Lessons from GenCon

[Alydia Ettermire]

Hi everyone, as I said somewhere else, I attended GenCon 2015, and more than I played DnD like a nerd, I attended panels where published authors spoke on the techniques that worked for them (like a nerd). I took a whole lot of notes, and I'm only just starting to write them up to share them.

I have scene and structure, three different takes on plotting (by a plotter, by a pantser, and by an in-betweener), tension, villains, finding the story, worldbuilding, connective tissue in writing, characterization, creating magical systems, editing, designing cultures, and monsters.

But let's start this off with the easy one: sex.

The incredibly funny Delilah S. Dawson did this panel, and instead of typing up my notes, I will link you to her blog post on the subject - http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2013/04/30/25-humpalicious-steps-for-writing-your-first-sex-scene-by-delilah-s-dawson-author-of-wicked-as-she-wants/

There you go.

[Alydia Ettermire]

Scene and Structure (Part 1)

Bradley Beaulieu - www.quillings.com

I have not yet read any of Brad’s stuff, but he was an engaging and informative speaker, and I’m looking forward to the preview of his most recent book that I got at the con.

Story Question

A story has an arc, which is dictated by a goal. (Frodo must drop the Ring into the fires of Mt. Doom, Seth must get his daughter back from Cassandra, Nanashi needs to find Kayu, Dirks needs to find the nearest source of booze or he’ll shrivel up and die of sobriety, etc.)

The reader converts the story goal into a question: “Will they do the thing?”

Conflict prevents them from attaining their goal.

The conflict and story progression is presented to the reader in a series of scenes.

A story is a person in a place who has a problem.

For instance: Michelle is in her room and her parakeet will not shut up.

The person will make attempts to solve the problem, they will fail several times, finally succeed or fail for good, and then the story will wrap up.

For instance, Michelle could kick the dog out of the room, because the parakeet likes to talk to the dog. Okay, so she does that, but then the bird starts cussing out his reflection. So she takes him out of the cage for free flight time, but he gets into a really engrossing conversation with that chickadee nesting in the eaves. Finally, she puts him up, covers him, and turns off the light because it’s time to go to bed. He chatters for about ten minutes, despite protests of “shut up!” Finally, he goes to sleep. Morpheus has succeeded where Michelle has failed. Everyone goes to sleep, and the battle for peace and quiet will begin again the next day.

So a story structure is basically an inciting incident, which plays out over scenes that grow in tension until they reach a climax, and then the story winds up with a brief denouement.

Probably the most popular structure is the Three Act Structure. We see it in all sorts of plays, notably Shakespeare, and it makes sense in our little brains.

In Act 1, the Inciting Incident occurs. We get introduced to our main character and supporting characters as required, and they make lame, half-assed attempts to solve the problem, because they aren’t yet fully invested. At the end of Act 1, the stakes get raised in some way to make the characters fully invested in the problem and its solution.

For example, in the AC, Madison Freebird goes into the Red Forest with the intent of saving Pode to prove that she can. She finds out she’s not Pode’s only special pet, and then she gets pissed off. Her goal changes so that now she wants Pode’s power. She becomes fully invested.

Act Two shows the fully-invested character trying to solve the problem. The try/fail cycle occurs. There’s not a good story if they don’t get handed their asses (literally or metaphorically) at least once. The character reaches a low point at the end of the act.

Maddy feels she deserves all the power because it’s her right, so she tracks down some of Pode’s other minions to kill them and absorb their powers. She gets killed in this attempt. This is not actually the low point in her arc. When she comes back, she wanders around, a little dazed, and comes across her bff, Nell. Pode tricks her into killing Nell and shows her the path of self-destruction she’s on.

Act Three has the character rising up to take the action that leads to the climax.

In Maddy’s case, she gets up, spits some fury at Pode, and kills Pode’s hate in a horrible, spectacular fashion. She’s still murdered her own best friend, and she’s still lost more than she’d gained. Her entire initial goal has collapsed around her ears. She succeeded in killing her one-time mentor, but she has failed.

Elements of Structure: The Scene

Scenes are the basic large building block of a story. It’s the “now” as you’re reading it. (Juliet on her balcony, ghoul-Rayse in hell trying to figure out what the hell happened, etc.).

If the story is a Lego castle, scenes are the Lego bricks.

Scenes follow patterns. There’s the statement of a goal, the introduction of conflict, and some sort of failure or tactical disaster.

In the Digger Comic (which I highly recommend to everyone), the main character gets chased by freaky cold creatures from below ground. She and some of the ancillary characters decide to flee, while some other ancillary characters attempt to draw them off. Somebody dies, and a major discovery is made about the cold creatures. It is a disaster.

