Shhh, I have a secret for you. I think it’s a good one. It has to do with writing, a writer’s
realization that I stumbled onto today as I was reading Ansen Dibell’s Plot
on my way into the office one morning, and I think it has the potential to
take my writing to the next level. I’m
serious; it was that big of a deal to me, and I thought I’d share it with you,
just as other writers have passed on their secrets to me.
It started while I was reading about exposition. Dibell was explaining ways to incorporate
exposition into our tales by using a character to drop the information in. “Or parts of the exposition can come out, a
little at a time, in a discussion among several characters, maybe spread across
several scenes.” As the meaning of those
words fluttered to my brain by way of my optic nerve, every book I have read
seemed to have opened up, assaulting my thoughts with every last detail of
their plots, and I don’t even know how to explain what happened next. Somehow my thirty-something mind analyzed
them all and sent an epiphany to my consciousness, and somehow I blundered into
a key idea in fiction that I don’t think is ever talked about, at least not
specifically in the terms that I will address.
Are you ready for it?
It’s a secret.
Or more appropriately, secrecy is the secret.
The things whispered to characters behind another’s
back. Things characters keep from
themselves (and therefore the reader) until a crucial plot point.
To Kill a Mockingbird, The Road, Bag of Bones, The Brothers
Bishop, A Tale of Two Cities, World War Z, A Game of Thrones, Odd Thomas,
Curtain, Hyperion, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter--all of them seem to hold
secrets within its covers. In fact, I can’t
think of a story that I consider a good read that doesn’t have secrets. I can’t say that all books with secrets are
good, but I can honestly say that I haven’t read a story or book that doesn’t
have secrets that I have enjoyed.
By their very nature, secrets seem to “allow” many other
essential elements to happen almost automatically without as much work by the
author to introduce those elements. I’ll
describe two but as you absorb this, I’m sure others will present themselves.
Donald Maas’ Writing the Breakout Novel for example
urges the aspiring writer to put tension on every page. In popular fiction, readers are even less
tolerant of a lack of tension than literary readers. Imagine two people sitting in a coffee shop,
a man and a woman, who are discussing an upcoming (insert favorite sport team)
game. The scene is important only to
move the plot because these two will end up meeting (insert your favorite
player for previously named favorite sports team). Dull, dull, dull. It needs tension. Now imagine that the man has had a crush on
this woman but she is married to his best friend. Or, if you prefer, pretend
the man found out he has terminal cancer and only has months to live, but being
very private has vowed not to tell anyone.
Or that the woman is a serial killer.
Or maybe they are a couple and she is unhappy and planning on breaking
up after the game. The very fact that
the secret is there, can ramp up the tension for the reader.
Secrets can also drive characterization. If we look at this same scene, we can see that
the types of secrets someone holds can say a great deal about that person’s
character. It speaks to the character’s
moral code, their beliefs and which of those beliefs are not appropriate to
share. Does the man secretly love
Lifetime movies? Is the woman a cousin
to the man’s ex?
Secrets can also allow the plot to develop. If the man in the previous scenario is in
love with the woman who is married to her best friend, how will introducing the
dashing (re-insert sport’s celebrity) who seems to like the woman affect the
man, and therefore the plot? I think
you see where I’m going.
Admittedly there are some times where the secret may be
unknown to the reader. Very true. Dashboard Confessional’s song, “The Secret’s in the Telling” from which I’ve taken as the title of this entry tell of two
people in a secret romantic relationship. Listeners never learn who these
people are and why their relationship is a secret is never explained. As a writer don’t feel compelled to have to
reveal all secrets, but by all means hint at them, deliver them through subtext.
Behavior such as an overreaction to a smile or a car speeding off can hint that
there is more going on here than meets the eye or something is not quite right.
In “The Secret’s in the Telling” many great examples of
observable behavior exist that a clever writer could subtly employ in his or
her own story in order to show something sneaky is happening. (Aside: Notice
how secrets also lend to showing rather than telling.)
This concept is similar to what thriller writers know as the
McGuffin. The classic example, brought
to us by Hitchcock goes something like this.
A spy is after a roll of film.
The audience never needs to ever know what is on the film, just that
what is on there is so volatile it could have global ramifications.
For along time, I have wondered what is missing when someone
critiquing my work would say, it’s all there, it’s story but it doesn’t feel
like a book. There is a fine distinction
that I cannot define which makes a story “feel” like a book. Having reviewed some of my own stories, I now
suspect that this phantom element, which ironically was a secret to me until I
uncovered this concept, turns out to be secrecy. I’m curious, if after reading this, other
people will feel the same way. Maybe
it’s just me.
I’m not suggesting that this is a 100% absolute
hard-and-fast rule--I can’t think of any rule in storytelling that has not or
cannot be broken if carefully planned. And
as much as I think this is an innovative approach, it is in no way new--think
twist ending, think every murder mystery--just a new way of looking at my own
and others writing. At least it’s a new
to me.
So there you have it, part one of what will hopefully be a
series on writing like a magician. I’d
tell you what’s next except…
…
…well you know.
