Make A Scene
Page 15
In a contemplative scene your setting details should act as mirrors for the emotional content of your character's contemplation. A despairing person might best contemplate suicide in a lonely setting—a deserted room, an empty hotel. A person contemplating a rash and violent act, in contrast, could be reflected in a loud, overwhelming setting, such as a carnival, or you might find objects in the setting that speak to a feeling of anger—a lit match or a line of marching red ants.
SETTING
Contemplation scenes rely heavily upon mood and ambiance. In some cases, setting might even be the reason your protagonist has so much time to think; for instance, a protagonist in prison, trapped in a cave, or making a long, slow journey will obviously have a little extra time on his hands to contemplate the state of his life. As your scene progresses, you have an opportunity to focus on the small details that often get passed over in dramatic or action-driven scenes. If your narrative is about a family tragedy, for instance, a contemplative scene should, through the specific setting details you choose, convey a sense of melancholy and sorrow through dark colors, low light, and any significant objects that can help to convey this mood.
More importantly though, since there is very little action in a contemplative scene, you can weave in setting details intermittently with interior monologue to give your protagonist something physical off of which to bounce his thoughts and feelings so that he isn't just sitting in a vacuum.
In this excerpt of a scene from the novel Cold Mountain, notice the careful attention Charles Frazier gives to setting details:
The women stood out in water to their calves, slapping the clothes against smooth stones and rinsing and wringing them, then draping them over nearby bushes to dry. Some talked and laughed, and others hummed snatches of song. They had their skirt tails caught up between their legs and tucked into their waistbands to keep them from the water. To Inman they looked like they were wearing the oriental pantaloons of the Zouave regiments, whose soldiers looked so strangely bright and festive scattered dead across a battlefield.
The use of details like "smooth stones" and the women's "skirt tails caught up between their legs" direct Inman's attention—they become focal points for his thoughts and distractions from his own discomfort—after all, the man has been walking for days. He's tired, dry, and dirty, with no other company than his own mind. His interaction with the setting (in this instance the women are essentially setting objects, since he only observes them, and does not interact with them) also reminds the reader of the central goal of the narrative—that he is walking back to one woman in spe-cific—the love he left behind for the war.
Focusing on specific setting details throughout a contemplative scene— and not just at the beginning, as we saw earlier in this chapter—not only creates a vivid atmosphere and mood, but also keeps the pace from slowing to an absolute drag. Contemplative scenes have far less action or character interaction to keep the reader engaged, remember. Here you can give the reader a chance to literally stop and smell the roses, or recoil at the stench of a battle scene, letting impression sink in and atmosphere build toward decisions that your protagonist will need to make.
ENDING A CONTEMPLATIVE SCENE
Since the pace of a contemplative scene is more like that of a gentle stream than of rushing rapids, when it comes time to end it, you will want to change the energy just slightly in preparation for the next scene.
After contemplation comes action. Once a character has had time to think and reflect, he will need to take some kind of action to get the plot moving forward again.
So, depending on the type of scene you intend to come next, here are some considerations for ending a contemplative scene on an up tempo, to build back toward action:
• End with an action cliffhanger. After all that myopic thinking or paying careful attention to his surroundings, your protagonist may suddenly find himself backed into a corner, a gun at his neck, or a cliff at his back. Contemplative scenes often allow other characters to catch up to your protagonist—after all, he's just been sitting around thinking. A cliffhanger ending is great preparation for an action scene to follow.
• End with a moment of decision. If your character has been grappling with a dilemma, the ending is a great place to show the reader that he has made a decision. You don't necessarily need to give away what the decision is, but you could, for instance, end a scene in which the protagonist has been debating whether to tell her husband she's been cheating, with her picking up the phone and dialing him; or a man might grab his gun, get in his car, or do something else decisive that lets the reader know something has been decided. The decision should, of course, relate to whatever issue the protagonist has been grappling with in that scene.
• End with a surprise. Because contemplative scenes are so quiet and slow, the reader is not focused on the characters or events that are ostensibly taking place outside of the scene. This leaves room for all manner of surprises. While the character is sitting thinking, something outside of his control could happen, and the very end of a contemplative scene is a great place to drop such a surprise in.
• End with foreshadowing. Since some contemplative scenes don't naturally lend themselves to action in the scene at hand, you can end the scene with a bit of foreshadowing that tells the reader there will be action, or dialogue, or some kind of pace-quickening, in the next scene.
Here's an example of the end of a contemplative scene from Jeffrey Eugen-ides' novel The Virgin Suicides, about a group of boys captivated by a family of sisters who all meet the same tragic fate as a result of their domineering parents. The contemplative scene ends with the boys reading from the diary of the youngest sister, Cecilia, which they have illicitly obtained:
Occasional references to this or that conspiracy crop up—the Illuminati, the Military-Industrial complex—but she only feints in that direction, as though the names are so many vague chemical pollutants. From invective she shifts without pause into her poetic reveries again. A couplet about summer from a poem she never finished, is quite nice, we think: The trees like lungs filling with air My sister, the mean one, pulling my hair The fragment is dated June 26, three days after she returned from the hospital, when we used to see her lying in the front-yard grass.
