anger #own to a single source an# thus gives unity to a story. G+H The personal villain can react to your hero<s efforts an#1 through continuing attac:s1 sharpen an# intensify conflict.

The primary characteristics of the villain1 in turn1 is ruthlessness. Which means? The villain is #etermine# to have his own way1 without regar# to other people<s nee#s> an# he<s uncompromising in this #etermination. ust a villain +e an unattractive person? $ar from it. * villain may very well +e utterly charming. Aiven half a chance1 he may quite possi+ly steal your story. -is villainy lies in the fact that1 where one specific issue is concerne#1 he also is utterly ruthless. * sweet an# loving mother1 #etermine# to prevent a #aughter<s marriage to a man sai# mother #eems unsuita+le> a +rother set on forcing his aging sister to give up her apartment an# come live with him1 so that he can loo: after her properly> a wife pushing her hus+an# into am+ition an# a#vancement even though he much prefers his present rutBthese are villains1 every +it as much as the mur#erer1 the traitor1 the rapist1 the thief. .t follows that the villain is unli:ely to +e ruthless in everything. -is compulsion to control often may +e limite# to a single area or situation. The reason this is so is +ecause the villain is a human +eing li:e any other. Consequently1 he<s the pro#uct of his own +ac:groun# an# lac:s an# compensations. When his self8conceptBas conscientious mother1 as solicitous +rother1 as a#oring wifeBis en#angere#1 he acts to protect it> an# circumstance forces relentlessness upon him. =or #oes this necessarily ma:e him evil. .n his own eyes he<s completely 9ustifie# . . . as all of us 9ustify ourselves in our own rigi#ities of +ehavior. 2ach of us1 in some area or other1 is a villain. -ow #o you ma:e sure your villain will prove effective? GaH &ou lay out a private plan of action for himBa <<villain<s plot1C so8calle#1 that sets him in continuing opposition to the hero. G+H &ou thin: him through as a person1 so that he<ll fight uncompromisingly to the +itter en#. Beyon# the o+vious steps you<ll ta:e to #o this1 the central factor is1 in large measure1 timing. Er#inarily1 #anger has alrea#y confronte# the villain +efore the story starts. -is goals1 his self8concept1 have +een threatene#.

-e<s ma#e his #ecision as to how to #eal with that threat. =ow1 he carries out sai# #ecision. !uthlessly. -ow #oes that ma:e him a villain? The course of action he<s chosen en#angers your hero> an# this is the hero<s story. .sn<t the hero ruthless also1 in fighting +ac:? -e may +ecome so1 as story pressures mount. But +ecause we can see an# feel those pressures with him1 he remains heroic in our eyes. $urther1 when you finally reach your story<s clima71 you ma:e the hero #emonstrate that he #eserves to win1 in terms of a#herence to principle1 selflessness1 an# sacrificial #ecision. BWhich same also helps to convince !ea#er that any prior mis#ee#s on -ero<s part are inconsequential an# 9ustifie#. .sn<t it possi+le to have a satisfactory story without a personal villain? Ef course it is. *ny num+er of such stories have +een written1 a+out heroes striving against nature or social forces or a hostile universe. &our hero<s foe may +e a mountain1 or time1 or in9ustice1 or the emptiness of outer space1 or a machine that won<t wor:1 or life itself. So? Er#inarily1 these stories are a goo# #eal har#er to write than are those in which the villain is human. .n fact1 an# +ecause of this very pro+lem1 a writer frequently personifies such an impersonal foe as if it were a human +eing. That is1 he conceives of or represents it as a person> gives it human attri+utes. -ow #o you give an impersonal o+9ect or force human attri+utes? &ou write in such a manner as to give the impression that the o+9ect or force +ehaves as if it were a human +eing1 with implie# or e7plicit human feelings1 human motivations. .t<s an easy tric:1 an# one that +rings to life ro+ots sa# ghosts1 mountains an# rivers1 go#s an# animals1 houses an# towns1 torpe#oes an# Tiger tan:sBall the thousan#s of inanimate an# su+human an# superhuman entities that have playe# roles in fiction #own through the years.

But +e your villain human or inanimate1 his gui#ing principles remain the same: ruthlessness1 an# uncompromising #etermination. c. The heroine. -ow #o you create a heroine who comes alive? G%H &ou ma:e her human. G'H &ou #evelop her in conflict> that is1 give her goals an# opposition. * heroine<s prime characteristic is #esira+ility. -er main function in a story is to serve as part of the hero<s rewar# for +eing in#omita+le. She<s not always essential. any stories without female characters have +een written. But most of to#ay<s fiction #oes inclu#e her. The main pro+lem arising where the heroine is concerne# is to prevent her #eteriorating into a +eautiful nonentity. Solution: Aive her #irection in her own right. villain. a:e her 9ust as much a #ynamic character as hero or

To that en#1 let the heroine have her own i#eas as to the sort of worl# in which she wants to live . . . a self8concept which she see:s to maintain1 compoun#e# of lac:s an# compensations an# reactions to e7ternal pressures. Enly as you permit her to choose her own path an# to fight to achieve or maintain her in#epen#ence will she come alive. Enly as you #evelop her in conflict will she play an integral part in your story. *n# though shell +e har#er to han#le when #evelope# thus1 she<ll rewar# you for your efforts +y #oing her part to help intrigue an# hol# your rea#er. #. The sensitive character. The particularly sensitive or perceptive character #oesn<t appear in every story1 +y any means. But when he #oes pop up1 it helps if you have some notion of how +est to #evelop him. Three tric:s put you in free: G%H Iet the sensitive character show more awareness than #o your other story people. This means1 let him o+serve his worl# in sha#es of gray1 rather than 9ust +lac: an# white. -e sees a smile or a frown as a thing of infinite su+tle variations . . . #raws conclusions from it. Small #eviations from the norm attract his notice. )erhaps he e7hi+its a ten#ency to self8analysis. .f a girl<s fingers trem+le as she lights her cigarette1 he spots it an# guesses the reason for her reaction. .s he a :in#ly person? -e compliments the ol# woman at the corner fruit stan# on her hi#eous new hat1 instea# of laughing. Er1 if hatre# #rives him1 he :nows precisely where to sin: the :nife in his a#versary<s psyche. The way he phrases his interpretations1 in turn1 reveals whether he<s illiterate1 intellectual1 or poet. G'H Contrast the sensitive with the insensitive. This ol# favorite of too many novels of army life plun:s #own one gentle soul in a +arrac:s8ful of cru#e1 crass1 callous types. While the rest of the +oys tal: things over in four8letter wor#s an# leap to profane conclusions with no hee# to evi#ence1 he teases out nuances to half the #iameter of a spi#er8

threa#. Because the #ifference +etween him an# his fellows is so mar:e#1 he stic:s up li:e a sore thum+. Though this proce#ure can #escen# easily to the ri#iculous1 its principle is soun#. Contrast ma:es anything stan# out more sharply. G(H Set up situations which allow for a #ifference in reaction. $ast action an# violent conflict give little opportunity for you to esta+lish a character<s sensitivity. The 9o+ nee#s to +e ta:en care of earlier1 +efore the e7plosion comes. Etherwise1 your man is li:ely to register as foolish1 ina#equate1 or a cowar#1 instea# of #iscerning or insightful. Therefore1 plan a scene or two in which nuance is important1 so that your rea#er will see Ben or -orace as at least remotely un#erstan#a+le an# 9ustifie# in his ha+its of intuition or perceptiveness or analysis. Aive him e7cuses to appraise people or +e8 havior . . . reasons to notice small1 vital #ifferences. Then1 when the +ig scene comes1 our sensitive frien# will +e accepte# for what he is1 instea# of appearing a mere +uffoon. .n other wor#s1 #eci#e in a#vance on the effect you want your character to create1 an# #evise ways to achieve it. e. The character8in8#epth. What factors help to roun# out a character an# give him #epth? G%H .nvolvement in a wi#e variety of situations. &ou #on<t :now a man in #epth till you<ve seen him against #iverse +ac:#rops. Thus1 at home1 he may +e the soul of pro+ity . . . in =ew &or:1 a woman8chasing #run: . . . at the office1 a quiet an# respectful wor:er . . . in the army1 a ran:8happy martinet. -is mother sees him as a #utiful son . . . his chil#ren as an erratic com+ination of cruel #isciplinarian an# fawning sentimentalist . . . his po:er frien#s as a suc:er for a +luff. To roun# out a character in fiction you nee#1 a+ove all1 space. That<s why you so sel#om fin# the character8in8#epth in anything short of a novel. .n the more compact forms1 you simply #on<t have the room to #isplay an# integrate his conflicting images an# e7pose his assorte# attitu#es to view. But #epth is a matter of #egree1 an# our hea#ing states one #evice to help you appro7imate it: Aive your man as +roa# a range of situations as you can. Then1 let him react1 so that your rea#er gains insight into assorte# facets of Character<s personality. $urther1 all this must +e shown . . . not merely tal:e# a+out. Iong8win#e# statements of appraisal +y an author accomplish little. G'H Careful #evelopment of sequels. * +it8player can act1 an# your rea#er will pretty much accept what<s #one1 even if motivation an#;or e7planation leave a goo# #eal to +e #esire#. Depth treatment imposes greater #eman#s on you. !ea#er wants to :now why your man #oes the things he #oes an# feels

the way he feels. *ttitu#es1 reasoning1 +ac:groun# elementsBall may nee# to +e +rought out into the open. To that en#1 it<s to your a#vantage to #evelop sequels in consi#era+le #etail when you +uil# a character in #epth. $or it<s in sequel that you reveal the factors that influence your character in his choice of goals1 his selection of #irection. Why1 for e7ample1 shoul# Ieo put up with his alcoholic wife? Does he see her as the cross he has to +ear for earlier sins? *s a social or financial mainstay that he #oesn<t #are a+an#on? *n e7cuse for martyr#om an# self8pity? * convenient scapegoat for his own failures? !eaffirmation of his concept of himself as a man not to +e swerve# from #uty? Well1 sequel<s a goo# hunting8groun# for answers to such questions. G(H $ragmentation of motivation an# reaction. To un#erstan# a man1 +rea: #own his +ehavior to its root components. Thus1 how #oes Ail react to a sneer? With violence? With panic? With #is#ain? With hurt? With logic? Er1 #oes he simply ignore it? $urther: .s the panic reveale# in quivering voice1 or stiffene# face? The #is#ain1 in caustic wor#s1 or contemptuous glance1 or turne# +ac:? Whatever the answer1 it helps to give your character #epth. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN So1 this chapter en#s> an# with it1 our analysis of the ma9or elements that go into fiction: wor#s1 motivation8reaction units1 scenes1 story patterns1 an# character. But there still are a num+er of things you nee# to :now a+out the actual preparation1 planning1 an# pro#uction of a story. &ou<ll fin# them in the ne7t chapter.

4. )reparation1 )lanning1 )ro#uction * story is the triumph of ego over fear of failure. The +est o+servation anyone can ma:e on preparation1 planning1 an# pro#uction is that everyone has a Ao#8given right to go to hell in his own wayBan# #on<t let anyone :i# you out of yours. The greatest talent in writing is nerve: &ou +et your ego that your unconscious has something in it +esi#e #inner. .gnorance must +e #efeate# in the process1 an# inertia also. The true recipe for writing success is that lai# #own +y #ramatist Derome Iawrence: C&ou<ve gotta get up very early some morning five years ago.C

So1 now1 the alarm cloc: is ringing. What #o you #o a+out it? %. &ou learn what it means to +e a writer. '. &ou learn how to recogni@e goo# story material. (. &ou learn how to prepare to write a story. ,. &ou learn your own +est way to plan it. /. &ou learn how to get out copy. 2ach of these aspects of creative wor: involves a variety of pro+lems. Ta:en a step at a time1 however1 none of them is too #ifficult to master. Shall we #ive in? En +eing a writer To +ecome a writer1 you first must +e capa+le of emotional involvement. That is1 you must feel1 an# feel intensely. Though you wor: with language1 the wor#s you use are only sym+ols . . . means to the en# of communication of emotion. &ou can<t communicate that which you yourself lac:. =o feeling1 no story. To feel1 in practical terms1 means to react . . . to #esire to +ehave in a particular way. Aiven the right stimulus1 things happen insi#e you. *wareness vi+ratesBassorte# gra#ations of li:e1 #isli:e1 surprise. .f no such response ta:es place1 or if it comes through on too low a level1 give up. &ou<ll never ma:e it as a writer. En the other han#1 #on<t cross yourself off the list of can#i#ates for authorship too quic:ly. 2veryone feels1 to some #egree. $urther1 the very fact that you want to write is a goo# omen. To #esire1 to yearn1 itself #emonstrates a capacity for involvement. !estraint1 in#ifference1 apathyBin ma9or measure1 they<re all learne# responses> ha+it patterns. With sufficient perseverance1 an# at least in part1 you can +rea: them #own. Which +rings us +ac: to where we starte#: Writing springs from feeling. What comes ne7t? To succee# as a writer: a. &ou must +e enthusiastic. Why is enthusiasm so important? Because writing is mur#erously har#1 lonely1 frustrating wor:1 upon

occasion. "nless a pro9ect e7cites you to +egin with1 o##s are you<ll stan# rea#y to slash your wrists +efore it<s #one.B ay+e you will anyhow1 as a matter of fact. But at least1 with enthusiasm1 you improve the percentages a little. -ow #o you acquire enthusiasm? 2nthusiasm is an emotional response1 a feeling. Eutsi#e stimuli spar: it. These stimuli come from your story<s topic1 its su+9ect matterBlove in anhattan or E:mulgee1 mur#er in a hospital1 war in Vietnam1 smuggling in the Big Ben# country1 am+ition an# 9ealousy in +usiness. To +uil# enthusiasm1 you search for aspects of your topic that e7cite you . . . immerse yourself in factual raw material till you fin# some unique something a+out which you can +e fervent. .nspiration springs from saturation. =o one can write for long out of his own unsustaine# unconscious. 2motion is an element which that unconscious can supply1 virtually without limit> +ut it must have stimulating factsBa+out people1 a+out events1 a+out setting1 a+out o+9ects or what have youBupon which to fee#. +. &ou must +e sincere. Sophistry is a su+tle poison. The story that falsifies your emotional stan#ar#s1 your convictions1 #oes you infinitely more harm than any e#itor<s chec: can compensate. Why? Because a story is in essence a para+le. Though you set it on the message it conveys is #eepest truth. ars an# cast it with +ug8eye# monsters1

That truth is you. En an unconscious level1 it reflects your innermost feelings. The story which +y implication proves that promiscuity is goo# clean fun1 or honor a frau#1 or #uty an# honesty outmo#e#1 when you really +elieve the opposite1 ma:es you one with the prostitute who simulates ecstasy for money. -ypocrisy moves you over into the ran:s of the constitutional psychopath1 the con man. !esult: emotional conflict. Conscience 9oins +attle with creativity. Then1 one #ay1 you free@e up so tightly that you can<t write at all1 an# another career goes #own the #rain. c. &ou must +e self8#iscipline#. =o one really gives a #amn if you #on<t ma:e it as a writer. =o one1 that is to say1 e7cept you yourself. $urther1 no one<s going to pay you for the stories you #on<t write. This means you have to +e your own tas:master. .f you<re not up to the 9o+1 you can always sac: groceries for a living1 in a store where someone else tells you what to #o an# when to #o it.

