Plots and Plotting

by Diana Kimpton

  Seb starts to take it to his boss but hesitates. Money is tight and this might be valuable to a collector. But it’s hard to know how much it’s worth without knowing what it says.

  He takes the diary to Jane and asks her to translate it.

  Jane won’t do it. The study of history is strictly controlled and she’ll get into trouble if she works on an unauthorized artefact.

  Seb persuades her to change her mind by tempting her to tackle something new instead of the dry, approved texts she usually has to translate. Jane agrees reluctantly, worried she’ll be caught and get into trouble.

  Jane starts to translate the diary and quickly discovers that it contains a different version of history from the one she’s always been told was true.

  At the moment, steps 1 and 2 have to be from Seb’s point of view because Jane isn’t there. 3, 4 and 5 could be written from either viewpoint and step 6 might work best if it was in Jane’s. So which viewpoint should I use: Jane’s or Seb’s or both (switching from scene to scene as seems appropriate)?

  All three options are equally valid, but each will make me tell the story in a different way. If I use Jane’s viewpoint, I won’t be able to show Seb finding the diary. Readers won’t know of its existence until Seb shows it to her, and they will only discover why he has it when he explains that to her. That’s going to give me a lot of telling to do right at the beginning of the story which may make it harder to capture the readers’ attention.

  If I use Seb’s viewpoint, readers will see him find the book, share his thoughts about what to do with it and see his approach to Jane for help through his eyes. However, they won’t be able to hear her internal arguments about whether to help him or not so I’ll have to either make her say them aloud or let her body language show her reluctance. They also won’t be able to share her thoughts as she translates the diary.

  There are downsides to both options so I’m going to try using both viewpoints, starting in Seb’s and switching to Jane’s later at about the time she receives the diary. If I want to, I can then stay in Jane’s viewpoint for the rest of the book but it will probably be useful to use Seb’s viewpoint in other places too, especially if my two main characters become separated.

  23

  Choosing where to start

  Have you ever read a novel that takes ages to get going? I know I have. Instead of diving into the action, the author spends ages setting the scene and introducing the main character. There’s lots of description but very little actually happening so boredom starts to set in, which runs the risk of readers shutting the book for good. Of course, as a writer you may want to start slowly so that you can explore your characters and get to know them better. If so, feel free to write the opening, but don’t assume that your readers need to read it. Instead, put it with your plot development notes and start the actual book at the point when the story starts.

  Usually that point is at or just before the moment when your main character discovers the problem they are going to have to solve. In The Bear Santa Claus Forgot (which we looked at earlier), the book starts just before the bear falls out of the sack. It doesn’t waffle on about how he was made, how he was put in the sack or how Santa circled the globe delivering all the other presents because none of those things are relevant to the story.

  Even if you decide not to start with the problem itself, try to begin your book with some action that will capture the reader’s attention and pull them into the story. But don’t worry if you can’t immediately see how you’re going to do that. One of the delights of step outlining is that you can get on with creating the rest of the plot even though you haven’t decided on the opening scene. Sometimes I don’t manage to sort out where I’m going to start a story until I’m nearly ready to begin writing it.

  What about prologues?

  There are two main types of prologue. The first shows an important event from the past that will impact on the story or gives vital background information to help us understand how a character behaves. For example, a fantasy prologue might show the origins of a vital prophecy while a psychological thriller might start with a prologue showing the childhood trauma that destroyed the murderer’s sanity.

  The second type shows a scene from later in the book or even further in the future. It’s a teaser designed to catch readers’ attention and make them read on to discover why that scene happened. But it’s a risky technique because it can also act as a spoiler that takes away the suspense of not knowing what’s going to happen.

  The problem with both types of prologue is summed up in the words of a boy I once watched open a new book. “Oh, it’s got a prologue,” he said, with obvious disappointment. “I never bother to read those.” I sympathize with him. I’ve never been much of a prologue fan myself, and I know he’s not the only one who doesn’t read them.

  So, if you’re tempted to include a prologue in your novel, ask yourself if your readers will understand the story if they skip it? If they will, do you need the prologue at all? If they won’t, can you make your prologue into chapter one to make sure everyone reads it? Alternatively, can you provide the vital information it contains in some other way? With careful thought and skilful writing, you can probably do away with the need for a prologue altogether. Only include one if there’s no alternative.

  For example, in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, chapter one describes the important events that took place when Harry was a baby. These happened long before the rest of the book takes place, so J K Rowling could have put them in a prologue. But they work fine as a first chapter, and putting them there makes sure that everyone reads them, even those who hate prologues.