Cecilia was hospitalized for an attempted suicide before, so harking back to this drops a note of discord that tells us something is coming in the next scene. There is also an air of remembrance about the previous scene. As they recount the details of Cecilia's journey, they also remember her, setting up the readers for the next big action, when Cecilia succeeds at taking her own life:
Little is known of Cecilia's state of mind on the last day of her life. According to Mr. Lisbon, she seemed pleased about her party. When he went downstairs to check on the preparations, he found Cecilia standing on a chair, tying balloons to the ceiling with red and blue ribbons.
The next scene opens with the harsh reality of Cecilia's fate, moving quickly from exposition into action as the boys revisit the last day of Cecilia's life.
No matter how you choose to end your contemplative scene, you want to keep in mind that you are setting up the next scene, and that action follows contemplation very nicely because it adds energy back to the equation of your narrative. You may choose to use your contemplative scene to lead your character toward change, toward action, toward drama or suspense to suit the demands of your plot. Rarely do you need two contemplative scenes back to back, however, as this may just slow your pace too much.
CONTEMPLATIVE SCENE MUSE POINTS_
• Use contemplative scenes to slow down action in the narrative.
• Signal that the contemplative scene has begun as quickly as possible.
• Focus on the protagonist's inner life.
•The protagonist must grapple with a conflict, dilemma, or decision.
• Utilize setting details to create dramatic tension and set a mood.
• Use the end of the scene to shift the energy toward action.
Dialogue is one of the most versatile elements of fiction writing because it can achieve multiple effects. When done well, dialogue can even be a scene-stealer. Most of the great lines in literature were spoken by characters, not narrated. This chapter will focus on scenes that are composed primarily of dialogue—not scenes with the occasional line of dialogue tossed in.
Dialogue scenes find their way into narratives of all genre types because of the versatility of conversation, so undoubtedly you'll wind up using these scenes. When dialogue is done right, it tends to feel fast, and therefore can be used to pick up the pace and propel your plot and characters forward. Dialogue is a great conflict builder too, as characters can argue, fight, and profess sentiments in words. It's also a wonderful medium for building tension, as characters jockey for power, love, and understanding.
OPENING A DIALOGUE SCENE
Before you start the scene, you'll want to decide if you're going to use dialogue to convey action, or to reveal character, plot, or backstory information. One of the most common errors is the use of dialogue as filler, with characters discussing the time or the weather. Don't make the assumption that dialogue scenes need to open in the middle of a conversation, either—in fact, this is often a confusing way to open a scene. A dialogue scene can open with one of the elements discussed in chapter two—for instance, you can use a scenic launch, or a narrative, action, or character launch—but then move quickly into dialogue. Here are some essential guidelines for opening this type of scene:
• Ground the reader in the setting before the conversation begins.
• Let the conversation begin within the first couple of paragraphs.
• Involve your protagonist in the conversation.
• Make it clear who is speaking to whom.
• Infuse conflict or opposition into the dialogue.
In J.D. Salinger's classic novel, The Catcher in the Rye, there are many dialogue scenes between protagonist Holden Caulfield and the minor characters who populate the story, and these serve many of the functions of dialogue as described later in this chapter. Salinger is good at setting up dialogue scenes so that they reveal character without being confusing. Here's an example of one such scene, in which Holden has come back to the dorm late and wants to talk to his roommate, Ackley:
A tiny bit of light came through the shower curtains and all from our room, and I could see him lying in bed. I knew damn well he was wide awake. "Ackley?" I said. "Y'awake?"
"Yeah."
It was pretty dark and I stepped on somebody's shoe on the floor and damn near fell on my head. Ackley sort of sat up in bed and leaned on his arm. He had a lot of white stuff on his face, for his pimples. He looked sort of spooky in the dark. "What the hellya doing anyway?" I said.
"Wuddya mean what the hell am I doing? I was tryna sleep before you guys started making all that noise. What the hell was the fight about, anyhow?"
Notice how the scene meets all the criteria laid out above—we're grounded through the setting, we can see that it takes place in the dorm room. The protagonist, Holden, is the one coming into the room. We know it's him because we're in his point of view, and we know he's talking to Ackley because he calls him by name. The dialogue then begins almost immediately after we know where we are, and it's full of conflict—he's ticked off his roommate by waking him up, so there's potential for the conversation to be fraught with further complication.
Though you want to get into the dialogue fairly quickly, you don't necessarily have to do so in the first sentence—it may even start a few paragraphs in. Remember, grounding the reader in physical details is important so she doesn't get confused, but the details should also reinforce qualities about the protagonist. This is a coming-of-age story, after all, so Salinger invites us in to the dorm-life experience through his choice of details.
