Tag Archives: amwriting

The Unreliable Narrator

Today, we’re going to explore one of the most intriguing storytelling techniques: the unreliable narrator. And what better way to do so than by examining a masterpiece of in deception—The Usual Suspects. By the end of this video, you’ll not only understand how to craft an unreliable narrator, but you’ll also be ready to weave a narrative so compelling, it might just be a smash hit.

1. Establish Credibility with the Audience

One of the key reasons the unreliable narrator in The Usual Suspects works so well is because of how the film establishes Verbal Kint’s credibility early on. The audience sees him as a harmless, physically weak con-man—someone who seems incapable of orchestrating the elaborate crimes described. His seemingly honest, unassuming demeanour lowers our incredulity, making us more susceptible to his lies.

For example, when Verbal relates the events of the heist and the mysterious figure of Keyser Söze, it is with a sense of awe and apprehension that seems genuine. He’s not trying to convince the police or the audience of his insight; rather, he presents himself as a survivor of a terrifying experience. This makes him relatable and trustworthy, a vital component for an unreliable narrator. Without this initial credibility, the final twist wouldn’t have nearly the same impact.

2. Use Misdirection

An unreliable narrator thrives on misdirection, guiding the audience to focus on details that seem important, but ultimately obscure the truth. The Usual Suspects succeeds because it peppers the narrative with red herrings, creating a complex web of lies that only fully unravels at the end.

Consider how Verbal introduces the idea of Keyser Söze. The story of this somewhat mythical figure is filled with enough detail to make it seem real. Yet, those details are so outrageous and dramatic that they divert suspicion away from the possibility that Verbal himself could be Söze. The audience is so busy trying to piece together the puzzle of Söze’s identity that it overlooks the inconsistencies in Verbal’s story. This misdirection is the key to keeping the audience engaged and off-balance.

“Deception in stories lies at the heart of crafting an unreliable narrator.”

3. Use the Narrator’s Perspective to Shape Reality

An unreliable narrator doesn’t simply tell a story; he or she shapes the reality within the story. This is where The Usual Suspects shines—Verbal’s narration controls what the audience sees and understands, crafting a version of reality that aligns with his deception.

Throughout the film, the scenes we witness are directly tied to Verbal’s narration. We see what he describes, but these scenes are not objective truths; they are coloured by his perspective. For example, the detailed flashbacks to the heist and the events leading up to it are presented as facts, yet these are merely fabrications designed to construct a believable narrative. The film’s cinematography supports this, blending Verbal’s words with visual cues that make his lies feel real. The audience is drawn into this constructed reality, which is essential if the final twist is to pack a punch.

4. The Power of Consistent Inconsistencies

A convincing unreliable narrator can get away with telling outrageous lies if those lies are consistent within the story’s framework. Verbal’s story contains inconsistencies, but they are subtle enough to be overlooked or explained away by the complexity of the tale.

Verbal makes seemingly insignificant mistakes like misremembering details or offering somewhat conflicting accounts of the same event. These inconsistencies are blamed on the stress or the trauma of the events he’s recounting. For instance, the coffee cup moment where Agent Kujan suddenly realises that many of the details in Verbal’s story were lifted from objects in the room is indeed a revelation. But because those inconsistencies are minor and seem unimportant, they are dismissed by Kujan and the audience. This technique keeps us hooked while also planting the seeds for the eventual twist.

5. The Climactic Revelation

The most crucial aspect of an unreliable narrator is properly managing the final revelation—the moment when the truth is unveiled, and the audience realises it has been deceived. This revelation needs to be shocking yet believable in hindsight, a feat The Usual Suspects pulls off flawlessly.

The climax, when Verbal Kint walks out of the police station, his limp disappearing, and the pieces of his deception falling into place, is a stroke of genius. The montage of the items in the office that Verbal used to fabricate his story—Kobayashi’s name, the details of the story, unfolds in quick succession, leaving both Agent Kujan and the audience stunned. This revelation is powerful because it is earned. It is the culmination of every lie, every misdirection, and every deception that came before it. We are left feeling off-balance, not just because we have been deceived, but because how brilliantly this has been done.

Summary

To write a brilliant unreliable narrator, establish his or her credibility from the start, master misdirection, use perspective to shape reality, maintain consistent inconsistencies, and deliver a climactic revelation that ties it all together.

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Crisis and Climax

Let’s talk about one of the most important ingredients in storytelling – the link between the crisis and the climax. The climax of your story is the moment everything has been leading up to, but without a well-crafted crisis, that climax might fall flat, ruining your story. In this article, we’ll explore four characteristics that will help you write the crisis and climax of your story as a unit. To illustrate, we’ll be using a popular episode from The Umbrella Academy.