To succee# as a writer means getting up in the morning1 even when you<# rather sleep. .t means wor:ing when you<# much prefer to ta:e in a movie or go swimming. B!eally wor:ing1 too> not 9ust staring1 trance8li:e1 out the win#ow. .t<s your #ecision. #. &ou must +e yourself. <<. was surprise#1C Somerset augham remar:s in * Writer<s =ote+oo:1 Cwhen a frien# of mine tol# me he was going over a story he ha# 9ust finishe# to put more su+tlety into it> . #i#n<t thin: it my +usiness to suggest that you coul#n<t +e su+tle +y ta:ing thought. Su+tlety is a quality of the min#1 an# if you have it you show it +ecause you can<t help it. .t<s li:e originality: no one can +e original +y trying. The original artist is only +eing himself> he puts things in what seems to him a perfectly normal an# o+vious way: +ecause it<s fresh an# new to you you say he<s original. -e #oesn<t :now what you mean. -ow stupi# are those secon#8rate painters1 for instance1 who can<t +ut put paint on their canvas in a #ull an# commonplace way an# thin: to impress the worl# with their originality +y placing meaningless an# incongruous o+9ects against an aca#emic +ac:groun#.C .t<s har# to accept yourself for what you are1 sometimes. =o one li:es to a#mit to ina#equacy or limitation. But a mas: is #ifficult to hol# in place1 on paper. .t :eeps slipping out of line. The truth pops forth1 in spite of all your efforts. &ou<re +etter off to face the facts at the +eginning. Ben -echt was no Virginia Woolf1 nor was Woolf a 2ugene .onesco. -erman Wou:1 2rle Stanley Aar#ner1 an# *. D. Cronin each foun# his place. They #i# it +y +eing themselves1 not fa:es or copyists. Strength is in each of us1 as well as limitation. Call your shots the way you see them1 an# you give the worl# a chance to rate you an# your talents realistically. Whereupon1 your rea#er may li:e the way you write in spite of all your lac:s1 9ust +ecause that way is in#ivi#ual an# #ifferent. aterial1 goo# an# +a# Some years ago1 a scholar at a lea#ing university ma#e it his ho++y to translate $rench fa+les of an earlier #ay. But ho++ies have a way of getting out of han#. Soon Scholar yearne# for a pu+lic for his efforts. *n acquaintance remar:e# that a certain maga@ine occasionally carrie# translations from the $rench. Eur man ha# never seen this pu+lication. But he promptly sent its e#itor a +atch of his +est wor:. 2nter happenstance. The maga@ine was one of the most ri+al# 9ournals ever to sully the nation<s newsstan#s. The e#itor1 with perverse humor1 accepte# the fa+les an# ran one each month1 san#wiche# in +etween naughty nu#es an# +aw#y +alla#s. 2ach carrie# the goo# professor<s name an# full

aca#emic pe#igree1 an# mirth an# em+arrassment were the or#er of the #ay on his campus when wor# got roun#. The lesson here is that material is neither goo# nor +a#1 per se. &ou must rate it in terms of the reaction it evo:es from a given mar:et1 a specific rea#er. Thus1 this entire +oo: has +een #esigne# to give you a stan#ar# +y which you may 9u#ge story. *s you rea# current +oo:s an# maga@ines1 however1 you<ll soon see that not all fiction fits this pattern. The reason is simple: There are two ways to acquire a reputation as a goo# mar:sman. The first is to #raw a target on some appropriate surface1 then shoot at it an# hit the +ull<s8eye. The secon# is to fire at the surface to +egin with1 an# afterwar#s #raw target aroun# the spot where the +ullet hit. .n the same way1 it has +ecome the ha+it of the literary worl# to apply the term <<storyC to any pleasant or intriguing fragment of writing which involves fictional characters an#;or situations. S:etches1 vignettes1 anec#otes1 wor# photography1 an# all sorts of other curiosa are so #escri+e#. .n consequence1 we have goo# stories an# +a#1 wea: stories an# strong1 stories appealing to one rea#er an# those appealing to another. So whatever you write1 you quite possi+ly will fin# someone1 somewhereBeven a #istinguishe# critic1 perhapsBwho<ll proclaim it a story. $urther1 there are comple7 non8literary matters which an e#itor must ta:e into account: rea#ership1 availa+le space1 Chouse image1C +usiness8office pressures1 an# the li:e. .t follows that recognition of goo# story material involves much more than evaluation of how a given piece of fiction will shape up. $or while such evaluation is ever so important1 it +ecomes truly helpful only as it<s relate# to mar:et1 with #ue consi#eration given to the e#itor<s pro+lems. To this en#1 as: yourself three questions: a. .s this material too #iffuse an#;or comple7? -ere1 the issue is length. Some stories may +e tol# in few wor#s. Some ta:e many. 2ach mar:et1 in turn1 has its own stan#ar#s. There are maga@ines that won<t touch a yarn that runs over %/66 wor#s. * har#8+ac: pu+lisher is unli:ely to +oggle at a %6616668wor# novel. This +eing the case1 it<s only common sense to correlate material an# mar:et. $actors to +e consi#ere# inclu#e: G%H Scope. .t<s har# to #eal with a whole war in a short story. The social movement of a family1 shirt sleeves to shirt sleeves in three generations1 is +oun# to #eman# wor#age. G'H Strength.

* girl worries a+out whether or not a particular +oy will as: her for a prom #ate. Will such an i#ea carry a short8short? Sure thing. * short story? )ro+a+ly. * novelette? Wea:. * novel? !i#iculous. G(H Comple7ity. !ona Daffe<s The Best of 2verything interweaves the romances of five =ew &or: career girls. Such an involve# tale #eman#s novel length. Does your story ma:e it essential that you use three #ifferent viewpoints? 2ach time you switch1 you<ll have to reesta+lish emotional tension . . . an# such re8 esta+lishment eats up pages. The more characters you use1 an# the more fully they<re #evelope#1 the longer your story will run. Same for settings. G,H )assage of time. * man #ies at the age of eighty. To tell the story of his life a#equately in all li:elihoo# will ta:e a novel. -ow he in one #ay met an# won the girl he marrie# may ma:e a (6668wor# short story. .n general1 the longer your story<s time span1 an# the more events you #eal with1 an# the more scenes you #evelop1 the longer that story will have to +e. +. Does this material fit the philosophy of your rea#er? Why #oes a story please one man an# #isplease another1 even though its su+9ect may +e a favorite of +oth? The core reason is that the man #isplease# #isagrees with certain of the author<s +asic assumptions . . . his personal philosophy1 the way he views the worl#. Whereas1 the man please# agrees. Eften1 neither rea#er nor author is even aware that such assumptions e7ist. They<re things ta:en for grante#1 not even the su+9ect of conscious thought. Thus1 this +oo: 9umps to all sorts of wil# conclusions. $or e7ample1 . start from the i#ea that you write in large measure to please a rea#er. Some people #on<t agree. B*n# on that issue1 . can<t resist quoting a statement +y Dohn $ischer that recently appeare# in -arper<s: *mong serious fiction writers1 one large group now seem Gin the wor#s of a veteran pu+lisherH to +e Cmore concerne# with self8e7pression than with entertaining the pu+lic.C RBritish novelist AeoffreyS Wagner #efines them as the poetic novelists. With them1 an# with most of the critics who ma:e CseriousC literary reputations1 storytelling has +ecome #isreputa+le. Their main concern is with sensi+ility1 with the inner #rama of the psyche1 not with the large events of the outsi#e worl#. Eften they are accomplishe# craftsmen. Their style is luminously +urnishe# . . . they write on two levels1 or even three . . . their wor: contains more sym+ols than a Chinese +an# . . . it may plum+ the #epths of the human soul . . . it may +e Gin $elicia Iamport<s phraseH as #eeply felt as a Borsalino hat. But all too often it 9ust isn<t much fun to rea#.

.f such e7ercises in occupational therapy #on<t sell very well1 the author has small groun#s or complaint. -e has written them1 after all1 primarily to massage his own ego an# to harvest critico8 aca#emic +ay leaves. Since he isn<t intereste# in a mass au#ience1 why shoul# it +e intereste# in him? Bac: to our point: . also assume that rea#ers li:e form. . thin: they prefer a story that has a +eginning1 a mi##le1 an# an en#. ost #o. But not all. *gain1 . ta:e it for grante# that sai# rea#ers +elieve man possesses at least a #egree of free will1 that they li:e active characters +etter than passive1 an# that they thin: a cause8effect relationship e7ists +etween what you #o an# what you get. Some voices woul# #issent. This list coul# go on thus for pages. But the point1 . trust1 is alrea#y clear: 2ach mar:et1 consciously or unconsciously1 represents a particular philosophy of life. The stories it +uys reaffirm that philosophy. $urther1 the issue reaches far +eyon# mere literary technique. cCall<s +elieves in premarital chastity. )lay+oy approves of se7ual free#om. Arove )ress ta:es the avant8gar#e view. Dou+le8#ay aims more towar# popular appeal. *ll of which is something to consi#er when you evaluate story material. Does this mean you shoul# tailor your own +eliefs to fit a given mar:et? Well1 har#ly. .t ma:es more sense to hunt mar:ets that see the worl# the same way you #o. c. Does this material fit your mar:et<s nee#s? Shall we tal: common sense for 9ust a little while? Closely relate# to philosophy1 yet +y no means precisely the same1 each maga@ine has a personality all its own. This personality is compoun#e# of rea#er interests1 e#itorial taste1 an# a#8#epartment pressure. Drop the a#vertising angle1 an# the same statement applies to +oo: houses. .f you<re eager to hit some special mar:et1 it<s only goo# 9u#gment to consi#er this personality factor. !ogue an# Secrets an# !e#+oo: +uy vastly #ifferent stories. The novel that +ears Iittle1 Brown<s imprint isn<t li:ely to +e of a type to win a place at Aol# e#al1 or vice versa. -ow #o you familiari@e yourself with a given mar:et<s tastes an# rules? &ou rea# what that mar:et pu+lishes. .n quantity. )articularly1 you pay attention to: G%H *ge of characters.

Er#inarily1 character age reflects au#ience an#1 even more important1 the pu+lisher<s compulsive striving to +uil# a rea#ership. The young a#ult is :ing in most maga@ines. *#vertisers see him as a +ig +uyer1 not yet set in his spen#ing ha+its. The pu+lisher rea#s this fact as an equation: &oung8a#ult rea#ers equal a#vertising equal profits. &oung8a#ult characters attract young8a#ult rea#ers. Q.2.D. E+versely1 stories that feature ol#er characters are notoriously har# to sell. Though not to such a mar:e# #egree1 the same pattern is foun# in the +oo: fiel#. Why? Because young a#ults ten# to +uy an# rea# more +oo:s than #o their el#ers. There are e7ceptions aplenty to generali@ations such as this1 of course. *n# if you<re goo# enough1 you can throw any rule away. But over8all1 an# whether you li:e the i#ea or not1 it #oes pay to thin: young. G'H Se7 of characters. .t shoul# +e o+vious to anyone1 it seems1 +ut . still fin# plenty of woul#8+e writers who #on<t reali@e that male8viewpoint stories sell more rea#ily in men<s mar:ets1 female8viewpoint in women<s. Ta:e the confession fiel#. Sure1 True Story or o#ern !omances or Secret Diary +uy yarns with male central characters. But they pro+a+ly pu+lish five times as many in which women play the lea#ing roles. G(H Settings. Does your chosen mar:et prefer e7otic +ac:groun#s1 or familiar? Alamorous1 or every#ay? *gain1 consistent rea#ing gives you the answer. Ene point of caution1 however: -istorical settings fin# few ta:ers these #ays1 especially in the maga@ines. G,H Categories. The western is always with us1 an# so is the mystery1 the science8fiction yarn1 the #octor8nurse story1 the romance. Such category fiction offers a special ha@ar#1 though: !ea#ers of a particular genre frequently are fans. That means they<ve rea# wi#ely in the fiel#. They :now the cliches1 the worn8out plots1 the too8familiar patterns. Consequently1 unless you :now the area equally well1 you<ll waste en#less hours writing yarns #oome# in a#vance to re9ection +ecause they feature the vengeance trail1 the range war1 the loc:e# room1 the +iter8+it1 atomic #oom1 the interplanetary travelogue1 or the li:e. Don<t let the fact that ol# han#s get away with such fool you1 either. The long8time professional has

other elements wor:ing on his si#e. Whereas the +eginner is e7pecte# to come up with something fresh. En the financial front1 profita+le pic:ings from the categories ten# to +e slim in the maga@ine fiel#. )ro+a+ly it<s +ecause the TV series have so largely ta:en over. -ar#+ac: +oo: pu+lishers1 in turn1 seem more an# more to give prime emphasis to the +ig literary an# pseu#o8literary novels1 with their potential of fantastic profits from +est8seller8#om1 +oo: clu+ an# movie sales. !esult: * high proportion of category material now appears un#er the paper+ac: houses< imprints. $inally1 an# unfortunately1 when one category ri#es high1 chances are that others are scraping +ottom. Speciali@e too narrowly1 an# you may +e in for a long har# winter. G/H Treatment. Scan the girlie +oo:s casually1 an# all appear to +e much ali:e. Chec: more closely1 an# you #iscover that this one li:es se7 with a light touch1 that one prefers clinical #etail1 an# another wor:s largely in terms of implication. Crime equals violence1 at some houses. .n others1 cleverness #ominates. Ene +uil#s up character> another puts its emphasis on plot. .n the same way1 *ce an# Ber:ley set #ifferent stan#ar#s for their westerns. !an#om -ouse +uys one :in# of mystery1 Dutton another. The story heavy with technical #etail that *nalog features woul# fall flat at *ma@ing. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN Does an this soun# li:e a plea for rigi# slanting? .t isn<t. To me1 it seems that a writer shoul# +e intensely aware of the mar:ets he hopes to hit. -e nee#s to rea# them1 stu#y them1 learn to recogni@e their tastes an# strengths an# wea:nesses. When he sits #own to write a story1 however1 he ought to forget sai# mar:ets1 utterly an# completely. The story itself shoul# +ecome his entire preoccupation. Because if that story is goo# enough1 count on it1 it surely will fin# a home somewhere. That incre#i+ly prolific fictioneer Dohn D. acDonal# once summe# up the matter1 in a letter to Writer<s Digest in responce to a man who #eclare# that a +oo: written for one pu+lishing house often ha# small chance of acceptance elsewhere. Wrote acDonal#: C. agree heartily. . woul# even say that a +oo: written for one pu+lishing house has little chance of acceptance at that pu+lishing house. * +oo: written for oneselfBto meet one<s own stan#ar#s1 to gratify an# satisfy an# entertain the toughest one8man au#ience a writer can ever haveB such a +oo: has a goo# chance of acceptance anywhere.C MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN So1 what a+out material? BThat<s where we starte#1 remem+er?

