Terry
Wessner
The principle
rule of good writing, Rule #0, is that there actually are rules
that, when followed, will make a written work more powerful and
communicate the writer’s ideas more clearly to a greater
percentage of readers. Once the writer accepts that one cannot
simply string letters together randomly and expect it to be literature,
the stage is set to learn the true craft of writing fiction.
Rule #1 is
that all the rules are just rules of thumb. Any rule can be broken
in ways that can make a story even stronger.
But Rule #2
is that whenever a rule is broken the story will have to lean
on other rules to compensate -- to turn what would normally be
a weakening of the overall structure into a strength. It’s
rather like balancing on one leg -- you have to shift the rest
of your body to bring your center of gravity above that leg, otherwise
you’ll topple over. It’s okay to break some of the rules
of writing as long as you do it on purpose and adjust the entire
story accordingly.
Nearly all
stories are about characters who are faced with obstacles that
stand between them and their goals. All characters have power
to varying degrees. Even a completely paralyzed individual confined
to an iron lung has the power of thought and speech. Other characters
have physical prowess or money or political clout or mystic abilities
or any of myriad talents both fantastic and mundane. The relationship
between characters’ powers and their obstacles falls into
four categories.
The simplest
is the case wherein the characters’ powers exceed the obstacles
that stand in the way of their goals. A thirsty child gets a drink
from a fountain. A woman intent on visiting her mother gets into
her car and drives there. Such trivial challenges are an essential
part of everyday life. But by themselves they don’t make
for very exciting stories. So different techniques are used to
make the challenges more interesting.
By far the
most common method of pumping up the drama is to give the characters
obstacles that are equal to or greater than the characters’
own powers. A boxer in the ring faces an equally skilled opponent
who is even larger than he is. The protagonists of popular television
science fiction programs such as Star Trek must match wits
with alien enemies whose technology and resources are even greater
than the heroes’ own. A struggle against equals or against
seemingly insurmountable odds is always a crowd pleaser.
But another
equally important method of keeping the drama high is to put plausible
limits on the amount of power the protagonists have. Omnipotent
beings are intrinsically boring because nothing can challenge
them. Whether it’s magic, super powers, or uber technology,
characters who can solve all their problems by wishing them away
or pressing a button are even less interesting than watching paint
dry because they’re infinitely more predictable. But we all
expect that a hero can only lift so much, a spaceship can only
fly so fast, that even canned food will spoil eventually. The
flip side of all characters having power is that all characters
must also have limits.
But those
limits must be believable within the fictional universe of the
story. It’s infuriating to see characters given silly, arbitrary
limitations because the writer was too lazy to come up with a
good story. Whether it’s Superman’s aversion to Kryptonite
or the starship Enterprise having sensors that are as consistent
and reliable as a politician’s promises, it’s all just
another way of saying that the writer of the story has only contempt
for the audience.
But beyond
big enough challenges and practical limits on characters’
abilities, there is one more way to generate drama and suspense
in a story -- give the characters challenges for which their powers
irrelevant. All of Star Trek’s improbably technology
is useless when the characters must grapple with interpersonal
relationships. This method of creating interest works best when
done with established characters and settings. It can be a welcome
change of pace. But there is also the danger than it can be a
big yawn for an audience expecting something else. After all,
one reads a Superman comic to see the hero commit superheroic
deeds of valour, not to see him doing his income taxes.
<^>