1. The Ultimate Challenge

The first principle is that the crisis ought to be the ultimate challenge that your characters face. It’s the moment when they’re backed into a corner, forced to confront their deepest fears or greatest obstacles. In The Umbrella Academy, Season 2, Episode 10, The End of Something, the crisis occurs when the Hargreeves siblings face off against The Handler and the agents of the Commission. Vanya, who has struggled with controlling her powers throughout the series, is now the key to stopping the apocalypse. The crisis here is not just about fighting external enemies but also about Vanya overcoming her own inner turmoil. The ultimate challenge is clear: Can they stop the apocalypse, and can Vanya control her powers without losing herself? This crisis sets the stage for the explosive climax that follows.

2. Escalate the Stakes

The second principle is that the crisis should escalate the stakes to their highest level. Everything in the story has been building toward this moment, and the crisis is where the full weight of those stakes comes crashing down. In the same episode of The Umbrella Academy, the stakes are high indeed—if the siblings fail, the world ends. But it’s not just about saving the world; it’s also about saving each other. The crisis forces siblings to confront their own personal stakes—whether it’s Klaus grappling with his fear of leadership, or Five dealing with the consequences of his time travelling escapades. The escalation of stakes manifest in the crisis makes the subsequent climax not only necessary, but also deeply satisfying for the audience.

3. Reveal Character(s)

The third principle is that the crisis ought to reveal who your characters truly are. In moments of extreme pressure, true character is revealed. The crisis, therefore, should force your characters to make choices that show their growth—or lack of it. In The Umbrella Academy, Vanya’s decision to embrace her powers and trust her siblings is a pivotal moment of character revelation. Throughout the series, Vanya has struggled with feelings of alienation and fear of her abilities. The crisis forces her to choose: Will she continue to fear herself, or will she accept who she is and use her powers to help save the world? Her decision not only drives the climax but also completes her character arc, making the climax more impactful.

4. The Crisis and Climax should be Inseparable

The final principle ensures that the crisis and climax are so interdependent that they cannot exist without each other. The crisis catapults the story directly into the climax, with no room or time for the tension to dissipate. In The End of Something, the struggle against The Handler and the Commission flows seamlessly into the climax—Vanya’s unleashing of her full power to stop the apocalypse. The crisis and climax are inseparable; the crisis arising from whether Vanya can control her power leads directly into the climax of her having to use that power to save the world. This connection between crisis and climax keeps the audience on the edge of their seats and ensures that the climax delivers maximum emotional impact.

Summary

A good crisis leads to a great climax. Write a crisis that challenges your characters, escalates the stakes, reveals their true selves, and flows seamlessly into the climax to create a story that resonates with your audience. The Umbrella Academy shows mastery of this dynamic, with a crisis that leads to an unforgettable climax.

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The Central Speech

Today we’re exploring a fascinating storytelling technique – the central speech that reveals who a character, whether its the protagonist or antagonist, truly is. This isn’t just any speech—it’s a moment that drills down to the core of your character, not only through the words spoken but also through the subtext, the gaps, and the delivery. And to illustrate this, let’s look at one of the most iconic speeches in film history: Colonel Jessup’s ‘You can’t handle the truth!’ from A Few Good Men.

The film is a courtroom drama that builds up to a climactic moment where Tom Cruise’s character, Lt. Daniel Kaffee, confronts Colonel Nathan Jessup, played by Jack Nicholson. Kaffee’s been trying to uncover the truth behind the death of a Marine, and Jessup’s testimony is crucial. In a high-tension exchange, Jessup explodes with the now-famous line, ‘You can’t handle the truth!’ But this outburst is more than just a memorable quote—it’s a window into Jessup’s character and the film’s central themes. So let’s break down what this speech reveals and how it uses camouflaged exposition to do so.

1. The Words Reveal the Character’s Philosophy

Firstly, let’s talk about the obvious: the words themselves. Jessup’s speech lays bare his worldview—a harsh, unapologetic belief in the necessity of tough decisions to maintain order. He believes in a clear, almost brutal hierarchy where the ends justify the means. When he says, ‘You can’t handle the truth,’ he’s not just addressing Kaffee, but the entire system that he feels doesn’t understand the brutal realities of the world he operates in. Jessup sees himself as the protector of a fragile society, doing what others can’t or won’t do. Through his words, the audience gets a direct insight into his moral code, which, while twisted, is internally consistent. This is crucial for any central speech—use it to reveal the protagonist’s, or in this case, the antagonist’s, core beliefs.

