Showing posts with label plotting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label plotting. Show all posts

Monday, October 18, 2021

It’s Thriller Time!

 Copyright 2021 by Gary L. Pullman


 As bestselling author James Patterson points out, thrillers, which span the whole spectrum of genres, are characterized by “the intensity of emotions they create, particularly those of apprehension and exhilaration, of excitement and breathlessness, all designed to generate that all-important thrill” (Thriller).

To generate thrills, thriller authors pull out all the stops, employing isolated settings, traps, disguises, cover-ups, red herrings, plot twists, unreliable narrators, cliffhangers, situational irony, and dramatic irony. Many thrillers also begin in media res, in the middle of things, so there is little or no context to explain mysterious events until, in due time, they are explained through flashbacks, dialogue, exposition, or other means.

By taking an Aristotelian approach to analyzing thrillers, we can develop a long list of incidents common to thrillers. (By “Aristotelian approach,” I mean studying how established writers of thrillers keep their readers on the edges of their seats.) In doing so, we want to universalize our incidents so that they can apply to any character in any thriller, existing or yet to come. To do so, we dispense with names, and we tend to repeat phrases. The idea is to isolate plot elements (incidents) that can

  • occur in any thriller and that can be used in several ways (e. g., as inciting moments, turning points, moments of final suspense);

  • be used individually or in groups, sequentially (as per the list) or otherwise;

  • be mixed and matched in various combinations.

By way of example, I have assembled a partial list of one that, ideally, would be long enough to fill a book of many pages. I have listed the incidents as they occur in the plots of the films from which they are taken (but, remember, they can be assembled in any fashion, with any number of them being used, and they can be used for several narrative purposes). In addition, at the beginning of each incident, in bold font, I have identified the category that each incident seems to fit, by way of its function. This would be only the beginning of a list that could (and should) be expanded to include many incidents from movies or novels of the same category, or subgenre, of story. As my subgenre, I have used examples of psychological thrillers: Alfred Hitchcock’s Blackmail (1929) and J. Lee Thompson’s Cape Fear (1962).

From Blackmail

Vulnerability: A woman is left alone.

Poor judgment; self-endangerment: A woman accompanies a stranger to another location.

False sense of security: A stranger puts (or tries to put) a woman at ease.

Incriminating evidence: Unknowingly, a woman provides evidence that later incriminates (or could incriminate) her.

Attempted sexual assault: A stranger attempts to rape a woman.

Assistance unavailable: A woman’s cries for help go unanswered.

Self-defense: A woman fights for her life.

Fatal encounter: A woman kills her attacker.

Shock: In a daze, a traumatized woman wanders the streets all night.

Discovery of crime: A stranger’s body is found.

Initiation of investigation: A detective is assigned to a murder investigation.

Discovery of incriminating evidence: A detective finds incriminating evidence at a crime scene.

Recognition: A detective recognizes a dead person.

Removal of incriminating evidence: A detective removes incriminating evidence from a crime scene.

Interrogation of suspect: A detective interrogates a suspect.

Sympathetic character: A suspect is too distraught to answer a detective’s questions.

Accommodation: A detective speaks to a suspect in private.

Witness’s observation: An eyewitness sees a woman accompany a man to his quarters.

Recovery of incriminating evidence: An eyewitness recovers incriminating evidence from a crime scene.

Linking of incriminating evidence to suspect: An eyewitness links recovers incriminating evidence he has recovered from a crime scene based on complementary or matching evidence in a detective’s possession.

Blackmail: An eyewitness blackmails a detective and a suspect.

Criminal record: An eyewitness is revealed to have a criminal record and is wanted for questioning concerning a criminal investigation.

Back-up: A detective sends for police officers.

Flight: A suspect flees from police.

Accidental death; removal of a threat: Fleeing from police, a suspect falls to his death.

Acceptance of resolution: Police assume that a suspect who fell to his death while fleeing from police is the criminal they sought.

Intention to confess: A suspect goes to the police to confess to having committed a crime.

Fortuitous coincidence: A police inspector receives a telephone call and instructs a detective to assist a woman who has come to the station or precinct to confess to a crime.

