Action Scenes and Subplots to Mix and Match

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

While watching Bosch, I discerned that the episodes consist of a number of scenes that are rearranged in each installment (or most installments) of the series. These scenes include what might be called

• Detective Hieronymus (“Harry”) Bosch is subjected to the police captain's animosity
• Bosch finds a sympathetic ear in the police lieutenant
• Bosch engages in partner time
• Bosch investigates
• Busch enjoys girlfriend time
• Bosch calls or visits his ex-wife
• Bosch calls or visits his teenage daughter
• Bosch receives a call from the killer he's hunting

As the scenes are mixed and remixed, the story of the particular case he is working at the moment progresses. This is the backbone that unifies the scenes and subplots throughout the season.

For the sake of variety, a subplot may occur for a period of time: Bosch is tried; the police chief enlists Bosch's aid; the killer visits his mother; Bosch is haunted by his past.

This same approach can be taken with other genres. Simply describe eight or so staple scenes to mix and match during the progress of a particular event (the season's story) and add four or five subplots of various duration; then, as the unifying story unfolds, add the current mix of scenes and subplots.

Here's how a Western might be developed.

Scenes:

• A woman is endangered.
• The woman escapes or is rescued.
• The good guy (sheriff, bounty hunter, cowboy, gambler) hunts the bad guy (killer, kidnapper, horse thief, gunfighter), either by himself or as a member of a posse.
• A showdown occurs between the good guy and the bad guy.
• Corrupt politicians or officials take over a town.
• A bad guy escapes custody or jail.
• A reward is offered for the return, dead or alive, of an outlaw.
• An apparent friend turns out to be an enemy.
• A wronged party seeks revenge.
• A vagabond seeks to put down roots.
  
  

  

Subplots

• A man is tried.
• A group of rivals or enemies resist the hero and his friends.
• A rift between the hero and a family member is mended.
• The hero struggles to make his own way in the world.
• The hero leaves one woman for another.

With these eight or ten scenes and four or five subplots, the writer has enough material for a whole series of novels; all that is necessary, now, is to scramble the order of the scenes in each book and develop the subplot to its conclusion, over several books, before introducing a new subplot.

Since Chillers and Thrillers is a blog about the theory and practice of horror, let's add a formula for this genre.

Scenes

• A horrible foundational event or experience happens to the villain, shaping him or her.
• Encountering someone who reminds him or her of the horrible foundational event or experience that shaped him or her, the villain kills this person.
• Encountering others who also remind him or her of the horrible foundational event or experience that shaped him or her, the villain kills this person.
• The secret of the villain's past is discovered.
• The villain is hunted by an expert.
• The villain's secret is revealed.
• The hero and the expert (if they differ) use their knowledge of the villain to eliminate him or her as a threat.
• The status quo returns.
  
  

Subplots

• A new kid in town or school adjusts to his or her change in setting and circumstances.
• The new kid is bullied or ostracized.
• The new kid is befriended.
• The new kid and his friend or friends battle the villain.
• A dysfunctional parent struggles to raise his or her family.

The Means to an End, or Catch and Release

 Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

In plotting horror fiction, as in other genres, it helps to think of the phrase “a means to an end.”

The “means” are the means that the writer employs to encourage the reader to continue to read the story.

The “end” is the theme, or the “meaning,” of the story of film, the point of the narrative or the drama, what it is all “about.”

Here is a simple illustration: an attractive young woman in a bikini is the “means”; the reason for her being a part of a story about a serial killer who preys upon attractive young women in bikinis is the “end.”

We can think of the means as a series of hooks. The writer hooks the reader, but releases him or her; hooks the reader again, and releases him or her a second time; hooks the reader yet again, and releases him or her a third time; and so on, until, at last, the writer releases the reader for good, at the end of the story.

Too often, writers think of not a series of hooks, but of a single hook: the hook that lands the reader, that succeeds in getting him or her to read the rest of the story. However, the idea that even a short story has but a single hook does not work, and it does not work for a novella or a novel, either. (It also doesn't apply to a feature-length film—and what we say here, in this post, about written stories also applies in general to filmed ones; simply substitute “screenwriter” for “writer,” “film” or “movie” for “story” or “novel,” and “audience,” “spectator,” or “viewer” for “reader.”)