2. Subtext: What’s Left Unsaid

But a powerful speech isn’t just about what’s said—it’s also about what’s left unsaid. Jessup’s speech is full of subtext. He talks about defending the country, but there’s an undercurrent of disdain for those who question his methods. His words suggest that he feels underappreciated, even persecuted, for the sacrifices he believes he’s made. The subtext here is a mix of arrogance and resentment, emotions that are only hinted at but never fully expressed. This is a great example of camouflaged exposition—where the true feelings of a character are conveyed between the lines. When writing your own central speech, think about what your character might be holding back. What emotions or thoughts are they struggling to keep under control? That tension adds depth and intrigue.

”The truth? You can’t handle the truth!”

3. Delivery and Demeanour

Now, let’s talk about the delivery. Jessup’s words are powerful, but it’s Nicholson’s performance that makes them unforgettable. His calm, almost condescending tone at the start contrasts sharply with the explosive anger that follows. His demeanor is a mix of controlled authority and barely-contained fury. This change in tone reflects the internal conflict within Jessup—he’s a man who believes in his own righteousness but is also deeply frustrated by those who challenge him. The way characters deliver their speech reveals the hidden layers of personality—are they calm and collected, or do they crack under pressure? Are they confident, or is their bravado a cover for insecurity? In your own writing, consider how the manner in which a speech is delivered can convey more about what is meant rather than what the words denote on the surface.

4. The Reaction of Others

Lastly, let’s not stress the importance of the other characters’ reactions. In A Few Good Men, the reactions of the courtroom—especially Kaffee—are crucial to understanding Jessup’s speech. Kaffee’s shock and determination show that he’s not cowed by Jessup’s tirade, but instead, he’s motivated to dig even deeper. The audience sees Jessup as powerful, but also as someone who’s finally been cornered. The reactions of others in the scene help to highlight the true nature of the protagonist—whether it’s the protagonist themselves delivering the speech, or someone else reacting to it. When you’re writing a central speech in your story, think about how other characters will respond. Their reactions can reinforce or contradict what the protagonist is saying, adding another layer of complexity to the scene.

Summary

So, there you have it, four key points on how a central speech can reveal who your character really is. Remember: it’s not just about the words, but also about their subtext, their delivery, and the reactions of those around them.

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Does your writing jump off the page?

Superlative writing in The Spire. — Superlative writing in *The Spire*.

How do we express our stories in language that is powerful, evocative, and captivating? How do we come up with those turns of phrase, descriptions, dialogue, and insights that readers will remember long after the story has ended?

So much goes into crafting a memorable story. Some aspects are initially hidden from view and only emerge as the story progresses—solid structure, vibrant characters, theme, setting, pace, voice, mood, and insight.

Others, such as striking physical and psychological descriptions, memorable smilies and metaphors, and word choice, however, are immediately apparent.

A good writer knows when to dazzle us with exotic and colourful words and when to use a more subtle vocabulary in order to let something else shine through. A gifted writer is like a gifted conductor, painter or sculptor—colouring and molding every detail to a greater purpose—now drawing our attention to one aspect, now to another.

Today I want to point to what is perhaps the easiest skill to spot—the accomplished use of language.

Examples in stories are as innumerable as they are varied, so my brief selection is personal.

Here is the opening paragraph of The Spire by William Golding, a story about how a man’s obsession leads to destruction. Dean Jocelyn, the Dean of his cathedral, is obsessed with building a four hundred foot tall spire. The result is that he bankrupts his church, alienates his brethren and pressures the master builder to continue the folly, with devastating consequences. But the start of it all seems bright and auspicious:

“He was laughing, chin up, and shaking his head. God the Father was exploding in his face with a glory of sunlight through painted glass, a glory that moved with his movements to consume and exalt Abraham and Isaac and then God again. The tears of laughter in his eyes made additional spokes and wheels and rainbows.”

Words such as ‘laughing, chin up’, ‘God…exploding in his face…glory of sunlight…’ exhibit Jocelyn’s almost maniacal joy stemming from his impossible project. The last line of the paragraph, however, hints at the hallucinatory, deluded nature of his vision: ‘The tears of laughter in his eyes made additional spokes and wheels and rainbows.’ Jocelyn sees the world, in other words, through the subjective prism of his obsession, and this distorts his judgment. This distortion is hinted at by the line: ‘… adding additional spokes and wheels and rainbows’ to his vision.

”You should strive to achieve writing that jumps of the page.”

Next, here are some arresting lines from Paul Harding’s first novel, Tinkers, which won the Pulitzer for literature in 2010. There is something magical about Harding’s use of language that transcends space and time and makes it truly universal. He starts his book with the lines:

“GEORGE WASHINGTON CROSBY BEGAN TO hallucinate eight days before he died. From the rented hospital bed, placed in the middle of his own living room, he saw insects running in and out of imaginary cracks in the ceiling plaster.”

