Story Structure Goes to Clown College
By Tom Bentley | November 30, 2022 |
Photo by Gabriel Pompeo: https://www.pexels.com/photo/father-and-child-playing-with-a-pig-4676941/
We are industrious sentence-builders here at WU, but sometimes motivation fizzles, ardor fades, and a brave sentence’s beginning loses faith at its end. Never fear! In the spirited spirit of Mad Libs, we will build a story of stout sentences, broad-shouldered and charismatic.
Here’s the deal: I’ll list a number of story-building structures, and provide one sentence to light the fuse. You, not unattractively drooling in anticipation, will mentally write the next. And then I’ll reveal the “correct” sentence, since I am driving this careering sleigh. Not exactly democracy, but hey, we’re used to that by now. Unto the breach, dear friends:
Prologue
Kristy Silden watched, with a mixture of revulsion and fascination, the heavily lipsticked piglet dance in its stall.
She was fascinated that the pig had so precisely applied the lipstick, but revolted that the shade was so inappropriate for its pink spring skin.
Setting (Years Later)
The little farm, now hers, lay in a narrow valley, with the Saskatchewan mountain ranges looming on all sides.
She knew there were no mountains in Saskatchewan, but why fetter a wheeling imagination?
Foreshadowing
Ever since she’d seen Claudia, her beloved pig dancing those years ago, she’d wondered if that memory was a dream—and Claudia had aged with that memory.
But Claudia had always been there, and always would be—wouldn’t she?
Inciting Incident
Kristy watched Claudia in the pen, tottering on her once sturdy legs—could she really be that old?
Growing up together, Kristy thought of Claudia as a best friend, but most pigs only live to be 12 or so; Claudia was 11.
Call to Adventure
Kristy finished the Farm Finaglings article about the Berkeley scientists using CRISPR to edit a pig’s genes.
Kristy answered a ringing in her head: “This is Adventure calling; wanna go for a ride?”
Conflict
Kristy and Claudia argued about which vehicle was the best to get to Berkeley: The trusty ’52 Chevy truck her dad had left her (and which could carry a lot of slop), or the 2017 Prius hybrid.
They opted for the Prius, since Claudia couldn’t drive a stick; they could pick up slop at their stops.
Saving the Cat
The highway humming, Kristy idly wondered if a cat would have been a better companion than Claudia.
She made a mental note to start saving up for a cat.
Microtension
Kristy wrinkled her nose, and turned to Claudia, finding that Claudia had wrinkled her snout and turned to her.
They both burst into giggles, though Claudia’s were more of a snurfle.
Dilemma and Flashback
Saskatoon, Edmonton, down into the States to Montana—west to Seattle and south?
Quick diversion to Vegas instead—she’d won $35 on a nickel slot her dad let her play when she was fifteen, and the memory sung.
Man in a Hole
They had to creep slowly by a worker in a manhole in Reno.
Kristy thought he looked a lot like Ryan Reynolds, but Claudia just snorted.
Ordeal
Finally made it to the Berkeley lab, but Claudia was clearly slipping.
Kristy and Claudia’s eyes locked as the pig lie on the table; Kristy could see the faint trace of lipstick in Claudia’s last smile.
The Reward
The cloning was successful; through the sadness, a squealing little piglet was worth the month’s wait.
No Claudia to help drive home, no Claudia at all—but man, this Clara had more to say than talk radio.
The Return
No Vegas repeat this round—those friggin’ video slots were hell.
Crossing into BC, they hit a Kamloops White Spot, and Clara ate three burgers—the pig!
Denouement
Pulling up beside the barn, Kristy noticed something weird on Clara’s face.
Not weird, exactly: lipstick.
Extraneous Concluding Sentence
The clocks struck thirteen.
Hey, if you’re going to steal, steal from the best.