Confession with mitigating factor: A woman confesses to having committed a crime but offers a just reason for having done so.

Apparent escape: A detective and a suspect leave a police station together.

Possibility of prosecution: A police officer arrives at the station or precinct with evidence in hand that could incriminate a suspect.

(To see the details of these plot incidents as Hitchcock uses them in Blackmail, read a summary of the movie’s plot.)


 From Cape Fear

Release: A convicted criminal is paroled.

Return: A parolee tracks down the person he blames for his conviction.

Threat: The parolee threatens the family of the person whom he blames for his conviction.

Stalking: The parolee stalks the family of the person whom he blames for his conviction.

Terrorism: The parolee kills the dog that belongs to the family of the person whom he blames for his conviction.

Protection: A man threatened by a parolee hires a private detective.

Crime: A parolee rapes a woman.

Intimidation: A rape victim refuses to testify against the man who raped her.

Intervention: The person whom a parolee blames for his conviction hires three men to beat the parolee to force him to leave town.

Failed intervention: The parolee gets the better of the three men hired to beat him.

Punishment of victim: A parolee’s intended victim is disbarred as a result of having hired three men to beat the parolee so he would leave town.

Refuge: A parolee’s intended victim takes his family to a houseboat to protect them from a vengeful parolee.

Lying in wait; protection: A local lawman and a parolee’s intended victim lie in wait to arrest a parolee who plans to attach the victim’s family.

Attrition: A parolee kills a local lawman lying in wait to arrest him.

Escape: A parolee eludes his intended victim.

Isolation: A parolee isolates the family of his intended victim.

Strategic attack (feint): A parolee attacks the wife of his intended victim.

Rescue: A parolee’s intended victim rescues his wife from the parole.

Attack: A parolee attacks his intended victim’s daughter.

Rescue: An intended victim rescues his daughter from a vengeful parolee.

Struggle: An intended victim fights a vengeful parolee.

Neutralization: An intended victim shoots a vengeful parolee, wounding and disabling him.

Plea: A vengeful parolee asks his intended victim to kill him.

Ironic vengeance (poetic justice): A parolee’s intended victim refrains from killing a vengeful parolee, preferring that he be returned to prison for life instead.

Resolution: A parolee’s intended victim and his family, accompanied by police, return home.

(To see the details of these plot incidents as Thompson uses them in Cape Fear, read a summary of the movie’s plot.)

 Concluding Thoughts

These incidents could be even further generalized to attain true universality. For example, “The parolee kills the dog that belongs to the family of the person whom he blames for his conviction” could be rewritten as “The parolee intimidates the family of the person whom he blames for his conviction” or “The parolee terrorizes the family of the person whom he blames for his conviction.” The degree to which any incident is generalized depends on your own purposes as a writer creating such a list. The list, of course, can be either further generalized or made more specific, as circumstances warrant. For this reason, it may be desirable to keep a “master list” and make a copy of it to generalize more or less, as circumstances warrant.

An extensive list of thriller incidents allows you to pick and choose which incident on the list might best be used for a specific purpose, such as an inciting moment, a turning point, a moment of final suspense, a flashback, a flash-forward, a cliffhanger, exposition, etc. For example, almost any of the incidents on this list could serve the function of the inciting moment, initiating the rest of the story:

Of course, the story will change accordingly, since the incidents of a plot must be connected through an ongoing series of causes and effects. Furthermore, you will develop the incidents in your own way, so they will not be the same, in detail, as those of Hitchcock, Thompson, or any other director or writer. As Heraclitus observed, long ago, it is impossible to step into the same river twice; the water, the silt, the fish, the current, the temperature are all different each time.

Tuesday, August 4, 2020

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—cryingare 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 nowtoo old for Bessieand, 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:



Sunday, July 12, 2020

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.

Saturday, April 25, 2020

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.”

https://www.amazon.com/Tales-Twist-Michael-Williams-ebook/dp/B084V7PS2F/ref=sr_1_3?dchild=1&keywords=tales+with+a+twist&qid=1587750628&s=books&sr=1-3

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:



https://www.amazon.com/Tales-Twist-Michael-Williams-ebook/dp/B084V7PS2F/ref=sr_1_3?dchild=1&keywords=tales+with+a+twist&qid=1587750628&s=books&sr=1-3



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

Thursday, April 23, 2020

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!

