Authenticity vs. Outline
By Donald Maass | May 2, 2018 |
Have you ever had a character take over? I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s a commonly reported phenomenon: My protagonist wouldn’t listen! She did what she wanted to do, not what I wanted her to do! That can be a good quality. Acting in ways honest and human is what psychologists—and literary critics—call being authentic.
Realism is necessary in order for readers to participate in a character’s story, experiencing it “as if” it is their own experience. By contrast, poor motivation and forced actions create stories that aren’t believable. We groan and roll our eyes. Inauthentic characters—what WU contributor David Corbett calls Plot Puppets—may obey their authors and fulfill the requirements of plot but do not connect with readers.
On the other hand, plot is important. For story to be satisfying, things must necessarily go a certain way. Stories impose on characters’ problems beyond the ordinary and complications more plentiful than we readers endure even on our worst days. Protagonists must make mistakes, do wrong, be shadowed by past shames, and have flaws to overcome. Where we may avoid our own ugliness, protagonists must face it. Where we may dawdle, delay and avoid what is difficult or unpleasant, protagonists must act.
Plot is the author’s design. It not only enacts the author’s intention but illustrates the author’s point. Without it characters can chase their own shadows. Stories without a strong design can feel realistic yet without force. Without an author’s strong hand on the wheel characters can race around in circles, their stories becoming self-indulgent, stuck in low gear.
How, then, does authorial design dovetail with characters’ free will? Who really is, and should be, in charge? Is there a balance of power? Are the realms of authority, perhaps, in which the author imposes conditions and throws events at protagonists while protagonists for their part respond naturally and humanly? Authors are in charge of what’s big; character are in charge of what’s small?
Is an author God? Do characters exist mainly to be tested? Or, is it the reverse? Should authors think of stories arising mainly from frail characters’ hidden needs? Is outward plot most effective when it’s a reflection of an inner journey? What comes first, the arc or the covenant?
Does it depend on the type of story you’re telling? Are thrillers licensed to plot, while women’s fiction flows with the human heart? Are the plot patterns of timeless storytelling in conflict with our modern yearning for connection? Are outline and authenticity in permanent opposition, the yin and yang of storytelling?
I believe it’s unhelpful to think of it that way. Storytellers don’t have to choose. Authenticity and outline may not only co-exist, they can be polymer-bonded and become a material stronger then either one is alone. The bonding happens inside the storyteller. When story intention and compassion for characters are fused a story can have both a steel skeleton and a heart that we feel hammering as hard as our own.
How is that effect achieved? The solution involves transforming yourself into both Story God and the Story God’s subject. The Story God is wrathful and compassionate; by turns gracious or harsh. The Story’s God’s subject—your protagonist—is flawed but defiant, sunk by human need but lifted by divine-given strength. Let’s practice.
First, become your protagonist and write your response to these prompts:
- What past hurt drives you? Why do you do this over that? Choose this person over that one? How do you avoid pain? How do you act out, cycling through past trauma?
- In the story span becoming available to you, what do you most want to do? What are you good at? What tempts you too easily? What line will you never cross? What do hope you will never be called upon to do? At what are you certain you would fail?
- In this story world, whom do you want to punch? Whom do you want to kiss? What makes you want to stand up, speak out, protest or crusade? When and how would you lie, cheat, steal or sleep around? Whose opinion of you means a lot? Who doesn’t matter?
- If you could write this story, what would happen? How would you resolve the conflict? How would the problem be solved? The most heroic thing you’d do is what–? The most cowardly thing you’d never do is what–? The disaster you’d prevent is what–? The extra-good bonus outcome you’d create is what–?
Next, become the Story God and write your response to these prompts:
- Regard the protagonist. What is his or her flaw? How will you force him or her to face it? What way would be most cruel?
- What would be this protagonist’s worst mistake? What’s the test that he or she could not pass? What frustration would cause him or her to break? What would cause him or her to explode? What’s the worst damage that could result? What strength would he or she discover?
- In what way will you force this protagonist into what he or she most wants to avoid? How will you force this protagonist to learn what he or she most needs to know? In what way will make an example of this protagonist?
