Isn’t a rock a hard place to begin with?

Gotta pick one, but which one?
Gotta pick one, but which one?

Hard choices. That’s what it comes down to for your protagonist.

Someone in my old writing group put it very succinctly: each scene should force the protagonist so they have no choice but to go with the option that makes things harder for them.

If things were easy for your protagonist and everything went right for them, it wouldn’t be much of a story, would it?  We’d be bored silly.

It all stems from the necessary key word: conflict. Something must be opposing them reaching their goal.

This doesn’t mean it’s someone or something physically blocking them, although that is one option. It could be something out of nature, like a great white shark, a hurricane or a killer virus, or something from the grand scheme of the universe, like time, fear or silence.

One of the great things about conflict is there are countless ways to present it. It comes in all forms, but it really boils down to something in the scene (as well as the overall story) preventing your protagonist from moving things forward.

Taking it one step further, not only do you have to make sure they do, but they have to be the one doing it. Anything else is a cheat, and totally negates their development as a character.  Imagine if Dumbledore said, “Here’s a step-by-step list of what you have to do, Harry.” The mentor figure is there to guide the protagonist down the right path, not take the path for them.

The protagonist has to endure all of these conflicts in order to not only accomplish their goal, but grow or change from what they were when we first met them.

So go ahead and put ’em through the ringer. It’s the way it must be.

-I had the pleasure of doing an interview with Henry Sheppard, aka Adelaide Screenwriter. Check it out here.

Moving that inner strength outward

It may not be as heavy as you think
It may look heavy, but it might not feel that way

I hate hitting a lull. Even the sound of it is off-putting.

“Lull.” Yuck.

Which of course is exactly where I found myself over the past few days regarding the first draft. I thought I was making some good progress, but instead found myself staring at a screen that mockingly stared back.

“Come on, writer boy,” it seemed to say. “Show we what you can do.”

Putting more pressure on yourself combined with the anthropomorphization of electronics doesn’t usually end well. You’re already frustrated, and when the words won’t come, you just want to throw up your hands and do your best Bill Paxton impression.

I’ve been down this path before. I don’t like it, it ain’t pretty, but it’s gonna happen and I accept that.

This is one of those times when you have to remind yourself that you’ve got two options: quitting, which is the easy way out, and totally squashes all the hard work and effort you’ve already put in.

Or you dig deep and force yourself to keep going. Again.

I recently started re-reading my copy of THE FIRST TIME I GOT PAID FOR IT, which chronicles the tales of many successful and well-known writers and how they got started. Apart from some great stories, it’s a good reminder to us outsiders striving to be insiders that even the pros started in the exact same place we are now.

And if you’re like me and want to change your status in that scenario, there’s only one way – keep writing!

I don’t know what the exact trigger was, but the next time I faced off against that blinking cursor and half-empty page, something clicked.

Boy, did it.

The words didn’t just flow – they gushed. It was like a Niagara Falls of scenes and dialogue pouring onto the page. My fingers could hardly keep up with my brain.

Whoa. Three pages in thirty-five minutes? Inconceivable!

I definitely now feel back on track. A renewed sense of what drew me to the story in the first place. Being that much closer to being able to type FADE OUT. And a little more faith in my ability to be productive, even when I don’t think I can be.

Take that, lull.

Fighting the latest metaphoric fire

always alert & ready to spring into action
Ever alert and ready to spring into action

It seems to happen especially when you suspect there’s a remote possibility it could.

You’re going over the latest draft of your script. The one you’ve been working on for what feels like an eternity.  The one you’ve been so meticulous in plotting and figuring out what happens, making sure everything ties up nicely.  No loose ends. No gaping plot holes.

After countless rewrites, you’re positive this thing is done.  It’s ready to go out.  But you give it that one last read-through, just to be sure.

Maybe there’s the occasional line rewritten or replacing of words, but for the most part, there’s not a lot to change.

Oh, false sense of security. Why do you torture us so?

Because that’s exactly when you find it:  a small gap in logic that brings things to a screeching halt.  Until now it had stayed hidden.  From everybody.

It’s the kind of thing someone might not notice while they’re watching your movie, but might later come up after further analysis. “Hey. How could he have ___?”

