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start on the day
everything changes
When should your story begin? There’s no right
answer, but for me, the answer is usually this: start on
the day that everything changes.
Start with the event that disrupts the character’s
ordinary world and threatens to drag her into the
extraordinary world of the story.
•
The Hobbit begins when Bilbo’s sleepy life in Bag
End is disrupted by a party of rambunctious dwarfs,
and a mischievous wizard who wants Bilbo’s help
to steal a dragon’s treasure.
•
Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone starts
when an ordinary boy discovers he’s a wizard.
•
Star Wars begins when a farm boy on a backwater
planet discovers summons to rescue a space
princess.
In the The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Joseph
Campbell describes this moment as the Call to
Adventure.
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In The Hobbit, Harry Potter, and Star Wars, the Call
leads to a literal, physical adventure, but your main
character doesn’t always have to actually travel for the
Call to work.
What’s important, however, is that the Call to
Adventure should set your story in motion - and show
readers the conflicts and stakes your character is
about to experience.
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2
vary your
sentence length
This is the quickest way to improve how your
sentences flow.
Let’s start with this example:
Ben walked over to the fridge. He pulled open the
metal door. Inside, it smelled like old milk. He wrinkled
his nose in disgust. He took out some canned
tomatoes. Then he ate them with relish.
Urgh. It’s a small miracle you didn’t fall asleep.
What’s wrong with that passage? Apart from the
obviously boring subject matter and lack of
meaningful conflict, I’d say the main cause is this:
every sentence is the same. Six words. Six words. Six
words.
On and on and on until your reader falls into a coma.
Repetitiveness is the bane of excitement. If you want
your story to flow, you need to be changing up your
sentence lengths to create a better sense of rhythm.
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For instance:
Ben walked over to the fridge. When he pulled open
the door, the stench of old milk washed over him. He
gagged. Jessica had never cared too much for
cleanliness. He gave a rueful smile. How many
pointless arguments had that sparked in this
kitchen?
He sighed. Then he slid down the wall, slumped onto
the tiles, and cried, because they were never going to
have another one of those arguments ever again.
Okay, I’m cheating a little by adding the character of
Jessica. Still, you can hopefully see how alternating
the sentence length improves the pacing.
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3
elevate your story
with subtext
Subtext is the underlying meaning behind a
character’s dialogue or actions. Subtext is unspoken.
It’s what happens in the space between the lines.
Consider one character greeting another:
“Oh wow! Dean, you’ve lost weight!”
The text is one character saying that another
character has lost weight. But depending on the
situation, their previous relationship, or what we know
about the characters, the subtext could be vastly
different:
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Perhaps this exchange happens in front of Dean’s
new girlfriend, and his jealous friend is trying to
make Dean seem unattractive.
•
Perhaps the speaker is trying to flatter Dean to get
a favour out of him.
•
Perhaps the speaker is genuinely proud of Dean’s
ability to overcome his past, and is using the weight
loss as an easy cover for praising this development.
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Subtext isn’t only present in dialogue. Consider, for
instance, a character who is ripping weeds from the
garden. Perhaps she grows frustrated with one
particularly stubborn root. After several ineffectual
tugs, she starts swearing and hurling her tools all over
the yard.
If we then reveal that she had an important meeting
at work earlier that day, the subtext becomes clear: the
meeting was a disaster, and she’s taking out her anger
on the weeds.
Readers don’t want to be spoon-fed. Readers want to
work for their meal; they want to fill in the blanks
themselves, to feel a rush of insight, cleverness,
connection, and understanding.
As Andrew Stanton (the co-writer of Toy Story) says:
“We would call this the unifying theory of two plus
two. Make the audience put things together. Don't
give them four; give them two plus two.”
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4
dialogue is
action
We’re often told to not judge people by what they say
(dialogue), but rather by what they do (action).
But dialogue is a type of action. Characters use
dialogue to get what they want. Sometimes they do
this overtly (“Give me the money.”) and sometimes
they do this subtly (“You know, I’m really struggling
with rent at the moment…”).
As Robert McKee says in Dialogue: The Art of Verbal
Action for Page, Stage and Screen:
“Beneath every line of character talk, the writer must
create a desire, intent, and action.”
Once you understand this, your dialogue will reach a
new level of quality, realism, and excitement.
When writing your dialogue, you should consider:
1. What does my character want out of this situation?
2. What action would they plan to reach that desire?
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3. What words would they use to carry out that
action?
For each piece of dialogue, you should be aware of the
subtextual action beneath, and label it with a gerund
(”-ing”) phrase.
Consider this exchange in Across the Broken Stars:
“Someone has to stand up to them, or they’ll keep
walking over us.” (Rallying)
“They walked over you just fine there.” (Dismissing)
Alvaro spat blood onto the cobblestones. “You’re a
brave one, aren’t you?” (Accusing)
Leon scowled. “I’m realistic.” (Defending)
***
Lastly, there are three layers that dialogue operates on:
1. The said: ideas that a character decides to openly
communicate with others.
2. The unsaid: thoughts a character only chooses to
explore within himself.
3. The unsayable: subconscious desires that elude a
character’s ability to even express them within
himself.
Learn how to explore all three layers, and your
dialogue will feel richer and more compelling.
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5
contradiction
creates compelling
characters
We often describe a good character as a ‘three
dimensional’ character. A bad one, on the other hand,
is a ‘one dimensional’ character.
But what does a dimension actually mean?
In Story, Robert McKee explores this idea in a way that
changed how I thought about character forever:
“Dimension means contradiction: either within deep
character (guilty-ridden ambition) or between
characterization and deep character (a charming
thief). Dimensions fascinate; contradictions in nature
or behaviour rivet the audience’s concentration.”
Let’s consider a painter who’s been working on her
masterpiece for several years. Perhaps she:
1. Loves her children but resents how they take time
away from her art.
2. Craves money for herself and her family but hates
her decision to make this painting for a rich patron
who cares nothing about the art.
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3. Is constantly telling people she just wants to paint
all day but finds herself procrastinating whenever
she has the chance to actually do some work.
4. Wants to get the painting done as soon as possible
but is too much of a perfectionist to say the
drawing is ‘done’.
That’s a quick example that only took me a few
minutes to sketch out. You can already see, though,
how this exercise can lead to interesting implications
for your story. You probably already have a good idea
of who this painter is, don’t you?
The key lesson here: when your character has multiple
competing desires tearing at her from within, she
becomes much more compelling to follow. (This is
why so many superheroes have secret identities they
must balance against their heroic identity.)
Why does this ring true? Well, that’s how we operate
in life. We want so many things, and many of them sit
directly opposite from each other. Navigating the
tension between these is how we grow and develop,
and characters are the same.
I often do this contraction-listing exercise with my
own characters. I always find it remarkably helpful at
increasing their depth and complexity, which
increases my eagerness to write about them and see
where they take me.
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keep going.