A little later, Harding gives us this surreal description of Gorge’s world tearing open, as he prepares for death.

“The roof collapsed, sending down a fresh avalanche of wood and nails, tar paper and shingles and insulation. There was the sky, filled with flat-topped clouds, cruising like a fleet of anvils across the blue. George had the watery, raw feeling of being outdoors when you are sick. The clouds halted, paused for an instant, and plummeted onto his head. The very blue of the sky followed, draining from the heights into that cluttered concrete socket. Next fell the stars, tinkling about him like the ornaments of heaven shaken loose. Finally, the black vastation itself came untacked and draped over the entire heap, covering George’s confused obliteration.”

This language, dealing with the characters approaching death, is evocative, poetic, almost hallucinatory, yet concrete. How can we not want to know more?

In my own novella, The Nostalgia of Time Travel, the protagonist, a physicist, named Benjamin Vlahos, agonises over his failure to travel back in time in order to correct an error he committed that cost his wife her life. His pained state of mind is conveyed to the reader through metaphors and concrete language:

“Sometimes, I wonder what it must be like to be a subatomic particle existing for the briefest of moments; all the joy and pain of birth and death compressed between the two staccato ticks of that relentless hand. At other times I imagine a scaled-down version of myself, living on the surface of the watch, fighting against the perpetual ticking of that fearsome engine. I imagine gripping the watch’s hands in my bleeding fists, my arms extended, my body and head thrust forward, my legs bent and wide apart, until I stop the hands from ticking, and force them back, back to that moment on the Sydney pier when I stopped to buy my last pack of cigarettes, while Miranda stood on the pavement smiling brightly back at me.”

Words such as ‘joy and pain’, ’fearsome engine’, ’bleeding fists’, and ‘body and head thrust forward’, and ‘bleeding’ paint an almost heroic struggle against the effects of time. Ultimately, Benjamin, despite being a theoretical physicist, opts for art, not science, to come to terms with his pain, guilt and loss. This realisation is compressed into a series of simple questions:

“Isn’t everything worth knowing squeezed inside the kernel of a story? All that’s ever been written, sang and spoken, pressed into a single pearl? The story is our raft when old age casts us out to sea; the logs are the memories, the ropes are the love and kindness we have shared. Can my equations ever be that?”

Here, the significance of the stories we tell ourselves to make sense of our lives, is suggested as being something precious, like a pearl. But like a pearl, which grows from a grain of sand in the flesh of the oyster, wisdom grows through effort and pain—caused by a life which has cast us out to sea.

Despite our competing narratives and cultures, our disagreements over who is right and who is wrong, the story is our raft, our only hope for survival as a species—if only we could let love and kindness bind us all together. We are, after all, a resilient species that keeps trying to get things right, despite our failures.

I’ll end with this hopeful, last paragraph from Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby:

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter — tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… And one fine morning — So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

Summary
Use evocative, memorable language in your writing, including apt figures of speech to convey the powerful insights and wisdom in your stories. Your writing will be better for it.

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The where and when of your story

Where and when in The Orient Express — Where and when in *Murder On The Orient Express*

Today we’re examining a pivotal aspect of storytelling: Where and when should you start your story? This decision can make or break a narrative, but lacks a single, one-size-fits-all answer. This is because it largely depends on the genre you’re working in. Let’s examine how different genres dictate the starting point of a story and how you can use this knowledge to help you write compelling openings.

1. Mystery/Thriller

In mystery and thriller genres, the start of your story often hinges on creating immediate tension and intrigue.

Take Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express. Christie begins with the protagonist, Hercule Poirot, already on a journey. We meet him in the middle of an ongoing investigation, with the mystery beginning to unfold almost immediately. The crime, the murder, is presented right at the start, and Poirot’s investigation kicks off right from the get-go. This approach ensures that readers are hooked by the central conflict and compelled to uncover the truth alongside the detective.

In David Fincher’s film Se7en, the story begins with a grungy, tense atmosphere and a murder investigation in progress. The opening scene’s stark, disturbing imagery sets a dark tone and immediately immerses viewers into the disturbing world of the film. By starting with a grim crime scene, the audience is thrust into the narrative’s central conflict and themes of morality and justice.

2. Science Fiction

Science fiction often benefits from world-building, so starting the story in a way that introduces the audience to a unique, speculative universe is important.

