Elements of Fiction Writing - Conflict and Suspense (10 page)
Read Elements of Fiction Writing - Conflict and Suspense Online
Authors: James Scott Bell
No one can go back through the “doorway of no return.” The Lead in a character-driven story will have to fight through the second act, facing obstacles that force him to confront his own being. By the end of the story he will be a new person or will have failed in the attempt and “died inside” in some manner.
In a plot-driven story, the Lead will fight to survive in some vital way—physically or professionally, or both.
In a character-driven story, that second doorway is going to be something with a huge, emotional wallop. Why? Because it has to lead to the character having the courage to make his change complete.
In
On the Waterfront,
it’s when Terry’s brother Charlie is killed as a warning to Terry not to testify. Of course Terry is torn apart by this. He initially seeks violent revenge. But the priest gets to him and convinces him that his testimony to the crime board is much more effective. Terry summons the courage to live as a human being, and not an animal.
Let’s take a close look at a character-driven film that won the Academy Award for Best Picture of the Year.
In
The King’s Speech,
Prince Albert is a British Royal with a terrible hardship: He stammers. Because he will be expected to give speeches, this is no small thing. The film opens with a disturbance, a speech that he has to give to a large assembly at Wembley Stadium. He fumbles it. We can see in his face, and also the face of his loving wife, Elizabeth, what a horrible experience this is for him.
We know from the start, then, that this is going to be a story about psychological death. We see how important it is to Albert that he is able to fulfill his royal duties. If he does not, he’ll not only suffer the disapproval of his family, from his austere father on down, but let down the people of Great Britain, too. As the threat of war begins to become more real, the question becomes, How will he be able to inspire his nation if he can’t speak to them?
So “death overhanging” is certainly present here. Inner death. You can make the case that it is “professional death,” too. His ability to perform his kingly duties is on the line.
You can have more than one type of death hanging over the story.
Remember, the
thing
that is at stake for the character can be something we might view as relatively trivial. But if we can
justify it in the life of the character,
it will work.
Quite often in a character-driven story like this, the first doorway of no return is an
emotional
push. It is something that happens inside the character that gets him through that door to confront the opposition in Act Two.
And what is that opposition for Prince Albert? Again, when we are dealing with a character-driven narrative, you must look inside the character himself. In this case, the confrontation is the very handicap he suffers from. He is not opposed by any one person. People do show up to exacerbate his physical problem. His brother, David, makes fun of him and looks down upon him in a way. The Archbishop of Canterbury and others of that ilk have little confidence in him. And his father, of course, truly disapproves and doesn’t know how to handle Albert’s stuttering.
So the confrontation of Act Two will be a series of incidents showing Albert trying to avoid the psychological death of his stuttering. The stakes will increase, culminating in the large final battle: a major speech just after England enters the war with Germany.
The first doorway of no return, then, happens about a quarter of the way into the film when Albert listens to the recording that his speech therapist, Lionel, made at their first session. Albert read a bit of Hamlet’s soliloquy while listening to Mozart on headphones. To his shock, the recording is almost flawless.
Inside, Albert is moved emotionally toward a glimmer of hope. He consents to go for speech therapy. In this he shows courage, because all other therapists have been useless to him.
We have tremendous sympathy for Albert at this point. We have seen a “care package” early on. He is truly a loving father. He does not let his handicap stop him from telling his little girls stories.
And so this reveals another key that we’ve talked about. A reader or viewer must feel invested in a Lead character. They need to have some reason to want to keep reading about this person.
When you have a character who is so likable and sympathetic because he is both an underdog and facing hardship with courage, you are almost home free. Now it is a matter of constructing scenes that show the lead taking steps—trying actively to overcome the obstacles.
The second doorway of no return comes when England formally enters the war with Germany. Now Albert will have to face a final battle with his stammering, at the most crucial time. The stakes are the highest they can be. What he says will either inspire or disappoint the nation.
