Category Archives: cause and effect

Four Lessons Learned When My Pants Fell Down

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by Debbie Burke

 

After college, I swore off writing outlines. No more nonsense with Roman numeral I, capital A, Arabic numeral 2, lower-case b, etc.

For years, I’ve been a proud, unapologetic pantser. My system is flawed and not terribly efficient, but it’s worked for nine books.

Well, I must confess, on my novel in process, my pants fell down.

Proof of Life (working title) is the 10th book in the Tawny Lindholm Thriller series. I know the characters well but not so well that they can’t still surprise me when they get into trouble.

The leads are investigator Tawny Lindholm and defense attorney Tillman Rosenbaum, a recently married couple in their 50s who work together in Montana. Both have adult children from previous marriages.

The inciting incident: Arielle, Tillman’s 22-year-old daughter, has been living in Israel for two years researching family history. She unexpectedly arrives back home in Montana, bedraggled and exhausted with a newborn baby girl. She’s clearly been on the run but refuses to answer questions. Even Tawny, whose superpower is to convince anyone to spill their secrets, can’t persuade Arielle to open up.

Because my books are thrillers, I also write scenes from the villain’s point of view. He’s a high-ranking Israeli cop who’s married, but not to Arielle. The baby is his, and he wants her back. His investigative methods are brutal but effective. If he finds Arielle, she’s in dire peril.

When starting a new book, generally I begin with Jim Bell’s minimal signposts then take E.L Doctorow’s route:

“Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”

Even before I started writing, I worried that the research needed about international laws was too complicated. But I pushed forward with the story, figuring I could fill in the blanks on rewrite.

Tawny and Tillman suspect Arielle has broken laws. They want to help her but she’s holding back critical information. They don’t yet know about the villain who’s hunting her.

Pretty soon, for the plot to make sense, I had to dig into the Hague Convention treaty regarding international child abduction. Who has jurisdiction? Who takes the lead during an arrest? FBI, State Department, Israeli consulate?

Laws on the books rarely translate into how they’re applied in real life (or realistic fiction). How could I find insights into actual practices? How are suspects treated? Do they go to jail pending hearings? What happens to the abducted child? Who takes care of her until custody is determined?.

For almost 200 pages, I wrote scenes out of chronological order as ideas occurred to me. The draft was full of notes saying, “needs further explanation”, “do more research”, “maybe cut?”, and “move this section?”.

No surprise that I started getting confused.

The excerpts I submitted to my critique group were discrete, self-contained scenes that they generally liked. But over several months, one member kept raising valid questions. I gave excuses  but couldn’t come up with definitive answers.

More confusion.

In the past, I’ve used calendars to keep track of story timelines. That was especially important for Dead Man’s Bluff which was set against the backdrop of an actual hurricane. The calendar matched real day by day events like flooding, when roads were reopened, the staggered restoration of power over five days, etc. since those events impacted the plot.

Using a calendar also charts the cause and effect of each scene in relation to those before and after it. For this current manuscript, I didn’t use a calendar.

Bad choice.

Inside my head, arguments raged.

Wait a second, for the timeline to make sense, that scene can’t happen until much later. Oh no, that revelation is too soon because Tawny doesn’t know about XYZ yet. Oops, that confrontation between Tillman and the officials needs more build up. Should there even be a confrontation?  

When I tried to cobble scenes together, they resembled Franken-novel.

photo credit: Andrew Fare

Pretty soon, I was in deeper trouble than poor Arielle.

For several weeks, I let my normally trusty subconscious work on the problems. But this time, even she was stumped.

So much for pantsing.

I admitted defeat and placed a 9-1-1 call to my brilliant brainstorming buddy Phyllis Quatman. She’s an attorney, author, and fantastic sounding board. Sitting at her dining table, we tore the plot apart.

Finally, Phyllis said, “Deb, you’re making this much too complicated. Why don’t you simply…” and she distilled the story down to its most basic elements. Get rid of this. Move that. Don’t go off on this tangent. Give the villain-cop a secret past that prevents him from using his official channels to find Arielle and the baby. Force him to go to ground and stay under the radar as she had to do.

Turns out my subconscious had already planted a breadcrumb about the villain’s secret past. That past simply needed to grow bigger and more sinister.

Three hours later, with brain buzzing and full of gratitude for Phyllis’s help, I drove home and started writing an outline.

Gasp! Me? The confirmed, unrepentant pantser?

This outline contains no Roman numerals, no capital and lower-case letters. It’s not scene by scene, chapter by chapter. Maybe it’s not even technically an outline.

However, it contains the complicated backstory of the events leading up to Arielle’s surprise arrival in Montana with the baby. Arielle’s secrets. Other characters’ secrets.

