This is a continuation of the pre-open-mic post on choreography. Last time, I was talking mostly about the macro level – the order things happen in the overall story. This week, I’m going to talk more about the scene level.
Choreographing a scene starts with the things that happen in it. There are two kinds: things that have to happen in this scene, and things that could happen in this scene but that could also go somewhere else or not happen at all. Usually, the writer has one particular thing they want the scene to do – show the moment when Rachel discovers that the murderer is her mother, or watch George trip and fall into the time-travel machine.
The writer’s goal for the scene may align in whole or in part with the characters’ aims in the story – Rachel has been hunting for the murderer, after all. Or it may not – George had no intention of tripping into the time machine. Or the writer’s must-happen may be on a different level from the particular events – the writer wants to confront Rachel with her own darkness, reflected in her mother’s actions; or the writer wants to establish that George really doesn’t belong in a top-secret high-tech lab. In any case, what the writer wants the scene to do is the key “must-happen” part of the scene.
There are usually other must-happen things in a scene. They can be specific events that further the plot, actions (or dialog, or the POV’s thoughts) that deepen the reader’s understanding of one or more characters, hints or outright revelation of background/backstory. Most of the time, these things can be separated into 1) Things that have to happen in a certain order, and 2) Things that could happen at any point in the scene.
Things have to happen in a certain order either because they have a cause-and-effect relationship, or because they have a chronological relationship. If the “must-happen” is George accidentally falling into the time-machine, the accident has to happen first, and then the fall into the machine. He could trip and fall in, or explode something in the lab and fall in, or be knocked in when somebody else stumbles, but the cause – the accident – has to happen before the effect – falling into the time machine. George going to the coffee-maker to get a cup, on the other hand, has to happen before he falls into the time machine, but it doesn’t cause the accident. It has a purely chronological relationship with George-falling-into-the-time-machine.
As far as any other events in the scene, George getting coffee can happen at any point – before he says hello to his coworkers, after they’ve been talking for a while … as long as he goes for his coffee before he falls into the time machine, it doesn’t matter when. He can even get several refills, establishing his coffee-addiction for use later in the story, as long as they all happen before the accident and the fall.
When I’m choreographing a scene, I start with the major must-happen – the thing the scene has to accomplish – whether that’s the viewpoint character’s internal struggle with temptation or George’s time-traveling:
accident->time travel->uh-oh, end of scene
I work backwards and forwards, starting with the main cause-and-effect/chronological chain of events:
enter lab->accident->time travel->uh-oh.
Then I look at any other must-happen events (e.g., establish time lab, introduce coworkers, attack by pterodactyl) and see where in the scene they have to go based on chronology or cause-and-effect:
establish lab->enter lab->introduce coworkers->accident->time travel->uh-oh->pterodactyl attack.
This gives me a framework for the scene; from here, I can add things that could happen, but don’t have to happen. George doesn’t have to go get coffee; the accident could be a random lab explosion that blows him into the time machine. I could give him multiple trips to the coffee machine while he’s chatting with his coworkers, to establish that coffee addiction; or I could have him go get coffee for somebody else, establishing that he’s a bit of a people-pleaser.
Most of the “could happen” events are things I do by instinct as I write – if the chat with the coworkers seems to be getting too long, or dragging, I won’t add multiple trips to get coffee that would make things longer and more draggy. The pterodactyl attack looks like a good thing to start the next chapter with, rather than keeping it part of this scene. If I really want to set up some of George’s personality here, I may try to keep the coffee addiction and/or have him getting a cup for someone else; if I want a more dramatic accident, I’ll go with an explosion. Maybe combine the two – the coffee run to get George in the right position, and the explosion to knock him into the time machine.
The things that could happen, but don’t have to, can move around in the scene as it gets clearer in my head. The cause-and-effect chains are the fixed points that I’m working between – they’re the marks that the scene has to hit. If things don’t seem to be working, I’ll scrape everything back to the one thing that has to happen in this scene – George has to unexpectedly go time-traveling – and look at alternative ways to accomplish that.
Writers who work in mosaic fashion – assembling a lot of bits and pieces before deciding what order they go in, rather than working in order or planning top-down – often don’t know where a scene will fit when they start writing it. This almost always means that there is going to be some degree of rewriting, quite possibly a lot, once the final position and purpose of the scene is determined. Don’t try to fight it, just accept it as part of the process.
I suspect choreographing the opening scene of a novel, especially in terms of what must happen, has become especially vital because of how most novels must be pitched nowadays. I recently looked at MG novel submission guidelines for 36 agents (admittedly, a small sample size). A third of them only want to read the first five pages or less. Four of them only want to see the first three pages of a manuscript.
Obviously, this doesn’t apply to established writers with an agent/publisher relationship. But for first timers, it seems like communicating the essential characteristics of your main character, your setting (and, in a fantasy novel, the nature of your world and magic system) AND getting to the precipitating event in three pages doesn’t leave much room to be dilatory.
