Lights, Camera, Ostriches

Yesterday I helped a friend scout out a location for a scene in his book. We went to an ostrich farm. He had originally planned for the scene to take place on a non-ostrich farm, but he thought a few of those amazing birds could spice things up a bit.

And, I think they will.

It got me to thinking about my own settings in my stories. Most of the time my scenes take place in pretty ordinary locations. A Pasadena condo, a suburban home, a bakery in Paris. Even when I set my stories in places that most people wouldn't know about...say Thailand or Brazil, I often downplay the "exotic" nature of the place because I thought it might make the story too gimmicky.

But, lately, I've been realizing how exciting it is for readers to experience a new location while they are going through the story. It helps the story work double duty, taking readers on a physical trip, along with the emotional trip I hope I've managed to create. It makes me think much harder about the settings in my stories.

I don't think a setting has to be exotic to work, but I do think the place where your scene occurs should affect the actions and emotions of your characters. A neutral setting may serve to establish your characters in space, but chances are the details about that setting will feel extraneous. If the setting has an impact on the story, it feels much more important and more well-thought out. It also feels more real.

If it's a place many people might already be familiar with, I now try to focus on unexpected details about the place. For instance I recently wrote about a scene that took place in Notre Dame Cathedral, and instead of only focusing on the beautiful stained glass windows, I had one of my characters fixate on the checkered floors.

If the scene in your story takes place somewhere I'm not familiar with, a bit of research will usually be called for. Then, it's up to me to share the facts I learned without making the details feel too forced.

Setting was something I didn't pay much attention to for a long time. But, now I see it as an exciting new element to work into my stories.

What about you? How do you come up with the settings in your stories? What sort of impact would it have on your story if you moved a scene from one setting to another?

Scene and unscene

I am working on a new novel, and as I write my way through the first act I find that I am being very careful--some might call it paranoid--about exposition. It's impossible to avoid exposition because at some point we have to actually talk about the characters and setting and situation (unless we're writing the sort of story where the reader is supposed to be kept in the dark about what's actually happening), but we don't want to write in big blocks of backstory and stop the forward momentum of the tale. Last night I gave up reading a novel because it was all exposition, more a nonfiction biography than a novel and after 100 pages I didn't know the first thing about any of the characters' emotional lives and I simply didn't care what happened to them so I shelved the book and I doubt I'll ever bother to finish it. That's something I don't want to ever happen to one of my own novels.

I wrote last week about my method of folding exposition into the middle of scenes, and how I'm not allowing myself to write anything but scenes in this book. If it's not a scene, it doesn't go in. I am even being as spare as possible in my transitional passages between scenes. But what do I mean by "scene?"

To me, a scene is a self-contained dramatic incident where we are shown a specific event in "real time." Moreover, my personal rules for scenes include such things as a change in situation for one of the characters (that is, something is different for some character at the end of the scene, and this difference will change the direction of the story in some important way--not necessarily a huge change, but a real change that cannot be ignored by the character in question), and either the introduction or increase of tension between two or more characters (that is, I don't let myself have scenes that exist simply to introduce a new character or setting; there must be, as just mentioned, some change for one of the characters).

So, I am writing my novel in units called "scenes" that:

Are self-contained dramatic incidents in "real time"
Dramatize events that change a character's life
Introduce or increase tension between characters

My scenes can do more than that, but they must do at least those things, or I have to start over. The plan is to have the entire book built of scenes, one after another, with little or no summary. I may cheat and have something like flashbacks by having my protagonist dream about people who have died, but I may decide that's too much of a cheat and not. We'll see when I get there.

I also admit that I am not going to be a tyrant about my rule of writing in scenes only. My basic concern is to stop myself from going off on long tangential digressions, writing chapter-length histories for each character or supplying readers with essentially lists of things and losing the direction and urgency of the story. My writing is constrained by a sense of doubt over each word I set down: do I really need this or that factoid, and why? It's a load of work, and I'm not even sure how necessary it is, but it's how I'm writing this book.

So here are my questions to you: Do you write in scenes? Do you know a scene when you see one? Can you take sections of exposition or narrative summary that stop the momentum of the story and make them into dramatized scenes? Bonus questions: Do you think this is important, or are you willing--as a reader--to let writers hand you pages of backstory? I happen to live with a bright, well-read person who is nowhere as impatient with backstory and exposition as the hypothetical stereotypical reader that agents and editors online go on about all the time. I don't, frankly, know if that reader exists. Just saying.