Do you see how psychological death is revealed here? We see it in the fine acting of Colin Firth. His face is reminiscent of the acting job done by Gary Cooper in
High Noon
. That is another film about a man facing his own fears, as the clock ticks toward a final battle and he has only himself to face the challenge.
Or almost only himself. Because
The King’s Speech
is also about the friendship between Prince Albert and Lionel Logue. That is a major part of Act Two.
How does one show conflict here? Remember, this is about two allies. In that sense it is somewhat reminiscent of a buddy film. The key to making it work is to show points of conflict between the allies. And that happens several times in
The King’s Speech.
There is a tussle between Albert and Lionel about what names they would call each other, what exercises they would undertake. The conflict escalates to a point where Albert doesn’t want to listen to Lionel anymore and splits from him. There is also a moment when Albert has been confronted with the fact that Lionel has no credentials, and the two duke it out. There are little arguments that go on between them. That conflict is part of the fabric of the film. Without it, you’d just have two happy friends and a bored audience.
Albert is also in conflict with his family, of course. And with those who doubt him. So all of the elements are set up in exactly the same way we would set up the structure in a plot-driven story. It’s just that this time the action is driven by the Lead character’s need to overcome and grow.
Is there a character arc? Of course there is. Albert grows from someone who is captive to his fears and his stammer to someone who has found the courage and the means to overcome. And he exercises that courage at the moment his country needs him most.
In a way it’s also like a sports movie. The little team that nobody thought could win the big game. But they work hard to face challenges and then when the big game comes they are ready to play.
The climactic radio address in
The King’s Speech
is like the big game. There are moments when you think maybe he won’t come through. But with Lionel helping him, he delivers the speech and becomes victorious. Just like the little guy on the underdog team who sinks the basket at the last second to win the game.
POINT OF VIEW
AND CONFLICT
C
hoosing a point of view (POV) for your novel is one the most important decisions you can make. But many writers—even those who are published—are flummoxed about POV. They may have a surface understanding of the differences, but that’s about it.
Getting a grip on POV is essential for any novelist because it has bearing on conflict and suspense, the two things your novel needs most to become successful.
Reading about POV can also be confusing. Some writing teachers themselves are not so clear on the crucial distinctions.
So let me make it real simple for you.
You have two choices: first person or third person.
Under first person you have two further choices: present tense or past tense. Under third person you also have two further choices: limited or unlimited.
I will explain these choices below.
“But what about
second person?”
you might be thinking.
Second-person POV is this:
You walk into the room and see the crowd. They look back at you. All of them seem to know what you’ve just done. You ignore the stares and walk up to Robert. “Hi buddy,” you say, holding out your hand.
Yes, some novelists have used second-person POV. My advice is not to follow their lead.
If you really, really want to, then heed this advice:
You sit down at your desk and begin to write in second person. It seems a good way for you to stretch your literary style. You know that it reduces the chances you’ll be published, and also that most readers find it frustrating. But you decide to learn all you can about it and write it and see how it works. And you wish yourself luck.
What about
omniscient POV?
The word means
all-knowing,
and that’s why omniscient POV is sometimes called the “godlike” perspective. The narrator is free to go wherever she wants to go, into any character’s thoughts at any time (even within the same scene) or into the sky above so she can describe the events like a camera.
The omni voice can comment on the events (
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times)
or can keep opinions out of it. Since it is the “God’s-eye view” it is highly flexible in the amount of intrusion.
Omniscient narration is little used anymore, though it may be a good choice for some longer styles of fiction, especially historical epics. It allows the author to give the readers large-canvas background information. But keep in mind this can be ponderous if done without restraint. And it is by no means required that writers use omniscient POV for epic-length fiction. The more intimate POV of third person can work as well or better.
