The comments on one opening suggested that we all have different opinions about what kinds of starts we like.
So, what kind of start? Example? Is this something we can discuss?
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
I like a start that drops me into the story with the scene clock running. I don't like mystery forever, so things get explained.
So, it's already doing plot, character, and setting as the story runs. An example from my work. Not the best start, but it makes the point.
"Yo." Rocket raises his hand in a dismissive hello. He's sitting in a large chair, looking and acting like the movie image of thug.
"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Mr. O'Neill. Shall I call you Rocket?"
He smiles at me. "Mr. O'Neill be real nice." Grrrr.
I'm standing in front of him, nervous about everything -- him, being here, what I want to do, not knowing if it's even possible. I'm trying to be professional. "The reason I'm here is --"
"Nobody said 'bout you being so young." Interrupting me.
Posted by MerlionEmrys (Member # 11024) on :
Me personally, until I joined Hatrack many many moons ago, I never thought about story openings at all. And even now to this very day, when I get an anthology or an issue of a magazine, typically my decision of which stories to read first is based on the titles, and looking a couple of pages into the piece, not by the first few lines.
The first few lines of quite a lot of stories-including many that I like-are not all that interesting to me.
That being said, I like many different types of stories and therefore many different types of openings. I suppose you could say I like an opening that fits smoothly with the nature and mood of the story.
I deeply dislike it when a story falls all over itself to try and "hook" me in the first few lines. If it fits then fine, but in the end the story as a whole is what I'm going to enjoy or get something out of or not.
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
The scene clock running? In medias res: into the middle of things. What does the clock count down toward? Crisis envelopment? Ideally, yes.
From crisis incitement to crisis relief efforts to crisis satisfaction, incitement of an emotional crisis type is prose's foremost start facet, irrespective of an overt magnitude or covert magnitude, and magnitude degree, one at least of a simmerer or potboiler magnitude or both.
And apt in-clue subtext that details what actually transpires therein.
The sample given is a covert potboiler, though not what it's actually about. Some apt urgency, yet all that is revealed is Rocket is a browbeater of perceived subordinates. No clue why the viewpoint persona is urgent nor what that persona's want-problem is.
Want-problem motivation's complication unrealized, some stakes risked conflict intimated: Rocket signals rejection, resistance at least (acceptance and rejection conflict), resists the plea for aid or whatever. So far, a visitation and specimen shape superficially about a visit to and of Rocket and his vague wants-problems. Little, if any, crisis portent revelations about the more pertinent viewpoint persona. Artless withholding is artless mystery and sure to disengage readers.
[ November 29, 2018, 11:59 PM: Message edited by: extrinsic ]
Posted by Meredith (Member # 8368) on :
You know, there really is no one right answer to this. It all depends on the story and what promises the author needs to make about what this story will be about. And, even then, every reader's tastes will be different and one opening won't act as a hook for everybody. No matter what rule anyone comes up with, someone will be able to cite a successful story that breaks that rule.
Posted by MerlionEmrys (Member # 11024) on :
~points up~
What she said.
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
Many the narrative of quiet, if any, movement starts, among the worthwhile literary opus. A bare whimper, if any, of a boil, if any, start or whole, if any, surface or subtext.
Gardner, Didion, Chekhov, Nabokov, Becket, Joyce, Austen, James, Dickens, Laurence, Flaubert, Freytag, Sterne, Makepeace, Spenser, Bacon, Monmouth, Beowulf writer, Virgil, Aristophanes, Plato, Sophocles, Homer, Moses, yada-yada, often so-labeled plotless writers, of little, if any, mass culture appeal.
The high-brow readership thereof are aware they are the butts of larks, yet as well more so attracted to the core moral law assertion themes and subtexts, which satirize and mock and ridicule human vice and folly not of their own station -- evidently. A stable audience of about one hundred thousand scholars and nose-bowl bleeders, albeit, who want creative expression of a certain sophisticated breed and caliber.
[ November 30, 2018, 12:05 PM: Message edited by: extrinsic ]
Posted by Kathleen Dalton Woodbury (Member # 59) on :
In OSC's How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy, he discusses structural aspects of his MICE story categories, including suggesting how a writer might start each kind of story.
So as Meredith has pointed out, it depends. If you want a "starting" place on how to start stories, you might at least take a look at OSC's discussion, and then you can go from there.
Posted by Grumpy old guy (Member # 9922) on :
In my opinion, each and every story has its own start; particular to that story alone. The task of the writer is to find this elusive animal, tame it and, most importantly, understand it.
For me, the only way to find the exact dramatic moment when the character is forced into movement is to understand intimately what your own story is really about. Only then can you winkle out the moment you seek.
The idea that a writer does not actually know what their own story is really about may seem shocking to some. It was for me when I first realised it in my own writing. Once I did, I had to find a method for identifying what it is and, in finding it, I came face-to-face with this narrative paradox: To find the start, you must know what the story is about; to find that, you must know what happens in the middle and end of the story. You can’t write the start until you know the end.
Here’s the rub. The paradox is only apparent. This is why writers create a first draft.
And here’s another problem for inexperienced writers. In creating a first draft, writers, by necessity, arbitrarily choose a moment to begin; a best guess start. The brutal truth I found is this: Almost always, your first, best guess start, is absolutely the worst place to begin your story.
Phil.
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
Hi Merideth. What do you like in a start? For reading, say. All starts are good?
I think Merlion is with me in not liking what I might call pretentious first lines. Example:
She nearly killed an innocent man.
Crighton "Charley" Bondurnat drove crefully becuase hislife depended on it. Latigo Canyon was mile and mile f nexk-wrnching, hairpin twists... He lived . . .
At the bottom of the page, "On this morning..." The middle of page two "The naked girl jumped out at him a lot faster than any deer"
I tolerate those first lines, but I don't like them.
It seems like extrinsic wants a want-problem appearing quickly.
Phil, I will think about what you said. Is there some way of recognizing that the author started at the right place?
I think I have the same question for Kathleen.
Posted by Grumpy old guy (Member # 9922) on :
You will know that only at the end of the story. It is only at that point you can say, "That was the only way the story could start." As a writer, you'll know you've found the perfect place to start because there are no other starts that compare. It does everything the opening scene needs, leaving nothing necessary to the moment unsaid or unrevealed.
Phil.
[ November 30, 2018, 09:58 PM: Message edited by: Grumpy old guy ]
Posted by Meredith (Member # 8368) on :
quote:Originally posted by EmmaSohan: Hi Merideth. What do you like in a start? For reading, say. All starts are good?
