I was thinking the other day that writing is like poker.  Style is important (the quality of the writing), and we strive for it to be an ace in the hand… but that is not what this series of posts is about.  Setting, Character and Plot are the other three aces a writer needs to have that ultimate winning hand.  True, four twos can be a powerful hand, so the analogy breaks down at that point, but in so far as possible, we strive for four aces.

The fifth card, the joker, is a post I may attack at a later date.  For the present, I want to focus on these three:  setting, character and plot; and this time the topic is character.

Action:

If we understand that character is a matter of internal dynamics, we understand that the insides of a character may be full of doubt and conflict.  Most of us are.  Plenty of writers warn against cardboard characters.  Cardboard characters supposedly lack depth because they are either too good or too evil without mitigating traits (internal doubt and conflict).  That certainly can be true and it is worth being careful to be sure your characters are not cardboard.  Even so, sometimes (some might say too often) cardboard characters do happen, but just to go against the grain, let me also say this:  Sometimes, a character may very well be single minded, without any doubt or conflict, like Gollum in The Lord of the Rings who had a only one motivation:  for his “precious.”  Sauron, also, had no good (conflict) in him, but then he did not exactly play an active role in the story…

Consider this note from real life:  Despite our best laid plans (which oft gang agley, like, for example, our New Year’s resolutions) it is important to understand that our actions are determined by our motivations (what we truly feel, believe and think important) and our motivations are determined by who we really are on the inside.  It is no different in stories.  Actions will always be determined (apart from some mind control) by what a person believes, feels about things and knows to be true.  It will be determined by what they are capable of doing on the inside, not what the writer or reader wants to happen on the outside.

When your character walks into the room and finds the monster, what will they do?  Will they run back the way they came, cower in the corner in the hope that they will not be seen, draw their sword?  Will they freeze in panic, fear or indecision, or will they have the presence of mind to try and find a way out? 

People will respond differently to the same situation.  They will even see it differently, such as the six different versions of what happened when the two cars met head-on.  The reason for those differences is on the inside of those people.  In the same way, characters in a story will not act, respond, or process their experiences in the same way, nor should they.

Dialogue

Likewise, we should understand that dialogue is a result of those same internal dynamics.  People sometimes wonder and ask how to make their dialogue “realistic.”  Suggestions range from eavesdropping to examining your own conversations to seeing how other writers do dialogue.  None of these suggestions are bad (other than possibly the eavesdropping one), but I would suggest instead taking a look at the characters themselves.

Dialogue, like action, comes from the inside-out.  Who we are inside will determine what we notice, what we are likely to say about events and how we are likely to say it:  gruff, kind, shy, loud, etc.  It will also determine whether or not we keep our mouth shut.  We all use the same words, in case you never noticed, but as with action, our dialogue will vary based on what we feel, believe about things, what is important to us, and what we know to be true…even when we are mistaken.

There is no substitute for a writer knowing their characters in the depths of their…character.  In fact, I believe the better we know our creations, and the more we let their internal being show itself on the outside,  the more “realistic” both their actions and dialogue will be.

Doctor Martin Luther King Jr. was right.  Character is what matters.  Before I begin discussing the issue, though, there is something important to say:

A Character is NOT a story.

Some believe that character is “all that matters” or “the most important thing.”  Some believe that with a brilliant, magnificent character, the story will practically write itself.  That may be the way you write best, but let’s not carry this too far.  The character must start somewhere and end up somewhere (setting).  AND,  something must happen for there to be a story (plot).  The character must experience something, and experience it in relationship with other characters lest you end up with nothing but one giant soliloquy. 

Characters (and setting in the background) are what a reader “sees” in a story, to be sure.  But from the moment the story trigger is pulled and the main character’s motivation is set, every story might be honestly described as:  Characters in Experience (not characters in a vacuum).  Characters experiencing something in relationship and how they respond to their experiences is the plot.  You can’t have a story without a plot.  But this post is about characters…

Character

Doctor King had it right when he said people should not be judged by the color of their skin (hair, eyes, height, weight, beauty or lack) but by the content of their character.  That is absolutely true of stories.  Appearance matters little.  Character matters much, hence the name “character.”  To that end, allow me to make two points:

First, character, by which I mean the kind of person a writer portrays, matters absolutely in terms of a reader’s like or dislike and subsequent expectations with regards to the story. 

