Plotting (Part 3): It’s all about the drama, dahlings.
Books and blogs about “plotting a novel” are as ubiquitous as leaves on a summer tree. I suspect some of these efforts are actually very good. Others? Not so much. That being said, let me cut to the chase. Good plotting can be explained in one word: Drama.
Yup. Drama. It’s all about the drama, dahlings. That’s the secret ingredient; the single most important element of successful fiction. Writing a book that’s lacking dramatic impact? It probably won’t (IMHO) sell.
And don’t confuse drama as “some little ruckus” that one sprinkles sporadically around a story. Drama isn’t a garnish. Nor is it specifically reserved for those dark, thunderous Shakespearean epics where witches cackle, swords clash and treachery abounds. Drama is a constant that should infuse every fictive work. That should be a rule—and so now it is! Rule #33. Make drama your novel’s constant companion. It lurks upon every page—either undulating or overwhelming—ready to spring or having already sprung, hiding, panting, waiting to lunge again.
Comedy, even slapstick comedy, is merely drama interpreted through a playful or joyous lens. But it’s still drama. Don’t think so? Think of any comedic film. (I’ve discovered that remembering film sequences is far easier than remembering snippets from a book. And easier to dissect as well.) For instance: Notting Hill. Filled with drama. The Holiday? Filled with drama. Annie Hall? Filled with drama. The Princess Bride? It’s a Wonderful Life? The Hangover? Drama. Drama. And drama. Remember Finding Nemo? The little guy loses his mother and 99% of his siblings. Gets lost at sea. Almost eaten by a shark. Captured and confined to an aquarium. Makes a daring escape. It’s funny—but it’s also constant drama!
Somebody famous once said—I thought it was Woody Allen, although I can’t find the attribution—but somebody once said, and I’m paraphrasing here; “Comedy is what happens when your friend slips on a banana peel. Drama is what happens when you slip on a banana peel.”
Sure, many great dramas include a modicum of comic relief, because even excruciating drama knows when to pause for a relenting breath or two. I refer to films like Rain Man, Good Fellas, Saving Private Ryan, Alien (that damn cat, for instance)—even Frankenstein (the 1931/Boris Karloff version) which has a few well-placed chuckles. Refer again to Rule #8, which states, in part): Keep your characters moving. You’re either pushing characters toward drama or pulling them away again.
I can’t really give any writer much additional structural information on plotting. My personal belief has always been: write what you feel, write what you want.
Do understand that plotting isn’t always about remarkable external circumstances, about drooling zombies or horrific wars or big ships slowly sinking. Good plotting is also about (and sometimes only about) great character development. (Rent The Madness of King George. Or Before Sunrise. Beautiful films, with stories predominately carried by superb dialog.) I’ve often said that if you lock two interesting people in a closet and give them great, dramatic dialog, I’d rather read that book than about all the Transformers in the world.
So, yeah, successful plotting is a combination of great dialog, great timing, great suspense (comedic or tragic) and certainly great writing. Good drama is larger than life. Deeper than reality. Great plotting is the result of daydreaming that begins with a single, simple “what if?” concept.
Another secret ingredient: Daydreaming.
Another word or two about “creative dreaming.” (More about creative daydreaming in Plotting: Part 1.) Remember when people (probably your parents, your teachers) used to tell you that daydreaming was a total waste of time? Well, don’t believe them. Daydreams have their place. If you’re a novelist, they have a crucial, creative role to play. Every daydream is a potential novel.
Don’t believe me? Pick a daydream. Any daydream. A friend once told me; “I sit in front of a monitor 8 hours a day and crunch numbers and hammer out Excel spreadsheets. There I sit, day after day, thinking about running through a sun-drenched field filled with wildflowers.” That’s her daydream. Doesn’t seem like much, does it? But what happens when that particular daydream belongs to a writer? Sooner or later that flowered field is going to lead me toward…? Maybe a encroaching forest? Over a rickety bridge laden with cackling crows? In the distance, might I glimpse the crumbling spires of a deserted castle? A forgotten cemetery? A cave deep with a granite outcropping?
Any writer worth their salt will, of course, move forward for a closer look. Am I simply out for a stroll? Perhaps. Or am I searching for someone? Running away from something? A more potential dramatic scenario, right? (Because I can also build a plot backwards as well as forward!) As I push my way through the tangles of underbrush, maybe I come upon a forgotten, weed-choked mansion, hundreds of years old. Intriguing. Broken windows. A shattered doorway. After a few moments of exploring, I hear a child crying from somewhere deep inside….
Or, perhaps I hear the faint echo of a woman laughing. Or the sound of a gunshot. Or an ominous growl. And at that point, my daydream has officially become a plot concept. Maybe not one I write down (yet), but one I might consider. Where do I go from there? Can I transfer that same curiosity, that same excitement, to the page? And find a sufficient creative flow to ask-and-answer these same “what if?” scenarios for another few hundred pages?
Basically, that’s how a book starts. Frankly, that’s how it ends too—a constant stream of carefully sequenced daydreams that the writer weaves together, page after after page. Oh, and while keeping up the story’s dramatic impact at every possible moment!
And, because it’s important enough to say again, here it is! Rule #33: Don’t confuse drama as “some little ruckus” that one sprinkles sporadically around a story. Drama isn’t a garnish. Drama is your story’s constant companion.