by Jack Bickham
Chapter Seventeen
Three scenes, possibly four, in various viewpoints including the villain's. The romantic lead is freed, or that kind of subplot question answered, but at the cost of putting the hero on weaker ground. The romantic lead is left disillusioned and thinking the love story is over. At the end of the last scene, the hero and villain are closing in on one another, or perhaps are already face-to-face on a rooftop, in a courtroom, on the side of a mountain, in the drawing room. The showdown is now.
Chapter Eighteen
The ultimate confrontation takes place in one long, exciting, extended scene. If there has been a backstory or hidden story of significance, it now comes out and all those plates come down. Most secondary plot line questions are answered, and the only ones left are about this showdown. . . and the romance which now seems doomed. The villain, in the scene closing this chapter, plays his last, shocking trump card, and it is ultimate disaster for the hero.
Chapter Nineteen
Probably two scenes. In the first, the villain, with the upper hand, may offer the hero a way out of his dilemma if he will do something immoral, unethical or illegal. This poses a moral dilemma for the hero, who must choose fast between the good (by the reader's definition) decision—and lose everything, perhaps including his own life —or select the bad course of action, and be given some sort of break by the powerful villain. The hero chooses sacrificially, in most cases, reopening the fight because this ultimate test has shown him to be a person who will not go back on certain basic principles fundamental to his self-concept. The biggest fight, chase, struggle, argument, or maneuvering of all take place here, with the author pulling out every stop and "topping" all that has gone before in terms of suspense, terror and possibly violence. At the end, the hero's scene, unlike all others in the book preceding this one—ends well. In this single case, he somehow wins. But he is often left in sequel, wondering something like "What did it all mean?" or "Was it worth it?" This "downside" questioning, right after an apparent victory over the villain, raises a final thematic question for the reader to worry about as a hook into the last chapter. (He also has the romantic story question still up in the air.)
Chapter Twenty
Worry about the romantic story question lures the reader into the final chapter, where the author usually uses two to three short scenes, invariably in the viewpoint of the main character, to tie up loose plot threads. Secondary characters who have played fairly big roles often must be trotted onstage in the last chapter to show their feelings and condition at the end of the book — providing what psychologists would term "closure." The meaning of everything that has happened often comes somewhat clearer here. The romantic subplot question is finally answered at the very end of a scene between the hero and the romantic lead, sometimes with the best friend as a witness or commentator. The answer to the romantic question, like the answer to the main question in the entire book, must be addressed, but the answer may be something less than perfect. ("Perhaps we'll never know why he tried to kidnap the president." Or: "Will I marry you? I don't know yet, Frank. I really don't. But we can see. . . ." How clearly, happily and finally these last questions are answered will depend on the kind of closing feeling the author wishes to leave with the reader. An ending that is too neat and happy in all regards may be experienced by the reader as a cheap trick.) At any rate, the closing usually comes in a scene, often in the middle of one, so that there is some sense of the story "going on after the book is closed."
Having read through this scenario, you may begin to see how its author wanted certain kinds of things to happen in certain parts of the novel; he had a general idea of strategy — ideas of the kind of dramatic moves to make at certain points — and so his master plot or story blueprint set up a sequence of scenes and sequels generally intended to accomplish his ends.
I hope you will try to work on your own "master plot." Far from being a straitjacket, it can be a dynamic, ongoing, developing manifestation of your growing understanding of scene and structure, and how they are the building blocks of success.
APPENDICES
The following appendix entries are excerpts from published fiction which illustrate one or more points developed in the text. Each is followd by a brief analytical commentary which is meant to be more suggestive than exhaustive.
Chapter-ending notes refer the reader to various exhibits as appropriate. To get the most from each appendix exhibit, it would be best to read each carefully at the instruction point suggested in the text, then mark it up marginally as seems appropriate. Only after doing this analytical work on her own should the student read the commentary that follows it. By comparing your observations with the author's, you can perhaps further clarify your thinking and "cement" your understanding of a principle by seeing it in action.
Because many of the techniques illustrated in the excerpts are interrelated, a rereading of all of them is recommended after all of the chapters have been studied.
APPENDIX 1
HOW TO START YOUR STORY AND HOW TO END IT
This appendix is made up of two separate excerpts from published fiction. Commentary on each excerpt can be found following the excerpt.
EXCERPT 1
This is the opening of chapter 1 of The Savage Day, by Jack Higgins. Holt, Rinehart & Winston, © 1972 by Jack Higgins.
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1
EXECUTION DAY They were getting ready to shoot somebody in the inner courtyard, which meant it was Monday because Monday was execution day.
Although my own cell was on the other side of the building, I recognized the signs: a disturbance from those cells from which some prisoners could actually witness the whole proceedings and then the drums rolling. The commandant liked that.