Frank Herbert’s Dune begins with Paul Atreides arriving on the desert planet Arrakis. The story immerses the reader in the complex socio-political landscape and the planet’s harsh environment from the outset. This setup is crucial because the setting is integral to the plot and the conflicts that follow.

”Where and when does your story start? And how does genre affect these choices? You need to know.”

In Ridley Scott’s film Blade Runner, the story begins with a visually stunning depiction of a dystopian future, setting the tone and establishing the world’s rules and norms. This method helps viewers quickly adapt to the futuristic setting and understand the high stakes and underlying issues of the story.

3. Fantasy

Fantasy genres often begin with a prologue or an inciting incident that introduces the reader to an expansive, imaginative world.

J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit starts with Bilbo Baggins in his comfortable hobbit hole, but the inciting incident—the unexpected arrival of Gandalf and the dwarves—kicks off the adventure. This method effectively transitions the reader from a familiar setting into a world of epic quests and magical adventures.

Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring begins with the Shire and the everyday life of Frodo, but quickly introduces the One Ring and the looming threat of Sauron. The contrast between the serene Shire and the ominous danger establishes the stakes and sets the tone for the epic journey that lies ahead.

4. Romance

In romance, a focus on the relationship between characters at the start often proves effective in engaging the audience.

Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice opens with a snapshot of societal expectations and the Bennet family’s situation. It quickly establishes the central tension regarding marriage and social status, setting the stage for the romantic entanglements and character dynamics that drive the story.

In the film Notting Hill, the story starts with a charming and relatable scene in a bookshop, immediately establishing the protagonist’s ordinary life and his aspirations. This approach pulls the audience into the romantic possibilities that will unfold as the story progresses.

5. Historical Fiction

Historical fiction often starts by immersing the reader in a specific time period, sometimes with a historical event or a character’s life set against the backdrop of history.

Ken Follett’s The Pillars of the Earth commences with the construction of a cathedral in 12th-century England. The novel begins by setting up the historical and social context of the era, which is crucial for understanding the characters’ motivations and the story’s conflicts.

In Steven Spielberg’s film Saving Private Ryan, the story begins with a dramatic and authentic portrayal of the D-Day landings during World War II. This immediate plunge into an historical event not only sets the stage for the film’s core mission, but also captures the gravity and stakes of the times.

Summary

When determining where and when to start your story, then, consider the demands and conventions of your genre. For mysteries, plunge straight into the action or the central mystery. In science fiction, introduce the story world early on. Fantasy may benefit from a prologue, or an early hint of the epic journey ahead. Romance ought spotlight the relationship dynamics from the start, and historical fiction needs to ground readers in the time period.

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Start your stories just so!

The Picture of Dorian Gray: Story Starts — The Picture of Dorian Gray: A Story Start

Today, we explore what makes a story start truly captivating, be it a single sentence or paragraph. We’ll discuss five powerful ways famous writers have used to craft openings which have grabbed and kept readers’ attention. We’ll look at five novels that are not under copyright. So, grab your notebooks, tablets or smartphones and let’s get writing!

1. Set the Tone

The first thing an opening must do is set the tone of the story. Whether it’s dark and mysterious, light and humorous, or somewhere in between, the tone sets the stage for what’s to come.

Let’s start with Jane Austen’s opening of Pride and Prejudice: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

In this single sentence, Austen sets a tone that is both satirical and witty. We immediately sense the social commentary and humour that will pervade the novel. The formal, almost pompous, language hints at the societal norms and expectations the characters will be dealing with.

2. Introduce a Compelling Voice

Next, an opening paragraph should introduce a compelling voice. The narrative voice is our guide through the story, and it needs to be engaging from the get-go.

Consider the opening sentence of Moby-Dick, by Herman Melville: “Call me Ishmael.”

This simple, direct statement instantly pulls us in. The brevity and mystery of this sentence make us want to know more about Ishmael and why he is inviting us to call him by this name. The voice is intriguing, hinting at a deeper story waiting to be unraveled.

3. Establish a Sense of Intrigue

An effective opening paragraph should create a sense of intrigue, making the reader curious about what happens next.

Look at the opening of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: A Scandal in Bohemia, by Arthur Conan Doyle: “To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name.”

This opening piques our curiosity. Who is this woman? Why is she so significant to Sherlock Holmes? The mystery and the hint of a deeper backstory immediately engage the reader.

“Five ways to start your stories that will have your readers wanting to read more.”

4. Introduce the Mood or Main Character Right Away

Introducing the main character or the mood early on helps readers connect with the story.

Here’s the opening of The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde: “The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.”

Though the main character isn’t named immediately, the vivid description sets the scene for Dorian Gray’s world. The lush, almost overwhelming sensory details, suggest a character who is immersed in beauty and luxury, evoking the themes of aestheticism and excess.