I think Merlion is with me in not liking what I might call pretentious first lines. Example:
She nearly killed an innocent man.
Crighton "Charley" Bondurnat drove crefully becuase hislife depended on it. Latigo Canyon was mile and mile f nexk-wrnching, hairpin twists... He lived . . .
At the bottom of the page, "On this morning..." The middle of page two "The naked girl jumped out at him a lot faster than any deer"
I tolerate those first lines, but I don't like them.
It seems like extrinsic wants a want-problem appearing quickly.
Phil, I will think about what you said. Is there some way of recognizing that the author started at the right place?
I think I have the same question for Kathleen.
The start of a story is more than just a hook, though ideally it does that too. More important is the promise it makes about the kind--and tone--of the story.
Pretentiousness could indicate a tone that might put me off, depending on a number of things. I would likely not blink at it from an author I trust. It might convince me not to read something by a new author. Or I just might not be in the mood for that kind of story and set it aside for another time when I might be.
A problem/conflict right at the start is more an issue for short stories than novels, which can take a little longer to get to the inciting incident. So, again, that depends.
Three of my very favorite novels (all by the same author) start with the main character walking down the road. But the details of what they want--and they all want something (that they won't get) right at the beginning--and the setting draw me in. In one case, especially the details of that setting that the character is noticing, which seem at odds with what that character appears to be.
But that author is a master of the craft. Periodically I reread those books just to try to absorb that technique. Well, and because I enjoy them even when I know how the story comes out.
Not all great stories start that way, though. And there are plenty of books I've enjoyed that started in media res with a vengeance. And a few that have had that fabled killer first line. And others, of both types, that I never finished the first chapter. Or got very little farther.
The single best way to lose me as a reader is to confuse me about which character I'm supposed to be following and rooting for.
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
An obscure piece of craft wisdom hidden in Ms. Dalton Woodbury, Grumpy old guy, and Meredith's observations suggest that a writer's struggle selects a limited body of work to study and emulate, that the writer considers worthwhile.
EmmaSohan, you already do that to a greater degree than many itinerant writers do. Time and effort expended on that pay off short term, near term, and long term, moments to aeons later. More obvious facets present first off, subtler and subtler the longer meditations scrutinize and uncover less obvious facets, especially extended parcels, like allegory, Chekhov's gun, and less proximate tension setup, relief delay, and relief segment sequence features, which are Chekhov's gun though not firearms, per se.
Chekhov's gun, paraphrased: If a firearm discharges in a scene, it best be pre-positioned, foreshadowed in a scene or two beforehand, Exceptions abound, inevitable surprise, for instance, though never convenient coincidence, unless . . .
"pretentious" starts that open with, say, "She nearly killed an innocent man." Puts the fired Chekhov tension relief segment before tension setup and relief delay segments. Maybe invokes curiosity, though from a straight flat summary tell. The line could expand into a few paragraphs, once, later, and later yet, of scene mode's show and more artfully develop tension, detail, and appeal.
However, prose, like life, takes all kinds, includes convenient habit laziness and misapprehended craft modes and methods, so common many readers accept such trivial machinations as part of the craft's standards.
That kind of first line invokes our host Orson Scott Card's "So what? Why should I care what's going on in this story?" (Character and Viewpoint: pages 19 - 21.) A throwaway line that puts a scene conclusion at the outset rather than at its end. Is a subtler expression function present soon and intended that justifies the trick? Or is the line only meant to provoke curiosity? Melodrama. Irrespective, many readers would read past a few disjointed words.
Note the adverb "nearly" is a hedge term. A more artful expression would avoid such emotionally empty and trivial words, albeit, a characterization feature of feminine speech. Did or didn't kill an innocent man. Later, occasion to show did or didn't, and the didn't error shows a common human condition, a character trait of unreliable observations: misperceptions that entrain a dramatic movement.
Innocent of what? Is such a persona realistic? Thee without sin casts the first stone; realistically, no one innocent present to do so. How do readers have information enough to gauge the relative goodness and wickedness of the innocent man and, therefore, sympathy for and vicariously urge the "she" and the man forward to a satisfactory outcome conclusion?
How does the narrator or viewpoint persona know the man is innocent in the first place? Card's other questions invoked, too: "Oh yeah? Come on. I don't believe anyone [could*] do that. That isn't the way things work. That was pretty convenient, wasn't it?" And "Huh? What's happening. This doesn't make any sense." (* "would" in the original, the sense is the same.)
Ostensibly, the sole artful merit of the line is that it expresses the innocent man had not, in the end, trespassed upon the "she," innocent of whatever he did to her, who, again ostensibly, believes he had. All of which is promised to be developed and curiosity satisfied sometime after through the true action's tension setup and relief delay segments. Not a setup line, a gimmick.
Causality inversion, in other words, effect before cause, several causes, actually, a jumbled cause-effect train of those. Occasion missed to lavish tension buildup leisure. From zero to Nero and all Rome burns, almost, not really, only perceived ablaze and immediately and untimely, injudiciously self-corrected and tension buildup released before even begun. Causality inversion has its place, though for other than a reader manipulation purpose, plus another persuasive reason at least: event, setting, character, tone, complication-conflict, tension, theme, emotional and moral subtext, etc., developments. Manipulation is sudden assault; persuasion is witting seduction and at leisure.
[ December 02, 2018, 08:06 AM: Message edited by: extrinsic ]
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
I think I love this forum.
I realize, now, that I want the start to tell me, probably in the first sentence, who the story is about. (If there is a who.)
And the exceptions prove the rule. (And I am talking about what I like.) Ender's Game begins with two people discussing Ender. It's easy for me to show the main character when I write in first person, but even when I don't:
Her father suddenly threw aside his newspaper and jumped to his feet.
"Her" is the main character, not the father. I could have saved a word and had exactly the same description with "he" instead of "her father".
Laughing, or maybe I fail in my first example -- extrinsic focused on Rocket, calling him a browbeater. Which was kind of amazing to catch in 122 words, but my interest was in her. (I think the next sentence, which I left out, makes that clearer.)
Posted by Grumpy old guy (Member # 9922) on :
Rocket, as a browbeater, is an obvious catch from the words written on the page. Nothing magical in that.
Phil.
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
Prose subtext magic if counterposed to a viewpoint persona's contrary motivations: this is the real and true pivotal contentious wills' contest clash of the scene . . .