acDonal#<s statement still applies. &ou 9u#ge +y personal stan#ar#. *n#1 personal is the :ey wor#. &ou can<t use someone else<s yar#stic:. &ou have to shape your own1 out of an intimate amalgam +oth of fiction principles an# of mar:et patterns. )reparing to write a story )reparation +oils #own to two issues. a. Aetting i#eas. +. $in#ing facts to +ac: them up. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN What .s an .#ea? *n i#ea is something that e7cites a writer. Will the same i#ea e7cite two writers? =ot necessarily. Then why is it important that the writer have an i#ea? Because only insofar as he e7periences e7citementBa sense of mounting1 goal8oriente# inner tension Bwill the writer +e a+le to muster the enthusiasm an# energy he nee#s to see: for meaningful relationships in his material. Creativity1 in turn1 may +e #efine# as multiple response to single stimulus. ost of us1 when we loo: at a #oor:no+1 see a #oor:no+. .t<s a one8to8one relationship: one #oor:no+1 one response. But some #ay you may fall prey to a sa#istic ol# writing teacher who removes that self8same #oor:no+ from the #oor an# comman#s that you list ten ways to :ill some+o#y with it. =ow1 su##enly1 the #oor:no+ is no longer 9ust a #oor:no+. &ou fin# yourself #ealing with it in terms of qualities an# conte7t1 as well as appearance an#;or function. Whereupon1 the laws of association ta:e over. Thus1 the #oor:no+<s shaft is similar to a #agger . . . the :no+ to a +illy . . . the material to an electrical con#uctor. What isn<t a #oor:no+1 +y way of contrast? Well1 tra#itionally1 it isn<t suppose# to function as the trigger to a +oo+y trap1 or a clue to the e7istence of a secret room GCIoo:F .f you 9ust stic: the shaft through that :notholeBCH1 or a secret container for poison or #ope.

-ow a+out contiguity . . . meaning ne7t to1 as one house is ne7t #oor to another? *pply it to #oor:no+s1 an# soon you fin# yourself thin:ing a+out loo:s an# win#ows1 panels an# pull8cor#s1 han#les an# hinges. Before you :now it1 i#eas +egin to flow: * #oor:no+ is roun#1 may+e. etal1 may+e. Er glass. Er porcelain. Er he7agonal. Er octagonal. Why woul# anyone want a square #oor:no+? ay+e the :no+ slips on the shaft1 so someone can<t escape. Ta:e the :no+s from a #oor1 an# it gives you a tiny win#ow into the room1 through which a +ullet or #art or rapier might pass . . . after which1 the :no+ coul# +e reinserte#. -ow a+out ra#ioactive material insi#e the :no+? Er a poisone#8nee#le mechanismBsna:e or spi#er poison? &ou coul# run a piano8wire noose through the hole for the shaft. ay+e gimmic: the latchBsu+stitute a spring8loc: for it an#1 at the same time1 put the regular loc: out of action1 so that whoever<s in the room thin:s the loc: is loc:e# an# he<s safe1 when really anyone outsi#e can open the #oor without a :ey. -ow a+out wiring the :no+ for electricity? Er piping the shaft8hole for gas? CAlassC :no+ ma#e of ice melts when the room heat is turne# on. Diamon# might +e conceale# in glass :no+. etal :no+ might +e ma#e of gol# or platinum. What if :no+ were a sym+ol of something or other1 an# possessing it ma#e its possessor a target? Er1 turning :no+ trips hi##en camera. Er loa# :no+ with germs. China :no+ turns out to +e an insulator. Jno+ given to villain. Er unique :no+ use# as clue to +etray hi#ing place of right or wrong person. Jno+ fille# with e7plosives. Shaft thrust into electric soc:et to stop some vital #evice +y +lowing fuse. Jno+ #uste# with fluorescent pow#er to reveal who<s touche# it . . . The a+ove1 please note1 ten#s to ta:e the form of a wil#1 chaotic1 an# often +arely coherent 9um+le. .t<s ran#om. .t<s #isorgani@e#. .t<s without any pre8esta+lishe# plan or pattern. .t is1 in a phrase1 a pro#uct of focuse# free associationBthat is1 free association centere# upon a particular su+9ect an#;or relate# group of su+9ects. Such focuse# free association is what gives you i#eas. &our prime tools1 in this associative process1 are a scratch8pa#1 a pencil1 an# a willingness to set #own a multitu#e of utterly an# completely impossi+le notions1 until you fin# one that rings an emotional +ell somewhere #eep insi#e you. $or if anything is certain in this worl#1 it<s that only out of a host of +a# i#eas will emerge the occasional goo# one. Censor your thin:ing1 attempt in a#vance to limit yourself to a superior pro#uct1 an# you can count on it that you<ll en# up sterile1 or paraly@e#1 or +oth1 creatively spea:ing. Whenever you nee# an i#ea1 then1 ma:e a list. B=ot 9ust lists of story situations1 either. Whether you<re loo:ing for an inci#ent1 or a setting1 or a character1 or a +it of characteri@ing +usiness1 or a titleBma:e a listF 2ven if you feel you<ve alrea#y wor:e# out a proper angle1 9ot #own half8a8#o@en more1 9ust for :ic:s. *n# when the list is #oneBwhat then? &ou put it asi#e> then come +ac: later. ain strength an# aw:war#ness mean little1 in this phase of a writer<s wor:. &ou have to snea: up on i#eas. To that en#1 you must learn to change your point of view . . . your approach . . . your routine . . . even yourself The stimuli of #aily living help to accomplish such change. Su##enly1 out of nowhere1 as you stan# shaving in the morning1 the pro+lem is solve#. Er you fall asleep +roo#ing over it at night . . . wa:e up

ne7t #ay with precisely the answer1 the i#ea1 that you nee#. .n fact1 a scratch8pa# an# pencil +esi#e your +e# prove invalua+le1 upon occasion. &ou can even learn to write in the #ar:1 with the pa# +alance# on your chest. Ef course1 the vi+ration will sha:e the +e# 9ust enough to awa:en your wife or hus+an#> +ut what #oes con9ugal felicity matter1 so long as your muse smiles sweetly? The more +oring types of i#leness often help to provi#e the incu+ation time in which i#eas ta:e form. So1 cultivate +ars an# par: +enches an# night +us ri#es. Dull concerts or +a# movies sometimes help. So #o especially #reary sermons. There can +e virtue in a e7ican ra#io station that alternates +etween marim+a music an# Spanish newscasts Bthat is1 if you #on<t spea: Spanish. Time spent thus <<loafing<< is1 at the right moment1 the most pro#uctive occupation in which you can engage. .t shoul# also +e pointe# out that1 in consi#era+le part1 successful i#eation lies in the area of seren#ipity Bthe art or :nac: of fin#ing #esira+le things not sought. This is to say1 frequently the i#ea you uncover will at first glance show no percepti+le relationship to the thing you thin: you<re see:ing. The tric: is to ta:e a#vantage of this faculty. Thus1 you may su##enly fin# yourself confronte# +y a remar:a+le character . . . then later reali@e that intro#uction of sai# character will +ring your yarn to the precise clima7 you<ve +een struggling to achieve1 even though at the moment Character seeme# only a #istraction or an irritation. .n view of this1 it<s to your a#vantage not to let your thin:ing +ecome too set1 too rigi#1 in the early stages of i#eation. $eel free to switch an# 9uggle an# change an# reverse an# reshape the fragments on your list. Woul# the Comanche chief have more impact if he carrie# a parasol an# wore a woman<s flowere# hatBinstant visual proof that he<s alrea#y rai#e# an# :ille# that #ay? Can you com+ine your +eetle8li:e alien monsters an# your human villainess +y giving the woman multifacete# insectile eyes? .s there more interest in someone trying to steal a million #ollars1 or in his trying to return it? Search always for the unanticipate# twist1 the fresh approachF 2sta+lishing a process of continuing ela+oration may help too. Don<t 9ust sit an# stare at your scri++le# notes. Type them up1 throwing in any new thoughts that come to min# as you go along. Then1 later1 chec: through the typescript1 penciling in changes an# a##itional i#eas an# secon# guesses. .s this the only way to #evelop i#eas? Ef course not. To e7plain creativity as multiple response to single stimulus is really to #efine it as alertnessBalertness to all that ta:es place aroun# you> alertness to the full potentialities of whatever comes your way. To that en#1 may+e your +est proce#ure involves floor scru++ing1 or long solitary wal:s1 or #rawn sha#es an# +u++le +ath an# Scarlatti on the recor# player. )erhaps you<ll #iscover special insight from a

private version of Twenty Questions1 or Ben Donson<s Topics of .nvention1 or a file of +lur+s or maga@ine story illustrations. The important thing1 always1 is not to sit i#ly waiting for the feathers to grow. Don<t 9ust hope for i#eas. -unt them #ownF $in# a spring+oar#F Develop a plan of actionF =othing is more su+9ective than an i#ea1 an# no canne# approach ever can wor: quite as well for you as your own systemBeven if sai# system is merely a matter of grope1 fum+le1 pace the floor1 stare out the win#ow1 an# snarl at your wife. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN Where #o you fin# facts to +ac: up your i#eas? &ou engage in research. !esearch comes in two si@es: too much an# too little. "nfortunately1 a consi#era+le num+er of woul#8+e writers want to pro+e their psyches1 not the encyclope#ia. They assume that fiction is one fiel# in which a#herence to fact is unimportant1 an# so procee# to write with no regar# whatever for reality. To a #egree1 perhaps1 they may +e right. There have +een successful western novelists who use# such terms as CfenC an# Cgorse1C an# mystery writers who o+viously #i#n<t :now the #ifference +etween a revolver an# an automatic pistol. En the other si#e of the fence1 . still recall an a#venture story of twenty years ago that was spoile# for me +ecause the author ha# sol#iers in the Seminole War playing stu# po:erBa game that #i#n<t come into vogue until some years later. But if too little research can ren#er a story ri#iculous1 too much can stop a career +efore it starts. *s: any writing coach a+out the talente# men an# women who<ve postpone# authorship year after year1 +ecause they never coul# assem+le quite all the information that they thought they nee#e#. The tric:1 then1 is to achieve a +alance. -ow #o you go a+out it? )rimarily1 you limit yourself. That is1 you acquire only the information you nee#1 insofar as possi+le. &ou #on<t pile up #ata 9ust for #ata<s sa:e. B *fter all1 is it really essential to your story that you #etail the e7change rates on Tur:ish currency in Aenoa in %/,6? -ang onto that general principle. Wor:ing from it1 we fin# two favore# ways to approach any given 9o+ of research. Ene is to search out the facts you nee#. The other is to use such information as you alrea#y have in your possession. Thus1 rea#ers of westerns li:e authentic color.

Some writers1 following System %1 spen# hours without en# trac:ing #own #etails a+out specific people an# places an# events. Ethers1 #evotees of System '1 insert fragments from favore# source +oo:s into a story li:e cloves in a ham. E+viously1 these two mo#es of attac: aren<t separate an# e7clusive. System8% men #on<t wor: out everything afresh with each new title. *n# System8' writers #o1 upon occasion1 go hunting some special +it of +ac:groun#. .t can<t +e gainsai#1 however1 that System ' saves time1 when quantity pro#uction is important. * single volume li:e $oster8-arris< The Ioo: of the El# West can ta:e the place of a small li+rary1 in s:ille# han#s. But approach is a matter of personal choice. Beyon# it1 research +rea:s #own into three categories: G%H Ii+rary research. G'H .nterview research. G(H $iel# research.

=ow1 what<s involve# in each? G%H &ou an# printe# matter. Ii+raries are won#erful institutions. 2specially if you learn to use them properly. To that en#1 . strongly recommen# that you at least scan a volume calle# The o#ern !esearcher1 +y Dacques Bar@un an# -enry $. Araff. .t will help you +oth to fin# the facts you nee# an# to organi@e them once they<re foun#. .n a##ition1 you<ll learn a host of things you shoul# :now a+out weighing an# evaluating information. *s a fictioneer1 however1 you have special pro+lems. .t<s these we<ll #eal with here. * warning comes first: Beware the +eguilements of the +oo:shelves. They fascinate. Before you :now it1 you may fin# yourself plowing through the thousan#8o## pages of The Trail Drivers of Te7as1 when a single photo of Doan<s Store woul# solve your pro+lem. What you nee#1 most often1 is atmospheric #etail. &ou fin# such in eyewitness accounts1 on8the8spot reports of events1 associate# recor#s1 pictures1 maps1 instruction +oo:s1 an# the li:e. Though #ull going sometimes1 they rewar# you with speciali@e# #ata you never coul# o+tain from secon#ary sources or populari@ers.

