by Will Storr
THE STORY IGNITES
Now let’s go back to that ignition point. Are you still happy with it? Are the tribal emotions (see section 3.6) it’ll trigger such that we’ll feel empathetic for your character? That is, do they seem relatively selfless and low in status? Are there more powerful Goliaths ranged against them? Remember, these aren’t compulsory tick-boxes – this is about balance. A character who is completely selfish, high in status and all-powerful is going to be hard to care about.
Is your moment of change still triggering enough for your protagonist? Do you want to adjust it, in light of how much better you know them? Remember, we’re looking for a moment of unexpected change that connects with their flawed theory of control. It should hit them directly where they’re most weird and vulnerable.
If it does, it will cause them to respond in an unusual way – it might be an extreme way or a surprising way or just an odd overreaction. It’s because of this unusual response that reader and viewer will sense that something alchemical has happened and they’ve entered the realm of story.
The protagonist’s unusual response will take the form of an active behaviour. They’ll decide to deal with the ramifications of that change in a practical way. Because it’s triggered their flaw, their attempt will not just fail but will bring them even more chaos. (If you decide that they are in temporary denial of what’s happened to them, this denial should also somehow bring increased threat, or trigger another event that finally persuades them to act.) This is the first domino-fall in your character-driven plot. From thereon in, you’re trying to build a series of episodes, some of which further your character’s ambitions and some of which hinder them, but all of which are triggered by your protagonist’s changing attempts to control the world.
As you move through the story, remember that every dramatic scene will likely pose your character the dramatic question: who am I going to be? (Or, from the reader’s perspective: who is this person?). This is what your story’s really about. The drama is a continual test for the protagonist. Are they going to be the old, flawed version of themself? Or are they going to be someone new?
GOAL DIRECTION
It may well be that you’re ready to go by now and head off into your story. If you’re still unsure of your direction of travel, let’s have another close look at the components of an ignition point.
Story operates on two levels. There are the dramatic changes that happen on the surface level, including all the physical action and dialogue. But then, beneath that, there are the changes that take place that involve the character’s mind, especially their subconscious (see section 2.3). Because this process is focused on character, our attention thus far has primarily been on this second subconscious level. If you’re still not clear where to go with your idea, there’s a fair chance that it’s the surface level of the drama that needs some more creative time thrown at it.
At the ignition point, something changes for a character that exposes their flaw. This creates a desire and that, in turn, creates an action. It’s that action that drives the surface plot. So we need to locate a goal for your character to throw themselves at. This is the ‘mission’ they’ll be on – it’s what will likely be described in the blurb on the back of your book or form your screenplay’s log-line.
•The goal should be triggered by the ignition point. It makes them want something.
•The goal should be the product of their sacred flaw. What they decide they want has to come from the flawed core of their character. They react as they do, at the ignition point, because of who they are.
•The plot develops through their flawed attempts at trying to achieve this goal.
Ask these questions:
•What do they want most of all in the world? What do they imagine will make them happy forever?
•What do they subconsciously need? Of course, what they inevitably need is to identify their flaw and fix it. But what would that event actually look like? What form would it take on the surface, dramatic level of the plot?
•What must they do in order for that thing to happen?
•What will happen if your character does get what they most want in the world (but not what they need)? What unexpected problems will that bring? What will this teach them?
You might also want to add some more drama and jeopardy into your ignition point. This will make your character behave even more irrationally and that will add drama. Try adding these complications to your scenario.
•The event that’s happened is the final straw. They’ve now snapped. Why?
•Today is the worst day imaginable for this to happen. Why?
•They have to act, in response to this event, immediately. Its ramifications have to be dealt with in the next 24 hours/seven days/month. Why?
•They can’t allow anyone to know why this event is such an absolute disaster. Why?
•This event means they’re going to have to take on the person they’re most afraid of. Why?
•Something huge is at stake. What is it? Why is it so important to them?