More magical yet if dramatic irony, the viewpoint persona first unaware of the browbeats, the anti-agonist subject persona deliberate or by default nonconscious browbeater, and, therefrom, readers clued in prior to the viewpoint persona, tension setup and relief delay entrained, for which readers urge the viewpoint agonist's realization. Possible deepest subtext message and moral commentary about masculine supremacy and vulnerable thereto feminine victimization double standards.
Oh how often in real-life tableaus I observe the dog whistles, bullhorns, barges and bulldozers, and gaslights and violences of one-upshipped dominance pageants.
[ December 02, 2018, 08:14 AM: Message edited by: extrinsic ]
Posted by Robert Nowall (Member # 2764) on :
There's the theory that one should grab the reader---and, in particular, the editor who might buy---with some real grabber of a sentence or a paragraph. I'm minded of a couple (which I'm quoting from memory here):
"I suppose, like the Kennedy assassination, we all remember where we were when the aliens brought Jesus back to Earth."
"Put down that wrench!"
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
Merideth: Can I learn the name of that author? I want to see if I like the starts. I also want to see if there's some useful technique I might learn and use.
Robert: I suspect you are right. There really is no other reason for those attention-grabbing starts -- someone must think they make more money. Probably they do -- I bet not many people go "Ugh" when they read them.
Extrinsic: You really did not get enough information, but I think you are right. The scene starts the story, but it also establishes her personality. She's aware of his intimidation and occasionally tries to fight it, but goes along with it and loses when she fights.
To try to stay on topic . . . I like to learn about characters through what they say and do, so that's maybe why I like starting a story by being dropped into an active scene.
Posted by Meredith (Member # 8368) on :
quote:Originally posted by EmmaSohan: Merideth: Can I learn the name of that author? I want to see if I like the starts. I also want to see if there's some useful technique I might learn and use.
Lois McMaster Bujold. The three books in question were:
The Curse of Chalion Paladin of Souls Beguilement
The first two are from her World of the Five Gods series. (Frankly, while the opening is great, she really hooked me a bit later when she revealed that one of the five gods is called the Bastard.) The third is the first book of her Sharing Knife series. All fantasy.
Of course, her science fiction is excellent, too.
Posted by Robert Nowall (Member # 2764) on :
Re: memorable starts for the sake of editors. There's a parody of one that floats around (S. J. Perlemen, if I remember right, and if I'm spelling his last name right):
"Bang, bang! Bang, bang! Four shots ripped into my gut. But, first, let me tell you a little about myself."
Posted by LDWriter2 (Member # 9148) on :
Hmm, Something that get my attention. Could be action, could be something else.
Just read the start of one book. Part of a series so I already know the hero and his girlfriend what they each think of his family who is a secret organization taking on all types of bad guys. Basically he says "You ready?" She says yes. He bashes down the door to his families hidden home. Okay, I think why? A test? He wants to make a point? Just for fun? She may think that way. Need to read on to find out.
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
Hi LDWriter2. I love that start -- it puts me right in the action.
Those starts necessarily have mystery. That author could have started out with a narrative description, so I know the context for the action, but I don't like that.
I don't like prolonged mystery that makes it impossible to appreciate what's happening, but I basically understand what is happening here. And I assume the author will fill me in as needed.
And look at the art! That simple line "You ready?" tells me so much. They are not simply locked out without a key. They are not just trespassing. Something exciting could happen, and she needs to be ready.
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
The example first lines above of several entrain tension setup. Likewise, a want-problem intimation or implication, declared outright if necessary, entails a tension setup, ideally, timely, judicious delayed relief, too.
A persona done to is problematized, is victimism, which invokes wants; a persona who wants is similarly problematized though is proactivism. Generally, victimism is a feminine aesthetic; proactivism, masculine, not, per se, female or male, or feminist or masculist, though considerations for audience target appeals.
LDWriter2's "You ready?" intimates a want, highly problematized, that sets up tension entrainment for what and why the readiness is wanted, soon to unfold.
Tension entrainment then, another facet that I favor for starts.
Posted by Grumpy old guy (Member # 9922) on :
Just as a general observation, prompted by a response I posted on another thread, I have two words people need to not simply consider but embrace when they submit a fragment for critique: Anticipation and apprehension.
Both states excite reader interest and entice the reader to turn the page. Consult Aristotle, among others.
Phil.
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
Grumpy old guy posted: "Anticipation and apprehension."
L. Rust Hills also concurs and adds "urgency" for energetic prose's sake. Those probably not standard conventions for philosophic or lyric prose; respectively, dynamic moral truth discovery, moral law assertion, and poetically enhanced emotional expression.
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
First, by selecting books with starts that I like, I have suddenly gone from usually putting down a book to usually finishing it. The two failures I made it 1/3 through.
The two book that just failed didn't meet Phil's requirement -- they dropped me into a scene, but the scene had nothing to do with the story. I can't spot that just reading the start.
I will look for urgency and apprehension, but I can't imagine them making a start good for me. (Other people, sure.)
I'm not sure what you mean by anticipation. Anticipating what?
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
Readers anticipate dramatic movement through a dramatic persona's perception and anticipation of urgent want-problem apprehension.
"Are you ready?" above, for example, anticipation, apprehension, urgency, tension, and complication-conflict entrained in three words and three punctuation marks!? Though an apt, concise dramatic event setup, setting detail description, and pertinent character introduction of portentous foreshadows and intimations best practice leads to that dialogue line's expression. An in medias res start's bases and a danger at the door shape, per Jerome Stern, Making Shapely Fiction. The two agonists the danger at the door and endangered by their nefarious designs. L. Rust Hills' text of worthwhile note: Writing in General and the Short Story in Particular.
[ December 11, 2018, 08:27 PM: Message edited by: extrinsic ]
Posted by Robert Nowall (Member # 2764) on :
It's difficult to judge starts because I've never actually bought anything because of one---short stories came with the magazine I was subscribing to, something else attracted me to this or that novel.
Non-fiction will stop dead for me if I spot a mistake, even a typo. Just yesterday I was reading a book where someone was photocopying documents in 1937---a year before photocopying was invented. I think they meant documents were copied by taking photos of them, but it's a careless use of a specific technical term.
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
I'm at the opposite -- at the library, I can choose from hundreds (thousands) of books. And if I pick randomly, probably half aren't worth reading.
I don't think I ever LIKE a start. The writer doesn't have to tools needed to create something good. Right? I can admire craft, but there's not a lot to show off. I can see a hook that I perhaps swallow and perhaps do not. If there's a lot of description, I know I won't like it or the book.