5. Set Up the Central Conflict

Lastly, an opening paragraph should hint at or set up the central conflict of the story.

Consider the opening of Dracula by Bram Stoker: “Left Munich at 8:35 p.m., on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour late.”

While this opening seems mundane, it sets up the journey and the sense of forthcoming adventure. The details of travel establish a sense of place and time, while the diary format hints at personal experiences that will unfold, leading to the central conflict involving Dracula.

Summary

This article highlights five types of story start which will help your openings grab your readers’ attention and keep it there: establishing tone, introducing a compelling voice, creating a sense of intrigue, introducing the main character, and setting up the central conflict.

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How to Write the Character Flaw.

Unfettered ambition - the flaw that ruins Macbeth — Unfettered ambition – the flaw that ruins Macbeth

What is a character flaw, and how do we write it?

One way to think of it is as a glitch in our character’s internal makeup that affects his/her interaction with the world. In trying to hide or suppress this glitch, the character engages in an inner and outer struggle, which drives the story forward.

A character flaw may be born out of an internal cause, such as an emotional scar from the past, or an external one, such as an illness or a physical defect (which, in turn, creates a psychological response). It can manifest as an inability to trust others, a need to control or manipulate others, or a particular prejudice.

Flaws that generate internal and external conflict make for interesting stories that resonate with readers and audiences.

Some of the best stories have revolved around the protagonist’s desire to conceal or overcome a flaw. In Shakespeare’s Macbeth, the Thane’s latent desire to be king is brought to the surface by various external forces, such as the three witches and his manipulating and ambitious wife, while in Othello, the Moor’s insane jealousy and distrust of his innocent spouse, Desdemona, results in his murdering her.

“A flaw creates inner conflict in the protagonist, which causes as outer conflict. Additionally, it is a powerful generator of subtext in a story.”

A flaw generates questions about the story: What lies and obfuscations has the character created to conceal his flaw? How has the flaw shaped the fears, aspirations, and foibles of this character? And, crucially, what influence does the flaw exert over each of the major decision/action points in the story—the inciting incident, the first and second turning point, as well as the mid-point, and climax?

Above all, a well-designed flaw allows for the synching up of the internal and external aspects of the Hero’s journey through the link of cause and effect, and as such, is one of the most useful techniques to master. It is often the “why” to the story’s “what”.

In The Matrix Neo’s inner journey is to accept his role as The One. His outer goal is to defeat Agent Smith and the machine world, something that can only occur when he achieves the inner goal of moving from a lack of self-belief (flaw) to one of belief.

This inner journey defines Neo’s character arc, influencing each major action in the story. It helps to shape the narrative as a whole. Additionally, it ties into the notion of want vs. need that I examined in an earlier post, by contrasting the external (want), to the internal (need).

Summary

A character flaw filters a protagonist’s responses. It helps to explain the true psychological motivation behind the character’s actions.

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Attitudes and Demeanour in Stories

The Sopranos: Character Attitudes — The Sopranos: Poker, Character Attitudes and Demeanour

How do character attitudes and demeanour, as well as reflexes and dialogue, support the authenticity of a scene? Let’s take a closer look!

As writers we sometimes concentrate on the events and actions that make up our stories without, perhaps, paying as much attention to the subtext that attitudes and demeanour, as well as ‘voice’, contribute to a scene.

The decision of Jackie Jr. to rob Eugene’s poker game, for example, demonstrates his reckless nature and his need for recognition. He is impulsive and easily influenced, as demonstrated by his decision to initiate the heist after Ralphie tells them how Tony and Jackie’s father gained their reputation for a similar heist. However, when the situation escalates and violence erupts, Jackie Jr. panics, leading to disastrous consequences. He comes across as nervous and out of his depth, and his impulsively shooting Sunshine and fleeing the scene betrays his lack of maturity and inability to handle high-pressure situations.

Carlo and Dino: Like Jackie Jr., Carlo and Dino are portrayed as young, inexperienced, jittery, and easily swayed by the allure of criminal activity. Their involvement in the robbery highlights their willingness to take risks and their desire for status within the criminal underworld, but their poor judgement, their lack of foresight and experience gets them killed.

“Attitudes, demeanour and reflexes contribute to the subtextual density of the characters in your stories.”

Sunshine: Sunshine’s heckling of the would-be robbers, on the other hand, showcases his confidence, his defiance, and his refusal to be intimidated, even at the point of a gun. This is a man who has seen it all before and his demeanour shows it. His refusal to comply with the demands of the robbers ultimately leads to his demise. Sunshine’s character serves as a foil to the impulsive and inexperienced robbers, highlighting the consequences of underestimating one’s adversaries.