Thursday, April 2, 2020

The Dramatistic Pentad Plotting Method

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman


 According to Kenneth Burke, human communication consists of answering six questions, to which, I suggest, a seventh should be added.
 
Burke's questions: Who? What? When? Where? How? Why?

The question I would add: How many? or How much?

Specifically, these questions seem to relate to

Who? = agent, agency
What? = act, force, object, incident
When? = duration, time
Where? = location
How? = method, process, technique
Why? = cause, motive, reason, purpose
How many? or How much? = quantity (in number or quantity, respectively)


To fully describe the basic plot of a short story, a novel, or a movie, each of these questions, as appropriate, should be answered:

Who? Norman Bates
What? murders Marion Crane and Detective Abogast
When?
Where? in the motel he manages and in the house in which he lives
How? by stabbing Marion and pushing Abogast down the stairs
Why? because the personality of his deceased mother orders him to do so
How man? two (murders)


By putting these answers together in a single sentence, an effective synopsis of Alfred Hitchcock's film Psycho is obtained:

In response to the command of his deceased mother's internalized personality, Norman Bates, a motel manager, commits two murders, stabbing Marion Crane to death in her room's shower and pushing Detective Abogast down the stairs of the Victorian house in which Norman lives.


This method is not only useful in generating story synopses, but it can also be used to generate plot twists. A writer can introduce an innovation at any point (that is, for any question). For example, let's take an item from USA Today's “News from around the 50 states” column. The original item, concerning Montana, reads:

A federal judge has ruled that the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service must do more to protect Canada lynx from bobcat traps. The Missoulian reports the lawsuit by WildEarth Guardians and Center for Biological Diversity claimed the federal agency is failing to follow a treaty protecting endangered species and not doing enough to stop trappers from capturing the wrong animal. Lynx are classified as a threatened species under the U. S. Endangered Species Act.

First, let's separate the information into our interrogative scheme:

Who? A federal judge
What? ruled that the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service must do more to protect Canada lynx from bobcat traps
When? recently (implied by the fact that the item is a news report)
Where? in Montana
How? follow a treaty protecting endangered species and . . . [do more] to stop trappers from capturing the wrong animal
Why? because Lynx are classified as a threatened species


Now, to introduce a plot twist, we can simply replace one phrase in the answer to a question with another phrase that mentions a bizarre or an unexpected substitution:

Who? A secret court
What? ruled that the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service must do more to protect Canada lynx from bobcat traps
When? recently (implied by the fact that the item is a news report)
Where? in Montana
How? follow a treaty protecting endangered species and . . . [do more] to stop trappers from capturing the wrong animal
Why? because Lynx are classified as a threatened species

or

Who? A federal judge
What? ruled that . . . U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service personnel should shoot people who injure Yetis with bobcat traps.
When? recently (implied by the fact that the item is a news report)
Where? in Montana
How? follow a treaty protecting endangered species and . . . [do more] to stop trappers from capturing the wrong animal
Why? because Lynx are classified as a threatened species

or


Who? A federal judge
What? will rule that the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service must do more to protect Canada lynx from bobcat traps
When? during a future meeting
Where? in Montana
How? follow a treaty protecting endangered species and . . . [do more] to stop trappers from capturing the wrong animal
Why? because Lynx are classified as a threatened species

or


Who? A federal judge
What? ruled that the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service must do more to protect Canada lynx from bobcat traps
When? recently (implied by the fact that the item is a news report)
Where? on Space Station Zebra
How? follow a treaty protecting endangered species and . . . [do more] to stop trappers from capturing the wrong animal
Why? because Lynx are classified as a threatened species

or

Who? A federal judge
What? ruled that the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service must do more to protect Canada lynx from bobcat traps
When? recently (implied by the fact that the item is a news report)
Where? in Montana
How? follow an intergalactic treaty protecting endangered species and . . . [do more] to stop trappers from capturing the wrong animal
Why? because Lynx are classified as a threatened species

or

Who? A federal judge
What? ruled that the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service must do more to protect Canada lynx from bobcat traps
When? recently (implied by the fact that the item is a news report)
Where? in Montana
How? follow a treaty protecting endangered species and . . . [do more] to stop trappers from capturing the wrong animal
Why? because Lynx are classified as a human predators

Personally, I like the “Yetis” substitution the best, which implies not only that the creatures actually exist, but also that they are protected by the federal government because they represent an “endangered species,” a plot that could be developed humorously, perhaps as a satire.

