Talking Pictures: Plotting through Image Analysis and Imaginative Elaboration

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

Characters, incidents, settings, processes, and motives are among the persons, places, and things that inspire horror. Pretty much anything can, as long as it is eerie or lends itself to an eerie interpretation.

 

For moviemakers, images often suggest horror. (They also horror to many writers of other genre fiction as well, of course; C. S. Lewis, the author Christian and children's fantasy and science fiction, for example, said his stories often began with images.)

When examining a picture—never merely look at a picture, whether it's a drawing, a photograph, a painting, or some other visual representation; study it in detail; then, wait a while and study it again—ask yourself, Which question do I first ask myself about the picture: who? what? when? where? how? or why?

The right picture will speak to you. How can you be sure the picture you're studying is the “right picture?” Easy. If it is, it will let you know; it will speak to you.

Not literally, of course. Not out loud. But it will suggest questions, imply ideas, elicit emotions, show relationships between one of its elements—color, perhaps—and others—texture, maybe, or shape. One thought, one intuition, one feeling will lead to another and another.

Before you converse with pictures, it's helpful to know what sort of things to study. Remember, too, that, in the Western world, people are taught to read from left to right and from top to bottom. The most important part of the image will be positioned close to the center of the image.

Here are some basic elements to consider: contrasts, colors, distance, intensity, overlapping of objects, placement, position, shapes, sizes, structural pattern (e. g., horizontal, diagonal, vertical, sectional), text (if any), and textures.

On the figurative level, consider whether the image alludes to anything beyond itself, such as a work of art or an historical period; look for visual metaphors; consider symbolism; and determine whether personification is used. Often, if the picture has symbolic or metaphorical significance and text, the text will act as the key to unlocking the literal meaning suggested by the visual figure of speech.

If figures are included in the image, consider their sex, gender, age, financial status, social class, costume, facial expression, posture, pose, body language, and relationships to other figures, if any, and to the objects, or “props,” if any, and the landscape or interior space shown in the image.

Now, let's try a simple exercise, using this image:

What question first addresses itself to me is, Why is the doll crying? In other words, I am most interested in the question of motive. If I am uncertain, I may hazard a guess, indicating it as such by following the guess with a question mark in parentheses; if, as yet, I have no answer, I will indicate this by using just a question mark.

Now that I've determined my chief interest in the image, I should answer the other, related questions:

Who? = doll

What? = crying

When? and Where = In the darkness

How? = magic (?)

Why? = ?

Next, I will “read” the image from right to left and from top to bottom, making notes concerning questions, ideas, emotions, and relationships between one of its elements of the image:

• Right eye is half-closed; left eye, open
• Right eye is dark; right eye, blue
• A teardrop on the doll's left eye suggests the toy is crying
• In comparison to the nose and mouth, the doll's eyes are exceptionally large—why?
• There is no background, just a close-up of the doll's seemingly large, round face
• The face is cracked and worn

These are my initial observations. I should ask what each is intended to suggest or mean. (In studying an image, especially if it was produced by a professional artist, we should assume that every detail is carefully thought out and is present for a purpose.)

• The right eye suggests thought, reflection; it seems to look inward. The left eye is open; the doll sees, but it also cries: whatever the doll sees seems to make it sad.
• There is only a single, large teardrop, which seems to imply that either the doll is no longer crying or has only just begun to cry; either it has cried itself out or it is only now being moved to tears.
• The relatively large eyes focus the viewer's attention on them, rather than on its nose or mouth. Its vision, thought, and emotion and what it sees are the important things.
• The setting is unknown, other than by darkness; the time and place are irrelevant. However, the darkness could symbolize fear, ignorance, or death, since black is often associated with one or all of these emotions or states of existence. The large size of the face also focuses the viewer's attention on the doll's face. Its face, the symbol of identity, like the doll's behavior—crying—are the focal points of the image, suggesting that these are the most important features of the picture.
• The crack in the doll's right cheek and the wear on its face could symbolize its suffering; it seems careworn, tired, and slightly injured.

Add any additional observations:

• The image makes use of personification and symbolism.
• None of my observations answers my original question: Why is the doll crying? In other words, what is its motive?

At this point, we are beyond the image. We are asking ourselves a question that the image itself does not, and cannot, answer. Therefore, we must use our imaginations, our knowledge of human nature, and our own experiences as human beings to guess why a doll, if it were capable of crying, might weep. In doing so, we should also be true to the questions, ideas, emotions, and the relationships between the focus feature of the image (in this case, the doll) and the image's other, related elements.