You can, on occasion, begin a chapter with an omniscient perspective and “drop back” into the POV. Here’s what I mean:
The forests of Sherwood were long known to the villagers as a dark and somewhat scary place. They could hide robbers who waited for the unsuspecting horseman. Tales spread from the stables to the inns. Be on guard lest ye be robbed was always the end of the refrain.
Robin of Loxley stood beneath the Major Oak tree, longbow in hand. It felt good and strong. I will send Prince John a message, he thought.
The first paragraph gives us the large-angle view, then drops into our POV character, where it will remain.
Note that in either case, the use of the omniscient voice doesn’t run to commentary, as in the nineteenth-century style. Who cares what you, the author, thinks about the times? Give us the characters.
It’s also possible to write in omniscient
without
ever rendering the inner thoughts of a character. While rare, it can be effective in certain genres.
Think of it as being like a movie camera. It only captures what an audience can see. Here’s an excerpt from Dashiell Hammett’s
The Maltese Falcon:
Spade sank into his swivel-chair, made a quarter turn to face her, smiled politely. He smiled without separating his lips. All the
V
s in his face grew longer.
The tappity-tap-tap and the thin bell and muffled whir of Effie Perine’s typewriting came through the closed door. Somewhere in a neighboring office a power-driven machine vibrated dully. On Spade’s desk a limp cigarette smoldered in a brass tray filled with the remains of limp cigarettes.
This is the camera view because if we were in Spade’s head he wouldn’t have been able to see the
V
s in his face grow longer. Nor do we get Spade’s thoughts. And notice how the description of the cigarette on Spade’s desk is like a camera zooming in.
Finally, the more overt authorial voice in omniscient might be good in some genres, such as speculative fiction.
In Douglas Adams’s
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,
the Adams voice is readily apparent. As in the prologue to
So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish:
Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small underregarded yellow sun.
Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-eight million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.
Likewise, Joe Haldeman’s crisp little speculative novel,
The Hemingway Hoax,
begins by telling readers it’s the beginning:
Our story begins in a rundown bar in Key West, not so many years from now. The bar is not the one Hemingway drank at, nor yet the one that claims to be the one he drank at, nor yet the one that claims to be the one he drank at, because they are both too expensive and full of tourists. This bar, in a more interesting part of town, is a Cuban place. It is neither clean or well-lighted, but has cold beer and good strong Cuban coffee. Its cheap prices and rascally charm are what bring together the scholar and the rogue.
First person is the character telling what happened.
I went to the store. I saw Frank. “What are you doing here?” I said.
Obviously this POV requires everything to be seen through the eyes of one character. The Lead can only report what she saw, not what Frank saw or felt (unless Frank sees fit to report these items to the Lead). No scene can be described that the narrator has not witnessed—although you can have another character tell the narrator what happened in an “off-screen scene.”
You can use past or present tense with first-person POV. The traditional is past tense, where the narrator looks back and tells his story.
But the narrator can also do it this way:
I am going to the store. I see Frank. “What are you doing here?” I say.
There is an immediacy of tone here that, when handled well (as Steve Martini does in his Paul Mandarini legal thrillers), is compelling. But it is not the stylistic innovation it used to be, and you won’t hurt yourself if you never use it.
First person makes for a very intimate, and potentially memorable, tale. But to maximize the potential for conflict, you have create a strong voice for the narrator. Think
attitude
. The reason is this: Attitude runs into trouble. There is always going to be someone who thinks differently and doesn’t like the Lead’s view of things.
So starting with a clear attitude creates a sense of conflict to come.
The opening lines of
The Catcher in the Rye
, for instance, immediately tell us we’re listening to someone with a unique view of his own life and is ready to get in your face about it:
If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.
Does Janet Evanovich’s Lead character Stephanie Plum have an attitude, a voice? Judge from the opening of
High Five:
When I was a little girl I used to dress Barbie up without underpants. On the outside, she’d look like the perfect lady. Tasteful plastic heels, tailored suit. But underneath, she was naked. I’m a bail enforcement agent now—also known as a fugitive apprehension agent, also known as a bounty hunter. I bring ’em back dead or alive. At least I try. And being a bail enforcement agent is a little like being bare-bottom Barbie. It’s about having a secret. And it’s about wearing a lot of bravado on the outside when you’re really operating without underpants.
