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stygiusfic · 1 year

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styg’s story thoughts (I): character reactions

(This post is brought to you by my wonderful friends who asked about my thoughts on plotting!)

We tend to think of plotting as what happens next or what the characters do, ie. action. But stories are a cycle of action-reaction, and we don't always give the reaction part its full weight. Three-act structure has both action and reaction beats, yet the so-called "major" beats that manuals like Save the Cat recommend defining first are all action: Catalyst, Break into 2, Midpoint, All Is Lost, Break into 3...

Of course all of those have matching reaction beats, so reactions aren't being ignored by the 3-act model; it's just that the established process is to figure out reactions after you've got the action down. Chronologically, that makes sense. But I think that leads us to see reactions as the less important half, when in fact they are what breathes life into any story.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and it's helped me feel a lot more connected to whatever I'm writing, so I want to talk about it here.

Reactions shape a story to a degree that sets it apart from others with similar chains of events. Because anything could happen to anyone—but people rarely view or feel about everything the same exact way. The same events told from different perspectives can radically change what type of story it becomes!

Imagine this: if you're going somewhere with plenty of time to spare, and you miss the train you were planning to take, well, it's alright, you can wait for the next one, or maybe walk partway. But if you're running late, like I often am, and you miss the train, you're probably going to get really stressed out. And if you were going somewhere important to you, there will be an added layer of urgency and frustration when you miss the train, making that seem even more dire.

What I mean is: no event is intrinsically significant. The characters' reactions make it so.

Any event is important in the eyes of the story and the audience only to the degree that the characters assign importance to it. And this degree of importance also determines who the characters are, which in turn answers the question of what they do next.

Here's a classic example that blew my mind when I heard it phrased in these terms recently: Shakespeare's Othello.

The action that jumpstarts the tragic spiral—Iago planting Othello’s wife’s handkerchief in Cassio’s room—is in itself only significant because of Othello's reaction. If Othello had decided to not freak out and jump to conclusions when he discovered it—if, instead, he'd had a healthy conversation with his wife and cleared up Iago's deception—the story would have been very different! But Othello reacts with jealousy and mistrust of Desdemona (as Iago wanted him to). Those feelings fester, and move him to eventually kill her and, later, himself. That’s why the story becomes a tragedy—because Othello’s reactions leave no room for any other outcome.

And it starts with a stupid handkerchief! But the handkerchief is important to us because it's important to Othello.

This is why, when trying to come up with "big" moments for an outline, sometimes rather than starting with actions it's easier to think first: what kind of reaction am I looking to provoke at this stage? Am I looking for a turn for the better or a turn for the worse? And then second: what kind of action would trigger that reaction?

The ways in which characters care, or don't—and by extension the ways we as the audience care—make up a big part of the story and can define tone and genre as well.

Another example: imagine a character commits murder.

Murder is an act that we can all universally agree is big and bad and world-shaking. There are countless stories that center around a murder (or many) and how they shape the lives of the characters who suffered in the wake of that act, creating stories of revenge or disillusionment or justice.

In those stories, murder is Big. But then on the other end of the spectrum, we have Tarantino movies, where characters will shoot someone and not even look while they do it, and the story moves on unbothered. This lack of reaction is a kind of reaction too. It tells us: this is a story in which murder is small and easy and the deaths of random people are unimportant. We don't linger in the unimportant. Those murders carry no moral weight for the audience; we're likelier to feel amazement at the fake blood fountaining on-screen than mourn the loss of a life. But the story will linger in the deaths of characters who are significant, like Bill in Kill Bill. The time spent in his final monologue and the unpacking of motivations and consequences set him apart from the nameless dead and honor his importance to the story.

I believe this is, in part, what people are trying to communicate when they say "show, don't tell". (Which is flawed advice for prose, especially if taken to the extreme, because it was originally an adage for theater, but anyway.) What it means is, if you want the audience to perceive something as important, show the character reacting to it like it's important. Spend time and words in the moments that affect your characters. If you just "tell" the information and move right along, and we don't see any notable reaction, we can assume it's not important and we don't need to emotionally attach to it.

This is an oversimplification. Sometimes telling is preferable to showing, because showing takes more words and being straightforward has its own place. (And sometimes telling lets you set things up discreetly on the side so you can expand on them later, so you just make them seem unimportant until they're not. There are a million reasons to tell instead of show.)

But I really love that deciding how much time and space you spend on reactions shapes the action and pacing and feel of the story. Every genre you can think of that "feels" a particular way when done right feels that way because reactions are consistent with the inner logic of the genre. (Meeting a certain stranger a number of times in different places can be exciting in the set-up of a romance; but if it's a thriller, the character noticing the pattern may well be concerned instead.)

I've been trying more than ever to look for big reactions, and reverse-engineer the events that would prompt them by getting at the heart of the character, because watching someone care too much is way more engaging than watching them care only a little.

#styg story thoughts #writing thoughts #this may become a series of posts who knows #the blanket disclaimer is all writing advice is flawed and deeply personal #and you should pick and choose what works or doesn't work for you

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