- In what way will you show this protagonist mercy? When and how will you relieve suffering? How will show this protagonist forgiveness for his or her transgressions? How will you reward this protagonist for his or her goodness?
I’m sure you can see what to do with the results of your role playing. That which your protagonist would avoid, make unavoidable. That which your protagonist fears, bring about. The basis for action is that at which your protagonist excels. The basis of failure is that which tempts your protagonist and to which he or she succumbs.
Meanwhile, your story design is directed not at humanity in general but at your protagonist in particular. The events you create are intended to hit your protagonist’s weaknesses and push him or her toward his or her strengths. A lesson will be learned. This protagonist will see or discover something for himself or herself. (And everyone else will get the point.)
When author’s intention is fused with characters’ human needs, readers do not notice the author’s hands on the levers of destiny. The story can happen only to this character, and only in this way. At the same time, while these story events are all set to transform this unique protagonist they are also a lesson for us all.
Protagonist’s have free will. Story Gods—that’s you—have a grand design. Protagonists exist to serve that design. Plot enacts it. Even so Story Gods have compassion for protagonists’ suffering. They guide protagonists yet allow them to discover for themselves the means of their salvation. They play…but in the Story God’s sandbox.
How will your protagonist use his or her freedom? How will your plot nevertheless enact your purpose?
[coffee]
Donald Maass (he/him) founded the Donald Maass Literary Agency. in New York in 1980. He is the author of The Career Novelist (1996), Writing the Breakout Novel (2001), Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook (2004), The Fire in Fiction (2009), The Breakout Novelist (2011), Writing 21st Century Fiction (2012) and The Emotional Craft of Fiction (2019). He has presented hundreds of workshops around the world and is a past president of the American Association of Literary Agents (formerly AAR).
Not just good writing advice, Don. Excellent Arminian theology, too.
I voice journal for each character, occasionally prompting them with questions. It really is one of the joys of writing when the voice begins to “take over” and tell you things you didn’t anticipate.
Sort of like when Adam told God, “I was afraid, because I was naked.”
I had to look up Arminian theology. So, I am a Remonstrant? My thinking is a mere soteriological diversification of Calvinism? I resist that spirit. Yet I have faith. By the grace of St. Therese, my writing may yet be saved.
Seriously, thanks. Adam was the first author, no? “I was afraid, because I was naked.” Every writer can identify.
I had to look it up as well, though once I read it I understood it as akin to the “Deeds not Creeds” belief in the worth of human free will and action one finds in Methodism, among other faiths. On her deathbed, Doc Holliday’s mother converted back from the Calvinist Presbyterianism of her husband to her original Methodism because she did not want her son to abide by what she felt was a cruel fatalism, but rather to believe that his actions mattered in the eyes of God. In a curious echo of that conversion, Doc himself converted to Catholicism at the end of his life due at least in part to the influence of his cousin, Mattie, who had entered the convent and become Sister Mary Melanie of the Sisters of Charity.
None of which is relevant, but what is life without a little theological digression? (I’ll get to your actual post, Don, below.)
This is sounding a lot like that recurring dream where I get to high school only to discover I have a (insert random academic subject) final that I never studied for, so I walk naked through the halls asking people for their notes.
Don, You’re articulating something I’ve struggled with getting a solid grasp on since the beginning. I’ve played around with myriad means of plotting and outlining, but deep down I still consider myself an intuitive writer. And it’s funny, but I feel like I get a course-correction when I stray too much to one side or the other.
For the WIP, I was a bit too cocky, thinking I absolutely knew everything that had to happen. As it is with Vahldan, such hubris does not go unpunished. The story gods’ overseeing Story God gave me a good smack down for that. Turns out I had some pantsing to do.
It’s sort of like the destiny versus choice hoops I always make Vahldan and Elan jump through, but for me. If I get too sure that I’m making all of the choices, fate intervenes. And vice-versa. Perhaps it’s why I’m endlessly fascinated by having that pendulum swinging on the page. Hope others are, too.
Makes me wonder if we’re meant to get a solid grasp on it. Maybe that’s the point–that there has to be some trust in the process, even in the face of the unknown and the very real possibility of failure. And maybe the lesson I’m meant to take from it is to let go–of both my longing for control and of blind faith.