Even in a post-modern world where morals and values are deemed to be relative, people are instinctively drawn to these:  Love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, gentle-kindness, faithfulness, humility and self-control…  By contrast, hate, anger, murder, torture, sadism, masochism, treason, betrayal, flaming ego and hedonism are not endearing qualities. 

Any story worth reading will show these traits (pro and con) in action (in relationship with other characters) and in the deeds and thoughts of the main character.  If the story is an external one, it will be more in deeds.  If it is an internal story it will be more in thoughts, but the traits will be the same.

It is one thing to describe Cinderella as a good girl, but it strikes home when she responds to her insensitive stepsisters with kindness and positive words.  When she responds to her stepmother’s demands with faithfulness and hard work (and no complaints) we begin to really see her goodness and begin to see the unfairness of her position.  At that point, we begin to root for her.  That we will be happy at the end is already a foregone conclusion, but that brings me to my second point about character:

Second, characters are understood by readers by what they show, not by what they say.  This is NOT a post about “show, don’t tell.”  That overused expression is not exactly true, anyway.

The Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz (wise but terrible and mysterious) is told about through most of the book/movie.  Dorothy and company (and the readers/viewers) are set to believe the terrifying show when it happens.  Only Toto, the dog, is not fooled.  When the dog pulls back the curtain, though, and they actually get to meet the man, he “shows” himself to be a nice, kindly old man and very different from his P. R. 

People believe what they see, and the people they meet, not just what they are told.  Set your friend up on a blind date and tell them the date “is a nice person.”  See what reaction you get.

Likewise, in Cinderella, the Stepmother is called “wicked,” a telling term.  She also shows that wickedness in her treatment of Cinderella and in piling on the work, but there is nothing wrong with the description, “wicked.”  The stepsisters are selfish, lazy and insensitive.  In some shortened versions of the story, they are simply named that way.  In most, though, they are also shown lazing around on the couches, eating candy and making snide and cruel remarks while Cinderella cleans out the fireplace.  OK.  To some extent, show, don’t tell matters, but it isn’t an absolute.  Even so, it is important to understand that characters are known by what they do (show) not by what is told about them or even by what they say.

Consider politicians.  The words are great… but then they get into office… (action and dialogue in the next post).  Characters must be seen to be believed…

Apart from location, there is another important aspect to setting that must be considered.  I call it props (comes from too much work on stage), but in the analogy of the house, we should think of it as the furniture and all of the things and knick-knacks that make a house into a home.  This does not mean that everything needs to be mentioned.  Too much period detail can put a reader to sleep.  Instead, like the location of the story, the props must also advance the story and move it forward, and if it does not, why bring it up?

Continuing with the story of Cinderella, we can see immediately that there are several vital props

First:  There is her mother’s old dress which the Stepmother finds and shreds. 

Now, I was thinking in the Too Big to Fail storyline (from the last post), and instead of a Christmas party, it could be some excuse for a masquerade party.  The Boss might let slip to the Stepmom that he is proud of his son’s MBA, but he really wishes the boy would find a nice girl and settle down.  The stepmom promptly gets her daughters dressed and ready.  Cinderella might also find a party costume in one of her mother’s old trunks, but Stepmom can find out and shred the thing.  Same business, but something has to happen for the reversal—for the story to work

Second:  There must be some way to tell the time.  In an ancient setting, the rising or setting of the moon might work, but otherwise the story must be set far enough in the direction of the present for there to be clocks to chime.  Did you think of that?

Third:  The slippers.  Can’t have Cinderella without slippers.  At least it must be something that comes in pairs.  I suppose gloves might work, but the Prince (or boss’ son) and Cinderella should have the chance to touch, hand to hand.  Anyway, a pair of something is vital for the final reversal, where the Stepmother breaks the slipper rather than let Cinderella try it on.  (aha!  Cinderella has the other one). 