Trying to use the start to predict how much I'll like the book is new for me, and so far it's working better than tense or book color or title or recommendation.
Posted by Grumpy old guy (Member # 9922) on :
Anticipation: The narrative requirement to instill in the reader's mind the expectation something interesting is about to happen. The following is simply an example.
Gemma watched the clock above the mantle, it's second hand twitching in time with her beating heart. Two more minutes and He will be here, she thought.
Phil.
[ December 14, 2018, 06:26 AM: Message edited by: Grumpy old guy ]
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
Hmm. Watching a clock is the start of the story? If something interesting is going to happen, why not start the story there? Again, I like starts that drop me into the story.
If the next paragraph is flashback/descrption/backstory, that's even worse from my perspective. At least you don't have "She didn't know what would happen, but she knew it would be the most important moment of her life."
So I guess I am not a fan of anticipation. The problem is that, for me, promises of more to come usually aren't met.
Posted by MerlionEmrys (Member # 11024) on :
quote: So I guess I am not a fan of anticipation. The problem is that, for me, promises of more to come usually aren't met.
Interestingly, I'm not always a great fan of some types of anticipation, but for the opposite reason-I more or less know something is going to happen, that's sort of the point. So either get to the happenings, or present me with something else interesting like nifty writing style, quirky characters or philosophical interest.
Of course, it may not be possible to do that well in a few lines and so there may be just a taste of those things, but I see that as a little different from setting up anticipation of something specific.
I guess my real point here is, I, and most readers I know, make some basic assumptions about a story going in-something exciting is going to happen, the good guys are probably going to "win" more or less etc, so it's less important to try and make sure the audience knows this and more important to do it.
Or maybe I'm not making sense at all.
[ December 15, 2018, 06:30 PM: Message edited by: MerlionEmrys ]
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
"watched" is the second word that disturbed me. Gemma's name named first, first speed bump.
Words that summarize sensation actions are third-order static voice. Though the example is given to illustrate anticipation, not for critique, at least Gemma anticipates a dramatic visitation and, ideally, readers would, too.
That, though, is a future anticipation, not a present sense anticipation. And a present sense would be a show of Gemma's dynamic emotional cluster state of being in the now moment, pendent and now emotional equilibrium upset and setup. Dynamic to mean reality imitation show, less static summary or explanation tell, and dramatic emotional contention of a moral aptitude, with herself at least, or her setting situation, or other personas present, or all the above.
[ December 15, 2018, 06:13 PM: Message edited by: extrinsic ]
Posted by Grumpy old guy (Member # 9922) on :
My example, poor as it seems to be, is only 27 words, or two and a half lines out of a possible thirteen. And, an awful lot of assumptions seem to have been drawn about it.
EmmaSohan:
quote:Watching a clock is the start of a story?
Who said this is the start of a story? It’s two and a half lines that could appear anywhere. Also, haven't you simply watched a clock while waiting for someone?
quote:The problem is that, for me, promises of more to come usually aren’t met.
Then I’d suggest you stop reading such authors; if that’s a type you look for. Any writer who promises to reveal something, then doesn’t follow through is a poor writer.
MerlionEmrys:
quote:Or maybe I’m not making sense at all.
Quite right. Just look at the starts you’ve submitted. Perhaps you should “get to the happenings” instead of revealing the uninteresting. BTW, who says nothing is going to happen after these two and a half lines.
extrinsic: I know your preferred style of narrative; it isn’t mine. So we’ll have to agree to accept our differing aesthetics. I could make it more ‘immediate’ and ‘in the now’, but it wasn’t a submission of a piece of prose, just an example whipped up on the spur of the moment.
Phil.
[ December 15, 2018, 06:27 PM: Message edited by: Grumpy old guy ]
Posted by MerlionEmrys (Member # 11024) on :
quote: BTW, who says nothing is going to happen after these two and a half lines.
I wasn't talking about your two and a half lines, Grumpy. I was responding to Emma's post. I probably should have quoted, but sometimes when I see a post and know mine will be the next after it and that I'll be making obvious references to it, I just figured anyone reading the whole thread will notice that. Probably a bad habit.
Really, what I was trying to say here is basically, a writer doesn't need to try to prove to me that something is going to happen at the beginning of a story, because I assume something is going to happen (or instead there is going to be some sort of internal character thing, or a concept explored or something like that.)
Whether or not that something is something I want to read probably isn't going to be determined until later anyway.
I guess its because I tend to assume that the beginning of a story is going to have less happening and then events gradually build over time (unless it's in medias res which is fine also.)
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
Henry James often analyzed prose similar to my methods -- recently realized that. James' life-long companion Edith Wharton was James' greatest critic, and debated about James' commentary of her work and others'. Not to say who's who for this thread's discussion -- no, as yet, Whartons or James here.
James was one of a rare few who appreciated a continuum of literary movements up through his era, and developed his appreciation of that realization through his prose. The singular commonality, too, influenced his prose, critical analyses, and craft essays; that is, human consciousness. From moral and predeterminist Scriptural doctrines, fables, folk tales, through Rationalism, Romanticism, Realism, and early Modernism, James realized consciousness' commonality across the opus. Moralism and Predeterminism's insistence for group only consciousness, Rationalism's consciousness of self, Romanticism's retro Predeterminism, Realism's self-consciousness, Modernism's focal self-enlightenment. The trend persists -- Postmodernism's self-awareness.
Now what's next is in an infancy though nonetheless a consciousness facet. If Pluralism is it, then consciousness of self, self-enlightenment, self-awareness, and -- and -- awareness of others is a next-order literary movement departure. Traditionally, a literary movement spans three generations, one to found it, one to focus it, one to realize its conventions fully; meantime, each generation develops its own movement focus and culture value. Postmodernism -- wane already and let the next era emerge.
Pluralism? Strong traces across current canons, though as well strong traces well into the past. However, no standouts to speak of yet, possibles only.
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
"Undine Spragg—how can you?" her mother wailed, raising a prematurely-wrinkled hand heavy with rings to defend the note which a languid "bell-boy" had just brought in.
Phil, is that what you meant by anticipation? That's a first line, btw. I would have called it a hook -- as reader, I want to learn what the note is, or said. Her mother's reaction makes it sound important.
But if I'm a fish in this metaphor, there's nothing particularly enjoyable about swallowing a hook. Or at least that's what I struggle with as a reader.
400 words later, after a lengthy description of setting, her mother, and her mother's friend, we learn (spoiler alert) that the note isn't from Mr. Popple, it's from Mr. Marvell's sister!!! Whoever they are. (And I misunderstood the first two words, so the start was confusing to me.)