Most important are the villain’s secrets—there are humiliations and past crimes he never wants to come to light. Those are his motivations. What is his deep desire? He genuinely loves the baby and wants her back. What must he do to accomplish that goal? Find and kill Arielle.

Backstory isn’t simply backstory. It causes the present story.

One by one, secrets will be revealed. Each changes the course of the plot and builds toward the climax.

I pounded a signpost in the ground for the climactic showdown. Not many details yet but it’s a destination to head toward.

The outline clocked in at 1300 words.

Can any scenes from the original 200 pages be salvaged? Some, yes. Others may undergo severe rewriting.

Others go in the trash. Actually, it’s more like putting them in purgatory. When I cut scenes, I store them at the end of the Word doc as “outtakes” in case there are a few useable sentences or paragraphs. In practice, though, when manuscripts have been finalized, those scenes were not needed.

I’d already successfully pantsed my way through nine previous novels. I thought the same method would work for the tenth. It didn’t.

I had to change, adapt, and rethink the process.

Did I waste months drafting a story that couldn’t work? Would I have been more efficient and productive if I’d planned the plot in advance instead of pantsing it? Probably.

Will my quasi-outline solve the problem? I don’t know yet.

A whole lot of new scenes have to be written. This time around, I’ll write in chronological order with a calendar.

Lessons learned:

  1. Just because a method worked in the past, it may not work now.

  2. Doctorow’s headlights didn’t show the cliff soon enough to avoid this story dropping over it.

  3. Listen to warning bells from my critique group.

  4. Get over my childish prejudice against outlines.

One lesson I learned long ago was to ask for help from a good friend who’s objective, rational, and logical. Phyllis came through in a big way, as she’s done many times in the past. I’m filled with gratitude and appreciation for her.

Will I remain a pantser? Probably, but I’m no longer as confirmed and unrepentant. Maybe now my pants will stay up.

~~~

TKZers: Are you a plotter, pantser, or a combination of both (plantser)? Have you run into trouble with your system? How did you solve the problem? Or are you still working on it?

 

Cover by Brian Hoffman

 

Please check out Dead Man’s Bluff to see how using a calendar helped fiction mesh with real-life events.

Cause and Effect – Guest Post by Lindsey Hughes AKA The Pitchmaster

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by Debbie Burke

Recently I read an outstanding article by Pitchmaster Lindsey Hughes about the importance of cause and effect in story momentum. Her words really hit home so I invited her to share her wisdom with Kill Zone readers.

Lindsey Hughes, Pitchmaster

 

Welcome to The Zone, Lindsey!

Cause and Effect: The Story Chain Reaction

A story is not just a string of things that happen. A story is a chain reaction.

This happens, therefore that happens.

  • A character makes a choice, therefore something changes.
  • A secret is revealed, therefore a relationship blows up.
  • A plan fails, therefore the hero has to try something riskier, scarier, or stupider.

That is cause and effect.

And when it is working, your story feels inevitable. It pulls the reader or viewer forward because every scene creates the next one. The audience does not have to be dragged through the story. They lean in because they feel the momentum.

When cause and effect is weak, the opposite happens.

Your story starts to feel episodic. Random. Wobbly. Things happen because you, the writer, need them to happen, not because the characters, stakes, and previous events naturally created them. The audience may not always be able to name the problem, but they feel it.

Story Momentum = Cause and Effect

Cause and effect is the principle that each important event in your story should grow out of something that came before it.

Not: And then this happened. And then this happened. And then this happened.

Because: this happened, the character did this. Because they did this, things got worse. Because things got worse, they made a bigger choice.

That is story momentum. A strong story does not just have events. It has connected events.

Consequences ➡️ Escalation ➡️ Pressure = Story Momentum

Readers and viewers keep going because they want to know what happens next.

If your hero sends the reckless email, kisses the wrong person, and opens the forbidden door, we want the fireworks.

Cause creates effect.
Effect becomes the next cause.
That next cause creates a bigger effect.

Now your story has rhythm, ratcheting tension, and building suspense.

Think dominoes, not beads on a string

A weak plot is often a bead necklace. Pretty scenes, one after another, threaded together because they all belong to the same story.

A strong plot is a domino line. Each piece knocks into the next.

That does not mean every scene must be loud, explosive, or full of car chases. Quiet stories need cause and effect just as much as thrillers do. In a romance, one honest conversation may trigger a breakup, which triggers distance, which triggers longing, which triggers a reckless declaration in the rain. In a mystery, one missed clue can lead to a false accusation, which drives away an ally, which gives the villain more room to operate.

The genre changes. The principle does not.

How Writers Lose Cause and Effect

Cause and effect is one of those craft elements that sounds obvious until you are 175 pages into a draft, three cups of coffee deep, and your heroine has somehow ended up in Prague with a knife and a new boyfriend.

A few common problems:

1. You are thinking in scenes, not in consequences.​
You know you want the breakup scene, the chase scene, the kiss scene, the courtroom scene. Wonderful. But if those scenes are not triggered by what came before, they feel placed instead of earned.

2. Your character is not driving the action.​
If the plot keeps happening to your protagonist, instead of being shaped by your protagonist’s choices, cause and effect get mushy and your story stalls.

3. You are using information as a shortcut.​
A clue appears. A person arrives. A stranger reveals exactly what the hero needs to know. Convenient? Yes. Satisfying? No.

At the end of each major scene, ask: What changed because of this?

If the answer is not much, the scene may be static.

Then ask: What does this scene cause?

If the answer is nothing in particular, you may not have cause and effect. You may just have a sequence.

A sequence is not enough. A murder happens. Then the detective visits the widow. Then he talks to the neighbor. Then he gets coffee. Then he finds a clue. That is a sequence.

Instead, a murder happens. Because the detective suspects the widow, he pushes too hard. Because he pushes too hard, she shuts down and lies. Because she lies, he follows the wrong lead. Because he follows the wrong lead, the killer gets more time.

The Secret Ingredient: Character Choice

The strongest cause-and-effect chains usually grow out of character decisions, not random external events.

Yes, storms, accidents, and betrayals can launch or complicate a story. But what makes a plot feel rich is when the protagonist’s own choices create the mess. That is where drama lives.

  • Your hero refuses help because he is proud.
  • Your heroine hides the truth because she is ashamed.
  • Your villain overplays his hand because he is arrogant.

Those choices cause consequences. Those consequences force new choices. That is not just plot. That is plot married to character, which is where the sparks really fly.

Cause and effect not only holds your structure together. It is revealing who these people are under pressure.

Check Your Scenes for Cause and Effect

Take your scenes and connect them using one of these phrases:

  • Because of that…
  • Therefore…
  • But then…

Your heroine misses the meeting.
Because of that, her boss gives the project to her rival.
Because of that, she tries to prove herself another way.
But then, that choice backfires and costs her the client.
Because of that, she has to team up with the one person she cannot stand.

See how quickly that creates movement?

It also exposes weak links. If you cannot connect one scene to the next with a believable because of that or therefore, you may have found a structural soft spot.

When a draft feels flat, random, or slow, ask:

  • What does this event cause?
  • What choice grows out of it?
  • What consequence makes the next scene inevitable?

Remember, story is not about events lined up politely in a row. Story is about pressure, choice, and fallout. Cause and Effect.