Furio: Furio’s nervous response to the robbers is to ‘take it easy’. Furio, who is an import from the mother country, is perhaps the least assured of the New Jersey-hardened mobsters. He ends up getting shot in the leg.

Matush: Matush’s decision to flee, abandoning his accomplices, underscores the theme of betrayal and self-preservation prevalent throughout the series. His panic highlights the fragile alliances and loyalty within the criminal underworld.

Christopher and Albert: Christopher and Albert’s response to the failed robbery demonstrates their self-assurance, authority and willingness to enforce consequences for disobedience and incompetence. They execute Dino outside. Christopher angrily informs the reluctant Tony about the need to kill Jackie Jr. This underscores the ruthless nature of their profession and the importance of sending a signal to their enemies to avoid being seen as weak.

For writers, this scene offers valuable insights into character response, conflict resolution, and the consequences of impulsive decisions. By understanding the different attitudes, reflexes and general demeanour of characters under pressure, we can create more nuanced and realistic portrayals of them and the worlds they inhabit. Additionally, the scene highlights how tension and high stakes may unleash catastrophic results, keeping audiences engaged.

Summary

Concentrate on your characters’ attitudes, demeanour and reflexes under pressure to achieve a nuanced and realistic portrayal of story events.

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Dreams in Stories

In storytelling, dreams function as powerful tools that explore mysteries, characters’ psyches, and blur the lines between reality and imagination. The Test Dream (S5 E11) from The Sopranos masterfully exemplifies this narrative technique, showcasing how dreams can be utilised to deepen the narrative and expose hidden truths. Here are five points elucidating the significance of dreams in storytelling, supported by specific examples from this ambitious episode:

The gist of the episode features Tony’s problems emanating from his affairs, the problems they have wrought on his marriage, and a dream that reveals the assassination of mob members that can lead to a full-scale war. This hints at the prophetic, poetic power of dreams.

Exploring Subconscious Desires and Fears: Dreams provide a stage on which to act out the subconscious desires, premonitions, and the fears of characters. In The Test Dream, Tony’s dream sequences offer glimpses into his deepest anxieties and desires. For instance, his dream interactions with deceased characters like Gloria Trillo and his cousin Tony Blundetto reveal unresolved guilt and trauma. These encounters reflect Tony’s subconscious grappling with the consequences of his actions and the weight of his wrongdoing, adding depth to his character.

Symbolism and Metaphor: Dreams are laden with symbolism and metaphor. Freud and Jung spend their entire lives studying them. Dreams allow writers to convey complex themes sub-textually, in poetic and abstract ways. In the episode, recurring motifs such as the horse symbolise Tony’s problems with his marriage, self-control and self-worth. The surreal imagery of riding a horse through his living room serves as a metaphor for Tony’s attempt to navigate, with grace and authority, an increasingly chaotic life littered with affairs and criminal associations.

”Effectively using dreams in your stories will imbue your tales with a poetic dimension.”

Blurring Reality and Fantasy: Dream sequences blur the lines between reality and fantasy, challenging the audience’s perception of what is real. The Test Dream dives into Tony’s subconscious world, creating a sense of disorientation, forcing us to try and make sense of what we are seeing. The blending of subconscious experience drawn from the materials from Tony’s life is juxtaposed against the fluid nature of dreams, where logic and coherence give way to surrealism and randomness, yet still manage to convey significance.

Foreshadowing and Revelation: Dreams can also foreshadow future events or reveal hidden truths that characters may not consciously acknowledge. In this episode Tony’s dream encounters with Annette Bening and deceased Detective Vin Makazian, Finn’s mother and father, and other deceased characters, foreshadow Tony B’s murder of Billy Leotardo and wounding of Phil because they murdered Angelo, Tony B’s former cell mate. These surreal encounters serve as harbingers of the challenges, assignations, and persistent conflicts that await Tony in the waking world.

Narrative Innovation and Artistry: Dream sequences offer opportunities for narrative innovation and artistic expression. The Test Dream is a proof of the creative possibilities of dream storytelling, with its inventive visuals, surreal imagery, unconventional narrative structure, and its inclusion of cultural references such as Chinatown, The Godfather, The Valachi Papers, Scrooge, and many, many more. Matthew Weiner and David Chase’s writing and the cast’s performances elevate the dream sequences from fanciful plot devices to evocative and poetic explorations of symbolism, character and theme. The result is a story that rises above its denotative dimension, lifted by its connotative, multi-layered wings.