Thanks for helping me sort my psyche and my mission. And for the great prompts! I’m feeling both masterful and destined at the moment… At least till the pendulum knocks me on my ass again.
Trust in the process. Let go. Well, yes. I think sometimes that over-plotting comes from fear, but so does under-plotting and giving characters free rein.
Story Gods are powerful; so powerful that they can let their characters loose in the assurance that they will arrive at the place the author needs to them to go. When they stray too far, events arrive to correct their course.
That’s trust. Thus, trust yourself. Know the purpose of the story and your characters can safely play. Or something like that.
Good to see you today.
Donald-
Excellent content and love the prompts.
As I read up to the question “Are outline and authenticity in permanent opposition, the yin and yang of storytelling?”
I found myself uneasy and responding “No, no – it’s not like that!”
I felt sigh-of-relief reassurance as you continued “I believe it’s unhelpful to think of it that way. Storytellers don’t have to choose. Authenticity and outline may not only co-exist, they can be polymer-bonded and become a material stronger then either one is alone. The bonding happens inside the storyteller.”
A powerful provocation followed by an eloquent refutation – really worked for me.
The question I had was whether the bonding happens in the storyteller or in the story reader? Might it also be looked at that the fiction alchemy is best when the author’s writing allows/promotes the fusion within the reader?
Thought provoking and useful –
Thanks for another great post :-)
As I wrote in “The Emotional Craft of Fiction”, readers are on their own journey through a story. The 100K or so words are the same in every copy, but every reader experiences those words differently.
Readers are in a process of engagement as they read, meaning they weigh, judge, fret and wonder what they would do in the same situations. That, I think, is readers’ own free will in tension with authorial intention.
So yes, I think you’re right. When an author’s purpose is enacted by characters who nevertheless act authentically, readers feel truth of what’s happening and must react. Thanks, Tom.
Thank You for this post Don, I’ll be making good use of the prompts you’ve laid out.
As far as the idea of being both the Story God, and the subject of the Story God, I wonder if the postmodern novel Gravity’s Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon satisfies that duality. It sports 400 characters over 760 pages which would necessitate intense outlining, but it also shows a level of paranoia and profane description which (in my opinion) couldn’t be done without being inside the heads of the characters.
I found the effect of Gravity’s Rainbow…let’s say diffuse. I’m not sure Pynchon knew entirely what he wanted to say, but did effectively capture the chaos of our existence and the paranoia that it engenders.
On the other hand, Pynchon writes in a godlike way. He may evoke paranoia but he’s not afraid of it. If you see what I mean.
I think so, it’s heavier to the side of the Story God, while showing effectiveness like in being a subject to.
Don, many thanks for this excellent post. My fiction (novel or novella; don’t yet know which) began as a premise and a plot. The characters arrived later. While I’ve always been aware of the need to let my characters be real and complex, and I’ve gone through hit-or-miss exercises to develop them, these probings will help me–and the reader–know them all more profoundly.
Not only that, but I can apply these questions to my nonfiction people to help them come alive on the page. There’s plenty of supporting evidence in my source material if I will only sharpen my eyes and look for it.
Effective storytellers write not what they think should be on the page, but what must be on the page.
If you see the difference. Thanks for commenting, Anna.
For my next book (after my current wip is finished) I’m going to write a brief draft while allowing the characters to run wild within the bounds of my idea. Who knows what will happen? Maybe they’ll go Westworld on me. But I appreciate knowing what’s in those folks before I commit to plot points, and firmly believe you can’t fully know a character until you understand them through the process of writing a draft. You can know their greatest pain one-dimensionally, but not the many ways that pain has influenced them — not until you’re forced to live it in that character’s shoes via the script.
Great post, Don. Thank you.
You’re welcome, St. Therese. (I hope you don’t mind canonization.)
I love your idea. Really, all first drafts are discovery drafts, right? The mistake is perhaps thinking that first drafts are somehow the finished novel, just in imperfect form.
Better to think of them–as you are–as an opportunity to know whom you’re creating, and why. Less pressure but more truth.