We can start by listing facts known about dolls:

• A doll usually belongs to a girl.
• A doll may be given to a girl as a gift, perhaps by her parents.
• A girl often invests her doll with a “personality” (personifies the doll).
• When a girl is not playing with her doll, the doll is often left by itself, perhaps in a dark place, such as a closet or a toy box.
• A girl may project her own emotions onto her doll.
• A girl may assign the role she plays in her present life to her doll.

Based on these thoughts, we might construct a scenario to explain our original question, Why is the doll crying?

Melinda Jackson abandons her doll, Bessie—not to a closet or to a toy box this time, but to the alley behind her house, beside the trash cans to be collected, along with the other trash, by the city's sanitation crew. Melinda is sad to say goodbye to Bessie, who's been her dearest companion, her confidante, her best friend for most of her life. They've been through a lot, good times and bad. But Melinda is older now—too old for Bessie—and, so, Melinda abandoned her doll. She imagines Bessie alone in the dark alley, frightened and in despair, crying, as Melinda herself is crying. But it is only a tear. She brushes it away. Besides, Bessie is just a doll. Bessie can't really cry.

The idea for the story suggests three parts:

1. Melinda becomes aware that she is “too old” for a doll. (Maybe she has a sleepover and her friends make fun of her for still having a doll.)
2. Melinda is sad to say goodbye to her doll, but, convinced the time has come to part with Bessie, Melinda places Bessie in the dark alley behind her house to be hauled away by the city's sanitation crew.
3. Twist ending

We need to surprise the reader with an unexpected outcome to the story. With Melinda's new awareness that she is “too old” for a doll (Part I) and Melinda's abandonment of her doll so that Bessie can be hauled away by the city's sanitation crew (Part II), we have set up the expectation, in the reader's mind, that Bessie will be discarded. There are several ways the story could end with a twist:

1. One of the sanitation crew could take Bessie home for his own daughter to “adopt.”
2. A dog could carry Bessie home, where another girl could “adopt” Bessie.
3. Bessie really could be magical, and she could return to Melinda, who decides to keep her, after all.

Adopt one of these twists or (or another possibility) and use it to write part three of the story's summary:

III. Recovering from her fright, Bessie walks          back to Melinda's house, returns to the girl's       bedroom, with muddy feet, and takes her          customary place of honor on Melinda's bed.       Shocked, Melinda decides Bessie is magic          and decides to keep her, regardless of her          the taunts of her "friends."

The fifteen basic needs identified by advertising executive Jib Fowles should also be considered in relation to the image: the need to achieve, the need for aesthetic sensations, the need for affiliation, the need to aggress, the need for attention, the need for autonomy, the need to satisfy curiosity, the need to dominate, the need to escape, the need to feel safe, the need to nurture, the need for sex, the need for prominence, and physiological needs (food, drink, sleep, etc.). For example, in the sample story, Madeline feels the need for affiliation (she has a sleepover), and Madeline feels the need for autonomy (she feels that it is time for her to say goodbye to her doll). By appealing to one or more of these basic needs, a story is likely to allow readers to develop empathy for the narrative's characters—in the case of the sample story, for both Madeline and Bessie.

If you'd care to try this approach for a story of your own, you might use the following (or some other) image:

Benefits of Alternate Endings: Pick One

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

It was fashionable in Hollywood, at one time, to produce movies that have alternate endings. Hollywood executives hoped that, by trying out two or more endings for the same movie on test audiences, they could determine which one viewers enjoyed most, which might translate into more ticket sales (i .e., dollars) at the box office.

For short story writers and novelists, however, there may be other benefits to devising possible alternate endings. In doing so, however, authors should follow Aristotle's dictum (and Edgar Allan Poe's advice) that a story's ending should end in a manner that does not destroy the integrity of the rest of the plot.

Devising possible alternate endings to a story can also assist writers in selecting the most appropriate, effective, and memorable ending possible from an array of alternatives.

In addition, imagining possible alternate endings can, perhaps, improve the story, because a new possibility might round out, explain, or otherwise complete the narrative in a more believable or otherwise satisfying manner than the original ending. (We're speaking, now, of works in progress, rather than published, stories.)

Imagining alternate endings could also produce unexpected or better twist endings than the one a writer originally had in mind.

“The Cone” by H. G. Wells

Current ending: Raut, who has cuckolded Horrocks, is doomed when a blast-furnace cone lowers him into the furnace, while Horrocks pelts the adulterer with hot coals.