There was silence, a shouted command, a volley of rifle fire. After a while, the drums started again, a steady beat accompanying the cortege as the dead man was wheeled away, for the commandant liked to preserve the niceties, even on Skarthos, one of the most unlovely places I have visited in my life. A bare rock in the Aegean with an old Turkish fort on top of it containing three thousand political detainees, four hundred troops to guard them, and me.
I'd had a month of it, which was exactly four weeks too long, and the situation wasn't improved by the knowledge that some of the others had spent up to two years there without any kind of trial. A prisoner told me during exercise one day that the name of the place was derived from some classical Greek root meaning barren which didn't surprise me in the slightest.
Through the bars of my cell you could see the mainland, a smudge on the horizon in the heat haze. Occasionally, there was a ship, but too far away to be interesting, for the Greek Navy ensured that most craft gave the place a wide berth. If I craned my head to the left when I peered out there was rock, thorn bushes to the right. Otherwise, there was nothing to see and nothing to do except lie on the straw mattress on the floor which was exactly what I was doing on that May morning when everything changed.
Commentary
Line 3. (The first line of the excerpt) Speak of starting swiftly and not trusting the reader to be patient! The first seven words of the novel establish action already in progress —and dynamic, dangerous, violent action at that.
Line 6. The phrase "my own cell" establishes that the story is to be told from the viewpoint of a first-person narrator. Again, the professional writer does not wait to establish such things.
Lines 10-17. Note the use of sense-appealing concrete details. Nothing abstract here: "shouted" command, "volley of rifle fire," the "steady beat" of the drum. A few carefully selected words set up the harsh story world in a strong physical sense. And by the end of the short paragraph we know where the setting is, what it is called, how it is set up, and how the viewpoint narrator fits in.
Lines 18-21. We learn how long the narrator has been there, arid the fact that some prisoners wait years for a trial. Although there has been no s
ign of an opening change to jar the story into forward motion, even the situation prior to the change is threatening in the extreme.
Lines 31-32. ". . . when everything changed." (Italics supplied here.)
This excerpt gives a professional novelist a thrill of delight. It seems perfect. It starts with a colorful situation that is already ghastly for the central character, who is introduced at once. Threat is established in the opening lines. Then a change comes —and the story must start moving forward at once.
EXCERPT 2
The opening of chapter 1 of Dropshot, by Jack M. Bickham. Tor Books, © 1990 by Jack M. Bickham.
ONE
Al Hesser's letter arrived early on a beautiful October day in Dallas, the kind of day that makes you forgive the ugly sky-anvil days of spring and the endless dusty furnace of summer: a day perfectly cobalt clear, with the temperature at seventy and only
the faintest breeze out of the south. Only a crazy man could fail to rejoice on such a day.
Unfortunately, it was the autumn I was pretty crazy.
Commentary
I hope the reader will forgive me for using some excerpts from my own published work. It's done not out of a desire for ego-gratification, but as a convenience: I know my own work, and can recall my intentions at the time I produced it; thus it's to be hoped that my commentary will make sense.
Lines 2-3. The change is specified at once, with no delay of any kind: the arrival of a letter. The time and place of opening are also set up in the first dozen words.
Lines 3-6. Concrete, physical details are designed to establish the setting not in the abstract, but at the gut level of physical sensing.
Line 8. A second "hook" for the reader. ("What does he mean, he's crazy? Why is he crazy?") A change —in the form of a letter —has already come, although we don't know its contents as yet. But as in the Higgins excerpt previously examined, the change hits a character already in an abnormal, threatened state.
The moral (again): Stories start with change. And in today's world they do not start subtly or slowly.
APPENDIX 2
STRUCTURE IN
MICROCOSM:
CAUSE AND EFFECT
This appendix contains one excerpt. Commentary follows it. Excerpt from chapter 18 of The Dark Wind, by Tony Hillerman. Harper & Row, © 1982 by Tony Hillerman. In this excerpt, officer Jim Chee questions a character named Cowboy Dashee. Another character named Pauling listens in silence.
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16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25
"What's new?" Chee asked.
"You talked to your office this morning?"
"No," Chee said.
"You haven't heard about finding the car, or turning up the necklace?"
"Necklace?"
"From the Burnt Water burglary. Big squash blossom job.
Girl over at Mexican Water pawned it."
"Where'd she get it?"
"Who else?" Cowboy said. "Joseph Musket. Old Ironfingers playing Romeo." Cowboy turned to Miss Pauling. "Shop talk," he said. "Mr. Chee and I have been worrying about this burglary and now a piece of the loot finally turned up."
"When?" Chee asked. "How'd it happen?"
"She just pawned it yesterday," Cowboy said. "Said she met this guy at a squaw dance over there somewhere, and he wanted to . . ." Cowboy flushed slightly, glanced at Miss Pauling. "Anyway, he got romantic and he gave her the necklace."