I decide WHAT happens; the characters often tell me HOW. Out of what I needed them to be. The plot is, as I keep saying, the structural steel, the logistics such as water and power and AC in the skyscraper: only the best engineering lets a tower crawl into the sky.
But the aesthetics, inner and outer, and the purpose and execution of that purpose, is what makes the point of building the tower at all come out of the dream state into solid reality.
You need both. The structure is logical and necessary in its components (or your story feels ‘wrong’), and can be built in pieces and then assembled.
The rest, that part is art. That comes from the whole of you and your experience and what makes you write this story, and that’s a gestalt. It is not logical – unless you can track down how a human works in all the individual consciousness and memory units that are in our brains. But we know when it is right.
You must have both. Too many people skip the structure. Art cannot make up for the dichotomy by being more of itself.
I love your architecture metaphor. What makes buildings soar is both structural engineering and aesthetics. Exactly. Thanks for the comment.
“I decide WHAT happens; the characters often tell me HOW. “
That’s a great way to think about this. Thanks, Alicia!
I’m new to writing and this is exactly what I have been struggling with. If I outline everything feels like cardboard. If I drop the outline I immediately get lost. I worked through your “Emotional Craft” book but it still didn’t click. Now I have the missing piece. Thank you!
Glad this post is helpful, Jenna.
I have always thought that the “red god” or *Lord of Light* in the GoT stories was perhaps the author. Now I am even more convinced.
LOL. I dunno, Bernadette, let’s ask George?
Either way, I don’t think he’ll tell. :)
My guess is Samwell Tarly, the Steward in the Night’s Watch.
Thanks for your insight!
I love your idea of becoming the protagonist and answering your questions. When I started writing novels, I fell into the trap of “being” the main character so nothing bad happened to her. That first draft was pretty boring.
Now I try to slip into my protagonist’s head without totally protecting her. Your exercise will definitely help in a revision of a new thriller.
To keep from wandering, I have a broad idea of my major plot points. That said, I never know what my characters will do or say in a scene until I write it out. For me, it’s like a movie in my head. I’m just there to take notes. Once in a while, my characters have a better idea and I change the plot. My subconscious surprises me all the time.
Susie, be sure to try out being the Story God, too, that’s a good way to be sure you’re not going too easy on your protagonist.
In your comment you mention the “movie-in-the-mind” that you see playing in your head. Recently, in workshops I’ve been teaching methods that work against the movie-transcript manner of visually reporting the story, in favor of a more experiential POV.
Several posts here at WU in recent months have mentioned “immersive point of view” (the term I prefer), so I’ve been hesitant to hit it again, but would a post from me on that topic be of interest?
Definitely! :)
Yes!
I really enjoyed your classes about immersive POV at PPWC and have found it to be an effective technique.
Wow, that really rhymed. Ha!
Yes! I’d love to read that.
Yes! I have found your books, and a workshop of yours really helpful and insightful. Thanks for sharing your thoughts on these matters.
Great post. I love being a story god but as Jim said, it’s great when the story people reveal not just the externals we know but their interiority, the psyche. With Adam, we get shame and his quick blaming of Eve…and we’re still feeling its effects. O happy fault!
Yeah, it was all Eve’s fault. She tied Adam down and force fed him that apple, right?
Seriously, though, Adam’s fear in that moment is indeed akin to the fear writers feel in exposing themselves, yet that it what must be done if a story is to have force.
Thanks, Vijaya.
This is really helpful, Donald. I find that I need to outline, to ensure my story is sound and built on a structure that provides certain necessary story elements. But that same outline can make me feel constrained, and can suck the fun and spontaneity out of the creative process.
Your dual-pronged approach seems a perfect solution to that conundrum. Thank you!
And hey, look at that: I just used conundrum in a sentence. When you post at WU, the winning just never stops!
It is a mystification, a true abstruseness, why more multi-syllable words are not bandied about here on WU. Thanks for elevating our vocabularity.
(That’s a word, right?)
Anybody who says it isn’t a word is clearly deficientiated in terms of their personal level of vocabulariosity.