So basically, the setup is Goal-Conflict-Disaster, and the Conflict can be broken down into Stimulus-Response-Stimulus-Response.

Each scene has a clear-cut goal that seems attainable. Get through the mines of Moria, find the Sword of Parity that you need to trade for the Apples of Awesomeness so that you can go to the next goal, etc.

The reader will ask the scene question. Where is the Sword of Parity?

Conflict will rear its head up. The map handed down by your great-great-great-great grand-monkey crumbles to dust when you reach the labyrinthine cave where the sword is said to rest.

Conflict is the heart of fiction. We want to see these characters working to reach their goals, instead of just waltzing through. Conflict makes stories interesting by hindering the characters in their attempts to reach their goals.

Conflict should not be circular. It should not be “Left!” “No, right!” “No. Left.” “Right, you blasted idiot!”

That gets you nowhere. Conflict should be used to progress the plot - to force the characters to solve problems. The scout finds that there are fewer dead bodies down this smaller passage, maybe it’s a safer route.

Conflict will end in disaster, and the characters should be in worse shape at the end of the scene than they were at the beginning. Maybe they find the chamber where the Sword of Parity is kept, but the Serpent of the Most Holy God of Splendor is coiled around it, and the entire cavern is strewn with bodies in various states of decay (and/or piles of giant snake dung). The snake is watching our heroes, daring them to set one foot into its domain. Its tongue flickers in and out of its mouth. It looks hungry.

Disaster types

No - Complete and utter failure; the characters have lost at least one option to solving their goals.
No, and further - They fail, and something happens to make matters even worse.
Yes, but… - There’s a potential resolution, but the characters must do something else first. It might be a fetch quest, or it might be a bad option that poses ethical dilemmas. For instance, the hero might be able to get to the sword if the scout distracts the snake, potentially and probably becoming the next victim of its horrible appetite.

Subplots

Subplots give us the chance for small successes as the main plot moves along. In the example I was BSing my way through above, getting the Sword of Parity would be one more step toward the goal of saving the world.

Here is where Brad reminded us that fiction and real life are NOT the same thing. Life can be random. You can be crossing the street in the dead of winter and a car that doesn’t see you rams into you at 30 mph, and there’s no reason for it.

Fiction is not life. Fiction must have causes that drive effects. It should be predictable (more on that later in this thread), but it should have predictability. The snake grabs the scout in its coils just as the hero reaches the sword, and the scout is struggling for breath through his rapidly-compressing ribcage when the hero drives the sword through the serpent’s skull. That sort of thing. High drama, it makes sense, but you’re sweating bullets because what if he doesn’t make it in time?

Cause and effect have smaller building blocks, and we call these stimulus and response. A stimulus is an external action, a response is an external reaction to the stimulus. My parakeet starts screaming his fool head off, I yell at him, that sort of thing.

The response must be immediately logical or an explanation must be provided. Readers get confused at things like when Brain is viewing his latest plan for world domination and asks his trusty sidekick “are you pondering what I’m pondering?” and is met with a response akin to “I believe so Brain, but how would you get the hippo into the tutu?”

The response should usually follow the stimulus; putting in too much internalization can bog a story down. (I am super guilty of that.) So only put it in when it’s important - the response is complex. For example, the once or twice we’re allowed into Pinky’s head (internalization), his responses actually make alarming amounts of sense.

Remember, the pattern will always go: Stimulus-Response-Stimulus-Response or Stimulus-Internalization-Response-Stimulus-Response, etc. You see this a lot in Althanas battles.

Note: Character B’s response is usually Character A’s stimulus.

Scenes and Results

An effective scene has results. You’ve got to consider the goals, the angles in the conflict, and the nature of the disaster.

This means considering:

The scope of the result. Is it irrelevant (after much deliberation, Andy chose French Toast Crunch over Count Chocula cereal for breakfast) or is it earth-shattering (after looking at the ingredients list in his cereal choices, Andy decides that cereal is soggy and has some scrambled egg whites with veggies) or somewhere in between (Andy resolves to stop eating at McDonalds because it makes him feel awful and will now only eat at Wendy’s)? Too small and it’s a waste of space, too big and it can derail the plot.

The immediacy of the result. We call this pacing here. Does the plot trip over itself or does it drag out and tension lags and people lose interest?

The finality of the result. Is it too final (Vincent kills Ioder in post three of their citadel spar. Well, now what)? Is it not final enough (the Jensen/Astarelle interminable will they/won’t they)?

And the direction of the result. Too much of a twist can send the plot reeling, too little leads to a predictable storyline. Direction needs support, or you leave your reader going “whaaaaa? I don’t get it.”

I am halfway-ish through this session, but this is super big right now, so I’ll post the rest hopefully tomorrow.