Writer to writer: From think to ink - Gail Carson Levine 2014

The plot thickens
Hatching the plot

Sometimes I get lost.

To find my way in my story, I write notes about where I am and where I might go. And I show my efforts to my writing buddy, the excellent writer and illustrator of books for children and teens Karen Romano Young. Sometimes she has ideas about how my plot can move forward.

So these are two more plot strategies in addition to finding your central idea: notes and showing your story to a trusted friend or adult, someone you can count on to give constructive criticism and not to make you feel bad, not to say that what you’ve done is stupid, or worse, that you’re stupid.

I have more suggestions, but first let’s talk about plot itself, which arises out of character and situation, usually a difficult situation. Take the first possibility in the last chapter, the one with the ancient pharaoh. The situation is the return of this dead dude who takes over a boy’s being and wants revenge. We know little about the former pharaoh, just that he was murdered and that, thousands of years later, he’s still ticked off.

What else can we come up with for him? What was he like in his day? How old was he, for one thing? I would probably make him fourteen, too, the same age as the boy he invaded, so they have that in common. But age isn’t much to go on. What else? Let’s say the young pharaoh was assassinated after he’d sat on the throne for only a few months. Was he kind or despotic? Did the kingdom rejoice or mourn when he died? Did he have a sense of humor? Happy humor, or did he make fun of people? Was he stubborn or did he give up easily?

While you’re thinking about him, keep part of your mind on the modern boy. The two need to correspond in more than age. I don’t mean they need to be similar, but some traits in the pharaoh should link with some in the boy, either by being opposite or by being similar.

Once you have an idea of the boy and the pharaoh, you’ll probably want to move on to the pharaoh’s murderer and the modern-day girl she’s entered. Ask yourself questions about them.

You’ll need more characters, of course. You can think about them now or when you’re ready to bring them into your story.

Try this method on any of your tales that have wandered around and gotten lost. After you’ve decided on your big idea, tweak your characters so they can move it along. Then return to your story, which should have begun to take shape.

Another approach to plot, often mentioned in books about writing, is to ask yourself what a character wants and erect barriers to her achieving her goal. An example of this is Jerry Spinelli’s Newbery Honor novel, Wringer, about Palmer LaRue, a boy who doesn’t want to participate in his town’s annual pigeon shoot. One of the obstacles is Palmer himself, who hopes, despite his reluctance, to be accepted by the boys who do participate.

Then again, instead of asking what your MC wants most, you can ask what she fears most and make it happen. Now she’s in a terrible situation. What does she do about it?

Many plots can be described according to that middle-school chart, as rising action followed by crisis, then falling action, and finally resolution. This sequence works for lots of writers. Let’s look at “The Three Little Pigs” as an example. In the rising action each pig builds his house and the wolf does his powerful blowing. In the crisis the wolf comes down the chimney of the brick house. I’m guessing that the falling action is when the wolf gets boiled, and I suppose the resolution is when the pigs congratulate each other and the first two swear to use only brick when they rebuild.

To try this method, think about what the problem will be, how you can make it worse-worse-worse, how you can bring it to a head, and then how you can solve it, which doesn’t necessarily mean solving it happily. I did this in The Two Princesses of Bamarre, in which Meryl, the sick sister, gets sicker and sicker, while Addie fails at her every attempt to find the cure.

Sometimes in a tragedy matters get better and better during the rising action, and then in the climax everything falls apart. An example of this is the Greek myth about Orpheus and Eurydice. They’re newlyweds when Eurydice is bitten by a viper and dies. After that, matters begin to improve. Grief-stricken, Orpheus, a gifted musician and singer, travels down to Hades, the world of the dead, to perform for the gods and persuade them to let his wife live again. He’s told she can follow him back to life. Hooray! But he mustn’t turn to look at her until they’ve climbed completely out. He waits until he’s reemerged, but when he turns, she’s still in shadow, and—boom!—he loses her forever.

Not all stories follow the rising action/crisis sequence. For example, Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women doesn’t. Lots of crises happen, but I’m not sure which is the major one or what resolves the book. There’s Jo’s relationship with Laurie, Beth’s health, the family’s poverty, the challenges that each sister presents to herself. That’s four, and I may have missed some. And yet, when we come to The End, we’re satisfied.

A book can be organized to take place during a particular time and place, like summer camp or a wilderness adventure. Joan Abelove’s young adult novel Go and Come Back, which I quoted from in chapter 8, covers a year in the life of a teenage girl in the jungles of Peru. It begins when two American anthropologists come to live in her village and ends when they leave. During that time, she saves a baby, one of the anthropologists gets very sick, a turtle is washed with surprising results, and much more.

In a story such as Go and Come Back, this happens, that happens; maybe there’s a crisis, maybe not. But events unfold. Friendships may be made and even lost. Skills are gained. The MC comes away changed, and the reader is satisfied.

However, even if you’re writing this kind of tale, your plot will need emotional ups and downs. Your MC has to be at least a little miserable at some point.

To create that misery, think about what interests you in your story. What’s the trigger? Suppose you’ve put two friends in a park and you don’t know what to do with them. Hunt for a spot where you can make trouble. You don’t have to crack the earth open, revealing a thousand monsters snapping their jaws (although you can if you want to). The misery may be the tiniest thing. You can just have one character—let’s call her Willa—say to the other, “I hate when you do that.” Nobody likes to be criticized, and you can intensify it. Willa’s friend Abigail answers, “And I hate when you watch my every move just waiting for something to criticize. At least I don’t do that.” Willa says in angry triumph, “You just did!” Abigail can march off, and Willa can text something that she will quickly regret to someone they both know. Your story is off and running.

It’s writing time!

Here’s another line of dialogue that can create big trouble: Make one character ask another what she’s thinking, which can be a very bad question, depending on what the other character has on his mind and how honest he is. Create some kind of disaster—interpersonal or global or intergalactic—as a consequence.

Have fun, and save what you write!