  Putting theory into practice

  As I’ve decided to begin Future Proof in Seb’s viewpoint, I can start the story with the event that’s going to change his life – finding the diary. I can emphasise the potential danger by showing his boss warning him that anything found has to be handed in, and then let the readers share the thoughts that result in him deciding to keep the book.

  The start of the story for Jane is when Seb gives her the diary so, if I was writing in her viewpoint, I’d need that moment close to the beginning of the book. But I don’t think it would work to have that as the opening scene. It would be better to have another scene first that introduces Jane and hints at the world in which she lives. Readers will find it easier to understand her unwillingness to get involved initially if they already have some indication of the way history is controlled and the dangers the diary might bring.

  A scene in the museum would be good. How about a school visit? That would provide some useful action, introduce Jane and, if she talks to the children, she could tell them some history that readers would easily recognize as wrong. If Seb comes with the class as a voluntary helper, he’ll meet Jane and either take that opportunity to show her the book or return later to do it.

  The more I think about it, the more I like the school visit idea. I’m definitely going to use it, even though I’m going to start the story in Seb’s viewpoint, as it will be a great way to introduce Jane and provide more information on the world they live in.

  In the process of working all that out, I’ve also decided that Seb isn’t going to find a diary. He’s going to find a time capsule – the sort that people love hiding in buildings. It’s a tin box containing a couple of objects that he will hand in and a notebook that he decides to keep. (He might keep something else too, but I’m not sure yet.) So I’ve changed my mind yet again without having to do any rewriting. Three cheers for step outlining.

  Here’s my latest version.

  A wrecking ball crashes into an empty house, reducing it to rubble.

  A supervisor (maybe in uniform) orders Seb and some other labourers to go in and clear up the mess. He warns them that if they find anything old, they must hand it in at once. The way he behaves suggests that this is a rule that shouldn’t be broken.

  Seb is stacking bricks when he finds a tin box hidden in the base of a
wall. He checks no one is looking and opens it. Inside are several photographs, including one in an ornate frame, a few other things and a notebook.

  Seb hesitates. The risk is great but money is tight and the photo frame might fetch a good price on the black market. He slips it into his pocket and adds the notebook as an afterthought because he’s curious about it. Then he reports the box and what’s left inside.

  After his morning’s work, he slips into an alleyway and looks at the notebook. But he can’t read it – it’s in a language he doesn’t know or maybe in code.

  He goes to the local primary school were he has volunteered to spend the afternoon helping with a class visit to the museum.

  The school visit is hectic. Jane tries to explain the exhibits and is bombarded with questions. Seb is impressed by her and her obvious skills. (I need to work in something here to help him decide he can trust her.)

  After the visit is over, Seb returns and talks to Jane. He shows her the notebook, pretending it’s a modern one from a friend, and asks her to decipher it. But Jane isn’t fooled. She can tell that the paper is very old. She strokes it lovingly – she rarely gets to handle anything that’s really from the past – the exhibits at the museum are mainly replicas.

  Jane doesn’t want to get involved because she’d get into trouble if she was caught. The study of history is strictly controlled and she’s forbidden to work on unauthorized artefacts.

  Seb persuades her to change her mind by telling her about the box. If someone went to so much trouble to hide the notebook, it deserves to be read and it might be really important. Surely she’s tempted?

  Jane starts to translate the book and discovers that it reveals that history has been changed. It tells of a different past from the one she and everyone she knows have always been told was true. The elite who rule the world are ruthless. They took power by force, but keep the ordinary population in ignorance and poverty, suppressing all knowledge of alternative governments and democracy.

  Jane comes under suspicion because she accidentally reveals that she knows more than she’s supposed to.

  She escapes and turns to Seb for help. He got her into this so he needs to get her out of danger. They run.

  They decide to try to locate a rebel group.

  Something happens.

  Something else happens.

  They find the rebels they’ve been searching for.

  The rebels turn out differently from how they’d expected.

  Seb and Jane decide to leave and find a better way to overthrow the elite.

  A lot more happens

  The elite are overthrown

  The beginning is now much more detailed, but the end is still vague and the middle is virtually non-existent. I need to do more brainstorming and planning to work out the details.

  24

  Making every step count

  One of the most useful pieces of writing advice I was ever given is “Everything you write must either build character, add humour or move the story forward.” Sadly I can’t remember where I first heard this, but it’s stayed with me always and has hugely improved the quality of my writing. However, several writing friends have found it confusing so I’m going to adapt it slightly to make it more relevant to plotting. Here is my version:

  Every step in your plot should perform at least one of these functions:

  Give your reader useful information about a character or the setting.