PLOTS
There’s really no way to make proper character-driven plots other than to get stuck into the scenes and think through, beat by beat, all that might happen to your characters and how they might react. That said, your plot still needs an overall shape. It’s at this stage you might find it useful to look at the various plot designs outlined in books on structure. I’d recommend Into the Woods by John Yorke, The Seven Basic Plots by Christopher Booker and Story by Robert McKee. Now you’ve done your character work, you won’t allow these apparent magic keys to success to dictate where your story goes. Instead, they’ll be in their proper place – waymarkers toward which you can choose, or not, to direct your self-propelling characters.
It could also help to have some definite endpoint to aim towards. You might find it useful to imagine the conclusion of your story, even if you accept that this might end up changing as you get to know your characters better and surprising things start happening to them. You know your protagonist’s flaw. This means you can work out what it is, about your protagonist, that needs fixing.
•Work out your rough character development. Divide it into four stages, each one moving forwards towards a healed version of who they are (assuming you’re going for a happy ending. If you’re writing a tragedy, they double down on their flaw, which ultimately leads to their comeuppance). What are these different versions of them? What must happen in the surface level of the plot to trigger them into being?
•Now throw one or two (temporary) reversals into the character development, as they revert back to negative behaviour and perhaps even start acting worse than they ever have before. Who or what would cause these to happen?
•Who’s standing in their way? Who’s helping them? Your protagonist will be changed by their encounters with these people – sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. Antagonists will often magnify the protagonist’s sacred flaw while allies will open their eyes, a little, so they can see more clearly what it is they’re getting wrong. Each encounter should somehow adjust who they are, in relation to their flaw. They should nudge their perspective about it, and send them off in a slightly new direction.
•Who can show them that those damaging things they experienced when they were growing up were wrong? How do they show them?
The most important thing when writing is that your plot must be a symphony of change (see section 4.1). Change should be frequent and happen on more than one layer at once. Every truly dramatic scene will challenge your protagonist’s flaw. The action will somehow serve to pose them that fundamental dramatic question, ‘Who am I?’ Are they going to be the old, flawed version of themselves? Or are they going to be someone new?
If your story has multiple protagonists you might find it useful to work through the Sacred Flaw Approach for each of them. I’d encourage you to consider how each protagonist connects with each other’s flaw. They might have different versions of the same problem
, which rub up against each other, making it better or worse, depending on the needs of the plot. In romantic comedies or buddy movies, the two protagonists often inhabit two opposing flaws. When they come together, they’re healed.
THE GOD MOMENT (OR NOT)
Are you going to give your character a happy ending? That is, will your character work out how to heal their flaw? Or will it be a tragic ending? Will it be a bittersweet mixture of the two? If it’s a happy ending, you’ll be going for a ‘God moment’ (see section 4.3) in which your protagonist finally achieves what they need in the external world by finally mastering who they are in their internal world – and your character will have complete godlike control over everything for one blissful instant. If it’s a tragic ending, they’ll fail to heal their flaw and the consequences are likely to be grave and take the form of one of those tribal punishments – humiliation, ostracisation or death.
Of course, you might not want to do this and opt for an ambiguous, modernist ending. If so, it’s still a good idea for you to have a firm grip on the duelling versions of who that character is, and to be skilful and deliberate in making your point, lest it feel as if you’ve simply opted out of making the decision through a lack of creative courage.
Whichever end you choose, if it’s going to be satisfying (at least to a mainstream Western audience), it needs to deliver a firm answer to the dramatic question – we need to see, at the end of all the brilliant chaos and drama, who your protagonist really is.
A NOTE ON THE TEXT
This book is based on writing courses that were inspired by research that was undertaken for various writing projects. As such it incorporates portions of material, in mostly rewritten form, from my previous books The Heretics (Picador, 2013) and Selfie (Picador, 2017), as well as an essay that appears in the collection Others (Unbound, 2019).