Alternate ending: Horrocks seizes Raut by the arm, shoving him into the path of an oncoming railway tram. (This incident occurs earlier in the story, but, at this point, Horrocks is terrorizing Raut and, at the last minute, pulls him to safety; revised, the original story would end with this incident, without Horrocks pulling Raut from the tram's path.)

“The Damned Thing” by Ambrose Bierce

Current ending: An entry in Morgan's diary reveals that the creature he hunts is invisible because its color is imperceptible to the human eye.

Alternate ending: Both Morgan's friend Harker, who witnessed Morgan's death and Morgan himself are insane, the former because of his fantastic testimony at the coroner's inquest concerning the cause of Morgan's death, the latter because, in writing of the incident in his diary, he described it in a manner that is consistent with Harker's account of the occurrence. On suspicion of having killed, and possible brainwashed Morgan, Harker is arrested and held for trial.

“Dracula's Guest” by Bram Stoker

Current ending: Horsemen frighten off the werewolf guarding and keeping an English hotel guest warm in a forest and take him back to the hotel; they were dispatched at the request of a Transylvanian count named Dracula.

Alternate ending: The horsemen arrive to find the Englishman's throat torn out by the werewolf feasting upon his corpse.

 

"The Signalman" by Charles Dickens

Current ending: The narrator learns that a signal-man, seemingly mesmerized by something he saw, was struck and killed by an approaching train after ignoring the engineer's repeated warnings to get off the track.

Alternate ending: The train strikes the signal-man, but investigators cannot find his body; on the anniversary of his supposed death, the signal-man again appears on the track and is struck, but, afterward, investigators cannot find a body.

Three Girls Walk into a Forest, and . . . .

Girl Eaten by a Tree by Mark Ryden

What strikes you about this picture? What is the first thing that draws your attention?

The girls? The situation? The setting? The action? The conflict? The girls' motives?

Who are these girls? What are their backgrounds? Why do they share the same facial features? What are they doing? What is the tree doing? What time of day is it? In what forest are they? Where are the girls going? Why are they in the forest? Why did the tree attack one of the girls? Why don't the two girls help the one who has been attacked?

Envision several answers for as many of these questions as you can; write them out, each in a complete sentence.

You can start a story with an answer to any of these questions, but each answer must be interrelated with the one before and after it so that a chain of incidents develops which is based on cause-effect relationships throughout.

Next, as Aristotle suggests in Poetics, arrange the incidents in a pattern organized by the story's beginning, middle, and end. (Edgar Allan Poe gave good advice when he said to know the story's ending before you begin writing.)

Stories are hard to plot because, although they seem simple, they are, in fact, complex: all the parts (answers to the questions of who?, what?, when?, where?, how”, why”, and how many? or how much?, are interrelated. By identifying causes and effects among the incidents, they appear logically connected, unified, and coherent.

Let's try the exercise.

For me, the situation captures my immediate attention. Perhaps the painting's artist, Mark Ryden, anticipated that the situation would be most prominent, as he named the work Girl Eaten by a Tree.

Initially, therefore, maybe I should focus my attention on the situation: a girl being eaten by a tree.

Who is the girl? The sameness of the facial features and the similarities in the dress of the two sisters watching the third girl being eaten by the tree suggests that the two girls are sisters. Although we can't see the third girl's face, her clothing is similar to that of the other two girls, which could suggest that she is their sister; possibly, her appearance is identical to theirs—a triplet. For now, that will be my interpretation: The three girls are triplets.

Notice how, starting with the situation, I veered off to a consideration of the painting's figures, the characters of the story? That's likely to happen, and it's fine: the elements of the story are, after all, interrelated; one question is apt to suggest the answer to another.

But back to the situation: why is the girl being eaten by a tree? Perhaps she insulted the tree, and it is eating her to avenge itself. Maybe she happened to be walking closest to the tree, and the tree snatched her up because it is hungry. It could be that the tree is a sentinel, guarding the forest, and it is eating the girl because the tree perceived her (and possibly her sisters) as being in some way a threat. It's also possible that the two girls who are watching their sister being eaten by a tree are only imagining the situation. Maybe they discussed a scene in a fantasy in which a tree devoured one—or all—of them and the memory of this earlier conversation inspired one of the girls to imagine it happening as the sisters walk through the forest.

For now, I am going to say that the girl in the yellow dress is imagining the situation. Why? We'll come back to this question in a moment, as we envision the girls' background.

