graphic by Peg Ihinger
Whether you’re struggling through a first draft, revising a completed manuscript, or composing a query letter, one of the more useful things you (or your prospective agent/editor) should probably know is what is at stake for the characters in your story.
But what, exactly, does that mean? And how do you figure it out?
At the most general level, “what’s at stake” is usually interpreted as meaning “what the main character has to lose.” I don’t find that definition terribly helpful from a writing standpoint—first, because it is too similar to “what’s the character’s goal,” and second, because it usually doesn’t include consideration of the long term, or the concept of delayed gratification.
I prefer the terms “choices” and “consequences,” as in “what are the likely consequences of the protagonist’s choices?” Because no matter what the character decides to do, there will be positive or negative consequences for someone, sooner or later.
The first choice the protagonist has to make is usually whether or not to get involved in the story situation, which means that the first question the writer has to ask is, what are the consequences for the character if they turn around and leave? If there are no consequences (short-term or long), the character may not belong in the story, or may not be the protagonist. Or, they may be the sort of character who has to be dragged kicking and screaming into the story (by being attacked, kidnapped, guilted or ordered into the situation, etc.). Dorothy spent the whole book trying to get out of Oz, after all.
Some characters (like Dorothy) don’t have a choice about ignoring the story situation—they’re caught by the tornado or the pirates or the kidnappers without having an opportunity to walk away. Most protagonists, though, get into the mess in small steps, because they don’t have enough information and/or they aren’t thinking far enough ahead. Early in Star Wars: A New Hope, Luke makes several choices that have unforeseen consequences—for instance, he takes the restraining bolt off of R2-D2 (a choice), which triggers part of Leia’s message and allows R2-D2 to escape (consequences).
Those consequences happened in part because other people also made choices and the character didn’t know about them. Leia chose to send R2-D2 off to Obi Wan with her message; the Imperial commander ordered his troops to find the droids (and, evidently, kill anyone who might have found out what they carried). There’s also frequently a disconnect between what the character thinks the consequences of a choice will be, and what those consequences actually are when they play out against everyone else’s choices.
Different choices would, obviously, have had different consequences. If Luke had chosen not to remove the restraining bolt, he would have continued with his chores without seeing the message, and R2-D2 would have been unable to escape. So they would have both been at the farm when the Imperial stormtroopers arrived, searching for the droids…and either Luke’s part in the movie would have been very short, or things would have gone in a very different direction (if Luke had been captured alive along with the droids).
The ultimate consequences remain the same, even if the protagonist doesn’t know them to begin with. If Leia’s message doesn’t get to the rebels, they’ll have no chance of defeating the Death Star. If the One Ring doesn’t get tossed into the volcano, Sauron will be back, worse than ever. If Dorothy can’t get the right help, she’ll never get home.
Most writers, however, need to have some idea what the ultimate consequences of the character’s decisions will be … or at least, what sort of consequences feel as if they’ll be right for the story the writer is telling. Sometimes the consequences are huge and dramatic—the character’s reputation is ruined or restored, the world is lost or saved. Sometimes the consequences are small everyday things—the character’s mother approves or disapproves of their actions, the kid gets to adopt the stray kitten or doesn’t, the character makes it to the audition in time or doesn’t.
“What’s at stake” implies a win/lose condition that simply isn’t right for every story. It also doesn’t encourage the writer to think about trade-offs that could make the story more interesting. Many choices aren’t binary—the protagonist may have multiple options for rescuing the sidekick (charge in alone, negotiate with kidnappers, call in outside help, sacrifice sidekick) … and that’s assuming that there are no equally important things to worry about.
In addition, consequences aren’t always singular. The same action may have both a desirable consequence and an undesirable one. Claiming the throne may mean both gaining power and wealth, but also losing the love interest. Choosing to study law may make the protagonist’s parents happy and relieve the burden of paying for school, while simultaneously making the protagonist unhappy because that’s not what they really want to do. Successfully stealing the dragon’s jewels will make you rich, but also wakes the dragon and sends it on a rampage.