Where #o you fin# this sort of information? -ere are five li:ely places to chec:: GaH =ewspapers. -ow much #i# stea: cost in =ew Erleans in %5'6? Which $innish names are common in Duluth? What are typical local issues a+out which characters might gossip in 2l:o1 =eva#a? When #o la:e freighters tie up for the winter at Buffalo? Does Baltimore have a city manager? What<s the lea#ing women<s8 wear store in Waycross1 Aeorgia? * few minutes with the right newspaper file can supply you with such information an#1 in the process1 save you all sorts of letter8writing. *s a +onus1 you pic: up the atmosphere an# attitu#es of the community1 from news columns an# a#s ali:e. G+H aga@ines.

-ere1 the secret is to not limit yourself to generali@e# pu+lications. While Time may give you succinct coverage of a news event1 or Satur#ay 2vening )ost fill you in on a personality1 the pictures in =ational Aeographic or -oli#ay often provi#e more of the color you nee#. Don<t forget tra#e an# specialty 9ournals1 either. -ar#ware Worl# gives you a cross section of current pro#ucts an# pro+lems an# proce#ures among its group of retailers. Bo7office provi#es you with topics for a theater manager to #iscuss. $arm Dournal shows rural life as it is to#ay1 instea# of the way you remem+er it from +oyhoo#. Arit an# Steel intro#uces you to the worl# of game +ir#s an# coc:fighting. GcH Aovernment #ocuments. Since +ureaucracy seems #etermine# to have its way with all of us1 try to +enefit from the resulting floo# of printe# matter. .ts range is incre#i+le: chil#8care gui#es1 navigational instructions1 information on the operation of all sorts of small +usinesses . . . even an e7cellent criminal8investigation han#+oo:. uch of this material will alrea#y +e in your local li+rary. The li+rarian can tell you where an# how to get items not on file. G#H C-ow8toC +oo:s. Do you nee# a character who can lay +ric:s or +in# +oo:s or give a facial? Don<t worry> some+o#y<s written a +oo: a+out it1 with the :in# of #etaile# instructions that a## an air of realism to your story. GeH 2phemera. Aoo# li+raries have files that inclu#e all sorts of +rochures1 leaflets1 clippings1 pamphlets1 an# assorte# miscellany1 from +oo: catalogues to travel fol#ers. There may even +e collections of maps or photos or telephone +oo:s or pioneer manuscripts. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN *t this point1 another question usually arises: -ow much of a personal li+rary shoul# you acquire? There<s no sensi+le answer to this1 really. Some items you<ll nee# an# shoul# have1 simply +ecause you use them often an# they<re not easily availa+le elsewhere. En the other han#1 it<s easy to go over+oar#. .n my own case1 things have reache# that unhappy state in

which . have only to come in the front #oor with yet another volume1 an# my wife cries1 CBut we<ve got a +oo:FC in an appropriately anguishe# voice. The fact that you #o a story with a Sumatran locale #oesn<t necessarily warrant acquisition of half8a8#o@en tomes on the 2ast .n#ies. E##s are that they<ll gather #ust on the shelves for twenty years +efore you nee# them againBan# +y then they<ll +e hopelessly out#ate#. Besi#es1 space soon +ecomes a pro+lem. 2very +ig fact 9o+ .<ve ever #one has +rought with it fat fol#ers of printe# matter1 on su+9ects ranging from manure8sprea#er operation to mental health to oil8 fiel# pumping equipment. When the file overflows1 there<s no choice +ut to #ump some out1 or +uy a +igger house. Clippings offer an a##e# ha@ar#. $or a clip is useless unless you can fin# it1 an# to fin# it you have to file it1 an# to file it ta:es time1 an# what #o you want to +e anyhow1 a writer or a file cler:? Well1 every man to his own compromisesF G'H &ou an# e7perts. $ifteen years ago . too: a 9o+ writing factual films. The scripting of each such film1 . soon #iscovere#1 is e7pe#ite# if you insist that the sponsor assign a technical a#viser to assist you. The e7pert steps in where +oo: research en#s. -e corrects your mista:es an# calls your attention to #evelopments too new to have reache# the reference8shelf stage. Without him1 you grope1 floun#er1 an# waste vast quantities of time. To wor: with such an e7pert is simple. &ou nee# primarily a willingness to +e thought a fool. -ow #o you achieve this happy en#? &ou ta:e nothing for grante#. &ou #escri+e precisely what you propose to show in your film1 step +y step1 so that error lurches out into the open. &ou as: every stupi# question you can #re#ge up from the su+8#epths of your +rain1 no matter how withering your e7pert<s glances> no matter how +iting his replies. .f you follow this principle1 the e7pert goes his way convince# that you<re a +lithering i#iot. &ou1 in your turn1 carry off the neatly8catalogue# contents of the e7pert<s hea#. * fair e7change. There an worse tric:s than to apply this same fact8film technique to fiction research. To that en#1 #ig out all the #ata you can from printe# matter. Do this firstF *ny competent interview presupposes that the interviewer :nows enough a+out the su+9ect to as: at least a mo#icum of intelligent questions. Then1 +ac:groun# fille# in1 hunt aroun# till you fin# someoneBhistorian1 homici#e #etective1 marriage counselor1 army colonel1 @oologistBwho has a strong trac: recor# in the area you<re researching. a:e contact with this e7pert. Tell him your pro+lem. *s: his ai#. flattere# an# happy to give it to you. ore often than not1 he<ll +e

.t also will help if you remem+er that an e7pert #oesn<t always loo: li:e one. ay+e1 at first glance1 your man appears to +e only a slea@y +eatni: type1 unshaven an# over#ue for a haircut1 playing guitar

in a coc:roach8infeste# coffeehouse. But if the #ata you see: concerns +eatni:s or coffeehouses or mo#ern minstrels1 he very well may prove an i#eal source. $urther1 an interviewee nee#n<t :now he<s +eing interviewe#. -e may tal: more freely if he thin:s you<re 9ust an amia+le screw+all who li:es to chase fire engines or noo#le for catfish or ga+ a+out mining. Charm ra#iate# +y the interviewer is no han#icap. =either is willingness to spring for an occasional #rin: or cup of coffee. Quite often1 your +est lea#s come from people who themselves lac: the facts you nee#1 +ut are in a position to suggest someone who #oes have them. Cham+ers of Commerce1 tra#e associations1 local newspaper offices1 pu+lic8relations men1 county agents1 motel managersBall are worth investigation. &ou can even interview +y mail1 with luc:1 specific questions1 +rief chec:lists1 an# stampe#1 self8 a##resse# return envelopes. -owever1 it<s my own feeling that such shoul# +e pretty much a last resort1 for most people are reluctant to ta:e pen in han# an# their answers ten# to +e +rief to the point of uselessness. G(H &ou an# the wi#e1 wi#e worl#. $iel# research is +ase# on a simple premise: *n ivory tower is a poor place to learn the facts a+out anything. .n many cases1 the +est way to fin# out the things you nee# to :now is to go forth an# po:e aroun# at first han#. Thus1 +oo:s an# tal: will tell you a lot a+out oil wells. But you a## e7tra color an# authentic #etail if you wal: a #rilling floor yourself. Similarly1 what<s wrong with wor:ing as a waiter for a wee: or two or three? Why shoul#n<t you ri#e a few nights in a police prowl car1 if you can arrange it? =urses< ai#es learn things. So #o typists an# #ime8store cler:s an# #oor8to#oor salesmen. .f such is too rich for your +loo#1 that still shoul#n<t stop you from atten#ing trials an# loafing in +us stations an# scraping acquaintances with 9ewelers an# gunsmiths an# carhops an# ro#eo ri#ers1 if these maneuvers suit your en#s. Aet in the ha+it of han#ling the props you plan to use in a story. .t spar:s i#eas an# prevents i#iotic errors. &ou #iscover that the +arrels of two auser automatics can +e switche# in secon#s . . . that a mo#ern vinyl phonograph recor# can<t easily +e snappe# in half . . . that most watches to#ay #on<t carry *ra+ic numerals. $inally1 remem+er that every story comes alive in terms of sensory perceptionBthe things some character sees or hears or smells or tastes or touches. To #escri+e such phenomena vivi#ly1 you nee# to e7perience them yourself1 wherever possi+le. )rovi#ing this sensory +ac:groun# is the function of fiel# research. The +est8lai# plans By all means1 plan your story.

But #on<t plan too completely1 or the story may #ie +efore it<s +orn. Why? Because a +asic fallacy lies at the heart of all attempts to +lueprint creative activity: )lanning1 you<re one person. But +y the time you sit #own to write1 you<ve +ecome another. &ou pro+a+ly can see this most clearly if you<re one of those metho#ical souls who goes in for 9ournals1 s:etches of stories you hope some #ay to write1 file car#s listing plot i#eas1 an# the li:e. These efforts are lau#a+le. But +y now1 if you<ve carrie# on such pro9ects for any length of time1 you<ve #iscovere# that only on rare occasions #o the notes #evelop into finishe# copy. The reason is precisely as state# a+ove: &ou yourself change1 in the interim +etween the time when inspiration first +ecomes apparent an# the later #ate when you attempt to reclaim the concept from your file. .n consequence1 yester#ay<s i#ea stri:es no spar: to#ay. $ervor has #ulle# to #isenchantment. ultiply this response +y ten1 an# you get some small picture of what happens when you outline a story in too great #etail. $or when you plan rigi#ly1 in effect you nail #own the roa# a story must ta:e. &ou commit yourself to a moo# an# state of min# that no longer e7ist when you an# your typewriter finally get together. .n so #oing1 you #eny yourself the pleasure an# privilege of following the impulse an# inspiration of the moment. !esult: Writing flips from fun to #ru#gery. The i#ea lies #ea# as a s:inne# an# gutte# ra++it in a free@er1 its only pulse that which you pump into it with sweat an# #ogge# perseverance. That<s not what .<# call successful planning. Iet<s try again1 then1 on a #ifferent tac:. This time1 we<ll let things hang a little looser. What elements #o you really nee# in a story outline? &ou shoul# have: a. * focal character. +. * situation in which this character is involve#. c. *n o+9ective Character see:s to attain.

#. *n opponent who strives against Character. e. * potential climactic #isaster on which to hinge the resolution. .n other wor#s1 you require a starting line8up1 such as was #escri+e# in Chapter 0. *n# that<s all you nee#. $or the line8up is a tool . . . its function1 to pinpoint essential #ynamic factors that #rive a story forwar#1 from page one to The 2n#. inor characters1 tags1 settings1 inci#ents1 +its of +usinessB+y comparison1 these are trivial an# unimportant. &ou can pic: them up as you go along1 if nee# +e. =e7t question: -ow #o you acquire the elements it ta:es to +uil# a line8up? *s with everything else in writing1 each man must sooner or later #evelop his own tric:s1 his private system. !ight now1 however1 your pro+lem is to fin# a starting point. So1 try this one: G%H Spen# an hour in focuse# free association. This perio# is to +e spent in hitting the :eys as fast as possi+le1 #escri+ing the story you want to write. B=ot actually writing it1 you un#erstan#> not even organi@ing it1 or attempting to go in a straight line> 9ust #oo#ling a+out anything that comes to min# relate# to your i#ea1 from moo# to characters1 from moral to plot to inci#ents. G'H Iater1 #evote another hour to annotating the a+ove material. That is1 ta:e a pencil an# go over your free8association typescript. 2la+orate on your first thoughts. Cross out +its that have lost their charm. Change. Com+ine. Develop. Shape up. $lesh out. G(H Still later1 retype this annotate# free association. *gain1 switch an# change an# #elete an# ela+orate as you go. * few #ays spent with this routine will give you an ama@ing mass of formless yet promising material. &ou<ll +egin to see strong points1 an# wea:> +a# 9u#gment1 an# flashes that e7cite you. .nclu#e# will +e assorte# fragments that hint of a potential starting line8up. Don<t force the process1 though. Iet C-ang looseFC +e your motto. 2ventually1 all this ram+ling will +egin to +ore you. Ta:e a#8 vantage of it to #raw up a list of inci#ents that stri:e you as essential to your story. Some of these +its will loom larger an# more important in your min# than others. These may prove to +e your story<s crises: the +ig moments. Dot them #own1 each on a separate sheet. *gain1 #on<t yet try to turn them into actual fiction. Dust #escri+e each in a paragraph or two or three of copy. Shuffle these scene sheets as you go along. )ut them into some :in# of or#er. When holes appear1 rough in a##itional scenes to fill them. Er1 if scenes as first conceptuali@e# #on<t seem to fit1 reshape or consoli#ate or #elete them.