This manuscript was proofread by two relevant experts, the neuroscientist Professor Sophie Scott and the psychologist Dr Stuart Ritchie. I’m extremely grateful to them both for their comments, corrections and assistance with fixing problems. Any errors that remain in the text are entirely my responsibility. If you’ve spotted any, I’d be grateful if you could inform me via my website willstorr.com so that I can investigate and, if necessary, correct any future versions of this book.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
They say ‘everything is remix’ and that’s rarely been truer than in the case of this book. I’m incredibly grateful to all the story theorists and academics I quote in these pages, as well all the experts I’ve read over the years whose names I might have forgotten but whose insights have lingered.
Thanks, too, to my wonderful editor Tom Killingbeck and all at William Collins, my brilliant agent Will Francis, and the excellent Kris Doyle who edited the books that much of The Science of Storytelling is based upon. I’m massively appreciative, too, for the unerring support of Kirsty Buck at Guardian Masterclasses and Ian Ellard at the Faber Academy. My readers Professor Sophie Scott, Dr Stuart Ritchie and Amy Grier all gave invaluable advice – thank you for lending me your excellent brains.
My gratitude, too, to Craig Pearce, Charlie Campbell, Iain Lee, Charles Fernyhough, Tim Lott, Marcel Theroux, Luke Brown, Jason Manford, Andrew Hankinson, all at Kruger Cowne and, finally, my ever-patient and ever-beloved wife Farrah.
NOTES AND SOURCES
INTRODUCTION
Recent research suggests language evolved principally to swap ‘social information’: Evolutionary Psychology, Robin Dunbar, Louise Barrett, John Lycett (Oneworld, 2007) p. 133.
Some researchers believe grandparents came to perform a vital role in such tribes:
‘Grandparents: The Storytellers Who Bind Us; Grandparents may be uniquely designed to pass on the great stories of human culture’, Alison Gopnik, Wall Street Journal, 29 March 2018.
different kinds of stories: The Origins of Creativity, Edward O. Wilson (Liveright, 2017) pp. 22–24.
It is a ‘story processor’, writes the psychologist Professor Jonathan Haidt: The Righteous Mind, Jonathan Haidt (Allen Lane, 2012) p. 281.
Joseph Campbell’s ‘Monomyth’: The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell (Fontana, 1993).
I agree with the story analyst John Gardner who argues: The Art of Fiction, John Gardner (Vintage, 1993) p. 3.
CHAPTER ONE
1.1
‘Almost all perception is based on the detection of change’: Comment made by Professor Sophie Scott during review of manuscript, August 2018.
In a stable environment, the brain is relatively calm: The Self Illusion, Bruce Hood (Constable and Robinson, 2011) p. 125.
every one of them is as complex as a city: Incognito, David Eagleman (Canongate, 2011) p. 1.
speeds of up to 120 metres per second: The Brain, Michael O’Shea (Oxford University Press, 2005) p. 8.
150,000 to 180,000 kms of synaptic wiring: The Domesticated Brain, Bruce Hood (Pelican, 2014) p. 70.
John Yorke, has written: Into the Woods, John Yorke (Penguin, 2014) p. 270.
‘There’s no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it’: Halliwell’s Filmgoer’s Companion, Leslie Halliwell (Granada, 1984) p. 307.
1.2
it’s thought that we ask around 40,000 ‘explanatory’ questions: Curious, Ian Leslie (Quercus, 2014) p. 56.
He writes of a test in which participants were confronted by a grid: ‘The Psychology of Curiosity’, George Lowenstein, Psychological Bulletin, 1994, Vol. 116. No 1. pp. 75–98.
There is a natural inclination to resolve information gaps: An Information-Gap Theory of Feelings about Uncertainty, Russell Golman and George Loewenstein (Jan 2016).
Another study had participants being shown three photographs: ‘The Psychology of Curiosity’, George Lowenstein, Psychological Bulletin,1994, Vol. 116. No. 1. pp. 75–98.
Curiosity is shaped like a lowercase n: ‘The Psychology and Neuroscience of Curiosity’, Celeste Kidd and Benjamin Y. Hayden, Neuron, 4 November 2015: 88(3): 449–460.
In his paper, ‘The Psychology of Curiosity’: ‘The Psychology of Curiosity’, George Lowenstein, Psychological Bulletin, 1994, Vol. 116. No. 1. pp. 75–98.