When looking at props, even from scene to scene, you need to consider carefully what to include and what not to include.  Perhaps the most important point to remember is that for most of the time, the world must be filtered through the senses of your character. Like us, your character will notice/perceive the world based on who they are (what they enjoy) and what has meaning for them in their lives and the situation in which they find themselves. For example:

When the time traveler is ushered into the room to await her host, what will she notice? The Victorian loveseat, the drapes, the crossed swords over the fireplace, the large portrait of her host’s dead wife or the grandfather clock that chimes 4 o’clock, tea time? The only wrong answer is probably none of the above.

One might think the clock is a given for a time traveler, but she might make furniture as a hobby (or her husband might) and so the loveseat might be scrutinized and seen as well made with an expensive fabric. Then the drapes might be an Indian fabric, indicating that her Victorian host served time in India. Or if the host is a suspected vampire, she might notice that the drapes are drawn tight against any possible sunlight. If she is in a dangerous situation, her eye will be drawn to the swords (and any other potential weapons in the room), and then maybe the portrait looks like her, or someone she knew or met (time traveler) or like her Aunt Grace, or perhaps she might look at it to try and get some insight into this former Indian military officer who might be a vampire and is certainly a threat…

With all of that she might hardly notice the clock, time traveler though she is.

You can see that props in the overall story and from scene to scene must be chosen with care.  A typical home is full of junk, especially if you are like me and keep things.  Only make sure you don’t fill your story with junk.  Every piece should relate to the story you are telling.  Every piece should relate to the characters, too; but to get a handle on “character in setting”, as you might call it, we will need to look a character formation… next time.

Have you ever touched a dead body.  Cold Brrr!  I have to laugh when I hear people talk about how “hot” that vampire is…  In my universe, as always, there has to be some understandable reason as to why dead flesh should reanimate.  For me, there are several ways in which that can happen.

In ancient days, the gods were responsible for keeping the spirits of the dead until the time of dissolution.  For the gods, it was an easy thing to reanimate flesh and blood.  As Doctor Who once quipped, (for the gods) “life is just nature’s way of keeping meat fresh.”  A simple decision on the part of a god could bring the dead back out of the ground.  They could be cleaned up, as needed, and endowed with a task or whatever.  With a special dispensation from the King of the gods (or community of gods) the spirit of that dead person could re-inhabit the flesh; though if the idea is to bring a dead person back to life it would be simpler to simply re-clothe the dead spirit with a freshly made flesh and blood form.

In my universe, there is almost nothing a god cannot do, but for the rest of the universe, such a thing might not be so easy.

Magic can certainly be used to revive the dead, but it is not an easy thing to do and there is a risk in doing so.  Science, as in the virus from “Night of the Living Dead” or as in Doctor Frankenstein’s monster, can do much the same.  But the risk remains.

That risk is found in the spiritual realm where the demons cast from Heaven remain disembodied spirits not permitted to take on flesh and blood.  They can certainly possess a living person if invited in, but otherwise they look for just such an opportunity.  A reanimated dead body just calls for inhabitation, and then the magician had better beware, big time.

Zombies are the reanimated dead.  Even in such a state, they have a limited lifespan.  For one, they are still in a state of decay, so it will only be a matter of time before the form becomes untenable.  They avoid fire, certainly, but also running water or anything else that might hasten the decay process.  A demon inhabited zombie can respond and relate to people and situations to the extent that the brain remains more or less intact.  This is why zombies are often attracted to people and places they were attracted to in life.

Vampires, on the other hand, might be called the reanimated undead.  Generally, vampires are brain-dead, as a doctor might describe it, but not exactly “body” dead (yet).  In that case, a demon can get long life out of a form.  As long as the heart is still pumping, even if all the other organs have stopped functioning, the demon can live. 