Of course, another possibility also exists: change not just one, but several, of the answers to our questions. (Probably, this is the most effective approach.) Here's an example:


Who? Cryptozoologists
What? recommend that the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service protect Yetis from hunters and trappers
When? recently
Where? throughout the United States and its territories
How? by allowing the creatures to roam free, rather than confining them to particular areas, or “reservations,”
Why? because, free to roam, Yetis, a threatened species, will be better able to defend themselves against human intruders

If, initially, the results of this process seem lame, choose a different news item and start fresh. Ultimately, the process can be rewarding!

Paranormal vs. Supernatural: What’s the Diff?

Copyright 2009 by Gary L. Pullman

Sometimes, in demonstrating how to brainstorm about an essay topic, selecting horror movies, I ask students to name the titles of as many such movies as spring to mind (seldom a difficult feat for them, as the genre remains quite popular among young adults). Then, I ask them to identify the monster, or threat--the antagonist, to use the proper terminology--that appears in each of the films they have named. Again, this is usually a quick and easy task. Finally, I ask them to group the films’ adversaries into one of three possible categories: natural, paranormal, or supernatural. This is where the fun begins.

It’s a simple enough matter, usually, to identify the threats which fall under the “natural” label, especially after I supply my students with the scientific definition of “nature”: everything that exists as either matter or energy (which are, of course, the same thing, in different forms--in other words, the universe itself. The supernatural is anything which falls outside, or is beyond, the universe: God, angels, demons, and the like, if they exist. Mad scientists, mutant cannibals (and just plain cannibals), serial killers, and such are examples of natural threats. So far, so simple.

What about borderline creatures, though? Are vampires, werewolves, and zombies, for example, natural or supernatural? And what about Freddy Krueger? In fact, what does the word “paranormal” mean, anyway? If the universe is nature and anything outside or beyond the universe is supernatural, where does the paranormal fit into the scheme of things?

According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word “paranormal,” formed of the prefix “para,” meaning alongside, and “normal,” meaning “conforming to common standards, usual,” was coined in 1920. The American Heritage Dictionary defines “paranormal” to mean “beyond the range of normal experience or scientific explanation.” In other words, the paranormal is not supernatural--it is not outside or beyond the universe; it is natural, but, at the present, at least, inexplicable, which is to say that science cannot yet explain its nature. The same dictionary offers, as examples of paranormal phenomena, telepathy and “a medium’s paranormal powers.”

Wikipedia offers a few other examples of such phenomena or of paranormal sciences, including the percentages of the American population which, according to a Gallup poll, believes in each phenomenon, shown here in parentheses: psychic or spiritual healing (54), extrasensory perception (ESP) (50), ghosts (42), demons (41), extraterrestrials (33), clairvoyance and prophecy (32), communication with the dead (28), astrology (28), witchcraft (26), reincarnation (25), and channeling (15); 36 percent believe in telepathy.

As can be seen from this list, which includes demons, ghosts, and witches along with psychics and extraterrestrials, there is a confusion as to which phenomena and which individuals belong to the paranormal and which belong to the supernatural categories. This confusion, I believe, results from the scientism of our age, which makes it fashionable for people who fancy themselves intelligent and educated to dismiss whatever cannot be explained scientifically or, if such phenomena cannot be entirely rejected, to classify them as as-yet inexplicable natural phenomena. That way, the existence of a supernatural realm need not be admitted or even entertained. Scientists tend to be materialists, believing that the real consists only of the twofold unity of matter and energy, not dualists who believe that there is both the material (matter and energy) and the spiritual, or supernatural. If so, everything that was once regarded as having been supernatural will be regarded (if it cannot be dismissed) as paranormal and, maybe, if and when it is explained by science, as natural. Indeed, Sigmund Freud sought to explain even God as but a natural--and in Freud’s opinion, an obsolete--phenomenon.