Mystery, he’s said, ‘is the catalyst for imagination’: J. J. Abrams, ‘The Mystery Box’, TED talk, March 2007.
1.3
Consider that whole beautiful world around you, with all its: ‘Exploring the Mysteries of the Brain’, Gareth Cook, Scientific American, 6 Oct 2015.
If you hold out your arm and look at your thumbnail: The Brain, Michael O’Shea (Oxford University Press, 2005) p. 5.
the rest of your sight is fuzzy: Incognito, David Eagleman (Canongate, 2011) pp. 7–370.
blink 15 to 20 times a minute: ‘Why Do We Blink so Frequently?’, Joseph Stromberg, Smithsonian, 24 Dec 2012.
four to five saccades every second: Susan Blackmore, Consciousness (Oxford University Press, 2005) p. 57.
Modern filmmakers mimic saccadic behaviour: T. J. Smith, D. Levin & J. E. Cutting, ‘A window on reality: Perceiving edited moving images’, Current Directions in Psychological Science, 2012, Vol. 21, pp. 107–113.
Half didn’t spot a man in a gorilla suit walk directly into the middle of the screen: Daniel J. Simons, Christopher F. Chabris, Gorillas in our midst: sustained inattentional blindness for dynamic events, Perception, 1999, Vol. 28, pp. 1059–1074
Other tests have confirmed we can also be: ‘Beyond the Invisible Gorilla’, Emma Young, The British Psychological Research Digest, 30 August 2018.
In a test of a simulated vehicle stop: Daniel J. Simons and Michael D. Schlosser, ‘Inattentional blindness for a gun during a simulated police vehicle stop’, Cognitive Research: Principles and Implications, 2017, 2:37.
Dr Todd Feinberg writes of a patient, Lizzy: Altered Egos: How the Brain Creates the Self (Oxford University Press, 2001) pp. 28–9.
less than one ten trillionth of light spectrum: Incognito, David Eagleman (Canongate, 2011) p. 100.
Evolution shaped us with perceptions
that allow us to survive’ … Professor Donald Hoffman has said: The Case Against Reality, Amanda Gefter, The Atlantic, 25 April 2016.
mantis shrimp: Deviate, Beau Lotto (Hachette 2017). Kindle location 531.
bees’ eyes are able to see: Deviate, Beau Lotto (Hachette 2017). Kindle location 538.
Russians are raised: How Emotions Are Made, Lisa Feldman-Barrett (Picador 2017) p. 146.
in order to identify ripe fruit: ‘You can thank your fruit-hunting ancestors for your color vision’, Michael Price, Science, 19 Feb 2017.
Dreams feel real: Head Trip, Jeff Warren (Oneworld, 2009) p. 38.
to explain a ‘myoclonic jerk’: Head Trip, Jeff Warren (Oneworld, 2009) p. 31.
Wherever studies have been done: The Storytelling Animal, Jonathan Gottschall (HMH, 2012) p. 82.
seems to have caught people in the act of ‘watching’ the models of stories: Louder than Words, Benjamin K. Bergen (Basic, 2012) p. 63. Surprisingly, related studies suggest the brain doesn’t make much distinction between stories told in the first (‘I’) and third singular persons (‘he’ or ‘she’). Given sufficient context, it tends to take the ‘observer perspective’, as if it’s watching the action of the story remotely.
It ‘appears to modulate what part of an evoked simulation someone’: Louder than Words, Benjamin K. Bergen (Basic, 2012) p. 118.
This is perhaps why transitive construction: Louder than Words, Benjamin K. Bergen (Basic, 2012) p. 99.
For the same reason, active sentence construction: Louder than Words, Benjamin K. Bergen (Basic, 2012) p. 119.
to make vivid scenes, three specific qualities: ‘Differential engagement of brain regions within a “core” network during scene construction’, Jennifer Summerfield, Demis Hassabis & Eleanor Maguire, Neuropsychologia, 2010, Vol. 48, 1501–1509.