Of course, with the reanimated brain once again getting the blood it needs, memories of that person, personality traits, even conversation is possible.  Thus a vampire (unlike a zombie) can appear as a normal, functioning person (as long as it is in the dark – demons instinctively avoid the light).  They can appear like the person even to the point of fooling those familiar with that person that they are that person…  It’s all in their head.

Now, with the organs not functioning correctly, including the spinal cord, there is a need for fresh blood, human blood to keep the body cells from deteriorating.  Live forever?  No, but for longer than a normal life?  Certainly.  Of course, a stake through the heart…  No, not a steak dinner and a movie…

In my universe, history begins on the plains of Shinar where the human race gathered under the guidance of Nimrod to build a tower—a tower that came to be called Babel.  I date this to around 4500 BC. 

At that time, the young gods (children of the Nature Spirits called the Titans) fretted that the rest of the world was somewhat emptied of self-directed life.  Thus they imported other “people” to fill the spaces.  These included the Centaurs, Mermaids, Fauns, and many others, including the Were people: shape shifters located in Eastern Europe and Southern Russia.  The gods acclimated these various strange people to life on earth, redesigning them , more or less, to fit in to their new environment. 

The Were, for example, learned to shift into the shapes of omnivores and carnivores (predators) native to this planet.  What such animals might have been native to their home planet was unknown, even to them.  For daily life they lived in human form and could not be destinguished from you or me.

Of course, when the tower fell and the human race was scattered around the globe, that had to be accommodated for by the over-zealous gods.  In time, the human race put pressure on these other “peoples,” limiting their range and competing for resources.  One thing that happened was the inter-breeding of the species.  (When the gods acclimated the various peoples to Earth, they used the human model, which may have been a mistake since it made inter-breeding possible).

Eventually, the gods deleted these non-humans by various means in order for the human race to have the world according to the original design.  What they did not foresee, however, was the transmission of a recessive Were gene among the human population, nor the virus associated specifically with the Were wolf form, that could lay dormant in the earth for thousands of years.  It is a very rare person who carries the gene, and rarer still are the ones who contract the virus, but when they do so together…

Of course, the human species, in bones and muscles, is not designed to transform its shape.  It is very painful.  What is more, the Were were adept at taking on the characteristics of the beasts they portrayed; but for a human to think like a wolf is shear madness.  More than wolf, though.  Human wolf.  An insane, intelligent killing machine.  A werewolf.

From Rome Too Far, the Tale of the Traveler, Greta:  After the Werewolf

Hans waited for her where the road turned.  After the obligatory, “What kept you?” they crossed the last, short meadow to Mother Hulda’s house.  All the while, Greta shook her head.

“Something’s spooky.”  Hans said.  Even he felt it.  When they saw the house, the feeling intensified.  By the time they reached the porch, Greta could hardly keep from turning and running away.  She stopped at the door and told Hans to get behind her.  He did not argue. 

When she opened the door, she screamed, and this time she knew what she was screaming about.  There were bits and pieces of Mother Hulda thrown all over the room.  Her head was on a corner of the bed, facing the door.  One eye was missing, but she stared at them with the other.

Greta could neither move nor stop screaming.  Hans pushed passed and promptly threw up behind the door.  That probably saved his life.  There was a noise in the back room.  A man shuffled out of the dark.  His eyes were wide with madness.  He was naked and filthy, and he looked as if he had been burned everywhere.  His body was covered with sores and open wounds where there had once been blisters, and his face looked like it had been melted. 

Greta still screamed but her legs were like rubber.  She could not abandon Hans.  She could not move.  She cried out for help, and someone answered from deep in time. 

The madman clearly sensed the change.  He sniffed and howled after a fashion before he dove through the window and headed toward the forest, moving at a speed which was remarkable for a man who was half dead.

Every writer, regardless of genre, must at some point consider the universe in which their characters live, move and have their being.  On various writing forums, I see questions all the time about making up cities, putting a coffee house where one does not actually exist, making roads, city parks, forests where they are not located, etc.  It is even worse with characters, where they are all invented “ex-nihilo” (out of nothing).