Meanwhile, among skeptics, there is an ongoing campaign to eliminate the paranormal by explaining them as products of ignorance, misunderstanding, or deceit. Ridicule is also a tactic that skeptics sometimes employ in this campaign. For example, The Skeptics’ Dictionary contends that the perception of some “events” as being of a paranormal nature may be attributed to “ignorance or magical thinking.” The dictionary is equally suspicious of each individual phenomenon or “paranormal science” as well. Concerning psychics’ alleged ability to discern future events, for example, The Skeptic’s Dictionary quotes Jay Leno (“How come you never see a headline like 'Psychic Wins Lottery'?”), following with a number of similar observations:

Psychics don't rely on psychics to warn them of impending disasters. Psychics don't predict their own deaths or diseases. They go to the dentist like the rest of us. They're as surprised and disturbed as the rest of us when they have to call a plumber or an electrician to fix some defect at home. Their planes are delayed without their being able to anticipate the delays. If they want to know something about Abraham Lincoln, they go to the library; they don't try to talk to Abe's spirit. In short, psychics live by the known laws of nature except when they are playing the psychic game with people.
In An Encyclopedia of Claims, Frauds, and Hoaxes of the Occult and Supernatural, James Randi, a magician who exercises a skeptical attitude toward all things alleged to be paranormal or supernatural, takes issue with the notion of such phenomena as well, often employing the same arguments and rhetorical strategies as The Skeptic’s Dictionary.

In short, the difference between the paranormal and the supernatural lies in whether one is a materialist, believing in only the existence of matter and energy, or a dualist, believing in the existence of both matter and energy and spirit. If one maintains a belief in the reality of the spiritual, he or she will classify such entities as angels, demons, ghosts, gods, vampires, and other threats of a spiritual nature as supernatural, rather than paranormal, phenomena. He or she may also include witches (because, although they are human, they are empowered by the devil, who is himself a supernatural entity) and other natural threats that are energized, so to speak, by a power that transcends nature and is, as such, outside or beyond the universe. Otherwise, one is likely to reject the supernatural as a category altogether, identifying every inexplicable phenomenon as paranormal, whether it is dark matter or a teenage werewolf. Indeed, some scientists dedicate at least part of their time to debunking allegedly paranormal phenomena, explaining what natural conditions or processes may explain them, as the author of The Serpent and the Rainbow explains the creation of zombies by voodoo priests.

Based upon my recent reading of Tzvetan Todorov's The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to the Fantastic, I add the following addendum to this essay.

According to Todorov:

The fantastic. . . lasts only as long as a certain hesitation [in deciding] whether or not what they [the reader and the protagonist] perceive derives from "reality" as it exists in the common opinion. . . . If he [the reader] decides that the laws of reality remain intact and permit an explanation of the phenomena described, we can say that the work belongs to the another genre [than the fantastic]: the uncanny. If, on the contrary, he decides that new laws of nature must be entertained to account for the phenomena, we enter the genre of the marvelous (The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre, 41).
Todorov further differentiates these two categories by characterizing the uncanny as “the supernatural explained” and the marvelous as “the supernatural accepted” (41-42).

Interestingly, the prejudice against even the possibility of the supernatural’s existence which is implicit in the designation of natural versus paranormal phenomena, which excludes any consideration of the supernatural, suggests that there are no marvelous phenomena; instead, there can be only the uncanny. Consequently, for those who subscribe to this view, the fantastic itself no longer exists in this scheme, for the fantastic depends, as Todorov points out, upon the tension of indecision concerning to which category an incident belongs, the natural or the supernatural. The paranormal is understood, by those who posit it, in lieu of the supernatural, as the natural as yet unexplained.

And now, back to a fate worse than death: grading students’ papers.