One can also choose to write first-person POV for various characters, in different chapters. Some authors put the name of the POV character at the start of the chapter, then proceed to write in that narrator’s voice.
This requires a lot of skill, of course, because each voice must be different, each perspective unique.
Third-person POV is when the action is described by the writer
as seen through
the perceptions of a character. Instead of
I saw
it’s
she saw.
The biggest problem I see in third-person narration is the author keeping that POV consistent throughout a scene. It’s easy to lapse and suddenly have the POV switch to a different character or to a perspective the character can’t see. I’m reading the second novel of a “hot” young thriller writer now, and he makes this mistake. You’re cruising along in the head of a character, then suddenly you drop into the head of a secondary character, before going back.
It sounds something like this:
Ramsey ran around the corner, feeling the heat of the bricks against his skin. Nick was keeping up with him, but he could hear the boy huffing and puffing.
I hope he’s up to this,
he thought
.
“Come on, kid,” Ramsey said. “You can make it.”
“I’m … trying,” Nick said.
Ramsey slowed and put out his hand. When the kid took it, a new charge of adrenaline shot through Ramsey’s body. He was going to protect this boy no matter what.
Nick squeezed Ramsey’s hand. He wanted to say he now trusted Ramsey, but the words stuck in his throat. He was too tired to talk but was determined to show Ramsey he could run fast.
Up ahead, Ramsey saw two men standing at the corner, watching.
Notice that we are in Ramsey’s head up until Nick
wanted to say …
Ramsey can’t know what’s going on in Nick’s mind.
When this kind of “head hopping” occurs, it reduces conflict because it removes the reader from the one who is experiencing it: the POV character. It’s really a move that only an omniscient narrator can make, but it’s ill-advised here. Even though readers might not consciously think about what’s going on, it creates a little bump in the reading experience.
Enough of those bumps and the trip is going to be less satisfactory.
In the limited variety of third person, you stay with one character throughout. You never take on another character’s POV. Done well, this can be nearly as intimate as first person.
If you allow other characters to have a third-person POV (this is called
unlimited third person
), you obviously spend less time in the head of a single character. You spread the intimacy around.
But adhere to the discipline of “one scene, one POV.” If you need to change POV, you should start a new chapter or leave white space to signal the switch.
It’s mostly a matter of feel, but here are a few things to keep in mind:
- Don’t use first person unless your Lead character’s voice is distinct, original, and has plenty of attitude.
- A temptation in first-person POV is the Lead talking too much about irrelevant things or going off on tangents. These could dissipate conflict.
- It’s easy to relate interior thoughts in first person, but when you do, make sure there is inner conflict reflected there.
Third person can be almost as intimate as first, so long as you write the narrative in a way that sounds like the character’s own voice:
John saw Mary across the room. He almost dropped his wine. She was gorgeous. A blonde, too.
Change to:
John saw Mary across the room. He almost dropped his Bordeaux. A Greek goddess with golden hair had stepped down from Olympus.
- If you’re just starting out as a writer, it’s long-standing advice that you start with third-person POV and learn to keep it consistent (one POV per scene). That discipline will serve you well.
- Character-driven, or so-called literary fiction, is often more hospitable to first-person POV, as it delves most deeply into the inner conflicts of the Lead.
- Plot-driven fiction, especially thrillers, often use third person because it allows the author to “cut away” from one POV to another, leaving the readers hanging.
- If you’re still in doubt, write the first three chapters in third person, then go back and do them in first person. Get some feedback on which style resonates with potential readers. This exercise won’t be wasted because, at the very least, the different perspective will give you greater insight into your characters.