Almost as if on autopilot, your brain and creativeness kick in. What’s the most plausible solution?  Does it mesh smoothly with the rest of the story? Is there a way to set this up so it pays off in a more-than-satisfying way?

You know there’s an answer to this. It’s all a question of finding it.

You’re a writer. It’s what you do. You probably even live for this kind of thing.

That panicky stress upon first realizing there’s a problem has given way to calm and strategic thinking of how to fix this. Maybe you even devise several possible solutions, testing each one out to see which works best.

But in the end, the right words have been found, and that nasty ol’ logic gap has been filled.

As far as you’re concerned, the script has once again reclaimed the empowering adjective of bulletproof.

At least until you get your next batch of notes, and it starts all over again.

The subconscious storyteller does it again!

How could I have missed that?
How could I have missed that?

When I start a new story, one of the first things I do is figure out the major plot points – statement of theme on page 3 (or at least thereabouts), inciting incident on page 10, and so on.  After that, it’s coming up with the most effective way to get from one to the next.  It’s how I’ve always done it, and it works for me.

One of the key purposes of the end of your first act is to get your hero off on their journey. This includes raising the central question of your story – will the hero accomplish their goal?  For example, in STAR WARS it’s the scene after Luke discovers the smoldering corpses of his aunt and uncle. He tells Ben he wants to go with him to Alderaan, learn the ways of the Jedi, etc.

Since I’d started working on my western outline, a lot of the plot points were pretty firmly established. I knew what I wanted to happen and when. For the most part, they’ve stayed the same this whole time.

I filled in the gaps between those points with scenes and sequences that I felt did the best job of moving the story forward, including some that needed to have the proper amount of emotional gravitas.

Jump ahead to the present. The churning-out of pages continues. Some scenes are easier to write than others, but progress is constant.  I work my way through Act One, wrapping it up with a sequence that really changes things around.

But then I realized Act One really ends in the scene right before it.  This short, dialogue-free scene still moves the story forward, but has a more significant impact on the story itself – moreso than the rousing sequence that follows.  The hero’s situation completely changes direction, and you can’t help but wonder how she could possibly accomplish her goal after this. No matter what, her situation is going to get worse before it gets better.

Working all of this out during the outline stage was a huge benefit. It seems very doubtful I would have discovered this if I had just dashed off a quick outline and dove into pages. Further proof why it’s important to take your time and fine-tune your outline.

So now I’m a few pages into Act Two and as this sequence kicks in, things get changed up even further.  Only negative that came to light: my hero isn’t the one making things happen. She has to be more active and less reactive.  I may spend a little time on it now, or come back to it during the rewrite.

And if I’ve done a good enough job on developing this outline, the answer may already be right there in front of me again.

I just don’t know it yet.

More like chiseled in frosting

Didn't work out right the first time? Go back and do it again.
Sometimes you just have to go back and do it again

Y’know one of the best things about putting together a story?

If something doesn’t work, you can change it (and most of the time, the change is for the better).

Most of the details in my western outline seemed pretty solid, and they were transferring nicely to the steady output of pages.

Then I got to the culmination of a big sequence – it involved a shootout. Something seemed out of place. I read the thumbnail sketch of the scene in the outline again.

Wait a minute.  Where did the one character get a gun?

A quick check of some previous scenes. There was no opportunity for that happen.

So now I’ve got a choice to make: keep it as written in the outline, or try something different.  Keeping it would mean going back and changing several scenes, which could also potentially slow the pace of the story. I opted for something different.

The end result was a shortened scene that retained crucial story and plot points, which gave them more of an impact. I also went with ending the scene ‘bigger’, keeping with the overall tone of the story.

There’s a good chance this will also result in having to rework parts of the big finale, but for now I like the way it plays out.  Besides, there’s another chance for a rewrite for the better.

So even though you think your story’s ready to go, chances are more than likely you’re going to reach a point where something has to be changed, fixed, altered or just plain rewritten.  Don’t see this as a negative – welcome the opportunity with open arms.

You want each scene to advance the story in the most effective way possible, and now you’ve given yourself the chance to do that.

Ask yourself if this is the best way a scene can be done. If not, what can be changed so it not only does what it’s supposed to, but does it better than your original version?

Then do the same for the next one, then the one after that, until you reach the end.

Simple, no?