~~~

Many thanks, Lindsey, for visiting the Zone! 

Comments are welcome below. 

Lindsey Hughes loves helping people discover their superpower, create compelling content, and feel excited about pitching and networking.  She teaches how to pitch like a boss, network like a VIP, and write like an Oscar winner.

In her wide-ranging career as a Hollywood development executive, Lindsey has worked in everything from feature films, television movies, and TV series, to animation and live action.  She began her career reading scripts for Robert Zemeckis and Kathryn Bigelow, worked under Michael Eisner at Walt Disney Feature Animation, and developed projects for John H. Williams, producer of the billion dollar Shrek franchise.

She is the author of two books, the upcoming Sell Your Book to Hollywood: How to Pitch Your Book, Find the Right Producer, and Navigate the Deal and How to Turn Your Screenplay Into a Novel.

For help with storytelling and networking you can reach her at thepitchmaster.com.  To be notified when How to Pitch Your Book to Hollywood is published, sign up at booktohollywood.com. Subscribe to her free weekly newsletter for actionable creativity and career tips at thepitchmaster.com/newsletter.

 

 

Phrasing for Immediacy and Power

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I’m excited to announce that editor and award-winning author, Jodie Renner, is joining TKZ. Jodie has made numerous guest appearances here, sharing her wealth of knowledge and experience with everyone. She will be a terrific addition to our team. We look forward to seeing Jodie’s posts as she alternates with Clare on Mondays. Welcome to the Zone, Jodie. – Joe Moore

Thanks so much, Joe! I’m honored to join such a talented, articulate group of writers here on The Kill Zone! – Jodie Renner

BTW, for any of you authors interested in techniques for adding tension, suspense and intrigue to your novels, I have two articles on this topic in the latest two issues of Suspense Magazine.

* * *

State Cause Before Effect, Stimulus before Response

by Jodie Renner

Have you ever been engrossed in a novel, reading along, when you hit a blip that made you go “huh?” or “why?” for a nanosecond? Then you had to reread the sentence to figure out what’s going on?

Often, it’s because actions are written in a jumbled-up or reversed order, rather than the order they occurred. Do this too often, and your readers will start getting annoyed.

For example:
John pulled the Mercedes up and Karen got her brand-new shoes soaking wet when she quickly opened the door and stepped right into a puddle.