Why are they in the forest? They are taking a shortcut. From where to where? From their house to Grandma's house (allusions can exp[and the theme of a story; this one may even have suggested an ending to the story!)

Obviously, it's daytime, but the sky seems overcast; it is gray. Rain seems to be on its way: there's a storm coming, it seems, and it may be an emotional as well as a meteorological storm. (Symbolism is often highly effective in a narrative.)

Apart from the tree's grasping and devouring of the girl in blue, there is no overt action, other than the girl in the yellow dress's touching the shoulder of the girl in the pink dress while holding up her other hand, as if to ward off the tree, and the girl in the pink dress's folding her hands together, as if she is making a silent plea.

Why aren't the other girls helping the victim? Especially if they are sisters—and triplets, at that—one would expect that the other two would be seeking to free their sister from her attacker. Perhaps they are frozen with fear? Their shocked expressions suggest that thy may be. In addition, their hair (not a single one of which is out of place), their pressed dresses, the ribbons restraining their hair, and the attitudes they have adopted suggest that these girls are unaccustomed to the violence they've encountered. Not only are they terrified, but they are also at a loss to know how to react. They are helpless. Al they do, probably instinctively, is to watch, as one wards off the tree and the other pleads silently for deliverance.

And, now, what about the story's ending? The allusion to Little Red Riding Hood (the girls were going to Grandma's house when the tee attacked one of them) suggests that a hero will appear, rescue the girl, and, perhaps, chop down the tree (or, at least, the limbs with which it holds the girl). Obviously, the scene Ryden has depicted is fantastic, so the appearance of a woodsman fits the genre well.

Now, we need only break the story into its three divisions, beginning, middle, and end. (Notice that we have figured out our ending before writing the story.) In doing so, we can insert words that indicate CAUSE and EFFECT.

Beginning

On an overcast morning, BECAUSE they plan to spend the day with their Grandmother, three young girls, triplets, who are dressed in similar dresses, bows, socks, and shoes, travel together through a forest, BECAUSE it is a shortcut, chattering about their plans and about the story of Little Red Riding Hood.

Middle

BECAUSE the tree is hungry, it snatches one of the girls. (The tree has human features—eyes, nose, mouth, and arms—and characteristics—it is hungry, predatory, and conscious.) BECAUSE they are shocked and frightened by the tree's attack, the other girls, feeling helpless, look on in horror, BECAUSE they do not know what to do and are paralyzed with fear.

End

BECAUSE a woodsman, happening to be in the area, chances upon the scene, he cuts off the limbs (arms) of the tree, freeing the girl, who has not come to harm. The girls are unable to thank him BECAUSE he is gone before they can do so. The girl in yellow finds that she holds the woodsman's ax BECAUSE, as she realizes, it was she who vanquished the tree. She took strength from imagining herself to be a woodsman BECAUSE doing so made her feel strong and gave her courage. She thought of herself as a woodsman, she thinks, BECAUSE her talk with her sisters made her think of him when her sister was endangered. In fact, their talk and the creepy forest CAUSED her to imagine the whole incident—her sister was never attacked, except in her own mind. But, now, BECAUSE she has learned of her own strength and courage, the girl needs no surrogate hero: she herself is strong, courageous, and heroic.

Although this seems a simple story, whether it is or is not depends on how the story is written. Possibly, a writer could make profound statements about such matters as gender roles, sisterhood, fantasy as a means of personal empowerment, self-discovery, and self-realization. Before writing such a story, an author might do well to read Bruno Bettelheim's The Uses of Enchantment.

Although Bettelheim's scholarship has been tarnished by allegations of his misrepresentation of his credentials, by plagiarism, by abusive behavior toward his students, and other issues, his study of the therapeutic potential of fantastic literature is stimulating, indeed, and may suggest psychological and social directions for a narrative about a girl in a forest who imagines an assault upon her sister, especially when her sister, a triplet, is identical in appearance to herself.

Horror Story Plot Formulas

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

In every horror movie, there is, of course, a protagonist and an antagonist. For convenience, I'm going to refer to them as the monster and the hero. Of course, the monster, both human and non-human, and the “hero” can just as easily be a girl or a woman as a boy or a man.

For there to be a story, there has to be conflict, and the major and most important type of conflict, that between the monster and the hero, results from their encounter. Therefore, they must come together, usually in the first part of the story. Writers have come up with a variety of ways for the monster and the hero to meet, if not greet, one another. These methods of encounter, in turn, help to establish various narrative formulas.