We might also note that every hook leaves behind a question which is answered either sooner or later. The hooks (usually actions) generate questions; the questions generate suspense. Once the suspense is satisfied—temporarily—the next hook is set.

Let's take, as an example, H. G. Wells's short story “The Red Room.” Here are the hooks:

Hook 1: Castle caretakers warn a young man who has recently arrived not to spend the night in the Red Room, which, they say, is haunted.

Question: Will the young man be dissuaded?

Hook 2: The warning is repeated.

Question: Will the young man be dissuaded?

Hook 3: The warning is repeated again.

Question: Will the young man be dissuaded?

Hook 4: The young man proceeds upstairs to the Red Room.

Question: Will the young man continue to the room or change his mind and depart from the castle?

Hook 5: The young man locks himself inside the room.

Question: Will he stay in the room?

Hook 6: Having secured himself inside the room, the young man inspects the chamber for any signs of secret entrances or hiding places.

Question: Will the young man find any secret entrances or hiding places.?

Hook 7: A candle goes out.

Question: Why?

Hook 8: The young man suspects a draft, but he cannot find a source of an air current.

Question: What caused the draft that blew out the candle—or was it a draft that extinguished the flame?

Hooks 9-12*: One by one, additional candles are apparently snuffed.

Question: What caused the drafts that blew out these additional candles—or were they drafts that extinguished the flame?

Hook 13: The fire in the fireplace is abruptly extinguished.

Question: What caused the fire to go out? (Here, the reader may draw a tentative conclusion: a draft of air certainly could not have extinguished the fire!)

Hook 14: The young man panics, running through the room, and is knocked out.

Question: Did ghosts attack him?

Hook 15: The castle's caretakers ask him whether the room is haunted, as rumored?

Question: What will the young man answer: is the room haunted?

End: The room is haunted—by the young man's own imagination, which ran away with him.

*The numbers are invented, as the exact number escape me at present.

While the incidents of a plot must be linked by cause and effect, they should also be related through actions, or hooks, that cause questions, generating suspense, until, at the end, all is explained.

But must stories be explained? Isn't ambiguity best, in some cases? That's a question for a future post.

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.

The Horror of Objective and Subjective Threats

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

Some horror fiction, both on the page and on the sound stage, features threats which are both objective and subjective. Just as objective threats can vary, so can subjective ones. If there is the threat of a loss of limb, or of mobility, or of stamina, or of life itself, there is also the threat of such losses as trust, of scruples, of faith, or of sanity.

These dual threats are depicted or dramatized through conflict: the villain or the monster is the agent by whom the objective threat is presented, and the physical threat, in turn, causes the subjective threat.

 

The outcome of conflict involving these two types of threat is resolved in one of at least seven ways:

1. The protagonist wins, overcoming both the objective threat and the subjective threat.
2. The protagonist partially wins, overcoming the objective, but not the subjective, threat.
3. The protagonist partially wins, being overcome by the objective, but overcoming the subjective, threat.
4. The protagonist loses, being overcome by both the objective threat and the subjective threat.
5. The protagonist overcomes the subjective threat, but the resolution regarding the objective threat remains unknown.
6. The protagonist overcomes the objective threat, but the resolution regarding the subjective threat remains unknown.
7. It remains unknown whether the protagonist overcomes either the objective or the subjective threat.
   
   
   
   
   

In the hands of skilled writers, these seven permutations can seem to multiply, as various twists are put upon each threat and each possible outcome.

Edgar Allan Poe's short stories often involve both objective and subjective threats. The outcome of the stories' conflicts vary across the spectrum of possibilities.

1. The protagonist wins, overcoming both the objective threat and the subjective threat. Hop-Frog and Tripetta, of “Hop-Frog,” not only overcome the threat of violence and possible death at the hands of the cruel king they serve, escaping after immolating the villain and his courtiers, but they also overcome the subjective threats to their pride and self-respect posed by the king's dehumanizing conduct toward them. Their victory is double; they regain both their physical freedom and their autonomy and self-esteem.