First the reader reads: “John pulled the Mercedes up and Karen got her brand-new shoes soaking wet” and goes “Huh?”, then reads the rest and is subliminally irritated that he had to reformulate his original thought-image.

Better: John pulled the Mercedes up and Karen quickly opened the door and stepped out — right into a puddle. Her brand new shoes were soaking wet.

In my blog post here last Wed. on bringing your characters to life by showing their reactions and emotions, I discussed showing immediate, visceral reactions before the delayed, reasoned ones. In other words, showing character reactions in the order they occur, starting with the emotional reaction and automatic reflex, which should occur immediately after the stimulus, just like it does in real life, not with a delay to explain anything.

Along the same vein, when showing actions and reactions in your fiction, it’s important to pay attention to the syntax of the sentence.

In general, state the cause before the effect, the action before the reaction, the stimulus before the response.

This way, the ideas flow more naturally and smoothly, and readers don’t have to skip back in the sentence to figure out what’s going on, which confuses them momentarily and jolts them out of the story.

As Ingermanson and Economy say in Writing Fiction for Dummies, “Here’s a critical rule: Always get the time sequence correct and always put the cause before the effect.”

Similarly, Dwight V. Swain discusses this same issue when he talks about “motivation-reaction units” in his excellent book, Techniques of the Selling Writer.

Here are some “before and after” examples, disguised, from my fiction editing. The “after” examples are just one or two of many possibilities.

~ State little actions in the order they occur:

Before: David yelled out in pain when the door slammed on his fingers.

After: The door slammed on David’s fingers and he yelled out in pain.

Or: The door slammed on David’s fingers. He leaped back and yelled out in pain.

Before: She pulled her arm away when the man tried to grab her.

After: The man tried to grab her, but she pulled her arm away.

Or: The man tried to grab her arm, but she pulled away.

~ Describe physically sequential actions in the order they occurred:

Before: Jake walked the five hundred yards over to the police station and left his car in front of the restaurant.

After: Jake left his car in front of the restaurant and walked the five hundred yards over to the police station.

Before: Rushing to escape the flames, he turned towards the fire escape as soon as he’d left the room.

After: Rushing to escape the flames, he ran out of the room towards the fire escape.

Before: Boyd jumped out of the car as he reached the parking lot and ran into the building.

After: Boyd drove into the parking lot, jumped out of the car, and ran into the building.

As I said, if you don’t write the actions in the order they occurred, it causes momentary confusion for the reader. Do that enough and they start getting subliminally annoyed.

~ Watch those “ing” verbs:

Also, avoid using the way-too-common “ing” verbs (gerunds) for actions that occur one after the other. Verbs ending in -ing imply simultaneous action, where often, there is none:

Before: She slammed the car door, running up the sidewalk.

After: She slammed the car door, then ran up the sidewalk.

Before: He took out his keys, starting the car.

After: He took out his keys and started the car.

In the “before” examples above, the –ing verbs imply that the actions occurred at the same time, which is impossible — she can’t run up the sidewalk as she’s slamming the door. He can’t start the car while he’s taking out his keys.

Here are a few more disguised examples from my editing:

Before: He disappeared for fifteen years, coming back better dressed and full of stories.

After: He disappeared for fifteen years, then came back better dressed and full of stories

Before: Sarah stood up and stretched, ambling over to the trash can, tossing her empty coffee cup into it.

After: Sarah stood up and stretched, then ambled over to the trash can and tossed her empty coffee cup into it.

~ But break the “stimulus before response” rule occasionally for effect:

To add more suspense and intrigue, show a character’s reaction to something shocking before describing what she is reacting to. This way, you’ll have a moment of suspense between the horrified reaction and the revelation of what’s being seen. Also, it may take a paragraph or more to describe what she’s seeing, so her reaction would be delayed, which can be a bit anticlimactic.

Example:
“…the beam of her flashlight scanned the floor ahead. She stopped and gasped in horror.
Calvin lay on the concrete, his eyes starting unseeing at the ceiling. Blood spattered the floor around him. His throat had been cut from ear to ear.”

Look through your WIP and see if there are places where you’ve put the cart before the horse. To avoid reader confusion and possible annoyance, it’s almost always best to describe events in the order they happened.

Jodie Renner is a freelance fiction editor and the award-winning author of three craft-of-writing guides in her series An Editor’s Guide to Writing Compelling Fiction: Captivate Your Readers, Fire up Your Fiction, and Writing a Killer Thriller. She has also published two clickable time-saving e-resources to date: Quick Clicks: Spelling List and Quick Clicks: Word Usage. You can find Jodie at www.JodieRenner.com, her blog, http://jodierennerediting.blogspot.com/, and on Facebook Twitter.