One notes that the movie Wizard of Oz tried to turn it into a lesson teaching Dorothy the value of home, but didn’t. Dorothy was sent off to the Emerald City in order to find her way home, not to get permission to stay or the like.
Most of my novels are ultimately about understanding and enlightenment. (I cunningly conceal that under layers of adventure incidents and fight scenes.) So the stakes and consequences aren’t really the focus for me, but rather showing the characters’ growing knowledge and self-actualization.
If they are growing in knowledge, surely the best way to show it is to show how their stakes change, that they want X when they start and Y when they end?
That would work for some…
To give an example of why that doesn’t work for me, my first novel had a protagonist-viewpoint character who’s eighteen, and thanks to an unsavory scientist, finds he’s “psychic.” (He just “knows” things.)
So what he has to do over the course of the novel, besides adventure shenanigans, is figure out what he wants to do with his abilities, whether he even *wants* those abilities, where he fits in with them, and, being a teenage male, can he ever find someone to love.
The stakes, I suppose, would be alienation, self-hatred, and isolation. But I don’t think in those terms, because that makes the issues all-or-nothing. I.e., people may not ever get their dream job, or find the perfect home, but they can find ones they’re happy with.
So his goal is to do the best he can with all those things. The only “stakes,” ***from my point of view***, are how well he becomes the person he wants to be/ought to be.
That whole theme of “How do I fit in with the world while self-actualizing” underlies almost all my novels.
(Apologies for the long-winded response.)
I am really struggling with the query letter, where everyone says you need to indicate the stakes of the early part of the book.
Kay (the protagonist) was in a crisis situation, and thought, hey, the alien animal has great senses and seems to want to be helpful, maybe it can find the missing child. Which it duly did.
If she had stopped and carefully thought out what would happen next, she might not have done it. It got a lot of people wondering “how intelligent is that thing, anyway?” and “how was Kay able to get it to do that?” and “does this imply that Kay is a telepath?” (with a side order of “is the alien animal actually calling the shots here?”) She really did not want people asking those questions: unwelcome attention from the military was more or less guaranteed.
But she didn’t stop and carefully think it out. (And possibly the alien “animal” actually *was* calling the shots here.) Things went rapidly downhill after that–it was a key decision, but a key decision made without considering the stakes.
I can’t figure out how to explain what the stakes are without jumping way past what Kay was actually deciding at this point.
She does not make a fully considered decision about the situation she finds herself in until the end of Part 1, where that situation has deteriorated into “I’m a prisoner on an alien starship.” This seems too late for a query letter (it’s a third of the way into the story, more or less).
I *think* this works as a story. But as a query letter, I’m afraid it doesn’t.
Actually, what you’ve got here sounds like the basis for a decent query. (Caveat: I can’t explain my novel in a query, either.) If you’re open to suggestions:
Start with the missing child. That’s paragraph one, and the stakes are pretty obvious: Kay has to team up with mysterious alien to rescue child.
Paragraph two is the unintended consequences: Now everyone wants to know if Kay’s a telepath, if the alien is more intelligent than previously believed, etc. She ends up on the run from the military and/or others who want to make them both lab rats (or whatever the threat is in your story). Escaping from those threats causes her to get captured by the alien spaceship (however that happens).
And now Kay has to (whatever decisions she makes to escape the aliens, not get captured by the military, etc.) This causes (more consequences), and she has to make (whatever choices she makes), which may or may not achieve whatever goal she has by that point in the book.
Sounds to me like you got nicely escalating stakes here (missing child -> not having her brain diced in a lab -> captured by aliens -> what’s next?), so I’d say lean into that.
HTH.
The trouble I’m having with my own query letter is that, at the beginning, what’s at stake is that Kearsley wants to go on an adventure. The other characters, who are professional spies, need to find out why the bad guy tried to kill them, and arrest him. But I can’t play up the threat to everyone’s life and limb (which traditionally would be the stakes) without making this thing sound a *lot* more serious than it is.
I keep thinking about The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Which, yes, destruction of the Earth, lots of people trying to kill them, ultimate question, etc. — but one could make the case that what’s really at stake is whether Arthur will ever get a decent cup of tea. I can’t envision how you’d pitch that in today’s market.