Posted by Grumpy old guy (Member # 9922) on :
This isn't what I mean by creating a feeling of anticipation; it's the opposite. It's simply contrived conflict of the worst sort--forced and staged melodrama. Uggh! It's not a hook, it's a rotten fish, and I can smell it from here.
You actually read another 400 words of this stuff? You're a braver woman than I am. All I get from this opening is a mental warning not to go near anything this person ever writes.
Again, uggh!
I'm just curious. Was this actually a published book (commercial, not self), or was it simply some on-line thingy?
In my example we know Gemma is waiting for someone; we don't know who or why. We can also infer that Gemma is not overly concerned: a resting heart rate of 60bpm is well within the normal range. So, the anticipation is in wondering who she is meeting and why. No over-the-top conflict required.
Anticipation is a lesser level of enquiry than curiosity. The curious seek an answer while those who anticipate an events occurrence are willing to wait for the reveal.
Phil.
[ December 17, 2018, 06:25 AM: Message edited by: Grumpy old guy ]
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
"'Undine Spragg . . .'" Start of: Edith Wharton, The Custom of the Country, 1913. Gilded Age U.S. semi-equivalent to British early regency William Thackeray Makepeace's Vanity Fair, 1848.
Custom is a Modernism era retro-Romanticism moral law assertion of retro-Predeterminism's social stratification hierarchy and natural division of labors' status by station of birth. Both are high-brow satires about presumptions above one's "natural" station. Wharton's contains said-bookism "ejaculated" twice; Makepeace's, eight; Wharton nudges nods to an emulated inspiration.
Henry James, The Turn of the Screw, 1898, first paragraph:
"The story had held us, round the fire, sufficiently breathless, but except the obvious remark that it was gruesome, as, on Christmas Eve in an old house, a strange tale should essentially be, I remember no comment uttered till somebody happened to say that it was the only case he had met in which such a visitation had fallen on a child. The case, I may mention, was that of an apparition in just such an old house as had gathered us for the occasion—an appearance, of a dreadful kind, to a little boy sleeping in the room with his mother and waking her up in the terror of it; waking her not to dissipate his dread and soothe him to sleep again, but to encounter also, herself, before she had succeeded in doing so, the same sight that had shaken him. It was this observation that drew from Douglas—not immediately, but later in the evening—a reply that had the interesting consequence to which I call attention. Someone else told a story not particularly effective, which I saw he was not following. This I took for a sign that he had himself something to produce and that we should only have to wait. We waited in fact till two nights later; but that same evening, before we scattered, he brought out what was in his mind."
Somewhat a presentation of anticipation!? Hook? Engagement? Not until substantially later. Complication-conflict develops not until much later, either. Likewise a high-brow satire though about self-righteous moral misapprehensions.
The above narratives are rather stilted language, apropos of traditional narrative points of view formal registers common to narratives previous to middle Modernism. I've read each of the above cover to cover, several occasions each.
[ December 17, 2018, 10:01 AM: Message edited by: extrinsic ]
Posted by Grumpy old guy (Member # 9922) on :
Edith Wharton, hmmmm. No wonder she isn't in my library. Joyce neither.
Phil.
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
Several fragment posters of late and for some time have responded to responses critical of everyday-routine starts. Do you like that type of start? As reader? As writer?
Jerome Stern, Making Shapely Fiction, explains and illustrates sixteen story shape types. Each some way compasses an ordinary enough, routine event sequence, though suggests non-routine attendants for everyday routines, simultaneous, contemporaneous, and sequential: idiosyncrasy, exotic, traumatic, humorous, farcical, sarcastic, cynical, satiric, ironic, horrific, droll routine yet an ominous menace subtext, "Last Lap," "Onion," and so on.
I concur with Stern's view that direct, implied, or intimated non-routines ought should best practice attend ordinary routines. Ostensibly and arguably, all worthwhile starts at least entail a routine interruption scenario, the routine portrayed at least for dramatic contrast purposes. Even in medias res and in ultimas res starts entail routine interruption.
To me, the usual routine portrayal setup is droll back story without dramatic movement, is more so ab ovo, or ab initio, from the egg and from the start, respectively, means at the start of the complication-conflict action for literature. Otherwise, a routine is mere prologue or artless, of little, if any appeal.
Also arguably, a routine portrayed itself intimates that all Creation will rain wrack and ruin soon enough. In deft writer hands, that promise is nonetheless set up at the outset.
Edgar Allan Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado" is a classic example of an in ultimas res start that entails routine, non-routine, and attendant routine interruption.
First sentence below, contains the routine, non-routine, and congruent interruption, and sets up that the whole is the denouement act of a long sequence of complex events, that are never described, yet is neither Recollection, per se, nor flashback or flash-forward, is a present sense and forward movement emotional thought, and hyperbole. (Emotion and Introspection):
"The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge."
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
First, if the life-as-normal is boring, then often it can be skipped. If there's something the reader needs to know that takes time to show, such as the life of being deaf, that can be made interesting.
Second, it's reasonable for a book to begin with a pre-existing problem. My impression was that Of Mice and Men was life-as-normal for a long time. I start a book with her being pregnant, having a bad leg, and the Holy Grail is in her attic and a stranger is coming to see it. Routine was long left behind.
I will try to look at Stern.
Posted by Jay Greenstein (Member # 10615) on :
quote:I start a book with her being pregnant, having a bad leg, and the Holy Grail is in her attic and a stranger is coming to see it. Routine was long left behind.
Sounds like fun. Me? I's start the book with that stranger who's coming to visit and let her be his inciting incident and the reader's avatar, so they enjoy the fun of discovering all the complications, and being drawn in.
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
quote: The advice in Alice in Wonderland is, in it's own way, umpimpeachable: "Begin at the beginning, go on to the end. Then stop."
Way? There are other ways [ways of what?] in which this isn't unimpeachable? Should we discuss them? Or move on. (This is from Stern's book, see "Beginnings") The advice, by the way, is completely circular and says nothing.
quote: But in fiction that's not as simple as it first appears.
That? What does that mean? That sentence isn't as simple as it first appears? When does that sentence seem more complicated? It doesn't get more complicated when I study it. I hate when nonfiction writers use pronouns to fuzz up their sentences.
quote: Where the beginning is, what it is, and how to do it constantly troubles writers.
Relevance to the preceding sentences? I'm not seeing it. If the first sentence is wrong, why is he offering it as advice? If it's unclear, why isn't he saying that.