Thank you, Don. I’ve been struggling (for way too long now) with an attempt to perfect and truly know my concept before I begin to draft. Stuck in Story God mode, I guess. I do like the way my idea is evolving, but the snail’s pace and the constant reshuffling have been frustrating. For me, it’s quite possible to overthink. On the other hand, maybe this one is presenting itself in its own good time.
As always you have written a post that has helped me to understand deeply. Much appreciated!
Hi, Don:
I cover some of this same ground in a workshop I teach called The Character of Plot, where I use the exploration of backstory to create what I refer to as Pathological Maneuvers and Stubborn Virtues, i.e., the habits of behavior forged through past failures and successes to form the character’s general approach to life on Page 1.
I do this by exploring scenes from the character’s past of extreme helplessness before an event or a profound emotion — fear, shame, guilt, betrayal, loss/death — but also moments when the character surprised herself by her own capacity for greatness or fulfillment — courage, pride, forgiveness, trust, love.
I tend to think of these pathologies and virtues in a kind of equilibrium (or, far more frequently, disequilibrium) that reveal how the character has established a seemingly workable balance between the two main but opposing drives of her existence: the Pursuit of the Promise of Life and Protection from the Pain of Life.
The key to using this for plot is to find out how and why the character’s pursuit of her external objective speaks to that deeper pursuit of the promise of life, her yearning, the deep-seated sense of self, worth, and a life worth living she craves. How has she succeeded in that pursuit before? How has she failed? How will those past failures exhibit themselves when this new opportunity arises? How will she transcend her past successes to rise to an even greater sense of worth and competence? How can the writer bring those past successes and failures into the present, intensify them? And most importantly, how can the writer create other characters equally complex who provide the opposing action and thus the continuing, escalating possibility of failure for the protagonist?
This is where I think the author’s role as Creator has its most significant caveat. Yes, the writer should put the protagonist to the test. But he must do so not by the writer’s design but through the designs of other characters. The writer must find a way to create characters who do his work for him, rather than inflict it like Yahweh summoning the whirlwind.
And that just ain’t the Arminian in me talking, neither.
Wonderful post, as always. Copied for my own use in the current WIP.
You’re welcome, S.K. You’ll find your way. Ask questions of your characters, that may point you in some plot directions.
And apropos of that, David…
“Yes, the writer should put the protagonist to the test. But he must do so not by the writer’s design but through the designs of other characters.”
Brilliant! Thanks for that addition, definitely practical and useful. I long, one of these days, to take one of your workshops as student/writer. Some day.
I always love the questions you pose to characters, so much so I’ve already envisioned how my poor mc will be forced to go back to the one place he hoped never to see again (his worst fear). I told him it was your fault.
Happy to take the blame.
My next book is forcing me to think about plot, whereas before plot was just some vague notion plinging about in my peahead.
This is a great way for me to think about it — t’anky.
Such great insight sir! Like in your The Breakout Novelist! I found that as I am chugging along on my MS I put more and more heart (and pain) into my characters. I will remember some memory from childhood that was pleasant or not, and then give it to one of my characters.
My wife (and IR – Ideal Reader) said the voice sounds like me, when in earlier drafts I was just dictating the story. Maintaining the balance between what you want your characters to do and what they want to do is tricky, but finding it is fun! Thanks again for your insight!!
This post resonates with me because my novel was originally a short story and then a novella and now a novel. The characters and story both took over.
I have been struggling with this outlining vs. authenticity thing in the last six months or so. While a lot of writers I know seem to have this A leads to B thing down, yeah, I’m not one of them. The creativity is there, but the linear trajectory is *work* for me. I’ve read every book on structure that I could get my hands on and have mostly been using The Story Grid by Shawn Coyne as well as Dwight Swain’s Techniques, but these books don’t deal with those chapters that need to be “other.” And the thing that I find so frustrating is even when I figure out what the chapters need to be accomplishing, it’s not a pattern that I can repeat. As I’ve been editing, I’ve found those “intuitive” chapters often don’t work but need to be there for other reasons, so then it’s a matter of figuring out how to make things interesting.
For me, the outlining can be a great focus, something that deeply concentrates the work…but it doesn’t always work. And this gave me a lot to think about.
Thank you so much for another insightful article!