The need to understand your universe in its design and how it works is even more important for any story outside of one that takes place in (supposed) present day reality: Science fiction, fantasy, historical fiction, and so on.  Such worlds need to be designed in a way that is consistent and believable, lest you lose your reader before the story begins.

For me, this need is pressing.  I have a Time Travel Fantasy that projects 72 stories stretching from 4500 BC to the other side of 3500 AD.  The very last stories take place on the other side of 7500 AD, but those stories live way out there on their own little limb.

At some point soon, I want to talk about aliens in my universe.  I hope to give a brief history of the future ( to 3500 AD) without giving away any of the stories.  Then, I also want to talk about the spiritual creatures that populate so many fantasy stories: elves, fairies, dwarfs, ogres, goblins and the like.  There is much to be understood about their place in the heavens, where briefly, the first heavens are over our heads, the third Heaven is the place where the “Throne of God” resides, and the second heavens are squeezed between Heaven and Earth, a place where the laws of creation, space and time included, don’t always work as we understand them to work…  Then there are dragons and other mythical and legendary creatures to discuss…(somebody has to say something), But for now:

One thing I have to consider in these stories is the disposition of monsters, especially those classic, gothic Victorian monsters that have been recently revived in popular literature.  It is too easy to design a vampire like the ones currently popular and “just assume that everyone sees them that way.”  Wrong!  People don’t all see vampires or any other monster in the same way, and while it may not matter how you choose to portray them, it will matter that you portray a consistent vision…

In my next two posts, I want to talk specifically about two classic monsters:  First, I want to put the Were in the wolf.  Second, I want to discuss the undead and explain why vampires don’t necessarily make good lovers.

So far, I have tried to show how a story should contain three parts: the trigger, the meat of the story, and the climax/resolution.  I have also tried to show that during the meat of a story there should be three obstacles: the parable, the story and the tension builder that leads directly to the climax and resolution.

There is another way in which three is an important consideration for any story.  That has to do with characters, and specifically with primary characters.  One may be the main character, but most often (though not always) there will be three primary characters of which the main character will be one.

To begin, let me say that it is very difficult to write a one primary character story, even in first person.  It has been done, but it is very difficult to maintain interest for a long piece.  Why?  No relationships.

Remember:  The primary purpose in telling a story is to get the audience to pay attention (the reader to keep reading) right to the very end.

Two is better because then you can at least have a protagonist and an antagonist.  True, the relationship will be singular and strictly defined and as such it might work best in a short story; but at least with two primary characters there is some room to play off the relationship between the two.  Even here, though, for a longer piece there are strict limits on what is possible. 

Thus authors have often given their main character a third person to be, at the very least, a foil for their main character.  Sherlock Holmes had his Doc. Watson as well as his antagonist, Doctor Moriarity.  Tom Sawyer had his Huck Finn as well as his antagonist Injun Joe.  Don Quixote had his Sancho Panza, and his Dulcinea.  He did not really have an antagonist outside of his own mind.  That being the case, a love interest is a really good choice.

Three is the optimal number.  Consider Luke and Leah (Star Wars) fighting the rebellion without Han Solo to save them.  Or for that matter, consider the young Jedi Luke going up against the Evil Emperor without Darth Vader to get in the way.  Consider Frodo and Sam (Lord of the Rings) struggling to get to Mordor without the added dimension of Gollum.  Or Harry and Ron (Harry Potter) without the added dimension of Hermione.  Try and picture any of these stories without that third wheel.  Could the story have worked?  Probably, but it would not have been nearly as good.

It is inevitably the third wheel that multiplies the relationships and gives depth to a whole work.  This is true even if the third primary character is little more than a device or plot catalyst such as in the case of many fairy tales.  Without Repunzel, though, why should the Prince and the Witch come to blows?  Without the Prince, why should Cinderella hope and her Stepmother worry?  Thus we have the wolf, Red Riding Hood and “Grandma, what big eyes you have.”  Three works!

