Storytellersunplugged

Plotting:

George Guthridge

Synopsis: In July and August I wrote about how I use nonfiction to help students write fiction. Basically, I show how to use National Geographic and other periodicals to isolate nonfiction “tidbits” – interesting bits of trivia that could make for very short term papers. For example, did you know that the neck rings worn by women in parts of Asia and Africa do not stretch the neck? They suppress the clavicle.

The students then work through a rubric that helps them determine what tidbit is worthy of fiction, and they develop a character to fit the tidbit, basically by brainstorming many possibilities of who might have a problem with it. They then winnow out the less sympathetic and less interesting characters and arrive at the protagonist (or at least a major character) for their story. The result is the start of a character-driven story. Students from first grade through post-graduate work have used the system. Students of mine as young as sixth grade have used it to break into national magazines and to win state, national, and international fiction-writing competitions.

Before I go to the next step, let me apologize in advance if I may seem to be talking down to people – perhaps telling you what you already know. Unfortunately, I do not know the demographics for this site, so I do not know if you are trying to break into print, are a seasoned professional writer, or just do not have anything better to do or are looking for a porno site and “Storytellers Unplugged” sounded vaguely kinky.

The next step: plotting from an enthymeme.

Fiction has been compared to a rock tossed into a pond. The ripple symbolizes the growing conflict and complexity the story involves.

The analogy is inaccurate, I think. Even though stories start en medias res – that is, in the middle of the broader story that any particular canvas covers – the transposition of pure “story” to the printed page negates the image. After all, we must translate nonlinear communication, such as in an oral transmission, to a linear one. Linearity results from print, technically known as chirographic communication.

So let’s modify the image: plotting involves a rock dropped into the corner of a liquid picture. The ripples emanate outward but are always held in check by the frame – the story’s artificial construct of reality.

All that seems esoteric and rather professorial, but it helps us imagine just what a story is and what it is not. Okay, so now to put that image into more practical terms.

All fiction except the avante garde has one thing in common: it involves an emotional problem to be solved. That is why most of us read: to vicariously experience the protagonist’s problems. It is the same reason why most people watch movies. Ones that are purely cinematic rarely draw large audiences.

Start the story with a single sentence. But of course! Except make this the construct that the Greeks called the enthymeme: a statement that says “What because why.” It will always say, “_______ had a problem with ________ because of _______.” The first blank will be the narrator, the second will be the event, and the third will be the problem. For example: George Guthridge, whom his fellow villagers had labeled “the Simpleton,” had a problem with a talking dog because it had Tourette’s Syndrome.

Unlike in basic nonfiction, such as in an impromptu essay exam, in most cases the sentence will not remain as part of the story. Rather, it serves as a guide to keep you on track. You will later throw it away.

Now, to drop the rock into the pond: Start with the narrator, but refer to what is called the “classification” of the next part of the enthymeme, here the talking dog. Classifying – a term in rhetoric that goes back at least as far as Plato – is the opposite of specificity. It does not mean to be general, but rather to ascend the levels of generality a rung at a time.

The next rung for “talking dog” is “dogs” or “talking” – i.e., “communication.” If you have background with dogs, then you might begin with that. If you have, say, a speech impediment or a fear of speaking in public, then you might begin with “communication.” Wed that classified element to the first variable in the enthymeme, which in fiction always will be the protagonist. Therefore, I am not going to start by discussing George Guthridge in general (your life is boring enough without adding all of his to it!) but rather by his relation with dogs – but not with the talking dog.

The protagonist’s problem actually consists of two problems: an inner, or emotional problem that existed before the “story” begins; and an outer problem, which is the core of the plot. The first part of the story must introduce or at least hint at the inner problem. The earlier that appears in the story, the more likely you are to grip the reader.

The outer problem is that which makes the inner problem surface. Ask yourself: why does the outer problem have to start today – why not yesterday or tomorrow? Why does the protagonist meet the talking dog today and not next week?

Too many beginning writers rush into the action, or event, without having established characterization. While it is generally more effective to do both at the same time, if you must choose one over the other, I recommend that you put characterization first. It is harder to fold effective characterization into the plot than to build a plot around effective characterization. If you start with characterization you can always segue to the plot simply by saying, “Then one day . . .”

Therefore, in this story you might begin by showing George and the loss he feels over having had to give up his St. Bernard that peed on every carpet and ate like – well, like a St. Bernard. He dreams about the dog, puts up St. Bernard pictures over his bed, and almost, but not quite, attends a dog show where a champion St. Bernard prances and preens or brings alcohol to thirsty spectators or does whatever champion St. Bernards do.

Then one day (aha!), on his way home from the School for Simpletons and feeling particularly akin to the dog of his dreams, George stops for a pee at his dog’s favorite bush beneath a bridge. And there he meets a talking dog. A Chihuahua. You wouldn’t want to make the story easy for the protagonist or predictable for the reader, would you?

More next month.