*pply the same technique to characters. *s each ta:es form1 give him a separate sheet of his own. Then1 use sai# sheet to #oo#le an# hypothesi@e a+out him. By now1 count on it1 restlessness will +e upon you. &ou<re rea#y to go> eager to start pro#ucing actual copy. $ine. That<s as it shoul# +e. But #on<t start writing. =ot quite yet. $or this is the moment when you put an en# to free association an# loose thin:ing. B*n# . #o mean1 in terms of your starting line8up. What you must have is a statement an# a question1 two sentences1 naile# #own tight precisely as #escri+e# in Chapter 0: Situation: )ursue# +y his +oss<s amoral wife1 Iin#a1 Character: Steve Arannis E+9ective: #eci#es to see: a transfer1 so that his home an# career won<t +e #estroye#. But can he escape1 when Epponent: Iin#a Disaster: swears that she<ll have him fire# an# ruine# if he tries to leave? MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN !eporting for her very first #ay<s wor:1 fresh out of college an# the lone Situation: =egro teacher in a white high school1 Character: Ioretta Jloman E+9ective: stan#s #etermine# to prove her competence. But can she succee#1 when Epponent: Buc:o Wil#ing1 the ississippi8+orn coach1 Disaster: urges her pupils to wal: out on her? MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN 27pelle# from a Central *merican repu+lic at the request of his Iatin Situation: sweetheart<s politically powerful father1 Character: Tom !eynol#s E+9ective: hitchhi:es +ac: to persua#e the girl to run away with him. But will he survive1 let alone win her1 when it turns out that Epponent: iguel Erti@1 the man who pic:s him up1 Disaster: is en route to assassinate 2l )resi#ente? MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN There are the elements. Thus succinctly #o you formulate your story framewor:. *n# thenB? Then1 you<re rea#y to start writing. )lay it +y ear1 spontaneously1 changing an# a#apting as you go along1 to fit the i#eas that pop forth moment +y moment. )lan each scene as you reach it1 an# then only

to the #egree of pinpointing goal an# conflict an# #isaster. Between scenes1 free8wheel1 so long as your focal character somehow en#s up with a logical new goal towar# which to strive. When you hit a snag Ban# you willB9ust pace the floor awhile1 or resort to the list system: <<Since Doe nee#s to show up as a selfish +rute at this point1 what are some of the typically selfish an# +rutish things selfish +rutes #o?<< C-ow can Stella :eep Ien from investing in )apa<s +lue8s:y gol#mine1 without revealing that )apa is a swin#ler?C Stay with such long enough1 an# eventually you<ll en# up with a story . . . a soli# story1 +ecause you wor:e# within the framewor: of a starting line8up> yet a story that<s free an# spontaneous also1 in that you #i#n<t tie yourself to any rigi# outline. .s this the i#eal way to plan1 then? =ot at all. The i#eal way is the one that gets the 9o+ #one> an# no two stories an# no two writers are the same. But at least1 as state# earlier1 this proce#ure offers you a spring+oar#. What comes after will an# must +e of your own ma:ing. The organi@ation of pro#uction. The +eginner has a fon# illusion: Ence he learns to write a story1 he thin:s1 everything will go swimmingly. )rofessionals :now otherwise. Writing fiction is li:e playing in vau#eville1 e7cept that you have to #evise a new act for each performance. .t<s the only craft that gets har#er as you go along instea# of easier. S:ill +rings awareness of #eficiencies. &ou grow more critical an# striveBinvoluntarily1 oftenB to #o a +etter 9o+> achieve a higher stan#ar#. Thus1 the #ifference +etween the +eginner an# the pro is less one of talent or :nowle#ge than of en#urance. The pro1 having +een over the roa# many1 many times +efore1 accepts the agony that goes with the 9ourney in stoical silence1 +ecause he :nows that if he perseveres long enough1 eventually the way will clear an# he<ll get his story. Consistent pro#uction starts with the presumption that you alrea#y have an effective grasp of story structure an# fiction technique. Beyon# these1 you must also wor: out metho#s to #eal with routine pro+lems of: a. )roce#ure. +. !evision. c. )olishing. #. Cutting.

e. )ro#uction +rea:#own. 2ach of these constitutes a su+9ect in itself. Iet<s start with proce#ure. a. Aetting out the wor:. .t has +een truly sai# that1 too often1 writers hate to write1 +ut love to have written. Why shoul# this +e so? Because writing #eman#s that you put forth effort1 an# inertia is a har# foe to overcome. To muster initiative1 to e7ert self8#isciplineBthese are #ifficult assignments. CThere are +asically two :in#s of people in the worl#1C says Dean onnet1 $rench foun#er of the 2uropean Common ar:et1 Cthose who want to +e an# those who want to #o. .n the secon# category there is almost no competition.C -ow #o you go a+out qualifying for Category '? -erewith1 eight hints: G%H Wor:. Ioss of a +oss can +e a #angerous thing. Down through the years1 you<ve grown accustome# to having someone tell you what to #o an# when to #o it. =ow1 a+ruptly1 all that<s change#. &ou<ve entere# a fiel# in which you not only #o the wor:1 +ut serve as your own supervisor. En a 9o+1 you can #ream through a spring #ay without penalty. Dream as a writer1 an# your income stops. )hysical presence or goo# intentions mean nothing. CAet the story writtenFC is the only thing that counts. &ou<ve got to #rive yourself to wor:Ban# that means push as har# to turn out fiction as if a +oss were +reathing #own your nec:. G'H Wor: regular hours. $ree#om is hea#y stuff. With it comes the temptation to postpone what must1 upon occasion1 +e the #ru#gery of writing. B*fter all1 you rationali@e1 you can always ma:e up for it tomorrow1 or tomorrow1 or tomorrow. But1 as you soon learn1 tomorrow never comes. The answer1 of course1 is to set up a sche#ule of regular hours1 an# stic: to it. The har# part here is that frien#s an# family very well may prove your worst enemies. The i#ea that writing must +e #ealt with as a 9o+ is alien to their thin:ing. They can<t conceive that you must have uninterrupte# hours. .t never #awns on them that time is the only thing you have to sell1 or that two minutes< conversation may1 upon occasion1 shatter your train of thought for half a #ay. $urther1 you may not fully reali@e these things yourself. When it<s a gorgeous morning an# the :i#s plea# for a picnic1 you want to go along. Er ol# Aeorge comes +y1 an# he<s upset a+out this pro+lem . . . .n consequence1 you never give ha+it a chance to help you with your efforts. *lways1 there are erran#s to run or people to see or polite amenities to +rea: up your time.

Then you won#er why you #on<t get out more copy. .f you<re really serious a+out your wor:1 you<ll stop all this nonsense +efore it starts. To that en#1 certain hours will +e yours to write. &ou<ll hol# them for it1 inviolate1 complete with loc:e# #oor an# +lunt refusal to +e #istur+e#. Does this mean you have to act as if you were a shoe cler:? Ef course not. .f you really have goo# reason to +rea: away an# want to #o so1 go to it. But #o it with your eyes open1 in full :nowle#ge that you must pay for that lost time later1 in e7tra effort or lost income. G(H Set up a quota. * writer<s unconscious is a snea:y thing. Aive it half a chance1 an# it will #evise a way to eva#e the grin#ing wor: of writing. Thus1 if hours spent in front of the typewriter are your only criterion of effort1 you<ll soon train yourself to sit1 +ut not pro#uce. What<s the reme#y? a:e your stan#ar# the completion of a tas:Bor#inarily1 pro#uction of a certain amount of copy. -ere1 the ha@ar# is that you may set your sights too high. That can +e #isastrous. Too stiff a quota free@es you +efore you even start. )le#ge yourself to turn out three thousan# wor#s each an# every #ay1 an# you very well may pro#uce none at all. * +etter way is to ta:e smaller steps. $ive hun#re# wor#s may +e enough1 at first. 2ven seasone# professionals sel#om complete more than a thousan# wor#s of finishe# copy1 #ay in an# #ay out. Eften1 too1 it ta:es as long to plan a story as it #oes to write it. * wee: of such preparation1 for a short story1 my prove none too much. *ll this is an in#ivi#ual matter1 though. Some writers are facile1 others clumsy. This one wor:s fast1 that one slow. So1 fin# your own pace. Start with minimal #eman#s> then wor: up. But #o pro#uce. $or a writer is1 +y #efinition1 one who writes. G,H -ave a place to wor:. There are +oo:s on the shelf ne7t to your #es:. $ascinating +oo:s1 that you love to rea#. Eutsi#e your win#ow1 you can see white sails s:imming #own the la:e1 or watch the lights come on along the Sunset Strip1 or marvel at snow spar:ling on an E@ar: hillsi#e. .s this your picture of a writer<s wor:room?

.t<s also a prelu#e to #isaster. Why? Because1 +elieve me1 you<ll rea# the +oo:s . . . ga@e out the win#ow. What you really nee# is a win#owless1 +oo:less1 #istractionless gray room. .t will help .f this room isn<t even in your home. *n office is a legitimate income8ta7 #e#uction. .t frees you from family pressures an# interruptions. Jeep its location a secret1 an# frien#s won<t +e tempte# to #rop +y either. 2quipment? Des:1 chair1 typewriter1 +lan: paper1 car+on1 pencils. ay+e a lounge chair1 if you li:e to sit at ease while you scri++le notes or e#it copy. *n# lamps1 since goo# lighting is essential to a writer. )ro+a+ly you shoul# have a #ictionary an# thesaurus too . . . if you<ll #iscipline yourself not to rea# them as an escape from writing. B&es1 a writer can rea# even a #ictionary for entertainment. .<ve seen it #one. ost important of all1 when you enter your wor:room Gor wor: area1 if it<s 9ust a corner of the +e#roomH1 it shoul# +e for purposes of pro#uction only. *gain1 ha+it is the issue. .f you sit #own at your #es: only to write1 you esta+lish a con#itioning that will help you. G/H 2liminate #istractions. Some writers wor: nights1 instea# of #ays. Why? Because night offers fewer #istractions. The noise an# +ustle of #ay are gone. Dar:ness closes in1 li:e a protective mantle. !esult: more copy. Sche#ule is a matter of personal preference1 however. Some people wor: +etter in the morning1 or the afternoon. The only way to fin# out your own +est time is to e7periment. Whatever your choice1 #istraction still remains an irritating pro+lem. .t consists of anything that #raws your attention from your wor:. Thus1 an uncomforta+le chair constitutes a #istraction. So #oes a too8low #es:1 or a flic:ering light1 or a too8warm or too8col# room1 or a typewriter with :eys that stic:1 or squea:ing floor +oar#s in the hall outsi#e your #oor. Whenever you +ecome aware of such annoyances1 #o something a+out them if at all possi+le. Eften1 the solution is no more involve# than purchase of a new ri++on for your ol# mill1 or moving your #es: into a corner so that you face +lan: wall instea# of open win#ow1 or installation of a small electric fan to muffle encroaching echoes of soun#. En the other han#1 there are things in this life you can<t control. When such arise1 remem+er your gran#mother<s line a+out CWhat can<t +e cure# must +e en#ure#1C an# con#ition yourself to ignore the situation. * newspaper city room resem+les a ma#house1 on occasion1 +ut reporters still turn out their copy. Whole +oo:s have +een written on su+way trains1 in ships< forecastles1 or while +ouncing a +a+y

on one hip. .f you want to write +a#ly enough1 you<ll get the 9o+ #one somehow. G0H Don<t push too har#. Ence upon a time there was a writer. Because he was a competent craftsman1 he pri#e# himself on his a+ility to #eliver precisely what an e#itor as:e#1 no matter how short the notice or great the pressure. aga@ines li:e# that attitu#e. Soon Eur Boy was the man they calle# when1 in crisis1 they nee#e# a '616668wor# cover piece +y on#ay morning. Since such rush 9o+s often carrie# #ou+le or even triple rates1 Writer felt very please# with himself1 not to mention prosperous. That is1 he felt thus until1 one #ay1 it #awne# on him that may+e the pri#e was misplace# an# the profit not quite so great1 if you stoppe# to consi#er that he en#e# each story so :noc:e# out that he coul#n<t wor: at all for two or three wee:s after. The lesson here is that1 although you can out#o yourself on a short8time +asis1 you pay for it later. .n the same way1 if you push yourself too har#1 #ay in an# #ay out1 you +ecome tire# an# +ore#. 2specially +ore#. Bore#om is +orn of conflict: &ou<re #oing one thing1 +ut you wishBeven if unconsciouslyBthat you were #oing something else. -ow #oes this apply to writers? Writing is har# wor: . . . wor: that ma:es strenuous #eman#s on your unconscious. Sai# "nconscious goes along. But it wants rewar# for effort. .f no rewar# comes . . . if you press too har#1 if you #rive too long1 if you insist on la+or without respite ... "nconscious +al:s. Try to force the issue then1 an# you may en# up in real trou+le. *n# we woul#n<t want that to happen to you1 woul# we? G3H Stay alive. Iife is a writer<s raw material. Successful writers immerse themselves in it. To that en#1 you rea#. &ou travel. &ou shop. &ou loaf on street corners. &ou go to +all games. &ou visit frien#s. &ou atten# parties. &ou wor: in church or civic clu+ or Boy Scout troop. .n other wor#s1 you contact people. *ll :in#s of people1 without regar# to age or se7 or social stratum> the wi#er the range1 the +etter. =o aspect of your wor: is more important. .gnore it1 an# you must face the unhappy plight met too often +y the ol#er person who #eci#es he wants to write. $requently1 this ol#er person stoppe# rea#ing fiction twenty years ago. !esult: -is i#eas on style are hopelessly outmo#e#. Worse1 his frien#s1 his attitu#es1 his allusions an# his i#iom all are #rawn from

his own age group. -is worl# is one of age1 not youth. &et to 3% per cent of our citi@enry1 Worl# War . is something you rea# a+out in history +oo:s. Si7ty8 four per cent #on<t remem+er )rohi+ition. 2ven the Jorean War is #ea# past to '' per cent. This creates a pro+lem for the ol#er person: -ow #oes he ma:e contact with young rea#ers? ost often1 he #oesn<t. The gap +etween him an# them is too wi#e to +ri#ge. .n fact1 or#inarily you #on<t ma:e contact with anyone1 as a writer. &ou :eep it. 2very #ay. *n# you #o it +y staying alive. G4H Aet enough e7ercise. Writing is an appallingly se#entary occupation. .n a##ition1 it +uil#s nervous tension. )ut those two facts together1 an# you have a +asis for all :in#s of trou+le1 from o+esity to the screaming mimis. What #o you #o a+out it? &ou e7ercise. That #oesn<t mean pushups1 necessarily1 or han#+all. But it #oes mean getting out into the open . . . wal:ing along the +each in early1 pearl8gray morning . . . ta:ing an afternoon off to sun an# swim . . . venting your hostilities on the wee#s1 if you<re a gar#ener . . . +icycling1 fishing1 hunting1 golfing1 ri#ing1 +oating. This is time well spent. *llow for it in your sche#ule. &our wor: will +enefit1 not suffer. &ou<ll eat +etter1 sleep +etter1 rela7 easier. The plot pro+lem that tie# :nots in your stomach +efore you #ive# into the pool will somehow have resolve# itself +y the time you sit #own at the typewriter again. !aw8 nerve# touchiness an# aci# temper fa#e away as you chop woo# or mow the lawn. .n fact1 you might even come up with an i#ea for a new storyF +. -ow to revise> an# when. * first8#raft story or#inarily is a lumpy1 aw:war# thing. To shape it up1 you must rewor: it. ystery writer argery *llingham states the issue this way: C. write everything four times: once to get my meaning #own1 once to put in everything . left out1 once to ta:e out everything that seems unnecessary1 an# once to ma:e the whole thing soun# as if . ha# only 9ust thought of it.C !ewor:ing a story involves two processes. Ene1 here terme# revision1 #eals with structural change. The secon#1 to +e ta:en up later1 centers on language1 an# is calle# polishing. Successful revision requires that you perform three operations1 separately or simultaneously: G%H See that the story goes in a straight line. That is1 ma:e sure it centers on the story question. &ou can chec: this with a little private qui@ game: GaH Does the story question #efine the issue? CCan Ioretta Jloman1 lone =egro teacher in a white high school1 prove her competence1 when the racist coach urges her pupils to wal: out on her?C is a goo# story question. .t +rings o+9ective into hea#8 on collision with opposition. Ieave #esire GIoretta<s #etermination to prove her competenceH or #anger Gthe fear that her pupils will wal: out on herH vague an# unformulate#1 an# your whole story may grow wea: an# fu@@y. G+H Can the story question +e answere# CyesC or CnoC? Iet Ioretta see: to Cprove that =egroes are as goo# as whites1C an# you have a question that can<t +e