Some of these formulas we might call The Return, The Invasion, The Trespass, The Act of Vengeance, and The Fish Out of Water. Here are the breakdowns of these plots and a few examples of each.

The Return

Beginning

A monster (an ancient evil) awakens or returns.

Middle

The monster becomes active again.

End

By learning the monster's origin or nature, the hero eliminates or neutralizes the monster.

Examples: Summer of Night, It

The Invasion

Beginning

A monster moves into a community foreign to itself.

Middle

The monster becomes active in its new surroundings, behaving as it did in its original habitat.

End

By learning the monster's origin or nature, the hero eliminates or neutralizes the monster.

Examples: Dracula, 'Salem's Lot

The Trespass

Beginning

Trespassers disturb or threaten a monster's habitat.

Middle

The monster defends its turf.

End

The trespassers capture or kill the monster, escape from the monster, or are killed by the monster.

Examples: The Descent, Poltergeist, King Kong, The Thing

The Act of Vengeance

Beginning

The monster or his or her loved one is wronged.

Middle

The monster seeks to avenge him- or herself or a loved one.

End

The monster is imprisoned, killed, or otherwise neutralized or escapes.

Examples: The Abominable Dr. Phibes, I Know What You Did Last Summer, A Nightmare on Elm Street

The Fish Out of Water

Beginning

The hero, relocated to a strange new environment, usually that of the monster, is out of his or her depth.

Middle

The monster, at home in the environment, maintains the upper hand against the hero.

End

The hero kills the monster or escapes or is killed by the monster.

Examples: Open Water, Backcountry, Jaws.

Note: A future post may present other horror story plot formulas.

Knowing Your Endgame

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

Flash fiction works well for horror. We have the word from both Edgar Allan Poe, who said that a reader should be able to read a horror story in “a single sitting”—and he was talking short stories, not flash fiction as such. Although he was vague (what constitutes “a single sitting”?), we can, perhaps, get some direction from famed director Alfred Hitchcock, who brought both Psycho (1960) and The Birds (1963) to the big screen. He declared, “The length of a film should be directly related to the endurance of the human bladder.”

Of course, his definition is also somewhat obscure: the “endurance of the human bladder” is apt to differ, sometimes considerably, among individuals. However, adults average 120 to 240 minutes between visits to the restroom to urinate. Assuming that Hitchcock applied his own criterion to the films he directed, a horror film, at least, should be between 109 minutes (Psycho) and 119 minutes (The Birds), which are well within the guidelines that he himself established.

Definitions of the permissible word length of “flash fiction” stories differ, with some suggesting that such stories should be no more than 600 to 1,000 words, while others argue that flash fiction stories could be as long as 2,000 words. Flash fiction author Michael Williams, author of Tales with a Twist, tries to stay at or below 1,000 words, but, occasionally, he admits, one of his stories reaches 1,200 words:

“I think setting my goal as 1,000 words, maximum, helps me focus. It gives me something to shoot for, but I wouldn't sacrifice a good story just to stay within an artificially imposed limit; if I have to go beyond, 1,000 words, I have to go beyond 1,000 words. For me, though, that's the exception. Most stories I write can be done well—probably better—in 1,000 words or fewer.”

Research finds that most people read at a rate of between 200 and 250 words per minute, so a flash fiction story, for most readers, would certainly meet both Poe's and Hitchcock's definitions:

A flash fiction story isn't characterized only by its brevity, however. “Flash fiction stories—I usually refer to them as flashes—usually end with a twist,” Williams says. “That's part of the their appeal, part of their fun. It's also a large part of their popularity.”

There are various ways to “twist a tale.”

One is to start with an outrageous, or even seemingly impossible, incident or situation. That's part one, the beginning, of the story. It hooks the reader. Then, follow with a logical result of this initial incident or situation. That's the middle of the story. The end of the story, part three, delivers the twist.

One way to generate the twist itself is to play with the six questions related to any form of communication: Who?, What?, When?, Where? How? and Why? Make a list, as complete as possible, of possible answers to each of these questions as they relate to your story's premise.”

Here's an example:

Beginning: A snowman melts, revealing a corpse.

Middle: Police respond.

End (twist): . . . .