My Cup of Blood

Anyone who becomes an aficionado of anything tends, eventually, to develop criteria for elements or features of the person, place, or thing of whom or which he or she has become enamored. Horror fiction--admittedly not everyone’s cuppa blood--is no different (okay, maybe it’s a little different): it, too, appeals to different fans, each for reasons of his or her own. Of course, in general, book reviews, the flyleaves of novels, and movie trailers suggest what many, maybe even most, readers of a particular type of fiction enjoy, but, right here, right now, I’m talking more specifically--one might say, even more eccentrically. In other words, I’m talking what I happen to like, without assuming (assuming makes an “ass” of “u” and “me”) that you also like the same. It’s entirely possible that you will; on the other hand, it’s entirely likely that you won’t.

Anyway, this is what I happen to like in horror fiction:

Small-town settings in which I get to know the townspeople, both the good, the bad, and the ugly. For this reason alone, I’m a sucker for most of Stephen King’s novels. Most of them, from 'Salem's Lot to Under the Dome, are set in small towns that are peopled by the good, the bad, and the ugly. Part of the appeal here, granted, is the sense of community that such settings entail.

Isolated settings, such as caves, desert wastelands, islands, mountaintops, space, swamps, where characters are cut off from civilization and culture and must survive and thrive or die on their own, without assistance, by their wits and other personal resources. Many are the examples of such novels and screenplays, but Alien, The Shining, The Descent, Desperation, and The Island of Dr. Moreau, are some of the ones that come readily to mind.

Total institutions as settings. Camps, hospitals, military installations, nursing homes, prisons, resorts, spaceships, and other worlds unto themselves are examples of such settings, and Sleepaway Camp, Coma, The Green Mile, and Aliens are some of the novels or films that take place in such settings.

Anecdotal scenes--in other words, short scenes that showcase a character--usually, an unusual, even eccentric, character. Both Dean Koontz and the dynamic duo, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, excel at this, so I keep reading their series (although Koontz’s canine companions frequently--indeed, almost always--annoy, as does his relentless optimism).

Atmosphere, mood, and tone. Here, King is king, but so is Bentley Little. In the use of description to terrorize and horrify, both are masters of the craft.

A bit of erotica (okay, okay, sex--are you satisfied?), often of the unusual variety. Sex sells, and, yes, sex whets my reader’s appetite. Bentley Little is the go-to guy for this spicy ingredient, although Koontz has done a bit of seasoning with this spice, too, in such novels as Lightning and Demon Seed (and, some say, Hung).

Believable characters. Stephen King, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, and Dan Simmons are great at creating characters that stick to readers’ ribs.

Innovation. Bram Stoker demonstrates it, especially in his short story “Dracula’s Guest,” as does H. P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, Shirley Jackson, and a host of other, mostly classical, horror novelists and short story writers. For an example, check out my post on Stoker’s story, which is a real stoker, to be sure. Stephen King shows innovation, too, in ‘Salem’s Lot, The Shining, It, and other novels. One might even argue that Dean Koontz’s something-for-everyone, cross-genre writing is innovative; he seems to have been one of the first, if not the first, to pen such tales.

Technique. Check out Frank Peretti’s use of maps and his allusions to the senses in Monster; my post on this very topic is worth a look, if I do say so myself, which, of course, I do. Opening chapters that accomplish a multitude of narrative purposes (not usually all at once, but successively) are attractive, too, and Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child are as good as anyone, and better than many, at this art.

A connective universe--a mythos, if you will, such as both H. P. Lovecraft and Stephen King, and, to a lesser extent, Dean Koontz, Bentley Little, and even Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child have created through the use of recurring settings, characters, themes, and other elements of fiction.

A lack of pretentiousness. Dean Koontz has it, as do Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, Bentley Little, and (to some extent, although he has become condescending and self-indulgent of late, Stephen King); unfortunately, both Dan Simmons and Robert McCammon have become too self-important in their later works, Simmons almost to the point of becoming unreadable. Come on, people, you’re writing about monsters--you should be humble.

Longevity. Writers who have been around for a while usually get better, Stephen King, Dan Simmons, and Robert McCammon excepted.

Pacing. Neither too fast nor too slow. Dean Koontz is good, maybe the best, here, of contemporary horror writers.


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