Too many characters in a scene? Mix and match!

If you write stories with multiple characters, chances are you've run into scenes like this:

Rudy ran up the stairs. Then Claire ran up the stairs. Then Vanessa ran up the stairs. Then Cliff ran up the stairs. Theo was sitting on his bed with his headphones on. Vanessa yelled at him, but he didn't hear. So, Rudy went over and stomped on his foot.

"Don't step on your brother's foot," Clair said.

"Well, he wouldn't listen to Vanessa," Rudy said.

Theo was wailing and holding his foot. Cliff ran downstairs to get his medical bag from his office. Vanessa was laughing, but Claire made Rudy apologize. Then, everything was okay.

No matter how well-described each character is, a scene like this can sometimes come out looking like a mess. I should know. I was just trying to juggle three characters in my novel, and I ended up keeping them in separate rooms as often as possible to avoid having to deal with it.

Now, I realize that with some organization, a scene with several different characters can turn into a masterpiece. Just remember that you can mix and match.

Match

Many times in a scene like this, characters are performing similar actions. You can group those characters and their actions together to keep from having to describe each one individually.

Instead of, Rudy ran up the stairs. Then Claire ran up the stairs. Then Vanessa ran up the stairs. Then Cliff ran up the stairs, you could write, They all ran up the stairs.

This doesn't have to stop with action. You can lump emotions together, or interactions, thereby creating microcosms inside the larger scene.

Mix

You can also mix things up to simplify them. Although this might seem a little counterintuitive at first, remember that as writers we can easily jump through time and space if it helps make our story stronger. In the scene above, I wrote out each character's actions in chronological order. But, there are other ways to write the same scene.

For example: They all ran up the stairs to where Theo was listening to his headphones. But, a moment later, Cliff ran back down to get his medical bag from his office. The children had gotten into a fight: Vanessa yelling, Rudy stepping on Theo's foot, Theo crying, until finally Claire intervened.

Here, I moved the middle events to the end of the scene so that I could unite the action of running up and down the stairs. The list of kids and their actions becomes even more hectic when they are grouped together, perhaps. But now, readers don't feel like they have to try as hard to remember who is whom. The kids become a single entity contributing to the chaos.

Another possibility might be: The kids were at it again. Theo was listening to his headphones. Vanessa and Rudy went up to pick a fight. And so, it was Claire who had to intervene while Cliff went to get his medical bag from his office.

This time, the scene is organized into more of a two-sided conflict, the kids versus the adults, instead of the five-sided conflict I originally presented. Even though there are just as many names, readers are able to keep them more or less organized in their minds.

So, if you're overwhelmed by having to juggle multiple characters in a single scene, keep in mind that you can mix and match them to make the scene more organized and more dynamic.

Question of the day:

Have you ever had to deal with a multi-character scene? What problems did you face? How did you fix them?

Note added later: See Jabez's great tip in the comments as well.

Making a Scene

I am a firm believer that the basic building block of a story is The Scene, and that stories are most strongly told when composed of scenes. I am always surprised when I see a writer say that they aren't sure what, exactly, a scene is.

A scene, in my opinion, meets five criteria:

1. It is dramatized, not summarized.
2. It takes place in the "story present," seeming to happen in real time for the reader.
3. It has a beginning, middle and end and is clearly set apart from the surrounding prose.
4. It is a single, self-contained event in a single, discrete location.
5. The situation for the characters is different at the end of the passage than it was at the beginning.

Let's look at a passage that advances the story:

My journey seemed tedious--very tedious: fifty miles one day, a night spent at an inn; fifty miles the next day. During the first twelve hours I thought of Mrs. Reed in her last moments; I saw her disfigured and discoloured face, and heard her strangely altered voice. I mused on the funeral day, the coffin, the hearse, the black train of tenants and servants--few was the number of relatives--the gaping vault, the silent church, the solemn service. Then I thought of Eliza and Georgiana; I beheld one the cynosure of a ball-room, the other the inmate of a convent cell; and I dwelt on and analysed their separate peculiarities of person and character. The evening arrival at the great town of--scattered these thoughts; night gave them quite another turn: laid down on my traveller's bed, I left reminiscence for anticipation.