To come up with the twist, start the list of answers to the seven questions that apply to any form of communication, including fiction:

1. WHO? WHO is the dead person? If he or she was murdered, WHO is the murder? WHO might be a character in the story? The body, of course and the murderer (if there was a murder). The police officers. A neighbor. The mail carrier. A repair person. A bus or a taxi driver or passenger. A spouse. A child, minor or adult. A delivery person. A maintenance person. A utility worker. A meter reader. A sanitation employee.
2. WHAT? What happened to the dead person? Murder? Suicide? A prank gone wrong? An ill-advised advertisement? An attention-seeking act gone astray?
3. WHEN? A two-day interval, on day one of which the person is encased in snow and, on day two of which, he or she is found as the snowman begins to melt.
4. WHERE? The front yard of a suburban home.
5. HOW? The person encased in snow freezes to death over night.
6. WHY? (This is usually the point at which the twist suggests itself, although any of the six questions could prompt an answer that includes the story's twist): A prop master who remains employed by his uncle, a movie director, despite the prop master's Alzheimer's, forgets that he has packed snow over an actor's body, and repeatedly does so, rather than freeing the actor from the “snowman” after the shot is complete, causing the unintended victim to die of exposure overnight.

 

Notice that the twist, in this example, is the result of the WHY? question, but the identity of the killer does not appear among the answers to the WHO? question. This just goes to show that, in actual practice, the questions themselves may not produce the “answer” that provides the twist, but, without having gone through this process, it's unlikely that the idea would have occur at all. Answering the questions starts the ball rolling, the mind thinking, and the imagination visualizing.

Now, we can complete the framework, or skeleton, of the story's plot:

Beginning: A snowman melts, revealing a corpse.

Middle: Police respond.

End (twist): A prop master, having developed Alzheimer's, forgets that he has packed snow over an actor's body and repeatedly does so, rather than freeing the actor from the “snowman” after the shot is complete, causing the unintended victim to die of exposure overnight.

Note: As in any story, before writing it, you need to research any technical aspects of the plot to make sure they are accurate. For example, would a person freeze to death if encased in snow overnight or would he or she suffocate? How long would such a death, whether of hypothermia or suffocation, take? Maybe overnight isn't long enough. Research and revise, as necessary. If the technical reality doesn't allow the ending you've conceived, think of one that will stand the test of the facts.

Article Word Length: 1,014

Estimated Reading Time: 4.05 to 5.07 minutes

The Z Plot

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

Although it would be ludicrous to suggest that a story could follow a “Z” plot, the concept is, nevertheless, a good reminder that thrillers and chillers should move from one action scene to another at a fairly fast pace.

What is a “Z” plot? It's an imaginary sequence of action that is on the fact that, in English, readers read from left to right and from top to bottom. In other words, their eyes, in reading, trace the figure of a “Z.” Sometimes the stem (the diagonal line connecting the upper and the lower arms of the “S”) is shorter; other times, longer, than typical, depending on the length of the paragraph the combined sentences of which make up the stem of the letter. For example, a short paragraph produces a short stem; a long paragraph, a long stem:

Think of the paragraph as representing a scene. Each point at the beginning or the end of the arm of the “Z” represents a point of possible change. Perhaps the first point would be to establish the setting, while the second point would be to introduce the protagonist. At the third point, maybe you would contrast two supporting characters. The fourth point might be that at which you relocate the main character. These four points, regardless of the length of the scene (represented, in the “Z” plot by a paragraph), would make up the entire scene. However, the next scene, with its four points, would provide opportunities for additional, perhaps different (depending on the scene's purpose), plot changes, such as changing the pace of the story (with a longer or a shorter scene), using dialogue between tow or more characters to inform the reader of necessary background material, having circumstances or an incident impede the protagonist, and arranging for the antagonist to confront the protagonist (or vice versa). The next scenes would, likewise, present opportunities, at each of their four points, to change the plot again, again, again, and again.

Besides the actions indicated above, writers can use these points of the “Z” plot to heighten suspense, bolster the protagonist (or the antagonist) with reinforcements or assistants, capture a character, have a character escape, pursue a character, bring about a character's return home or to an earlier point of departure, characterize a character, have a character learn something important, or change a character's attitude, beliefs, feelings, perspective, or values.

Although the structure of your story's your plot, in reality, is unlikely to resemble a “Z,” helping to think of the progress of the action in such a manner could help you to remember to change the course of action frequently not only throughout the story as a whole, but also during each and every one of its scenes. As a result, it's unlikely your readers will become bored; in fact, they should be as excited as hell!

Playing with Words

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

Cozy mystery titles are BIG on wordplay. Paula Darnell's DIY Diva Series is a case in point. The first book of the series, Death By Association, takes place in a guard-gated community governed by a homeowners association.