Extrinsic, I am in the mood to read what others have to say about starts. Am I really suppose to understand this? Is it yet saying anything? Am I doing something wrong? Just in a cranky mood?
If you look at what I think is the actual advice, does it say anything?
quote: At this point you have to decide which story you want to tell this time. When you do, you will have a clearer sense of where this particular story should begin.
I think "Try to write well" is good advice; maybe we should stop there. But that's pretty much all Stern was saying.
(And yes, I know Card gives meaningful advice about starts. anyone else?
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
Stern's "Beginnings" entry is about a project's first written draft begun however, for example, by free association: start and continue to the draft's completion, then stop and review, not how to open a narrative, per se, and isn't a "Shape," either. That method is one of several that advise just write the whole and see what happens: intuitive, discovery, "seat-of-the-pants." And is unimpeachable and complex anyway, no more and no less than planned and melded free association-planned composition. Experienced writers' raw drafts trend toward the latter method, some planned, some free association, some of both and more.
The start of a prose project's development and composition initiation in those above contexts is the sense Stern's "Beginnings" point compasses, a gamut from where and when a narrative project begins and moves toward, to doubt and confusion writer's block intrusions, to whether to adjust while in progress, or just put a word count on the page and let the smart subconscious have free reigns.
Unfortunately, after the "Beginnings" claim assertion paragraph, Stern then confuses and conflates the word's uses to span also a narrative's opening scene. A close read of the whole text shows he does that, as do many other descriptive prose composition texts. Several terms in particular are often confused: exposition, conflict, narrative point of view, and viewpoint.
In a final analysis, all accomplished writers rewrite and revise to variant degrees. An average is a rough fourth time expended on a first draft, a half spent on reworks, and a fourth for final publication preparation. Too many writers short shrift rewrites and altogether balk at publication preparation adjustments.
One of the more misused and abused English words is "it." Period.
Stern's overall point for the whole text is as much a pep talk, too, as a narrative theory vocabulary, as a unique perspective of story types; his shapes are structure types, of a piece, parcel, or whole, that is. Sterne's is but one of several dozens texts of "plot types" and attendant criteria that define each's dramatic structure and movement -- whether Aristotle's tragedy, comedy, tragic-comedy, simple, complex, epic, energetic, lyric, or dramatic, to Damon Knight's several, to Gustav Freytag's, to Norman Freidman's, E.M. Forster's, Percy Lubbock's, Christopher Booker's, William Foster-Harris', Ronald B. Tobias', Georges Polti's, Vladimir Propp's, Margaret Atwood's, L. Rust Hill's, etc., and, of course, to our host Orson Scott Card's Milieu, Idea, Character, and Event quotient types: M.I.C.E. Each someway explicates and illustrates narratives' opens and middles and ends and shapes.
The infamous anecdotal structure type: all plots are either a native leaves home or a stranger comes to town (Leo Tolstoy), albeit; the native is a stranger away from home; the stranger is a native from somewhere, and either can be other than a persona: a deluge, an earthquake, a firearm, a wildfire, an act of the gods or a faceless government or corporation, etc.
Another common "type" gamut evolves from personal, public social, private social, educational, recreational, natural world, religious, political, or vocational life. Another generic structure typology orients around age phases: new, young, early, middle, late childhood or adulthood. Or, actually, one plot type, really: a personal crisis onset of an apt magnitude outset, efforts to satisfy the crisis, the crisis' outcome.
How to start a dramatic narrative is from a personal crisis' onset outset, irrespective of if ab ovo, in medias res, or in ultimas res. Period. The structural formula is simple, though ought not appear formulaic to an audience; resistance is strong, therefore. Causation and Antagonism are the two forces of crisis onset, or complication's motivations and conflict' stakes risked forces of causation and antagonism. Plus Tension's emotional appeals: empathy, sympathy, pity, (maybe loathing), suspense, and curiosity. ACT, act up, act out, act dramatically on the page (or stage or screen), drawn from real life.
If a narrative starts from a routine, per se ab initio (from the start of a crisis), albeit a routine of everyday crises or one high-magnitude crisis among a lifetime of otherwise normal routine, a best practice is to pose the routine as a pendent crisis upset and pose the interruption scene as soon practical.
That -- that dramatic narratives are about crises onset and coping with crises, why is that so much of a challenge and all too often missed, even for published works and more than a few acclaimed works? ---- Jay Greenstein's observation seconded that the stranger who comes to visit the Holy Grail in the attic (idiosyncrasy) is an apt start incitement and a patent, potent interruption scenario, a visitation shape, and the visitor's pendent, anticipated, worry-fraught arrival and visit is a setup scenario in which to show the otherwise routine outset. Pregnancy (also a possible "Visitation" shape, non-idiosyncratic) and a bad leg (possible "Last Lap" or "Onion" shapes, or etc., non-idiosyncratic) could be routines for her, could be nonroutines, or could be an altogether other story's crises within which to cope.
However, what she wants from the visitation and for the scene and the overall outcome is the most significant aspect. What's her motivation? Money? Fame? Rid of the cursed thing and into worthy hands? Or the opposite, the Grail diverted for evil purposes? Or indifferent at first and later cares? Or similar or other? Mindful several media properties already portray those above ideas: Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, The Da Vinci Code, and Constantine. Each is cinema's grandiose spectacle and sensationalism, though; a more down-to-earth, everyperson (woman) drama holds potential appeal merits, too.
[ February 17, 2019, 11:08 PM: Message edited by: extrinsic ]
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
Interesting, and makes me think. Thanks.
She is living her life, and all of a sudden the Holy Grail appears in her attic. Or she finally notices it. It makes her feel calm.
And the next day someone appears at the door to visit it. And you call that starting with an interruption of her normal life? Wasn't it already interrupted?
Also, does she have to want something? I think she wishes she knew what she should do. A lack of agency. She shouldn't be letting strange people in her house, but she so far likes the visits. I think her dominant approach for the whole book is reacting to events.
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
The sudden appearance, or notice, of the Grail is the first interruption and is also the true visitor influence "character." The subsequent visitors are subjective characters, Specimens (Stern shape), that is, personas the "she" objective character observes. And each and all are transformation influences, also. Specimens reveal as much or more about an observer's true nature as about Specimens observed. Ostensibly, the Grail remains solely an influence and otherwise is static; or does its influence transform, too? And is it subject to observance for such transformations, a Specimen itself?