resolve# in fiction. Why not? Because you<ve shifte# the issue from a test of in#ivi#ual worth to a #e+ate on anthropological or sociological theory. Similarly1 if your story question #eals primarily with process GC-ow can Ioretta prove . . .C etc.H1 you switch emphasis from feeling to intellect1 emotion to pu@@le. &ou<re +etter off to stic: with a pattern that focuses #own to a #efinite CyesC or Cno.C GcH .s the story question esta+lishe# early? Ioretta<s o+9ective1 an# Coach Wil#ing<s opposition1 an# Ioretta<s #ecision to fight1 shoul# come on stage as soon as possi+le . . . prefera+ly in the very first scene. .f they #on<t1 the opening will #rag. G#H Does each an# every inci#ent you inclu#e have some clear8cut +earing on the story question? Discursiveness is a peril for all of us. .ncorporate a love scene +etween Ioretta an# her +oy frien#1 with no reference to the school situation in speech or thought or feeling on either si#e1 an# you waste wor#s +etter #evote# to some aspect of the story question. GeH .s #evelopment close8:nit an# logical from scene to scene? .f it isn<t1 it means that the #isaster in the prece#ing scene hasn<t +een #evastating enough to preoccupy Ioretta with the nee# to fin# a new goal. Thus1 the theft of Ioretta<s lunch8+o7 might rate as an irritation1 +ut it won<t force her to revise her thin:ing a+out her situation. Whereas Buc:o Wil#ing<s +elligerent #eman# that other teachers leave her ta+le1 when she sits #own in the school cafeteria1 an# the other teachers< compliance1 will increase her fears . . . perhaps even tempt her to quit her 9o+ on the spot. GfH .s the question answere# at the clima7? &our story nee#n<t solve all of Ioretta<s pro+lems. But if you en# with her still in #ou+t as to her competence1 her a+ility to meet an# control her class1 there<s no release of tension1 an# your rea#er has a right to irritation. GgH Does your hero<s climatic act #eci#e the issue? We<ve reache# the story<s clima7. The :i#s in Ioretta<s class are on their feet to leave. She<s floun#ering1 in #eep trou+le. =ow1 enter the principal. .n a ringing speech on #uty1 tolerance1 +rotherhoo# an# *mericanism1 he appeals to the class to stay with Ioretta. Whereupon1 the :i#s sit #own again. E.J.? =o1 no1 noF Why not?

Because Ao#1 in the shape of the principal1 save the #ay. Ioretta herself #oes nothing . . . performs no climactic act to prove that she<s worthy of rewar#. *n# that1 #ear frien#s1 is a car#inal sin in#ee# in fictionF GhH Does the resolution tie up all loose en#s? The answer to any story question leaves an aftermath of minor issues. .f you #on<t at least hint as to their outcome1 your resolution won<t completely satisfy your rea#er. .n our hypothetical story1 for e7ample1 there<s +oun# to +e curiosity as to what happens to Buc:o Wil#ing. So1 #on<t leave it hanging. *n# that<s enough attention to the tric:s of chec:ing story line. =ow1 let<s move on to the secon# aspect of revision: G'H See that the story +uil#s from +eginning to en#. -ere1 the issue is proportion. * ten8page +eginning to a twenty8page story is li:e opening a :i#s< cap8 gun war with the +last of an actual han# grena#e. .n the same way1 a story whose +ig scene comes in the mi##le isn<t li:ely to get you much> an# neither is one that features two tremen#ous clima7es in succession at the en#. &ou must space your crises an# :eep your pea:s of tension risingF G(H See that your rea#er cares what happens to your hero. The :ey to i#entification is #esire1 an# it wor:s two ways. Thus1 no one cares what happens to the character who wants nothing. *n# if nothing stan#s +etween him an# his goalBthat is1 if he faces no #anger1 no oppositionBagain1 he<s a #ea# #uc: so far as your rea#er is concerne#. Therefore1 chec: force an# counterforce in every scene. Buil# up the struggle. 2mphasi@e what<s at sta:e . . . its su+9ective importance to your hero. .n a##ition1 remem+er that your rea#er loo:s for some element of personality in your hero that he himself woul# li:e to possess. .t<s your 9o+ to provi#e it. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN So much for our three points. *re they the only items you nee# to chec: when you revise? By no means> for every story offers #ifferent pro+lems. -owever1 our list #oes cover the :ey issues. *n# you can always fall +ac: on Chapter 0: Beginning1 i##le1 2n#1 an# Chapter 3: The )eople in &our Story1 if you grow confuse#. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN $inally1 there<s one special ha@ar# in revision: the ten#ency to su+stitute it for new stories. Thus1 too often1 when a story is re9ecte#1 Writer #eci#es that it must +e revise#.

ay+e he<s right.

ay+e it really nee#s rewor:ing.

But if this happens more than occasionally1 he shoul# +egin to suspect his motives. Why? Because writing1 as +efore mentione#1 can +e #evilishly har# wor:. $or some people especially1 playing with an alrea#y8complete# pro#uct comes easier. The solution? Ence a story is maile#1 forget it. =o matter how +a# you #eci#e it is1 in afterthought1 let it go out at least five times +efore you change it. That is1 unless an e#itor suggests that you rewor: it. .n which case1 +oy1 get +usyF c. )olishing the pro#uct. * story communicates emotion. To that en#1 it uses language. Whereupon1 a question arises: Does the language use# really say what you want it to say? Does it convey the precise nuances of meaning you see: to pass on to your rea#er? "nless it #oesBan# it sel#om will1 in first8#raft copyByou nee# to give it further polish. Specifically1 you nee# to chec: an# correct it1 line +y line1 for: G%H Clarity. To +e clear is to +e #istinct> plain> easily an# correctly un#erstoo#. *ll of which is more simply #efine# in the a+stract than it is put to use when you #eal with the specific an# concrete. Thus1 #oes your rea#er really :now what <<talus<< is . . . how a harpsichor# soun#s . . . the function of a Uoomar lens? Because you visuali@e a girl as of a certain type1 or picture a #oor in a particular place in your min#<s eye1 #o you neglect to esta+lish them as vivi#ly for the au#ience with #escription? *re you sure each sentence is so written that the CheC refers +eyon# question to hero or villain1 as the case may +e? .f not . . . you nee# to clarify your meaning. G'H Clutter. .n simplicity lies strength. Qualify anything too fussily1 an# you lose the forest in the trees. 27planation an# inter9ection can +og a story #own. *ll those intriguing a#9ectives an# a#ver+sF They lure us. We purr to the sonority of the convolute# sentence . . . rolling on1 rolling on. *lliteration +ec:ons1 an# so #oes metonymy1 an# a hun#re# other #evices presse# into the service of self8conscious stylism. Why limit yourself to a simple statement1 when fifty wor#s will +efu##le your rea#er so much more nearly an# completely? The reme#y for clutter is simple. Aet #own to wor: with that +lue pencilF Say what you have to say1 +riefly an# to the point. Draw the picture cleanly an# vivi#ly1 +ut #on<t em+ellish it with unnecessary

wor#s an# phrases. $orego the purple prose. &our 9o+ is to tell a storyF G(H Consistency. Does !ita have +lac: hair on page three1 +rown on page seven? .s the s:y overcast one moment . . . your character squinting against the sun the ne7t? -ave you plante# the gun in the #es: #rawer on page twelve1 so that its presence won<t startle your rea#er when Ba+ette snatches it at the clima7? These all are pro+lems of consistency. $ailure to chec: them out may spoil a story for your rea#er. G,H Sequence. C-e turne#1 hearing the :noc: at the #oor.C *ctually1 of course1 the :noc: came first. otivating stimulus always prece#es character reaction1 in proper copy. When it #oesn<t1 you<re face# with confusion of sequential or#er. Correct it1 or the passage will stri:e an aw:war#1 9er:y note. G/H $low. CStan#ing there +y the grave1 he no##e# gravely.C The repetition stic:s out li:e a sore thum+. CStan#ing there +esi#e her in the cemetery1 he no##e# gravely.C =ow we<ve come up with an ina#vertent pun1 an# that<s even worse than repetition. CStan#ing there +esi#e her in the polyan#rium1 he no##e# so+erly.C E.J.1 so the writer owns an una+ri#ge# #ictionary. But #oes the rea#er? *ll these e7amples represent #isruptions of flow. &our copy shoul# rea# smoothly1 an# without attracting un#ue attention to your use of language. To that en#1 you try to select the right wor#1 the right soun#1 the right connotation1 the right com+ination for rhythm an# pacing an# +alance. When too many long sentences fall together1 you +rea: them up. *re too many short? &ou chec: to ma:e sure they #on<t soun# choppy. B"nless choppiness is the effect you see:1 that is. -ow #o you train yourself to spot the literary aw:war#ness that +rea:s up flow? &ou follow the same technique +y which you avoi# using +arrac:s i#iom at *unt cultivate awareness of language an# its nuances. atil#a<s tea: &ou

G0H .mpact. Timing1 wor# placement1 ma:es a worl# of #ifference1 whether in a 9o:e or in a story. Thus1 CSympathy is what one girl offers another in e7change for #etailsC ma:es a goo# gag8line1 +ecause the punch1 the unanticipate# twist1 is at the very en#. Woul# it +e as amusing if you sai#1 CWhen one girl offers another sympathy1 the #etails of what happene# are #eman#e# in returnC? The technique of +uil#ing impact is a fine art in#ee#. Ene wrong or e7tra wor# inserte#1 or one :ey wor# misplace# or left out1 an# what shoul# +e a +om+ can soun# li:e the +ac:fire of a car a +loc: away. )erhaps the +est way to learn timing is to practice telling 9o:es. Don<t 9ust repeat> e7periment with your phrasings en#lessly. .t may ma:e your frien#s groan for a

while1 +ut every laugh you coa7 will increase your s:ill at a##ing impact to your copy. G3H .#iosyncrasy. To some teen8agers1 everything is CswellC or CsquareC or CtoughC or Ccool<< or <<grassy.C Being people1 writers too sometimes fall into +a# ha+its. BDashes can +ecome such a ha+it. So can elipses . . . not to mention unnecessary Capitals Gor parenthetical insertionsH or e7clamation pointsF -ow a+out you? -as Cfe+rileC +ecome your favorite a#9ective? *re Cthic:lyC or Chum+lyC or CfiercelyC a#ver+s too often use#? .s the villain forever heavy8foote#? Do the heroine<s +reasts rise an# fall too fast on every other page? .t<s something to thin: a+out. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN * writer can #evote a lifetime to mastering the tric:s an# techniques of polishing his copy. -e shoul#. -e can spen# #ays on en# honing an# +urnishing a single paragraph or page. *n# that<s another matter. -ow so? *gain1 Somerset augham sums up the issue. CEne fusses a+out style1C he comments in * Writer<s =ote+oo:. CEne tries to write +etter. Ene ta:es pains to +e simple1 clear an# succinct. Ene aims at rhythm an# +alance. Ene rea#s a sentence alou# to see if it soun#s wall. Ene sweats one<s guts out. The fact remains that the four greatest novelists the worl# has ever :nown1 Bal@ac1 Dic:ens1 Tolstoi an# Dostoevs:y1 wrote their respective languages very in#ifferently. .t proves that if you can tell stories1 create character1 #evise inci#ents1 an# if you have sincerity an# passion1 it #oesn<t matter a #amn how you write. *ll the same it<s +etter to write well than ill.C #. The not8so8gentle art of cutting. The letter says1 C. . . so1 we<# +e most intereste# in having another loo: at this story1 if you can get it #own to three thousan# wor#s.C What #o you #o now? &ou cut. What #o you cut? &ou cut facts. ore specifically1 you #o not cut emotion. This is the heart of the issue1 +elieve me. *s such1 it<s also the reason why a great many revisions are re9ecte#. When a +eginner cuts1 it<s his ten#ency to lop out feeling1 every time.

That is1 he hangs onto his trees or his wharves or his +uil#ings. -e clings to the routine inci#ent in the railroa# station1 the +it with the +ootlegger1 the e7planation of precisely how a carillon is playe#. What he throws away is character reaction. But a story isn<t facts. !ather1 the truly vital element is how a specific some+o#y feels a+out the #ata> reacts to them. These feelings are what move the story forwar#. 2liminate them1 an# the story stan#s still an# #ies. To cut1 yet hang onto these so8essential feelings1 the tric: often is to consoli#ate an# regroup the facts. ay+e Character can react to a mountain scene as a whole1 a panorama1 instea# of to trees an# roc:s an# +roo:s an# purple sha#ows separately. Doc: Street<s wharves an# fog an# smells an# mur:y alleys are less important than the chill of fear your hero feels as he stri#es along the +ro:en si#ewal:. &ou can leave out all sorts of #escription of glass an# stainless steel1 if you confi#e that the +uil#ing is one of those that ma:e the ol# man long nostalgically for %456. .n the same way1 if the railway8station scene represents little save passage of time an# movement through space1 it<s possi+le that you can #rop it altogether. Same for +ootlegger an# carillonneur1 unless the parts they play am truly vital in the shaping of some+o#y<s feelings. So much for the general principle. =ow1 here are two specific rules: G%H $or limite# cuts1 trim wor#s an# phrases. Blue8pencil an a#9ective here1 an a#ver+ there1 an e7planatory clause or ram+ling sentence or #iscursive paragraph on #own the line1 an# two or three hun#re# wor#s can +e strippe# from almost any manuscript. .t<s often well8nigh painless. *n# it<s almost certain to sharpen up an# so +enefit your story. G'H $or ma9or cuts1 #rop scenes or characters. Carry a wor#8trim too far an# your story thins1 from loss of #etail an# imagery. 2limination of a minor scene1 on the other han#1 may save you two or three pages1 without affecting the color of the story as a whole. .n the same way1 #ropping a character ta:es out lines an# paragraphs with a minimum of pain. .n either case1 however1 there will +e a #isruption of story +alance. To reme#y it often #eman#s that you reappraise an# rewrite most carefully. e. The psychology of pro#uction. C.n the goo# hours when wor#s are flowing well1C remar:s -erman Wou:1 fame# author of The Caine utiny1 Cit seems there is har#ly a pleasanter way to spen# one<s time on earth.C -ow true. )ro#uction gives a writer his greatest satisfaction. Enly then Wou: a##s1 C=ever min# the +a# hours. There is no life without them.C Well1 as a philosophical attitu#e1 that<s fine. But what a wor:ing writer nee#s when he<s stalle# is help> practical help.