 The next volume in the series, Death ByDesign, features protagonist Laurel McMillan's Perfect Pillows class—and a not-quite perfect murder.

 

The third novel in the series, Death By Proxy features mistaken identity. Her forthcoming series, A Fine Art Mystery, explores an art cooperative in Arizona; the books' titles are also based on, or reflective of, plays on words. The first is Artistic License to Kill.

Using wordplay can also be an effective way of triggering ideas for plot horror ideas for novels.

Hostel Takeover, for example, suggests a setting and a motive for horror. Settings, of course, often, in turn, suggests characters. A hostel would be the temporary home of young travelers (typically ages 16 to 34).

By researching hostels, additional plot ideas can be obtained. For example, in some such establishments, sleeping quarters are segregated by sex; in others, bedrooms are open to guests of both sex. Some hostels offer more amenities than others, and hostels, in general, offer benefits, but also have disadvantages, when compared to hotels or motels. Many are independent, but some are units in a chain or are affiliates of larger organizations (Zostel and Hosteling International, for example).

 Before writing a horror novel based on a hostel as a setting, it's a good idea to check out movies or other novels that have used hostels as their settings, such as Hostel and Hostel: Part II. There's no need to tread familiar ground.

The second part of the title, Takeover, is important, too; in fact, it may well be the key that distinguishes your own story from other horror stories that feature hostels as their settings. The idea of a hostel (and of a hostile) takeover suggests the acquisition of a hostel, against the will of the current owner, by a bidder or through a proxy fight.

In a horror story, of course, the owner is apt to resist the takeover by more than legal means, and much of the horror could stem from his or her resistance. It's not difficult to imagine possible twists: maybe the owner loses the takeover and kills off the hostel's guests to create such a bad impression of the place that its future is doomed.

Perhaps the focus is on the owner's efforts to fend off the takeover by any means necessary, including murdering the management, stockholders, or bidder. Another possibility is to adopt the bidder's point of view and concentrate on other means of takeover than financial expedients after the initial offer is refused. From either point of view, the scenes practically write themselves: collapsing bunk beds, exploding ovens, blood showers, bizarre “guests,” murderous interlopers, ghosts of the dead . . . .

The takeover could, indeed, be hostile, with guests and employees meeting grisly fates and prospective guests being killed even before they arrive at the establishment. A combination of approaches is also a possibility.

Quite a lot can be suggested by simply wordplay.

"Eden": A Femme Fatale in the Homosocial Garden

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

Eden (2019) is a short horror film, indeed, lasting approximately six-and-a-half minutes. Three somewhat immature “homies” encounter a femme fatale who looks somewhat like a modern-day vampire. She is extraordinarily strong and quick, and she can open her mouth tremendously wide. Like any other self-respecting femme fatale, she lures male victims with her beauty.

The plot is simple and straightforward:

D. J., Elliott, and Jason, who appear to be slightly drunk, clown with each other as they make their way through dark city streets to Elliot's car. On the way, D. J. (Benjamin Abiola) drops his keys.

In the back seat, D. J. realizes that he doesn't have his keys.

Retracing his steps, he finds them on the sidewalk and pockets them.

In the car, Jason (Bobby Coston) shows Elliott (Charles Brakes III) a photograph on his smartphone: a young woman whose buttocks they admire. Jason tells Elliott that the woman has a sister.

Seeing a young woman (Tayla Drake) at a distance, he offers her a ride. He runs to her, and she slits his throat with a sweep of her nails.

Clutching his throat, he staggers away from her and falls to his knees.

 

In the car, Elliott tells Jason that he's going to “check on D. J.”

On the sidewalk, Elliott sees a trail of blood. He turns and runs back to his car, calling to Jason.

Returning his call, Jason gets out of the car, leaving the door open. He looks frightened as he repeatedly calls Elliott's name.

The car door slams shut behind him. He whirls and takes a couple steps backward.

Turning, he sees the young woman who killed J. D. Her top is covered in J. D.'s blood.

She looks up, smiling. Her mouth, dripping blood, opens impossibly wide.

Elliott's fate remains unknown.

Of course, besides Elliott's fate, the film leaves many other questions unanswered. Who is the predatory woman? What, exactly, is she? Why does she stalk men? Why does she kill them? Why does she feed upon human blood?

There is plenty of room for both plot and character development, but this exercise in filmmaking, in itself, doesn't offer much depth.