This passage moves the plot along. You could say there is action even: the narrator is traveling across country, and we see her thoughts along the way. But it is not a scene, because:

1. It is not dramatized, but is a summary of action.
2. It does not take place in the "story present," and fails to happen in "real time" for the reader.
3. It has no dramatic arc (no beginning, middle and end) and is not set apart from the surrounding prose.
4. It is not a single, self-contained event, but is part of a longer summary of events, nor is it in a single, discrete location.
5. The situation for the characters is the same at the end of the passage as it was at the beginning, except that the narrator has apparently traveled and spent a night or two at an inn.

Plot is advanced, but that's not enough to make this passage a scene. It is, rather, a transitional passage between scenes. It's connective tissue, as it were.

Here is another passage from a page or so after the one above:

"Hillo!" he cries; and he puts up his book and his pencil. "There you are! Come on, if you please."

I suppose I do come on; though in what fashion I know not; being scarcely cognisant of my movements, and solicitous only to appear calm; and, above all, to control the working muscles of my face--which I feel rebel insolently against my will, and struggle to express what I had resolved to conceal. But I have a veil--it is down: I may make shift yet to behave with decent composure.

"And this is Jane? Are you coming from Millcote, and on foot? Yes--just one of your tricks: not to send for a carriage, and come clattering over street and road like a common mortal, but to steal into the vicinage of your home along with twilight, just as if you were a dream or a shade. What the deuce have you done with yourself this last month?"

"I have been with my aunt, sir, who is dead."

"A true Janian reply! Good angels be my guard! She comes from the other world--from the abode of people who are dead; and tells me so when she meets me alone here in the gloaming! If I dared, I'd touch you, to see if you are substance or shadow, you elf!--but I'd as soon offer to take hold of a blue ignis fatuus light in a marsh. Truant! truant!" he added, when he had paused an instant. "Absent from me a whole month, and forgetting me quite, I'll be sworn!"

His last words were balm: they seemed to imply that it imported something to him whether I forgot him or not. And he had spoken of Thornfield as my home--would that it were my home!

He did not leave the stile, and I hardly liked to ask to go by. I inquired soon if he had not been to London.

"Yes; I suppose you found that out by second-sight."

"Mrs. Fairfax told me in a letter."

"And did she inform you what I went to do?"

"Oh, yes, sir! Everybody knew your errand."

"You must see the carriage, Jane, and tell me if you don't think it will suit Mrs. Rochester exactly; and whether she won't look like Queen Boadicea, leaning back against those purple cushions. I wish, Jane, I were a trifle better adapted to match with her externally. Tell me now, fairy as you are--can't you give me a charm, or a philter, or something of that sort, to make me a handsome man?"

"It would be past the power of magic, sir;" and, in thought, I added, "A loving eye is all the charm needed: to such you are handsome enough; or rather your sternness has a power beyond beauty."

"Pass, Janet," said he, making room for me to cross the stile: "go up home, and stay your weary little wandering feet at a friend's threshold."

I got over the stile without a word, and meant to leave him calmly. An impulse held me fast--a force turned me round.

"Thank you, Mr. Rochester, for your great kindness. I am strangely glad to get back again to you: and wherever you are is my home--my only home."


This passage meets all the criteria for a scene:

1. It is dramatized, not summarized.
2. It takes place in the "story present," seeming to happen in real time for the reader.
3. It has a beginning, middle and end and is clearly set apart from the surrounding prose.
4. It is a single, self-contained event, in a single, discrete location.
5. The situation for the characters is different at the end of the passage than it was at the beginning.

Think of a scene as real physical action that you can imagine, that's written to be read at more or less the same pace as it would happen in real life.

When I put together stories (no matter of what length), I write in scenes. I make a list (at least in my head) of all the events that must happen in the story, and how these events effect the characters, and then I make a list of scenes that will tell this story by encompassing the necessary plot events and character events into dramatic action. Those scenes make up the bulk of the writing, and everything else is transitional passage or the minimum of exposition that I can get away with. If I'm feeling poetic, I might add in a page or two about eel fishing, but in general, my stories and novels are sequences of scenes.

Do you make an effort to write in scenes? If so, how do you define "scene?" If not, why not? What is the basic building block of your stories?