The reader will often open it up and read the first paragraph. Gotta grab ’em quick.
Not so important when you have a fanbase, but then you always want to grab more.
Using “falls into a time machine” as part of a cause-and-effect example may not have been such a good idea. You have to know that the people here will immediately want to origami cause-and-effect once time travel has been brought on-stage. :o)
That works. It’s just a little loopy.
The only thing I’d add is to vary it up. Don’t have too many short scenes in a row, don’t have a bunch of only-advances-the-plot scenes one after another either.
A scene for quiet reflection on what the last plot advance means, or what it could lead to. A chance to deepen the characterization. Reinforce a theme, or repeat a motif. Show the growing relationships, or let a character exercise their wit.
Obviously a scene can do more than one. But I’ve noticed a lot of inexperienced authors throw plot advance on top of plot advance, breakneck action, when they can vary the pacing some. I certainly did the same in my own early efforts.
Or the writer’s must-happen may be on a different level from the particular events – the writer wants to confront Rachel with her own darkness, reflected in her mother’s actions; or the writer wants to establish that George really doesn’t belong in a top-secret high-tech lab. In any case, what the writer wants the scene to do is the key “must-happen” part of the scene.
This is where I struggle. Often the point of a scene for me — the key “must-happen” — is some characterization or world-building thing, and whatever plot development gets stuffed in there is just a compatible framework to hang the other stuff on.
This is part of my ongoing trouble with plot, and why solutions that talk about plot progression aren’t much help to me. Sure, the end result needs to look like the scene is moving the plot along, but the real reason for it is so they can have that conversation about economics.
What I’ve found works for me (so of course it won’t for anyone else!) is to establish dramatic tension early, and throw in reminders from time to time.
So while you’re doing the characterization, can the character worry about the central problem/conflict, and whether the plot progression thrown in to the scene is going to do any good? Something like that?
I’m sure they could, but that doesn’t get me what the plot-progression thing actually *is*. And if they’re worrying about that, how are they having enough attention for the economics conversation?
Well, the idea was that you don’t have to have plot progression in every scene as long as the central conflict/problem is still seen simmering in the background. But I don’t think I explained myself well. And even if I have now, that still doesn’t mean it’ll work for you…
“Look, fellow protagonist, I know the enemy is still coming. But I can’t bear to see you like this. How can I help? Can a dialog scene focused on characterization do you any good? I hope?”
(Is that the worst example ever? Sigh)
That lousy example has been on my mind since I posted, and I finally came up with something better. I hope.
[Previous scene: Ransom note received from the kidnappers]
“Are you okay?” I said.
“Should I be?”
“No, neither of us should. But…I just feel like something else is bothering you, and we’ve already got enough to send someone around the bend.”
“So you’re saying I’m going nuts? Is that it?”
“No,” I said. “No, no. I’m just hoping whatever else it is, I can help.” I tried for a sympathetic smile, but doubted I succeeded. “I like to think there’s always hope. And I can sometimes help.”
I got a brooding look, and then finally, finally, the tension began to draw down. “Hope. And I shouldn’t get mad when you’re trying to help. All right. Listen, a long time ago” (long scene of backstory and characterization follows)
Does that help? I, er, hope?
*grin*
Really, my worldbuilding/character inserts go more like:
“You do realize this rebellion will leave you economically cut off from the people who send you food, right? Wait a minute, your rebellion is Not My Problem; I’m not going to bother pointing out the flaws unless we’re bickering and I need the conversational ammo. What could the plot do that would get us started sniping at each other?”
I sort of got there in the end (luckily bickering was familiar territory for those two), but it resulted in a whole little diversion-loop for the plot, and I’m still not sure it doesn’t read as contrived. All so I could work in the mention about Earth-grown tea.
LizV: If bickering is familiar territory, I would think the scene would come off as natural rather than contrived. Of course, I was influenced early on by Georgette Heyer, so I think repartee is reasonable in virtually all circumstances. 😉
For me, ordering the events within a scene is like assembling a small jigsaw puzzle but with extra pieces and/or pieces that squirm. If I get the order wrong or put in the wrong pieces instead of the right ones, then the characters go off & do what they want, rather than “what needs to happen.” Especially when the scene involves conversation, which is like a council scene, only without the advantages of any sort of agenda, formal or informal.
If my character knew what “needs to happen” for the sake of the plot, they’d be actually active about avoiding it. Even when they take responsibility for personally solving the Story Problem (instead of delegating it to Better Qualified Experts) they still want to solve it in a pleasantly boring way that avoids any sort of exciting adventures or interesting story happening to them. “We’re not stupid, we’re not crazy, and we’re not Tom Sawyer.”
“We’re not stupid, we’re not crazy, and we’re not Tom Sawyer.”
LOL! I need to re-read that….
Yup. Characters don’t have to be exciting. Plenty of other qualities will do. Interesting, intriguing, intoxicating…