"And it was Ironfingers."
"That's what she said his name was." Cowboy grinned at Chee. "I notice with intense surprise that you're not interested in the car."
"You said you found it?"
"That's right," Cowboy said. "Just followed a sort of hunch I had. Followed up an arroyo out there and believe it or not, there it was, hidden up under some bushes."
"Good for you," Chee said.
"I'll tell you what's good for me," Cowboy said. "I jimmied my way into it through the vent on the right front window, pried it right open."
"That's the best way to get in," Chee said.
"I thought you'd say that," Cowboy said.
Commentary
This dialogue excerpt derives its logical, straightforward movement from careful observation of stimulus and response.
Line 1. Chee provides a stimulus with a direct question.
Line 2. Cowboy does not respond directly, but sends a counter-stimulus question, to which Chee responds immediately in the next line.
Lines 3-10. Stimulus-response questions and answers link tightly as Chee seeks and receives additional information.
Lines 11-13. Cowboy momentarily gets off the straight stimulus-andresponse pattern by acting upon some internalization which the reader cannot know since the reader is not in Cowboy's viewpoint.
Line 14. Chee immediately brings Cowboy back by resuming stimulus-questioning.
Line 27. For the first time, Chee does not send a direct stimulus in his spoken words.
Line 28. Cowboy makes his next statement responsive by repeating Chee's words "good for." Thus, although the content of Chee's last remark was not an obvious stimulus, the author makes it work as a stimulus in the way it is worded —and by showing how Cowboy picks up on the words and repeats them in a different context.
APPENDIX 3
STRUCTURE IN
LARGER ELEMENTS:
THE SCENE
This appendix contains one excerpt. Commentary follows it.
Excerpt is from chapter 2 of Tiebreaker, by Jack M. Bickham. Tor Books, © 1989 by Jack M. Bickham. In this excerpt, the novel's central viewpoint character, Brad Smith, has just returned to his condominium late at night to find an intruder inside. Smith slips in, armed, and finds that the intruder is a longtime associate from his CIA days, Collie Davis.
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He grinned at me and my weapon. "This is great. This is really dramatic."
He was tall but not as lanky as I remembered him from our last meeting almost five years previously, wearing Levi's and a madras shirt and camp loafers. In those days he had looked like a kid, but now he had lost a little of his sandy hair, and his face had been roughened by unacceptable losses. Under some circumstances I might have been happy to see him again.
"Where did you park?" he asked improbably.
I put the revolver on the TV set with an angry thunk. "You were really stupid to come in here this way, you know."
"If you had parked in front, or opened your garage door, I would have heard you and turned on more lights so you wouldn't get all paranoid."
"I might have shot your head off."
"Are you kidding me? I've seen you shoot."
"What do you want, Collie?"
He uncoiled from my chair. "You look a little strung out."
"What do you want, Collie?"
Collie Davis turned the TV off and sat down again, but this time on the couch, leaving me my chair. "It was really pretty important to see you as soon as possible, but not in the public eye."
So he had driven into the fringes of the neighborhood, walked up the alley, picked the lock on one of my doors, and come in like a second-rate burglar. It didn't strike me as all that smart.
But there had always been things about the Company that didn't make a lot of sense to me, so I chose not to argue about it.
I repeated, "What do you want, Collie?"
"We've got a little contract job."
"I'm not interested in going to Norman or someplace and interviewing college candidates."
"How would you feel about Belgrade?"
"What state is that in?"
"Funny. Shall I start at the beginning?"
"You can start," I told him, "by getting out of here."
"We need a tennis player. Tennis journalist."
"What for?"
"Go to Belgrade for their new tournament, do some journalism, play in the celebrity matches, handle something routine for us on th
e side."
"The Belgrade International is in less than two weeks."
"Right."
"That doesn't give me or anyone else a lot of time."
"It gives enough."
"Why me?"
"You fit the job description. There aren't many who do."
"Get Ted Sherman," I said, naming another former tennis pro who, like me, had done some scut work for them in earlier years while earning his real money on the players' circuit.
"We prefer you. You're more reliable and you've had more training." He paused to light a cigarette. "Besides, he's in the hospital with back trouble."
"So I'm the best man for the job because I'm the only man?"
He ignored that. "Do you know Danisa Lechova?"
"The Yugoslav singles player? Sure. I know who she is. We've never met."
"She's 21 now," Collie told me unnecessarily, "and most people think she'll be the number one women's player in the world by next year this time. They've brought her along very slowly, evidently guarding against the kind of burnout that seems to hit a lot of the potentially great female players just as they start to win big. But many people think she'll be better than Navratilova, Mandlikova or Graf inside another year. May already be."