Summary

Dreams enrich storytelling by dipping into the characters’ subconscious, employing symbols and metaphors, blurring reality and fantasy, foreshadowing future events, and showcasing the poetic dimension inherent in narrative innovation.

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Foreshadowing your way to writing success

What is foreshadowing and how does it help you write engaging stories? Let’s find out!

Foreshadowing is the skill of preparing readers or audiences to consciously or unconsciously accept the actions and events that will unfold later in a story. There are two main types of foreshadowing: Direct, where clues are openly laid out for all to see, and Indirect or subtle, where the clues are subtly hidden a little deeper into the narrative. In terms of writing skill, foreshadowing often increases the sense unity in a story by tying together seemingly unconnected actions, events, or objects across narrative time.

Let’s say, as in the case of subtle foreshadowing, that the audience has unconsciously noticed something earlier in the story, but not paid much attention to it, only to have it suddenly snap into place a little later as something which makes sense of a current narrative event. This acts as a bridge across time, creating a sense of fullness and unity in the mind of the audience.

In Stanley Kubrick’s adaptation of Stephen King’s The Shining, we are presented with a masterclass in the use of foreshadowing. Firstly, let’s examine a couple of examples of direct foreshadowing from the film.

Direct Foreshadowing: There will be blood!

Direct foreshadowing places the audience in a heightened state of anticipation: The tsunami of blood in the elevator serves as a visceral example of direct foreshadowing. It leaves no room for misinterpretation, foretelling the horror and violence that will soon consume the Torrence family. This sequence represents the evil that Danny has foreseen—rooted in the hotel’s cruel history. (Tony, Danny’s alter ego, reveals to Danny that he doesn’t want to go to the hotel). The obvious suggestion is that more blood will be shed.

”Direct foreshadowing immediately reveals the dangers or challenges faced by the character(s) .”

Here’s another example of direct foreshadowing: The hotel manager tells Jack that a previous caretaker, Charles Grady, killed his wife, two young daughters and himself at the hotel a decade prior, but it his duty to tell Jack about the event. The not-so-subtle hint to the audience is that Jack will do the same to his own family.

Subtle foreshadowing: Watch now, understand later

But it is subtle foreshadowing that truly helps to distinguish The Shining. While it works together with direct foreshadowing, subtle foreshadowing acts under the surface, building up a sense of unease that we can’t put our finger on. It trades the predictability of direct foreshadowing for a creeping anxiety that is only released in moments of revelation when the audience puts things together.

As the Torrance family arrives at the Overlook Hotel, for example, we catch a brief glimpse of the hedge maze from an aerial shot. This seemingly innocuous detail plants the seed of the maze’s significance as a symbol of the psychological labyrinth that will ensnare Jack Torrance and his family. But whereas Jack will become lost in the maze,, Danny will escape it. This is hinted at through the ease with which Danny navigates the labyrinth-like spaces of the hotel on his tricycle. The motif is re-iterated through the maze pattern on the carpets of the corridors.

Another example of subtle foreshadowing occurs when Danny’s mother takes the boy on a tour of the ground’s hedge maze, while inside the Overlook Hotel, Jack stoops over a model of the labyrinth, watching wickedly from above. Ironically the walk-through helps Danny to find his way out later when he is stalked by his axe-wielding father.

Jack himself is also the vehicle for plenty of foreshadowing: His slow descend into madness, for example, is hinted at by his repetitive typing of “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” This mindless activity provides a snapshot of his unraveling psyche.

Additionally, during a conversation between Jack and Lloyd the bartender, Jack’s preference for bourbon on the rocks seems innocuous at first. However, it subtly hints at Jack’s impending lapse into alcoholism which had once caused him to break Danny’s arm while drunk. This vulnerability will later be exploited by the malevolent forces within the hotel.

Mirror mirror on the wall

The use of mirrors in cinema often points to fractured psyches and altered realities. Mirrors hint at the existence of worlds within worlds, worlds where horrors lurk beneath the normal and the ordinary. But what they reveal may also serve as a warning to those who are able to interpret them correctly through their ability to shine.

”To subtly foreshadow events push them under the surface of the scene, allowing them to build up the sense of unease in the minds of your readers and audience.”

The eerie appearance of the twins to Danny at the start, serves to foreshadow the growing emergence of the supernatural forces at play within the hotel—setting the stage for the chilling events that will unfold.

Examples such as these, then, demonstrate the ability of foreshadowing, whether direct or subtle, to prepare audiences for forthcoming events.

Summary

Foreshadowing can be direct or indirect. Both add to story unity. Direct foreshadowing creates immediate anticipation, while indirect or subtle foreshadowing creates ah-ha moments later in the story where actions, objects or events suddenly snap into place.

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