Specifically1 what<s he to #o when1 for some mysterious reason1 he can<t get out the copy? This is +y no means an uncommon situation. 2very professional has e7perience# it1 at one perio# or another. Sometimes it lasts for wee:s1 or even months. DepressionB+oth financial an# emotionalB comes with it1 an# panic . . . may+e even the en# of a career. *ctually1 the whole pro+lem stems from one simple fact: Writers1 too1 are people. Being people1 the fear of failure lives in all of us1 on one level or another. *nything that frustrates us or ma:es us feel ina#equate may +ring that fear surging to the surface. When that happens1 self8#ou+t ta:es over. Consciously or otherwise1 pro9ecting your fears into your copy1 you +egin to won#er whether sai# copy really can +e any goo#1 when you yourself are such a failure. * +a# review can trigger such a moo#. Ii:ewise1 a re9ection. .ntro#uction to a more successful writer may ma:e you won#er if he hasn<t some mysterious something that you lac:. * sneer1 a +ar+e# 9o:e1 an inept compliment which 2go interprets as a slightBeach hol#s the potential of un#ermining confi#ence. =or nee# the trigger +e associate# with your wor:. .na+ility to get proper service from a waiter can plunge you into a +lac: moo#. * chil#<s questionBCWhy can<t we have a new car1 Da##y?CBor a wife<s sigh over an e7pensive gown in a shop win#ow have +een :nown to start writers on a #ownwar# spiral. Divorce is notorious for its shattering effect. Thus1 you nee# not face actual #isapproval or re9ection. .t<s enough that you interpret what happens in #erogatory terms1 even on an unconscious level. Whereupon1 +ecause you<re alrea#y critical of self an# unsure in your talent1 you involuntarily question the worth of the wor: you #o. Consi#er1 for e7ample1 the not8untypical case of a man with an overeager agent. Writer has for years ma#e a #ecent enough living from paper8+ac: science8fiction novels. *gent1 aware of Writer<s talent an# #a@@le# +y visions of greater profit1 urges him to move over into the har#+ac: fiel#. CThis stuff you #o is nothing1C *gent presses. C* +ig +oo: with literary qualityBthat<s what you nee# to tac:le.C Writer laughs it off. C.<m #oing all right1C he says. CScience fiction<s fun. .t<s what .<m geare# to.C But the laughter has a hollow ring: CThis stuff you #o is nothing.C That<s what the man sai#. The wor#s fall against a +ac:#rop of ir:some memory: sni#e remar:s from an aging poetess . . . the #is#ain evince#

+y the young 2nglish professor who genuflects at the altar of the Jenyon !eview . . . a ten#ency of frien#s to treat Writer as an amusing :oo: +ecause his specialty is science fiction. *n# now1 his agent 9oins the pac:. En the surface1 Writer shrugs it off. But a :not +egins to tighten in his +elly. $inally1 one #ay1 he sits #own at the typewriterBan# no wor#s come. Why? Because1 without even +eing aware of it1 Writer su##enly has +ecome critical of his own wor:. &ou can<t +e +oth creative an# critical at the same time. They<re opposing forces. Catch a writer +etween them1 an# they tear him apart. *n# that gives us our first rule: G%H Separate creative impulse from critical 9u#gment. -ow #o you #o this? The first an# most essential step is to recogni@e the human ten#ency to attempt to mi7 the two. Then1 wal: wi#e aroun# it. To that en#1 a#opt a wor:ing rule of CCreate now . . . correct later.C )romise yourself the privilege of +eing as critical as you li:e1 as soon as the first #raft of a scene or story is complete#. "ntil the #raft is #one1 however1 stic: with impulse. Iet yourself go in a heat of passion. $orget the rules. $or as Bal@ac sai#1 C.f the artist #oes not fling himself1 without reflecting1 into his wor:1 as Curtius flung himself into the yawning gulf1 as the sol#ier flings himself into the enemy<s trenches1 an# if1 once in this crater1 he #oes not wor: li:e a miner on whom the walls of his gallery have fallen in> if he contemplates #ifficulties: instea# of overcoming them one +y one . . . he is simply loo:ing on at the suici#e of his own talent.C G'H $ace up to your fears. Writers as a group are notoriously har# to live with. They snarl1 +roo#1 ta:e affront1 pic: fights . . . leap from heights of elation to #epths of #espon#. The reason is that they ten# to pro9ect their fears . . . see: confirmation for their self8#ou+t in others. Says Christopher $ry1 playwright an# poet1 C*n artist<s sensitiveness to criticism is1 at least in part1 an effort to :eep unimpaire# the @est1 or confi#ence1 or arrogance1 which he nee#s to ma:e creation possi+le> or an instinct to clim+ through his pro+lems in his own way as he shoul#1 an# must.C So1 you ten# to +e hypersensitive. What #o you #o a+out it? $irst1 recogni@e that most slights are matters of interpretation1 not intent. =ot every casual comment +ears a +ar+. The sneer lies more often in your own min# than the spea:er<s. Secon#1 remem+er that to achieve1 you first must stic: your nec: out> an# that the 9ealousy of others1 less a+le or less courageous or less insightful1 is part of the price you pay for rising from the mass. When local literati 9a+1 most often it<s +ecause they themselves can<t write or sell. The fact that you #eal

in thoughts an# feelings instea# of shoes ma:es you #ifferent from your neigh+ors1 an# hence a trifle frightening to them. Thir#1 +ear in min# that we all ten# to e7pect our fellows to +e perfect1 long after we #iscover that we ourselves are not. )rofessional writers an# professors have +een :nown to cut +eginners #own1 in or#er to inflate their own egos1 or to vent frustrations1 or from plain1 simple fear of competition. Will facing these facts eliminate your fears? =o1 of course not. But given time an# effort1 they<ll help you to live with yourself more comforta+ly. G(H Buil# your self8esteem. *s someone has sai#1 you #on<t have moo#s> moo#s have you. !esort to will8power isn<t always the +est way to com+at them. Sometimes1 you get +etter results when you snea: in the +ac: #oor. .f you<re #epresse#1 try to recall some action that in the past has lifte# such #epressionBa simple thing1 li:e +eing force# to put on a mas: of cor#iality an# spea: to people on the street1 or 9o:ing with ol# frien#s over coffee. Call it auto8suggestion if you want to. But the fact remains that if you ta:e this route . . . if you act as if you were a competent1 confi#ent1 successful person . . . then frequently1 you<ll +ecome 9ust that. G,H Don<t #eman# too much. $rustration ten#s to +loc: a writer<s flow of copy. =othing frustrates more than too high a level of aspiration. &ou get nowhere when you try to force yourself to write to#ay the way you may write ten years from now1 if you<re sufficiently talente# an# luc:y an# if you write an# stu#y every #ay for the ne7t ten years. *ccept yourself as you are to#ay1 on the other han#1 an# wor: from where you are with what you<ve got1 an# you may #evelop +eyon# your fon#est e7pectations. S:ill is a thing you acquire a little at a time. .t #oesn<t come in a flash of magic. G/H Jeep your own counsel. Writing is a lonely +usiness. .n consequence1 there<s always a temptation to #iscuss your latest story with your frien#s. Don<t. Why not? $or two reasons: To +egin with1 tal:ing a+out a storyBtelling it1 in effectBamounts to wor:ing through it for the first time. !esult: &our emotional nee# to write it is re#uce#. &ou<re put in the position of the man who strives1 in reminiscence1 to recapture the thrill of a first :iss. =o matter how har# you try1 the spar:le<s gone. Secon#ly1 you can<t help +ut +e affecte# +y your listener<s reaction. -is slightest frown or misinterpretation may cast a pall over the whole i#ea1 to the point where it +ecomes almost impossi+le to write. Dou+le that in spa#es if the ClistenerC is an e#itor to whom you<ve sent an outline or synopsis. &ou<re +etter off to write1 not tal:.

G0H $ollow your feelings. Writing isn<t a logical process1 than: heavens. *n# consistency is the ho+go+lin of petty min#s. Therefore1 #on<t let what CoughtC to +e constrict you. .mpulse may prove a +etter gui#e. This is especially true when you<re in trou+le with a story an# pro#uction +rea:s #own. *t such moments1 if something a+out your opus #oesn<t CfeelC rightB#itch the somethingF Similarly1 if it #oes1 #on<t hesitate to #rive ahea#1 regar#less of any apparent violation of the rules. Why? Because myopia can ever so easily +lin# a writer. Wrappe# in his tas:1 he loses an perspective. $eeling operates on a #ifferent level. .t sorts out the varia+les . . . re9ects the false . . . catches glimpses of the larger pattern. While it can +e wrong1 its ver#ict rates strong consi#eration. G3H $all +ac: on free association. To free associate1 you merely spill out wor#s on paper: any wor#s at all1 without regar# to point or purpose. Such a process cuts you loose from critical 9u#gment. Creative impulse ta:es comman#. Disinhi+ition helps restore your sense of +alance. Soon1 fragmentsBi#eas1 wor#s1 sentencesB+egin to stri:e your fancy. &our stric:en ego revives. So1 try free association when you<re stuc:: one hour per clay for a wee:> no other writing permitte#. By the eighth #ay1 you<ll +e +ac: to pro#uction of story copy. G4H Draw confi#ence from :nowle#ge. Certain things you :now: things li:e the relation of motivation to reaction . . . the pattern to which you +uil# a scene . . . story structure . . . character #ynamics . . . a host of techniques an# #evices. These things aren<t original with you. Aenerations of other writers wor:e# them out +efore you. That means you can #epen# on them . . . write to them +y the num+ers1 if nee# +e1 secure in the :nowle#ge that they<ll help pull you out of your pro#uction +rea:#own. Thus1 if you write #own a motivating stimulus1 however cru#ely1 you :now that your ne7t step is to fin# the proper character reaction. * scene1 in turn1 starts with a character<s selection of an# #ecision to attempt to reach a given goal. Conflict #evelops from this effort1 an# finally +uil#s to a #isaster. * story comes into +eing when #esire colli#es with #anger. .ts clima7 centers on how your focal character +ehaves when face# with a choice +etween principle an# self8interest. With the roa# so clearly mar:e#1 how can you go astray? G5H Soa: yourself in your su+9ect. .n the scene ahea#1 -ero nee#s an uno+vious way to #isa+le Villain<s car. -ow shoul# he go a+out it? That<s something you haven<t yet wor:e# out. So you sit staring at your typewriter1 frustrate# an# unhappy +ecause the yarn<s +ogge# #own.

What you shoul# #o is go in search of facts. Dig up a mechanic. *s: him how he<# cripple a <0' $or#1 in a matching situation. Too often1 too many of us +oggle at research. We try to Cthin: throughC something that really calls for information. Then1 we e7cuse it with tal: of Cwriter<s +loc:.C G%6H .ncorporate present interests. .<ve mentione# +ore#om +efore1 an# the way it can +ring you to a grin#ing halt when you have to #o one thing #espite your yearning to #o another. Closely lin:e# to this pattern is the fact that1 in writing1 your interests often change as you go along. =e7t step: &ou grow sic: unto #eath of the story you<re on1 especially if it<s a long one. .n consequence1 your writing slows #own. &es1 there<s a reme#y. .t<s this: Ene reason you grow tire# of your story is +ecause fresh new i#eas :eep pressing in. &et you feel you must re9ect them. Well1 #on<t. *ccept them instea#. Devise ways to incorporate them into your present copy. Thus1 may+e you fin# yourself intrigue# +y a slangy1 lou#8mouthe#1 +elligerent ol# woman1 real or imagine#. *ll right. $in# a place for her. Su+stitute her for some #ra+1 #ow#y female alrea#y in the cast. *re you su##enly fascinate# +y the lore of #iamon#s? Then let a character +e captivate# too. -is preoccupation with precious stones can serve as a tag an# thus a## e7tra interest. The same principle hol#s for any other topic1 from sports8car racing to ancient armor. "se it s:illfully1 an# you<ll fin# it a first8class weapon against +ore#om. G%%H Ta:e the +ull +y the horns. C.f you haven<t got an i#ea1 start a story anyway1C suggests mystery writer William Camp+ell Aault. C&ou can always throw it away1 an# may+e +y the time you get to the fourth page you will have an i#ea1 an# you<ll only have to throw away the first three pages.C .t<s goo# a#vice. Such is the power of inertia in us that we hesitate to plunge1 into wor:. Ii:e timi# swimmers1 we stan# shivering +esi#e the pool1 urging ourselves to #ive yet #rea#ing the water<s chill. The reme#y is the same +oth for swimmer an# for writer: a quic:8#rawn +reath1 a shu##er1 an# a leap.

