From time to time, people ask me for information on how to outline a plot. “How,” they ask, “do you know what should come first? Then what do you do?”
The answer can be hard to express. Replying, “I just know,” doesn’t seem to be an adequate response. Yet my story sense is such an intrinsic part of me I might as well be asked how I breathe. (I flare my nostrils and inhale. I relax my nostrils and exhale. Repeat.) Accordingly, I think about my protagonist and she comes to life, walking and talking and twisting her wheat-blonde hair around her finger while she ponders.
However, laying aside the temptation to be snarky or facetious, what can I suggest to people who have only nebulous notions of what might happen in their story and simply can’t get started? They sort of know where they want to go, but they don’t have a golden ticket that will take them there.
I always refer to my training in Professional Writing at the University of Oklahoma: Start with your protagonist in trouble.
In return, I’m given a blank, somewhat glassy stare. “Like what? What kind of trouble?”
Even in a buffet line, you start at one end or the other. Pick up a plate and decide if you’re beginning with salad or dessert. That’s your preference. Have you some idea of how you want to open your story? Do you have an ending in mind?
“No. I can’t decide. I’m stuck. I need to write this, but I can’t get started at all!”
Well, I prefer to start plot development at the beginning. Let’s do that. “What is your setting?”
“Uh … France or Italy. Yeah, I want to write a novel like UNDER THE TUSCAN SUN. I loved it! It’s my favorite novel.”
First and foremost and finally, that book–albeit delightful–is not a novel. I begin to understand why my questioner is having trouble cooking up a plot.
Fiction is not an assemblage of facts. It is not an autobiographical memoir. It is not a report. A story is a breathing, organic progression of change or growth within a central character due to direct antagonism.
I try again. “So your protagonist will be in France or will travel to France?”
“Right. I want him to go there, to search for information about his grandmother.”
Okay, this is better. We now have a nugget to work from. “Why?” I ask.
Another glassy stare as though why should I expect reasons. “I don’t understand.”
“Why does your character want to learn about his grandmother? Did he know her? Did he ever visit her? What was special about her?”
A spark of excitement ignites, replacing the lost look of bafflement. “He never met her. He just heard stories about her from his mom. Now she’s dead and his mom’s dead, so he wants to go there and learn more.” A long pause. “And maybe he read some of her letters to his mom. Now he’s curious.”
Sweet, I think, but not enough. In commercial fiction, we need stronger reasons than this to propel story people into action.
My questioner, perhaps sensing how dubious I am, blurts out, “I want it to be a mystery!”
It’s my turn to blink. I inhale–long and deeply. “What crime will be at the center of your story, then?”
“Crime? Can’t he just talk to cousins or something? Maybe learn about his granny and what she did in the second world war?”
“A mystery needs a crime.” Oh please study a genre before you choose it. Oh please read several mysteries so you have some knowledge of their tropes before you plot or write. “Did she commit a crime? Did she hide a killer or an enemy soldier? Did she have secrets? What was she concealing? Why is it necessary now for your protagonist to bring all this to light? Who would want him to leave things alone?”
“A cousin, I guess. Maybe his uncle?”
I’m growing weary. I feel like a professional dancer on DANCING WITH THE STARS assigned to partner a celebrity with two left feet and no sense of musical timing. My toes hurt, and so far we haven’t taken a step.
For solace, I think again of my training. “How can you get your protagonist in trouble from the beginning?”
“Oh, I’ve thought of that! He’ll catch COVID on the plane to Paris.”
“No. No. No.”
“But that’s exciting. That’s a lot of trouble. And while he’s in quarantine, he’ll overhear a couple of nurses talking about the village where Granny lived. He’ll get some information on how to find it.”
Somehow I swallow the acerbic remark that all he has to do is rent a Citroen and use his phone’s GPS. I am here to help, not crush.
“In fiction,” I explain, “there needs to be a compelling reason for your protagonist to unlock Granny’s secrets now. Those secrets need to be exciting. If you’re writing a mystery, they need to be dangerous and best left alone, only your protagonist can’t avoid probing into Granny’s past. Who wants to keep Granny’s secrets buried? Who will strike against your protagonist to stop him from asking questions?”
“So can he still catch COVID? ‘Cause I think that will create complications for him plus give him a reason to meet this cute nurse. They can become romantic later.”
Again, I reach for patience. “How will that tie into your mystery plot?”
“Does it have to? I mean, the nurse comes from the village where Granny lives, so isn’t that a connection?”
***
I’m going to stop this example here before my brain explodes. Even this imaginary invention of a conversation with someone who doesn’t know how to plot makes my blood pressure rise.
There’s nothing wrong with not knowing how to start. There’s nothing wrong with making mistakes or asking questions. How else can you learn? At some point, however, you must follow instructions even if you wobble. Stop saying or thinking, I can’t, and just do what the directions tell you to do.
Here, therefore, is a short schematic of how to organize your idea into a step-by-step progression of plot events from start to finish.
Step 1: Start with a dramatic problem for your protagonist, something that can’t be ignored, something that changes your protagonist’s life or circumstances suddenly and drastically. This shouldn’t be random or disconnected from all that will follow in the story. Therefore, COVID as an opening problem works only if your story is about someone coping with that or dealing with the aftermath of losing a spouse/family member to the disease and the fallout thereafter.
The opening problem should connect to your intended story. It should have consequences that lead the protagonist on a road toward solving that opening problem.
Step 2: Give your protagonist a chance to process this sudden problem and then decide on attempts to solve it.
Example: perhaps your protagonist’s brother dies in a freak accident. Protagonist deals with the grief and funeral in about three paragraphs of summary and then the attorney says, “Come by my office in the morning because we need to talk about a situation with your brother’s business.”
When the protagonist gets there, he learns his brother was losing money heavily for no apparent reason. Perhaps there’s been an ongoing police investigation for fraud. Protagonist next goes to the factory, meets staff. Some are weepy and shocked. Others are belligerent and obstructive. Protagonist digs into records and finds discrepancies.
Step 3: Consider who in this story world would want to keep the truth concealed. Who in this story world wants to stop protagonist from discovering brother’s secrets? Brother had an ally who is involved in the illegal activity. Who is this villain? Was the villain responsible for brother’s death? Was it murder instead of an accident? How does protagonist’s probing threaten villain?
Step 4: Have villain move against protagonist either directly or through other characters. Anything they do will only intensify protagonist’s suspicions, so he won’t stop investigating. That, in turn, drives the villain(s) to attempt an “accident” for him. Protagonist barely escapes. What, now, can he do to retaliate?
Step 5: As protagonist and villain clash and maneuver against each other in a series of escalating confrontations of conflict, how is the protagonist being changed? What is the protagonist learning about himself in this process of ongoing trouble?
Step 6: Protagonist and villain will come together in a showdown that resolves the problem. Who wins? Who loses? Can the protagonist prevail and stop the villain? Can the villain be brought to justice? Yes or no. The end.
Granted, these few steps are greatly simplified, but plot doesn’t have to be complicated to be effective. It should be easily understood and easily followed.
Keep things simple. Keep things happening. Keep trouble intense.
Don’t let protagonist sit in a chair and contemplate the sunset. Don’t meander with random, disconnected incidents strung together. Follow writing principles and, more importantly, trust them.
This is how you move a nebulous idea into a cohesive plot.