Yes, yes, I know your story was better than mine—but that’s why I gave you the floor, to shine. (Now, keep mopping.) Shiny people, do you find writing prompts useful to catalyze writing a scene or a story, or even a novel’s theme, or perhaps as warm-up writing exercises? Do you get them from writing prompt sites or from writing newsletters? Would you like to steal my album-release prompt of Taylor Swift being an RAF Spitfire pilot during WWII who discovers she’s gone blind in the cockpit? And do you wish Mad Libs came out with cookbooks?
Tom Bentley is a novelist, essayist, and business and travel writer. (He does not play banjo.) He’s published hundreds of freelance pieces in newspapers, magazines, and online. He is the author of three novels, a collection of short stories, a how-to book on finding and cultivating your writing voice and a memoir of his sordid teenage criminality. His singing is known to frighten the horses. See his lurid website confessions at tombentley.com.
Beth, Just open a vein and write…you won’t shine, you aren’t funny, Tom is way beyond you…Twas brillig, and the slithy toves. Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, ; “Beware the Jabberwock, my son. The jaws that bite, the …” Now Beth, that’s cheating. But Tom said, if you steal, steal from the best. And by the way, my allusions? I don’t listen to Taylor Swift!
Beth, it’s excellent that you are providing your own therapist’s counsel here, because they are expensive. I do think we can take some tips from Austin Kleon’s “Steal Like An Artist” in that our creative “thefts” are to “study, credit, remix, mash up and transform. Creative work builds on what came before, and thus nothing is completely original.”
As for Taylor, yeah, she calls all the time, but I’m too busy to pick up.
Hey Tom — I’m glad the exercise came to a mandatory HEA–Claudia may be the every-woman, but Clara represents the aspirations of all humanity.
Your delightful piece has made me realize what a golden opportunity I’ve missed. I should’ve released my story as a choose-your-own-adventure book. When faced with a raiding party outside of his home, readers could choose to have our hero shrug and say that it’s just a rally gone wrong; that the violence was perpetrated by a few bad actors among an overly excited but otherwise innocent crowd. When confronting his mortally wounded father, readers could choose to have our hero simply run off, ostensibly to seek the well-groomed family dog, Fraulein, to run for help. When he learns that the targeted insurrection was orchestrated by a gluttonous and traitorous insider, our hero could simply choose to go along with it, rationalizing that a large chunk of the Amalus base really seems to like this guy. After all, this usurper has deep pockets. Why not simply cash in?
Thus, the 30% or so who choose this path could avoid about 400 pages of unpleasant conflict and handwringing strife. Might’ve sold well. Seems like the modern way to do things. Thanks for a inventive and hilarious piece, my friend.
Vaughn, I dunno, since I’m about 260 pages into your tome, I have to say I wouldn’t have changed any of the central structures, which pulse with passions, though I would have inserted myself as the only honorary male Blade-Wielder (and I would drive a Corvette). Unpleasant conflict and handwringing strife can go over well if the writing keeps stride.
For some reason, Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road” just came to mind: not much of fun in there, but a magnificent work. Though you and Cormac come from different sides of the style fence.
Hugely honored to be mentioned in the same paragraph. Thanks, Tom!
Hey, there, Sidekick. Listen fer the call to adventure, and when you hear it, kick them prompts to the curb. Saddle up Old Paint and head out into that desert full o’ rattlers, dead clowns, and microhoozits. Keep yur eye peeled for a sad little wild flower. It’s just waitin’ fer Old Paint to give it a waterin’ (that’s yur imagination, cowboy), and see what happens. By the way, this old cow puncher likes yur post a lot. Shucks, it’s a prompt to mount up. We need more like it.
Barry, this is my first encounter with the word “microhoozits” and I must say it’s a humdinger! I love your Way Out Westering (but please keep Old Paint in your own garden—that kind of watering can peel the paint).
Fascinating post! What if the opening sentence of every chapter is a writing prompt?
Bob, I suppose, technically, every sentence of every chapter IS a writing prompt, whether you’re a pantser or a plotter—you’ll have to follow that lead with something that continues sparking after the fuse is lit. Thanks!