Besi#es1 once the initial shoc: wears off1 you may fin# the water is warmer than you thin:F G%'H Stay with the cattle. y frien# Clifton *#ams is a top western writer. To what #oes he attri+ute his success? -e answers: CWritings the only way . :now to ma:e a living. . #i#n<t have any choice +ut to go on.C *ctually1 of course1 Clif un#ertates his case. &ou can always quit. But in some people #etermination1 #e#ication1 commitmentBstaying with the cattle1 in the ol# range phraseBare character traits too #eeply ingraine# to +e +rushe# asi#e easily. These are traits every writer nee#s. When you +og #own1 your +est response may +e simply to persevere. To that en#1 force yourself to write1 however +a#ly. Wor: awhile> then ta:e a wal: aroun# the +loc:1 have a cup of coffee1 an# come +ac: an# wor: some more. When the #am finally +rea:s1 you<ll #iscover an interesting fact: The copy you wrote in agony isn<t one tenth as aw:war# as you thought it was. The reason? Talent is something that you<re +orn with. .t #oesn<t evaporate or #rain away. S:ill is an element you +uil#1 out of wor: an# stu#y an# e7perience. .t can<t vanish in a puff of smo:e. That<s why it pays you to stay with the cattle. G%(H $inish every story. &ears ago . share# an office with another writer. Ene #ay1 something went wrong for him. Though more successful than most free8lances1 he #eci#e# that his copy 9ust wasn<t goo# enough. $rom there on1 he wor:e# through story after story up to the final scene. Then1 #espair woul# overwhelm him. !efusing to +elieve his wor: was anything +ut #rivel1 he tore up sometimes8 +rilliant yarns . . . pieces that woul# certainly have sol# if he<# ever given them a chance. Completion of any story1 however +a#1 is in its way implicit proof that you<re +etter than most people who tal: of writing. =ot to finish1 on the other han#1 con#itions you to failure in a#vance. -owar# Browne summe# up the issue for me in a letter he wrote when . was in a +lue fun: of my own: <<&ou go ahea# an# #o me a story the way .<m telling you. $inish itBB"T DE=<T .T W-.I2 &E"<!2 W!.T.=A .T *=D DE=<T !2*D .T B2$E!2 &E" S2=D .T TE 2. .<ll rea# the thing an# if it<s no goo# .<ll re9ect it. But it<s not your 9o+ to re9ect anything> who #o you thin: you areBan e#itor?< G%,H Set up a private chec:list. &ou :now more than you thin: you #o1 on an unconscious level. So1 when you stall1 more often than not it means that something a+out the story itself is wrong. Somehow1 you sense this fact1 even though you can<t nail #own the trou+le on a conscious +asis. *t such a time1 it helps to have a private chec:list . . . a compen#ium of your own literary wea:nesses. Why? Because we

all ten# to repeat our errors. Thus1 quite frequently1 you may let your heroes grow passive1 or fail to motivate :ey actions1 or allow a goal to remain a+stract. 2ach time you spot such a wea:ness in one of your stories1 note it on a file car#1 one car# per wea:ness. Soon1 you<ll have a pac:et of such. That pac:et can +e your most helpful ai# in spotting errors. When a story +ogs #own1 turn to it. ore often than not1 what really +others you in your current wor: will stan# reveale#. G%/H Aive yourself a +rea:. Too much time in his wor:room can #evelop tunnel vision in a writer. When that happens1 wor#s come har#er. What shoul# you #o a+out it? Ene answer is to ta:e a +rea:. *+an#on wor: for a #ay or two or three. Aet out among people. -ave fun. Ao on a trip. Do some of the things you<ve planne# an# postpone# too long. The virtue of this treatment lies in the fact that it changes your perspective. "n#er reality<s impact1 you +ecome to a #egree a #ifferent person. Whereupon1 when you go +ac: to wor:1 your pro+lems may not loom so large. G%0H *voi# crutches. When a man<s in trou+le1 he ten#s to clutch at straws1 or even +ottles. .n fact1 especially +ottles. Why? Because alcohol lowers inhi+ition. &ou forget self8#ou+t in a ha@e of +our+on fumes. Catch is1 alcohol also esta+lishes a con#itioning. Before you :now it1 you #iscover that you can<t wor: without a #rin:. Er two. Er three. Er four. Soon you may fin# yourself in the situation of a frien# of mine. 2ach #ay when he sat #own to write1 he set a fifth of whis:y +esi#e the typewriter. $inally he reache# a point where story an# fifth ran out together. Ene fifth: one story. * night came when the story too: two fifths instea# of one. -is wife foun# him #ea# in his wor:room in the morning. oral: Drin: socially if you want to. But #on<t #rin: while you wor:. There are other crutches +esi#es alcohol1 from mari9uana to ISD. *ll operate on the same principle1 an# each offers a throughway to #isaster. The smart writer sweats out his private hell without them. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN So now the fiction factory is in operation.

But here1 another question rises: -ow #o you sell the finishe# pro#uct? That<s a su+9ect #ear to every writer<s heart. $or a succinct gui#e1 turn to the ne7t chapter.

5. Selling &our Stories * story is merchan#ise that goes hunting for a +uyer. This is going to +e the shortest chapter on recor#. To sell stories1 #o three things: %. Stu#y your mar:ets. '. Aet manuscripts in the mail. (. Jeep them there. *n# that<s all there is to it. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN What a+out agents? *n agent is a +usiness manager for writers. .f you have a +usiness to manageBone that ma:es a soli#1 consistent profitBan agent can +e invalua+le to you. .f you haven<t1 why shoul# he waste his time? Ene agent1 )aul !. !eynol#s1 has written a +oo: calle# The Writer an# -is waterfront. !ea# it. ar:ets. .t covers the

%6. &ou an# $iction * story is a larger life1 create# an# share# with others +y a writer. So now you :now how to write an# sell a story: the tric:s1 the techniques1 the #evices1 the rules8of8 thum+. True1 you still have plenty to learn. The creation of commercial fiction involves all sorts of twists an# su+tleties. * writer can wor: at his craft for twenty years1 yet continue to #iscover something new each #ay. But such fringe fragments are largely a matter of in#ivi#ual touch1 an# +est assimilate# through

e7perience. They<ll come with time an# wor:. ore important1 now1 is a #ifferent question: Where #o you go from here? That #epen#s on you1 of course: your tastes1 your talents1 your am+itions> a+ove all1 the #epth of your inner nee# to write an# sell. *n# that +rings us to a crucial issue: Dust what is the nature of the nee# to write1 precisely? Why #oes one man go on an# on> another not? The answer1 put +riefly1 is this: The writer is a man who see:s a larger worl#. When he fin#s it1 he passes it along to others. Believe me1 this can +e a vital matter to you. Ence you truly un#erstan# it an# its implications1 your most ir:some pro+lems will +e resolve#. Shall we move to the attac:? MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN The true function of any teacher is to prepare his stu#ents to face the future an# stri:e out on their own. To that en#1 an# whether he plans it so or not1 he pon#ers sai# stu#ents as much as they pon#er him. y own chosen pon#ering8place is the "niversity of E:lahoma1 an# the )rofessional Writing program in which . teach. .t provi#es me with stu#ent writers to o+serve1 an# the fact of their talent is #emonstrate# +y the success that they<ve achieve#: more than three hun#re# +oo:s pu+lishe#> literally thousan#s of maga@ine stories an# articles sol#. en an# women li:e =eal Barrett1 Dr.1 science8fiction specialist> Dac: . Bic:ham1 now with more than a #o@en novels to his cre#it> Bo+ Bristow1 ma9or contri+utor in the men<s fiel#> artha Corson1 top confessioneer> *l Dewlen1 whose Twilight of -onor was a Boo: of the onth Clu+ selection an# A film> Iawrence V. $isher1 with Die a Iittle 2very Day for !an#om -ouse an# ystery Auil#> $re# Arove1 winner of Western Writers of *merica awar#s> 2li@a+eth Ian# Ja#erli1 author of assorte# fact +oo:s> -arol# Jeith1 whose !ifles for Watie claime# a =ew+ery e#al> Ieonar# San#ersBhis latest novel is The Woo#en -orseshoe1 at Dou+le#ay> the late ary *gnes Thompson1 one of whose short stories en#e# up as an 2lvis )resley movie> ary Iyle Wee:s1 another lea#ing confession writer now moving into the har#+ac: novel fiel#1 an# Deanne Williams1 author of pri@e8winning +oo:s for young people1 are among those with whom .<ve ha# the pleasure of wor:ing personally1 at one time or another. What #o . fin# when . loo: +ac: along the roa# that these writers an# hun#re#s of others li:e them have followe#1 as they went through courses with me an# various of my colleagues: $oster8-arris1 -elen !eagan Smith Gin the "niversity<s 27tension DivisionH1 an# the late Walter S. Camp+ell? Typically1 the +eginning stu#ent Gan# in speciali@e# professional courses such as ours1 <<+eginning stu#entC often means a man or woman far past usual college ageH is eager to write1 +ut has #eficiencies an# :nows it. -e can<t ma:e wor#s or rea#ers +ehave the way he wants them to. So1 he comes to course or +oo: to learn his craft.

The s:ills he nee#s are things that can +e taught. We teach them to him. Very soon1 however1 Writer learns that tools an# tric:s alone 9ust aren<t enough. Why not? Suppose an acci#ent occurs at a +usy intersection1 in the presence of a #o@en witnesses. .f the police are very luc:y1 they may locate one person upon whose account of the wrec: they can #epen#. The others catch part of the action only1 or +ecome confuse#1 or simply see things that #i#n<t happen. Woul#8+e writers1 too1 reflect a :in# of private +lin#ness. Aive five of them the self8same training an# raw materials1 an# it may +e your goo# fortune to have one pro#uce a story that<s worth the rea#ing. Thus1 whether you #eal with writer or with witness1 the in#ivi#ual is the vital factor. Why? Because each person CseesC things #ifferently. $urther1 a #ifferent type of seeing is nee#e# in each case. The man the police want as an acci#ent witness is one who sees facts: the Worl# That .s> what actually too: place1 without #istortion or interpretation. This :in# of seeing constitutes a talent. To o+serve accurately ta:es e7perience an# training an# a special :in# of person. What the writer nee#s1 on the other han#1 is e7actly the opposite: the a+ility to see more than the facts: to loo: +eyon# them> to hypothesi@e a+out them> to #raw conclusions from them. *+ove all1 he must use his facts as stimuli to feeling: emotionali@e them> give them a unique private life. This1 too1 is a talent. Why #oes one woul#8+e writer see more than #o his fellows? Because one has it in him to +e a writer. The others only wish they #i#. *n#Bnow we<re +ac: to where we starte#Bthis is +ecause the true writer see:s a larger worl#. -ow so? Because the Worl# That .s can never +e quite large enough to suit the writer. -emme# in +y reality1 he

feels restive1 no matter how i#eal his situation may appear to another eye. * rut gil#e#1 to him1 still remains a rut. *n# 9ust as each character in a story #raws motive force from his nee# to ma:e up for something that he lac:s1 so the writer is #riven +y his nee# to escape the limits of a too8small worl#1 the Worl# That .s. .t<s in his +loo# to range farther than life can ever let him go. The impossi+le intrigues him. So #o the unattaina+le1 the for+i##en1 the #isastrous. Ii:e the man who rea#s his stories1 he wants to :now what it<s li:e to love1 to hate1 to thrill1 to fear1 to laugh1 to cry1 to soar1 to grieve1 to :ill1 to #ie1 from insi#e the s:ins of a hun#re# #ifferent people. =or is it enough for him 9ust to :now. -e must play Ao# too> gui#e the han# of fate> somehow mol# an# control the forces that shape #estiny. These things can<t +e. The writer reali@es it. But that only sharpens his #esire an# whets his craving> for his nee# to reach out stri:es #eeper than the wil#est #reams of other men. *n# the writer can reach out1 through the agency of his own imagination. -e #oes so. Then1 +ecause the things he fin#s in the larger worl# that he creates so fascinate him1 he yearns to pass them on to others. -e #oes that too1 through the me#ium of the written wor#. Do . ma:e this plain? The writer<s inner nee# is #ual. En the one han#1 he<s #riven +y his #esire to live life in a larger worl#. En the other1 he feels a compulsion to share that worl# . . . to #isplay it for others to a#mire. Both these #rives must coe7ist insi#e you1 nagging an# harassing1 if you<re to +e a writer. . stress this +ecause it<s so sel#om un#erstoo#. Too often1 the woul#8+e writer thin:s that what he wants is fame or money or in#epen#ence. -e equates a taste for rea#ing or a :nac: with wor#s for talent. =ow none of these +eliefs are wholly false. But neither are they wholly true. They eva#e the issue1 for convenience< sa:e or lac: of insight or unwillingness to accept the fact of #ifference1 as the case may +e. *ctually1 what a writer see:s is a way of life1 an# that way constitutes its own rewar#. The criterion is never art for art<s sa:e . . . always1 it is art for self<s sa:e. &ou write +ecause you li:e toBnee# to1 have toBwrite> there is no other vali# reason. Ence let a writer recogni@e this> once let him un#erstan# his own #ynamics1 an# uncertainty an# self8 #ou+t fa#e. &ou learn to face the fact that if your inner nee# is great enough1 you<ll write. .f other nee#s

surpass itBif your #rives to a#venture or security or love or recognition or family #uties stri:e #eeper Bthen you can turn away with no regrets. &ou won<t have to :i# yourself a+out fame or money or in#epen#enceBthose are +onuses for special s:ill an# talent> fringe +enefits. Convenient an# #esira+le though they may +e1 on a +asic level they<re only status sym+ols> society<s stamp of approval to mar: your success in your chosen fiel#. ore important +y far is your own self8satisfaction. Buil# larger worl#s of your private choosing> fin# the right rea#ers to a#mire them1 an# you<ll live content #espite an income that woul# never rouse 9ealousy in a use#8car salesman. Deny yourself your Worl#s of .f1 your rea#ers1 an# you can +e misera+le even with a !olls8!oyce an# a Bel *ir estate. MNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMNMN What is a story? * story is so many thingsB .t<s e7perience translate# into literary process. .t<s wor#s strung onto paper. .t<s a succession of motivations an# reactions. .t<s a chain of scenes an# sequels. .t<s a #ou+le8+arrele# attac: upon your rea#ers. .t<s movement through the eternal now1 from past to future. .t<s people given life on paper. .t<s the triumph of ego over fear of failure. .t<s merchan#ise that goes hunting for a +uyer. .t<s new life1 share# with rea#ers +y a writer. * story is all these things an# more. So much1 much more . . . $or a story1 in the last analysis1 is you1 transferre# to print an# paper. &ou: unique an# in#ivi#ual. &ou1 writer1 who through your talent range a larger worl# than others1 an# thus give life new meaning to all who choose to rea#. &ou: writer. *ttain that status1 an# you win fulfillment enough for any manF