Reaction to the visitors, interruptions, and visits is just that, reaction, not proactive action, or proactivism, in other words, is victimism. Each are part of Margaret Atwood's structure theories. Though maybe the visits are anecdotes, that is, "interesting" snapshots of dramatic events, and not per se harmful or pleasant events, that is still victimism. A problematic want and efforts to satisfy the want-problem are proactivism.
A start may initiate victimism and an outcome be an end of the victimism and no other transformation. However, if proactivism arises at some point early to middle word count and causes a profound persona personal transformation outcome is of far more appeal potential, due in part to enhanced and apt dramatic complexity and another part due to completeness and unity of an action. Want-problem realizes fully rounded characterization, multidimensional realization of true, real-life human conditions, irrespective of genre. And Providence be praised -- want-problem's motivation developments are one of the more difficult prose challenges, an appeal itself because of how much more difficult and, therefore, is less common to literature's opus than non-transformative narratives.
There, too, are the appeals of maturation growth at proportionate personal loss costs. Labeled the bildungsroman form, or maturation narrative (German for education novel, moral aptitude education, that is), is at present largely constrained to young and early adult prose, though is a subtle facet of most contemporary prose, albeit under-realized.
Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea is bildungsroman, though not recognized as such. Santiago realizes the onset of late adulthood's mortal disabilities, and the realization crushes his spirits. His growth gains? Only late adulthood wisdoms learned and a Pyrrhic victory. Other than a broken spirit, he also loses parts of his fishing equipment and is penniless and in debt. Though unrealized, Santiago is ripe for community interdependence, the selfless give and take of mutual, shared, and reciprocal efforts and outcomes, after a lifetime of self-independence from others' contributions to his well-being, though which goes against Hemingway's cult of masculism.
[ February 17, 2019, 11:45 PM: Message edited by: extrinsic ]
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
Well, extrinsic. I am kind of on a quest for a what we do as modern writers to make our books good. (There is more to a book than an exciting conclusion.)
So it's amazing how much of my book you described from just the start. The character is reactive and can't make decisions (are those the same?), and the small advances in taken action across the book are very important to the story. But do not forget her attempts to be proactive that fail. Thanks for allowing me a character with low agency.
There's 17 visitors to the Holy Grail, all different, and its a story about them, but it includes her reactions. And that includes how they sometimes change her, in little ways. Like you said. Multiple things happening there.
And I guess the appearance of the Holy Grail doesn't change HER life as normal, because she can ignore it. The visitors she can't ignore.
Did you want to try to guess the conclusion?
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
Reactive to external forces and indecisiveness could be complication enough, problem itself that implies a want for proactivation and decisiveness yet reluctant to do either. Reactive and indecisive may accompany each other or not; a nonreactive persona may still be indecisive, a decisive persona may still be nonreactive.
A static persona is one untransformed by events and forces, as opposed to a dynamic persona. Little, if any, transformation when all Creation compels transformation is an uncommon though apt structure type.
Other possible outcomes include classic Aristotlean dramas, tragedy and comedy, that is, respectively, movement is from okay to worse or worst, not okay to worse or worst, or not okay to better or best. Aristotle advises against okay or good to okay or good, and not okay or bad to not okay or bad; no movement also sags opens, middles, and ends -- no payoff set up; therefore, no payoff. Successful resistance to transformative forces is at the least from not okay at first to an okay outcome or okay at first to a not okay outcome.
Bildungsroman is a tragic-comedy type, in which moral and psychological growth are portrayed, and occasions the rarest type, that is, personal growth at proportionate personal loss costs, an okay-not okay duality to a not okay-okay duality (exquisite simultaneous, contemporaneous, and sequential counteractions). Inconsequential, naive, blissful innocence lost for a gain of enhanced and consequential self-responsibility and situational awareness, for example. Ideally, though, not a zero-sum scenario.
Otherwise, if a later dramatic turn scene's revelation and reversal results in a substantive complication-conflict satisfaction effort direction change, that is the inevitable surprise outcome, or twist, that most delights readers. Inevitable surprises require pre-positioned motif setups: Chekhov's gun, foreshadows.
The above types aren't per se exclusive of each other. The least common and, therefore, greatest challenge and appeal type is a tragic-comedy bildungsroman of a complete and unified single action and substantive inevitable surprise turns that ends at a tragically beautiful outcome turn (a noble sacrifice for a common good).
Seventeen visitors and visitation episodes risks possible circles-the-drain scenarios. Multiple repetitions of dramatic circumstances without substitution and amplification, or force increase, auxesis, are signs of circled drains. Presumably, each visitor's motives and agendas vary, and are organized for apt auxesis sequence.
Plus, due to the episodic nature of the visitations, that raises the possibility for the picaresque form: episodic adventures of a roguish protagonist in vice and folly-fraught social situations. Indecisiveness is roguish enough, that is, sloth vice of her, though can later be shown as serendipitous diligence, decisiveness, and wisdom (an apt later revelation and reversal scenario turn), and another vice set per each visitor, and idiosyncrasies, plus, for full character roundness, virtues per each, vices as virtues, and virtues as vices as well.
The set potential then is seven vices, seven virtues, and permutations and combinations of those factors, for forty-two possible, distinct character nature variants (f of x = n^[n-1] where n equals the number of discrete factors). Enough for seventeen visitor episode variants and their several transformations, and auxesis potentials for a complete and unified dramatic action.
[ February 18, 2019, 08:31 PM: Message edited by: extrinsic ]
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
Now I am intrigued. The monks that normally keep the cup have arrived at her house, she tells her story to everyone, the next day someone shows up to be healed with everyone watching. And then I think the only possible conclusion:
quote: Erasmus: "Do you really think that's the Holy Grail?" I sigh. "Yeah." We all look at it. It shimmers, then disappears.
So what type of story is it now? There's a lot of loose ends to tie up. Can you guess those? And maybe you don't want to call that the thrilling conclusion. There's an action scene where her life is saved, but that comes earlier and it's just a long scene.
The problem of decisiveness doesn't need to be completely solved, she just needs to learn and improve, right?
BTW, all visitors are different, different needs, different reactions to the cup, different solutions, and they leave like a calling card which is different. Plus what she does is different, and the conversation after can be different. The order is almost random, except for plot needs; most interact with the plot more or less; a few do not.
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
A simple plot is merely the straightforward movement from a start's setup to a destination outcome related to the setup's complication-conflict. Unfortunately, that "plot" type entails telegraphed action and outcome. And the Grail appears, and some stuff happens, and the Grail disappears, and to no meaningful end -- an "And Plot."