  Move the story forward

  As an example, let’s imagine that I’ve put a step in the outline for Future Proof that says “Jane makes a cup of tea.” When I write the book, that could become something like this:

  Jane reached up into the cupboard and selected a pink mug decorated with a fluffy kitten. She placed the mug on the work surface, put in a teabag and poured on boiling water. She waited until the water had turned a murky brown. Then she lifted out the bag and poured in the milk.

  That step fails on both counts: it doesn’t tell us anything important about Jane or the world she lives in and it doesn’t move the story forward. So it’s not plotting – it’s padding.

  A simple way to deal with this is to cut that step out of the plot completely. And you can do the same with all the other mundane parts of life like washing, brushing teeth, making polite conversation and taking uneventful journeys. Skipping over them will tighten your storytelling and let your readers concentrate on the events that are really important.

  However, those same mundane activities can sometimes provide a useful backdrop for revealing important information about your characters and how they feel. For example, here is a tea-making scene that matters.

  Jane’s hands shook as she poured boiling water onto a tiny portion of her few precious tea leaves. She must have been crazy to agree to do something so dangerous. As soon as she could, she’d give the notebook back to Seb and pretend none of this had ever happened.

  With her mind made up, she strained the weak tea into her favourite mug and carried it into the living room. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the notebook. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to look at it again – just once. She put down the mug, pulled the book out of her pocket and ran her fingers gently over its pages. Paper! Real paper with words no one had seen for years and years. How could she say “no” to a chance like this? She curled up in a battered armchair and started to read.

  This version develops Jane’s character by showing her doubts, and it also tells us a little about the world she lives in by mentioning the shortage of tea. Most importantly, it contains the pivotal moment where Jane puts her doubts aside and commits to reading the notebook – an important step in the plot and one that definitely moves the story forward.

  All I need to write in the step outline is “Jane worries about getting into danger but starts to read the notebook anyway.” I don’t need to mention the tea as I can work out the exact detail of the step at the writing stage. But there is nothing wrong with mentioning it if that scene is already clear in my mind.

  What about description?

  The two functions rule doesn’t rule out passages of description because they can reveal vital information about a character or setting. But it’s often more interesting for the reader if you work the description into the story in a way that justifies mentioning it. For example, suppose you want to include a description of a beautiful sunset. You could make this relevant to the plot by showing a character watching the sun go down, making the setting sun shine in someone’s eyes at a crucial moment or letting the failing light make it difficult for your characters to continue their search for clues.

  Show, don’t tell

  One of the most common pieces of advice given to writers is show, don’t tell. This often causes confusion, especially with beginners. After all, storytelling is what authors do so how can telling be wrong? Worse still, following this advice too rigidly can result in boring stories because showing isn’t always the best option.

  Going back to the tea-making scene we looked at earlier, both ways I have written it are showing because we can see exactly what happened. But if I wrote something like Jane made a cup of tea, I would be telling. In the first example where nothing happens other than tea-making, telling would be a better option as it would avoid boring the readers. In the second example, just saying Jane made a cup of tea would lose much of the emotional impact of the scene.

  On the whole, the decision on when to show or tell comes in at the writing stage, but it can affect how you create your story so it’s worth bearing in mind while you plot. Showing is usually best for important steps, but telling can be the right choice for minor steps and for linking steps together.

  25

  Subplots and story strands

  A good way to stop your book being too predictable is to add some subplots. They will also help you pace the story and keep the tension rising. Unfortunately, the name “subplots” wrongly suggests they are somehow inferior or substandard. It also gives the impression that they are something sepa
rate from the main plot – a second story running under the first one and completely disconnected from it.

  I sometimes find subplots like that in novels I read – usually the ones that aren’t very good. The authors have realized that there’s not enough going on in their book so they have stuck in a completely irrelevant subplot about a lost cat or a child’s birthday that gets in the way of the main story and slows up the action.

  I prefer to think of story strands rather than subplots as that better explains how they work. The main storyline is your central strand carrying the reader forward towards the final conclusion of the book. Other story strands (or subplots) intertwine with the main one, building it up from a single strand into a fascinating, deeply textured plot that will hold your readers’ interest. If you’ve ever plaited hair, you’ll know that different strands become the top one as you work and writing an interwoven plot is just like that. Although you have the main storyline running through the whole novel, other story strands will be more important at various stages of the book and some of the twists and turns in the plot come when you move from one strand to another or when two strands collide.

  The story strands work together to carry the reader towards the end of the book and some, but not necessarily all, will be resolved at or around the same time as the resolution of the main storyline. Others will be resolved during the progress of the story, but this needs to be done with care or, going back to our hair analogy, you’ll end up with an untidy plait with lots of straggly bits sticking out the sides.