Writer to writer: From think to ink - Gail Carson Levine 2014
Peering ahead
Aspects of story
In the last chapter we looked back over our authorial shoulders. Now let’s put on our spyglasses and peer ahead. Foreshadowing is what peeking ahead is called, and it’s another way to crank up story tension.
Many great books, especially old books—classics, even—warn the reader of future catastrophe. We might see something like Dear Reader, If I had known in 1842 what I now know in 1862, I never would have entered Tabitha’s Tea Emporium on that fateful July day.
Here’s an example from Peter Pan. It takes place in the Lost Boys’ underground home in Neverland:
And then at last they all got into bed for Wendy’s story, the story they loved best, the story Peter hated. Usually when she began to tell this story he left the room or put his hands over his ears; and possibly if he had done either of those things this time they might all still be on the island.
Contemporary stories don’t usually use foreshadowing as directly as this, unless the writer is being funny. A humorous example might expand on what I wrote before, as in, Dear Reader, If I had known in 1842 what I now know in 1862, I never would have entered Tabitha’s Tea Emporium on that fateful July day and would have been spared many sleepless nights and a right earlobe the size of a grapefruit. If we sprinkle silly foreshadowing like this in at regular intervals, the reader will be looking for it and laughing in advance.
Sometimes we can be tempted to use outright foreshadowing to prop up a dull part of our story. Things are slow right now, so we let the reader know that the action is going to pick up. Fred is eating a PB&J sandwich. A yawner, yes? So we tell the reader that the sandwich will lead to dire consequences. Sometimes this works, but it can be awkward. When a narrator addresses the reader, she takes him out of the immediate moment in the story. If the book is told by a first-person MC, the reader is reminded that the character isn’t participating in events as they unfold but looking back on them.
Instead of a pronouncement about the future, we can skip the PB&J entirely or make the sandwich eating itself interesting.
There are more subtle ways we can suggest trouble to come. In both Ella Enchanted and Fairest, gnomes are prescient; that is, they can see into the future, although their future sight is dim. Their prophecies make the reader worry without interrupting the action. Dreams, too, can augur ill. In Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, for example, dreaming of a child portends misfortune. The first instance of this comes when Jane’s governess dreams of a child and soon learns her sister has died. Later, when Jane has such a dream, we tense and wait for the worst.
Dialogue foreshadowing can set off nail-biting. For example, Ron Banks-Butler is talking to Hallie Butler, his older cousin, who’s two grades ahead of him in high school. Hallie asks him who his history teacher is going to be when school starts next week. Here’s what follows:
Ron shrugged. “Mr. Twillet. Is he good?”
“Twillet doesn’t know what good means, and he has it in for kids with two last names.”
“What does he do to them?”
“You don’t want to know. It will just give you nightmares.”
Uh-oh.
Or we can use setting. Clara is boarding an airplane in winter. The pilot announces that they have to wait while the ground crew deices the wings. Finally the plane begins to taxi, but Clara sees out her window a slick patch on the wing. She’s sure it’s ice. When she points the patch out to the flight attendant, he tells her everything is fine.
Uh-oh.
Or a character’s past can ring a warning bell. Clara survives her flight, although at one point the plane drops precipitously and the oxygen masks come down. She’s traveling to spend a week with her Aunt Flora in Florida, and the reader knows Aunt Flora suffered a psychotic episode as a young woman. Aunt Flora meets Clara’s flight; she’s where she should be, at baggage claim, and she’s smiling her usual warm smile. Clara’s eyes travel down to her aunt’s feet. Her right foot is in a sandal, her left in a sneaker.
Uh-oh.
There’s a famous writing principle called Chekhov’s gun. The Russian author and playwright Anton Chekhov wrote, “If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it’s not going to be fired, it shouldn’t be hanging there.”
A gun, or a rifle, is a significant object, unlike, say, a painting displayed on the same wall, which may be there just to provide insight into the character of the homeowner. But when the reader sees that gun, she’s put on notice. The gun triggers (pun intended!) the uh-oh. In the case of Aunt Flora’s footwear, the reader will be disappointed if nothing comes of this strange fashion statement.
Writing time!
• Fred is eating that PB&J sandwich. Without announcing in the old-fashioned way that disaster lurks, make the reader uneasy. Maybe the jam tastes faintly bitter or Fred smells smoke or he hears a crash coming from the basement. Jot down a few possibilities or go with one of mine and write the story.
• Continue the saga of Clara in Florida. Is Aunt Flora descending into insanity again, or is there another explanation for the mismatched shoes? What will Aunt Flora do next?
• Ron, who’s nervous about starting school and encountering his history teacher, walks his dog, Shadow, the night before. Get Ron out of having to go to school, but not in a good way. In fact, make school look much better than the trouble he and Shadow land in. Before the misery strikes, give the reader hints that something bad is on the way. Write the story.
Have fun, and save what you write!