DIALOGUE AND BIG REVEALS
Dialogue is a wonderfully versatile technique for giving the reader information necessary to drive the plot forward or deepen character understanding, without resorting to exposition. Through dialogue you can show the reader who your protagonist is, reveal the effect the protagonist has on other characters, and introduce new plot information that drives the narrative forward.
Revealing Character
One of the best ways to express your protagonist's personality, feelings, and perceptions is through his own words, rather than in exposition. Doing so allows the reader to feel as though he is right there in the same place as the character, getting to know him through direct experience. When the purpose of a dialogue scene is to reveal character, you want to:
• Show the character speaking under pressure or in conflict. Always avoid mundane conversation.
• Let your protagonist's true nature come through in words. Is he
brave? Then show him speaking words of hope and courage. Is he seductive? Let him pull out all verbal stops to seduce every woman he meets.
• Show him expressing his feelings or thoughts about the significant situation or the most recent plot events. Through the character's internal dialogue and external action, you can show his personality.
In Truman Capote's brilliant novella Breakfast at Tiffany's, his main character, Holly Golightly, is revealed to the reader through memorable dialogue. Holly is rash and bold and sexy and girlish all at once, and this is conveyed every time she opens her mouth or appears in a scene.
The first time the narrator meets Holly, it's via an exchange she has with a neighbor:
The voice that came back, welling up from the bottom of the stairs, was silly-young and self-amused. "Oh darling, I am sorry. I lost the goddamn key."
"You cannot go on ringing my bell. You must please, please have yourself a key made."
"But I lose them all."
"I work. I have to sleep." Mr. Yunioshi shouted. "But always you are ringing my bell. ..."
"Oh, don't be angry, you dear little man: I won't do it again. And if you promise not to be angry" —her voice was coming nearer, she was climbing the stairs — "I might let you take those pictures we mentioned."
Though the phrase "silly-young and self-amused" tells us about Holly's tone, her words speak for themselves. If she is sorry, as she claims, then why does she refer to it as the "goddamn key"? Clearly, in her worldview, the key is at fault, not she. She calls her neighbor darling and dear to soften him up, and then promises him a few lines later that if he lets her off the hook she will in turn let him "take those pictures we mentioned."
We suspect that Holly is used to manipulating with her charm and beauty to get her way. Just a few paragraphs into the scene, Holly Golightly makes an impression and demonstrates her personality.
When you use dialogue to reveal character, the dialogue should be stylized and suited specifically to the character. An educated person speaks differently from someone who has never learned grammar. A rude person will say rude things and insult people with her words.
Revealing Plot Information
One of the most important uses of dialogue—and the most necessary in a plot-driven narrative—is to reveal pertinent information that moves the
plot forward, changes your protagonist, creates conflict, or leads the protagonist toward an epiphany. I like to think of this as the "Luke, I am your father" technique. The moment at which Darth Vader tells Luke he is not only his sworn nemesis, but also his father, is a huge turning point in the movie's plot and in the development of Luke's character. It forces Luke to choose between good and evil, and tests his ability to resist his own destruction. Now, not all reveals are this epic, but dialogue is one of the best ways to drop these emotional bombs and drive the plot forward.
When using dialogue to reveal plot information, consider the following:
• The information must be earned. Avoid deus ex machina techniques. (This term comes from the Greek and referred originally to when a god dropped into a play to solve difficult entanglements. In fiction it refers to any overly simple or convenient technique or device that s
olves difficult problems without any actual effort on the part of the characters.)
•You need to show your protagonist's emotional reaction to the new information. The reader needs to see the character exclaim, gasp, shout, speak a word of surprise.
•You must place the information drop in the middle of the scene or at the end to achieve the greatest emotional impact. This helps to create a sense of urgency in the reader.
Here's an example of a big revelation from Maryanne Stahl's novel Forgive the Moon that both reveals character and drives the plot forward. Amanda Kincaid comes to a Long Island beach resort for an annual family vacation. Her oldest daughter has left for college; her husband is involved with another woman, and their twenty-year marriage is crumbling; and her mother, who suffered from schizophrenia, has recently died in an accident. The scene opens with Amanda's new lover coming to the door while her father is visiting her cottage. Her father doesn't know who the man is, but from the opening of the scene there's discord, a feeling that something is going to come to a head. And it does, but not in one fell swoop—the scene builds slowly and plausibly toward the revelation.
In the exchange of dialogue below, which falls in the middle of the scene, Amanda and her father—who have never been close—begin talking about mundane details, like Amanda's childhood fear of lightning, and segue to more serious topics of the past, such as her mother's illness, then Amanda's accusation that her father retreated not only from his ill wife, but his children. At first her father is shocked, but then he asks her a question that begins the process of his revelation about her piano teacher:
"Were you angry, Amanda, about my relationship with Gloria?"
"What?" Gloria Price had taught me to play the piano, redirecting my adolescent pain and fueling the fire of my nascent passion for music. Eventually, she'd moved away, but not before she'd made me promise to pursue my talent.
Gloria's voice was the first auditory hallucination my mother had ever described to me.