Four or more primary characters is certainly possible if you don’t mind coming off like a Russian novel and if you can keep all of the relationships straight.  Now, you might say, “Wait a minute.  I can think of plenty of stories of four or more characters.”  But how many of those characters are primary and how many are secondary? 

Doc Watson and Sancho Panza might both be considered supporting actors, but in some ways they are as integral to their stories as Darth Vader is when he stands between Luke and the Emperor.  In that sense, the third wheels may be supporting but cannot be considered “secondary”  Let’s face it, antagonists, nearly always primary characters, often have very little to do with the action.  Sauron in Lord of the Rings is merely an eye.  But as a figure looming in the distance, that eye is a character integral to the story around which so much of the action takes place, and as the primary catalyst of the whole story, one can only consider Sauron as a primary character.   The others?  The Hobbit and the King…

Then there were 4 as in Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy in C. S. Lewis’ classic tale of Narnia.  Yet, I would argue that in a very real sense, though one betrays them, the children act almost as a character unto themselves.  In other words, I feel Lewis might just as well have named the book “The Lion, the Witch and the Children.”

Of course, a story can be written with any number of primary characters, but three works great.  It allows for a variety of relationships and sufficient complexity to carry a story a long way.  Four or more, on the other hand, starts to get too complex, not only for the author, but also for a reader.  It is something to consider.

“Three strikes you’re out” is a well known American expression; but there is also “third time’s the charm” and “good things come in threes.”  In storytelling, three is a good thing, a bit of a magic number as we first touched on in the last post.

Two posts ago, I suggested that there were three vital parts to any and every story: setting, character and plot.  Last time I suggested that a story is best told in three movements which I called, the trigger (appetizer), the meat (main course) and the end (coffee and dessert).  These are not technical literary terms, to be sure, but I hope they may be easy to remember.

The trigger is the set-up/motive that at least suggests what the main character wants/needs/intends.  The meat of the story shows what obstacles stand in the way and what the main character does about them in order to obtain their intention/objective.  It is where all the action takes place, whether that is external action or internal action in the mind or heart.  The end comes at the climax, success or failure, and again it at least suggests some consequences.  The end shows the results.

Now, there are two other ways in which three (3) parts in a story is generally a good idea.

First, there are the obstacles themselves.  Aristotle, and most academics since his day call them reversals.  As the character strives for their intended objective, something invariably gets in the way and causes a “set-back”.

In every story, something must stand between the character and the achievement of their intent or objective.  Why?  Because that is the way life works, and also, for the story to work, it is best that the objective not be achieved too easily.  Only one obstacle overcome may make a point, but it will leave us inevitably dissatisfied, and in fact make the story into a parable.

If Cinderella starts with once upon a time…her mother died.  The first reversal comes when her father dies and she finds herself in an untenable position.  The Stepmother controls the house.  The money and servants are all gone and Cinderella finds herself as the servant in the house.  If we consider her objective to be “happiness” or something like that, her position makes that most difficult.  To her credit, she does not let that get her down.  She refuses to give into despair, and if the story ends here, as a parable, we might say it is telling us to find happiness inside regardless of the outward circumstances in which we find ourselves.  All fine and well, but to make the parable a story, Cinderella refuses to give up.

A second reversal is required to make a story…so there is an open invitation to a royal ball, and Cinderella jumps at the chance for even that brief moment of happiness.  What does she do?  She rummages through her mother’s old clothes (the mother who died and started it all) and fixes a dress; but then the obstacle steps in.  The Stepmother shreds the dress, and Cinderella’s hope is suddenly all gone.

This second reversal makes a parable into a story, but it is no place to end the story.  (The second reversal never is).  Somehow, we already side with the girl and feel that Cinderella should get to the ball.  This is the tension, and it is building and it needs to be resolved.

So, in comes the fairy godmother, Cinderella goes to the ball only to run at the stroke of twelve.  She returns home to her servitude, and might we end the story there?  Yes, but would it satisfy?  No.  With a taste of her objective still in her mouth, we are thoroughly on her side.  Now we want to see her out of her terrible situation.  We want justice.  We want her to succeed.