2. The protagonist partially wins, overcoming the objective, but not the subjective, threat. The protagonist of Poe's “The Tell-Tale Heart” imagines that an old man with a “vulture's eye” is a menace. He vanquishes this perceived objective threat by killing the old man. However, the police, alerted by a neighbor who'd heard the victim's screams, arrest the killer, and readers realize that the protagonist has not vanquished the subjective threat of his own madness—nor is he likely to escape the additional, real objective threat of prison or, possibly, hanging.

3. The protagonist partially wins, being overcome by the objective, but overcoming the subjective, threat. William Peter Blatty's The Exorcist is a good example of this variation. Father Karras is questioning his religious faith until, in an act of self-sacrifice, he bids the devil to forsake a girl he's possessed and possess him instead. However, when the devil makes the jump from the girl into the priest, Father Karras foils his adversary by leaping to his death from the upper-story window of the girl's bedroom, in which the exorcism had been being conducted. Although the objective threat of possession by the devil overcomes Father Karras, the priest retains his faith.

4. The protagonist loses, being overcome by both the objective threat and the subjective threat. During the American Civil War, Second-Lieutenant Brainerd Byring of the Union Army succumbs to his on imaginary fears when, on an isolated portion of terrain over which he stands guard, he encounters a dead enemy soldier. Byring fancies that he sees the Confederate soldier's body moving slowly, stealthily toward him. A captain and a surgeon find Byring the next morning.

He has driven his own sword through his heart, after hacking the dead Confederate's cadaver. The enemy soldier's weapon lies on the ground, unfired, and his body is rotten enough to indicate that he has been dead some days before Byring “killed” him. The fight hinted at in Ambrose Bierce's “The Tough Tussle” has been entirely Byring's own; he has survived neither the objective struggle with the corpse nor his delusion that the body was alive, that the dead Confederate soldier was, indeed, sneaking up on him under the cover of darkness to kill him.

5. The protagonist overcomes the objective threat, but the resolution regarding the subjective threat remains unknown. The protagonist of Poe's “The Pit and the Pendulum” avoids the objective threat—execution—when the Inquisition that has imposed the sentence of death upon him is defeated by its enemies and he is rescued. It is unclear whether he also triumphs over the terrors of helplessness and the horrors of physical and emotional abuse. The story's ending does not say or even imply.

6. The protagonist overcomes the objective threat, but the resolution regarding the subjective threat remains unknown. In H. G. Wells' short story “The Cone,” the protagonist, Raut, avenges himself upon Horrocks, the adulterer who has cuckolded him, by causing his wife's lover to fall into a furnace. The objective threat to his wife's violated fidelity has been ended, but the murderer himself may not as easily be rid of the humiliation and rage that appear to have driven him to this desperate act. Even if he does vanquish these emotions, he may have to struggle with another subjective threat, for he seems horrified at the terrible crime—the sin—he has committed: “God have mercy upon me!,” he prays, saying, “O God! what have I done?”

7. It remains unknown whether the protagonist overcomes either the objective or the subjective threat. Legs and his companion Hugh Tarpaulin escape the mad, self-proclaimed King Pest and his courtiers, who have taken refuge from the plague in the basement of an undertaker's shop, but it is unknown whether the rash sailors also escape the plague that has disfigured the afflicted. They might, in fact, be taking the disease aboard the very ship from which they earlier departed, for the narrator of Poe's “King Pest” informs readers,

the victorious Legs, seizing by the waist the fat lady in the shroud, rushed out with her into the street, and made a bee-line for the “Free and Easy,” followed under easy sail by the redoubtable Hugh Tarpaulin, who, having sneezed three or four times, panted and puffed after him with the Arch Duchess Ana-Pest.

 

If they have not escaped the plague, it is doubtful that they will escape the terror that it will bring and, if the rest of the crew they infect understand that it was they who infected them, it is unlikely that they will escape the ire of their fellow seamen; indeed, a new objective threat may arise, one which costs them their very lives. They may have merely escaped one type of death to flee into hands of a death of another kind.

These seven variations on the theme of an objective threat coupled with an often-related subjective threat provide a fertile foundation for a multitude of treatments so that no story needs to be like another, even if they are based on the same dynamics—or, indeed, a specific dynamic within the seven-fold group of dynamics. Likewise, the same writer can produce a story from any one of the objective-subjective threat pairings or from the same one, treated differently.