The only attempt to involve the action in a theme that transcends the story's action per se is a quotation, apparently invented, which is attributed to an apparently fictitious pontiff, Pope Seymore IV: “Lust of the beauteous garden bait souls of the damned, and only then will they feel the wrath of Eden.”

To begin with, the meaning of the quotation is unclear. “Lust of” suggests that it is the “garden” that lusts and that, perhaps (the rest of the quotation is unintelligible), the garden, to satisfy its lust, “baits souls of the damned.” This reading makes the “garden” the villain and the young men the victims.

How does the garden identify the “souls of the damned?” Or do the “souls” become “damned” simply by virtue of their being baited? In other words, does the garden's baiting of the souls damn them? Alternatively, does the garden's “bait” work solely on souls that are already damned?

In any case, the quotation makes clear that the damned souls experience Eden's “wrath” only after they have been baited by the garden.

 

Of course, the filmmakers may have intended the quotation to begin with the prepositional phrase “lust for,” which situates the lust not in the garden itself, but in those who lust for the garden.

However, even such an attempt as this to infuse the production with depth is awkward. It characterizes beautiful young women as objects; they are flowers in a “beauteous garden,” planted, as it were, to “bait souls of the damned.”

Although, in this reading of the quotation, it is the damned souls' own lust that damns them, the flowers themselves are not entirely innocent; they are the “bait” that excites the men's lust and tempts them to sin, just as the Biblical Eve, in the garden of Eden, tempts Adam to sin. The “flowers,” one of which, metaphorically speaking, Eden appears to be, use their beauty to ensnare men, attracting their lust. In this sense, the “flowers” are no more passive than a Venus fly trap; the women are predators. Therefore, their “wrath” is hard to understand, let alone to justify.

In the Eden short, there is no serpent in the “beauteous garden” to entice the woman who entices J. D. and Jason, unless she is herself both serpent and seductress, a lamia like Lilith, Adam's first wife, according to Jewish folklore.

Perhaps, the filmmakers suggest, there is no need for a serpent as such. Instead, the sexist attitude of the young men makes them vulnerable to the charms of beautiful young women. To some degree, the young men's sexism is informed by the values and the norms of the larger society that nurtured them. The young men's notions of what is proper conduct with regard to women and sex is influenced by the media and by the conventions, customs, traditions, and practices of the patriarchal society in which they live.

Young men are taught, directly and indirectly, that it is acceptable to view women as objects, as “flowers” ripe for the plucking, as commodities that can be bought for the mere offer of a ride, the very offer that J. D. makes to Eden. These attitudes and values and the mores that inculcate them may be the snake in the garden which, in defining roles for young men, also define the complementary roles of young women.

However, Eden is not a typical young woman. She is the predator, rather than the young men's prey. She has turned the tables on her would-be conquerors, making them her victims. The beauty that would normally endanger her becomes a lure by which she snares her male victims. She, a potential victim, becomes the young men's victimizer. If she, rather than the young men, is the predator, it is hard to see how her “wrath” is justified.

Either possibility for reading the quotation, “lust of” or “lust for,” remains problematic. Indeed, if anyone seems worthy of blame, it is the party who entices, not the party who is enticed or, at the very least, both parties are equally to be blamed. Part of the problem derives from the ambiguity of the quotation that is supposed to indicate the theme of the movie, which, of course, is anything but a small error in a work of art.

If anything, the theme of the film seems to be simply that mere attraction to the beauty of the opposite sex can kill a youth. Neither J. D., who offers Eden a ride (possibly for ulterior reasons), nor Elliott, who never encounters Eden during his search for J. D., nor Jason, who simply approaches Eden, does anything to threaten her or in any way acts aggressively toward her. Nevertheless, she kills both J. D. and Jason, and the audience never learns Elliott's fate.

By themselves, the young men are in no danger. They are friends, not foes. They clown with one another, simulating fisticuffs, but they never hurt one another or came close to doing so. Their fighting is a mere pretense, consisting of friendly mock attacks and simulated counterattacks. Separated from one another, they are endangered by the sole member of the opposite sex they encounter on the dark streets.

Eden, the sole female character, is deadly. To be seduced by the charms of the opposite sex is dangerous; in fact, it can be fatal. It is better that men resist feminine beauty in favor of the company of their same-sex friends. Romance involving the opposite sex is dangerous; same-sex friendship is not. Beautiful young women break the bonds between men, disrupting homosocial relationships. Brothers are trustworthy; women are not. These seem to be the ultimate, prepubescent themes, or lessons, of Eden.