"Picaresque plot in which this happens, and then that happens, and then something else happens, and it all adds up to nothing in particular."
An anecdote from script culture illustrates. A play production director asks a script writer what is wrong with a problematic final act. The script writer says the first act. Little, if any setup, no earned payoff outcome.
Apt setup entails ample complication-conflict development and suited pre-positioned motifs, foreshadows, Chekhov's guns, and likewise repetition, substitution, and amplification throughout.
EmmaSohan posted: "The problem of decisiveness doesn't need to be completely solved, she just needs to learn and improve, right?"
Valid enough, though "solved" is for puzzle stories. Satisfied is a more apt term, and relevant to a first act setup's complication-conflict. A mystic Grail's appearance is the vehicle for the subsequent visitations. The complication given is problems of nonproactive reactions and indecisiveness about the Grail and visits and external compulsions to become active and decisive, not internal ones.
A possible vehicle for the Grail's disappearance at the end is she does exhibit personal and moral growth, and that be earned by the whole action. Other loose ends tied up might not matter and might represent others' lacks of likewise personal growth.
Maybe she wants to be more active and decisive, maybe she doesn't. Maybe she's patient to wait and see what happens and willing to give benefit of doubt to all and sundry, herself foremost.
Conflict -- what are her stakes at risk? Seems a common acceptance and rejection conflict forces scenario, want to be accepted, socially, at least; problem, risk of social rejection. Life and death doesn't seem at risk, nor riches and rags or success and failure overall.
Maybe salvation and damnation are at risk. The Grail's true portent from inception has been full acceptance into the Christian God's graces earned, a knight's difficult object-quest errand, and a basis for the Arthurian legend's predicate king preordained by divine assent. Plus, though not part of the Canterbury tales where the Grail holds such significance, though part of Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of Britain, the Pendragon line descends from a Greek hero king of the Trojan war (Odysseus), therefore, Pendragons are preordained royalty. Kings and emperors and pharaohs, all royalty, have always justified their utter right to rule though such confirmation and survivorship bias nonsense.
Uther Pendragon committed unspeakable crimes with Igraine and other hubris acts, and was damned. Arthur betrayed God's grace similarly and otherwise, and the hero's lineage, and Camelot crumbled. He and Camelot were damned for their pride and hubris.
This is why a pre-positioned proactive want-problem setup is substantive: a focal persona's destination is established up front, irrespective of if straightforward to or a consequence of revelations and reversals that arrive at a different nonetheless complication-conflict satisfaction destination (Aristotle's complex plot).
Revelation, also known as anagnorisis: "the point in the plot especially of a tragedy at which the protagonist recognizes his or her or some other character's true identity or discovers the true nature of his or her own situation"; reversal, also known as peripeteia: "a sudden or unexpected reversal of circumstances or situation especially in a literary work" (Webster's).
Revelation and reversal attend each other, and are the most fundamental facets of a dramatic unit. Reversal then revelation or revelation then reversal, or contemporaneous or simultaneous revelation-reversal, completes a dramatic unit: scene, section, chapter, and whole.
[ February 19, 2019, 01:21 AM: Message edited by: extrinsic ]
Posted by Grumpy old guy (Member # 9922) on :
Not only is it a simple plot, it's also episodic. The only constant thread seems to be a 'static' Holy Grail.
Phil.
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
quote:Originally posted by Grumpy old guy: it's also episodic. Phil.
Is that a type? It fits my book really well. Like, a scene begins with the cup being stolen and ends with getting it back.
The big challenge for an episodic book would be making every scene enjoyable/interesting.
An episodic book can do more than, say, a TV show. I have personality growth, exploration of problems, and a few problems spanning the entire book. I have repeating conversations with variation.
The movie Ground Hog day would be episodic, right? That movie is the epitome of repetition with variation, but I do that too. If that movie explores the different goals one could have in life, my explores the different ways that people can be healed. I have her giving advice she received many chapters back. Etc.
I hadn't thought of my book that way. Fascinating idea.
Posted by EmmaSohan (Member # 10917) on :
Forrest Gump, the movie, is also episodic. Interestingly, it has repetition with variation in visiting the president at the end of the scene.
And, like my book, it ends with a scene from the start, the same and yet different. (Coming back to the same place older but wiser?)
13 Reasons Why would be episodic, right? That was one of my favorite books.
Posted by Robert Nowall (Member # 2764) on :
Heinlein's novels, by and large, are episodic, too.
Posted by extrinsic (Member # 8019) on :
Arguably, many narratives are episodic though not exclusively picaresque. The label "episodic" ranges from a polemic term to neutral to a positive emotional charge. The polemic term is for "And" plots, or clueless literary review critics. Robert Heinlein's novels and overall body of works' timeline trend toward episodic.
The challenges of an episodic structure are concision, completeness, and unity of a dramatic action and whatever congruent counteractions transpire, or, actually, the several axes, layers, or threads of a whole action.
The worst sort of episodic narrative is those which the episodes are contrived to make readers the butt of a coy and clever lark. Nextmost is episodic and melodramatic narratives which lack apt conciseness, cohesiveness, and completeness. Nextmost is episodic narratives that lack an apt degree of complexity that obscures formulaic structure. Nextmost is narratives that waste readers' engagement due to they amount to little, if any, apt degree of profound and sublime payoff outcome.
Forest Gump is episodic though not picaresque. The narrative is a romance, not a portrait of a rogue. Likewise, Thirteen Reasons Why, Jay Asher, is episodic though not picaresque, except if a portrait of a protagonist's suicidal ideation and suicide is a rogue's behavior, and is also philosophic's moral law assertion, problematic for me. Ground Hog Day is classic picaresque -- a rogue agonist's episodes operant in vice- and folly-fraught social situations, and uncommonly results in an individual's personal maturation transformation though not the usual lame outcome resorts of personal injury or financial loss, death, marriage, or laudatory celebrations of successful outcomes (cliché), like the several Danny Ocean caper movies' outcomes (Ocean's Eleven, etc).
Also uncommon though crucial to apt episodic and robust dramatic action is -- again, a tangible, material, concrete want-problem developed early and persists throughout and results in a profound and sublime inevitable surprise outcome payoff, for completeness and unity's sakes. Plus, a likewise intangible, immaterial, abstract persistent want-problem motivation is crucial. Maybe a third dramatic action axis is crucial, too, a congruent want-problem counteraction synthesis tandem to the tangible and intangible want-problem, a liminal social-moral subtext, as it were.