There needs to be a third reversal.  Why?  Because now we are rooting for her and a reversal at this point will build the tension in a way that will make the resolution most satisfying (something the second reversal cannot do).  If the second reversal makes a parable into a story, the third builds the tension to make the climax/resolution of the story worthwhile.

The Prince comes with the glass slipper, and if the story is told right, we think, great!  Now Cinderella will get her wish and the Stepmother will get her deserved come-uppance.  So what happens?  First, Cinderella is locked into her room, and when she escapes, the stepmother breaks the glass slipper in a kind of double whammy.  (Boo!  Hiss!)  How impossible for poor Cinderella…but slippers run in pairs.

Ta Da!!!!!  The Prince has no reason to doubt that this is the one he has been seeking.  No dubious slipper try-on scene.

There can, of course, be more than three reversals, but for a real story, it is hard to imagine less.  Third time is the charm.  With four reversals, the story might drag.  With five, it might start to get boring.  With six, a listener or reader might get frustrated.  Seven?  I think it is a sign of mental illness to try the same thing over and over and expect a different result.

There is another way in which good things come in threes.  That has to do with character formation and the relationships between characters that drive stories…but that will have to wait until the next post.

The story begins when the trigger is pulled.  I am not going to repeat my last post, but I want to underline this because this is the opening part of any story which might best be called part 1.  Part 2 is the meat of the story, and that begins when the main character (s) intentions/objectives are clarified, something that should be done ASAP.

Think of a good meal at an expensive restaurant.  Part 1, the trigger is the appetizer.  It gets the juices flowing in anticipation of what is to come.  Part 2, the meat, is like the main course and it may be gourmet sparse or American obese, but it should taste good to the end,

Once Again:  The primary purpose in telling a story is to get the audience to pay attention (the reader to keep reading) right to the very end.

With that in mind, it is important to point out a couple of things. 

First, with the conflict/dilemma/situation established in the trigger, now the main character must do something.  They may have to decide something, want or desire something, or they may be forced or feel forced into something or have to make a choice.  All potentially true descriptions of the options, but at some point, the main character has to do something—they have to act on their intention in order to achieve their objective

Second, every action, event and situation in the story after the trigger must relate to the main character (s) intention/objective (goal), either to help or hinder.  Anything extraneous must go. 

Consider Cinderella:  Once her father dies and she finds herself in servitude, all she can do is dream of a chance to be free—to be happy.  The situation is unfair.  She wants a better life than the one fate has dealt her (as maybe we all do—another way of drawing a person into empathy with a story).   So she waits, looking for her chance, and it comes in the form of an open invitation to the ball.

All through the meat of the story, everything Cinderella does relates to her escaping her situation, even if only for a little while as she supposes the ball to be.  Everything that everyone else does either helps her or hinders her—either moves her closer to her goal or stands as a obstacle that somehow must be overcome.  Her mother’s old dress is shredded in some versions.  Her workload is tripled in others.  Everything appears impossible short of divine intervention; and that is what she gets in the form of a fairy godmother. 

Note:  Cinderella’s divine intervention consists of giving her a chance, nothing more.  It solves no problems.  It is still up to Cinderella to go to the ball and do well or poorly on her own.  Some stories that allow for this kind of divine intervention go too far…but that may be another post.

Part 2, the meat of the story is where all of the action takes place.  And it ends, as I see it, with the climax: success or failure.  Just when everything once again looks impossible, Cinderella has the other shoe.

Part 3, then, is coffee and dessert.  The evil stepmother is defeated, the wicked stepsisters are left in their jealousy and rage.  Cinderella will marry the Prince and effectively leap-frog over their heads.  She will one day be their Queen. 

These three parts are essential to any story.  1.  There must be a trigger.  2.  The main character (s) must act and overcome obstacles to attain their goal.  3.  In the end, they must succeed or fail.  Three parts, and in my next post I want to talk a bit about the magic of three…