We’re talking about holographic fiction in three different articles on the magazine this week:
Bouncing like a yo-yo. kaboing. kaboing. kaboing.
Macrocosm. Microcosm. Macrocosm. Microcosm.
Cosmology. Quantum physics.
The holography of fiction.
In the cosmology of your novel, you’ve got a Hook (big bang!), leading into Conflict #1 with its plot point that snaps your characters’ heads around and drives them in a new direction, which leads to Conflict #2 and the significant apex of your story, which leads to Conflict #3 with its really, really, complex, multiple, and deformed plot point that snaps your characters’ heads around yet again and drives them in another new direction, leading fortunately to your Faux Resolution.
Whew! Pause and mop your brow. Because your Faux Resolution drop-kicks your characters right into the Climax.
Ta-dah! You fixed them.
And you know what else? This process works on each layer and sub-layer, as well, down through each individual Conflict, each episode in each Conflict, each chapter in each episode (or vice versa), each scene in each chapter, each chunk of action or dialog or description or exposition in each scene. . .each sentence. . .
Quantum physics.
Say you’ve got a scene in which your protagonist and their antagonist/love interest are hashing over a long and rather complicated argument absolutely vital to your theme. This conversation needs to convey a lot, you’ve designed your chapter for a good, long wallow in the discussion, and it’s time these two simply had it out.
But after you’ve determined the points to make and the order in which to make them and then you’ve sat (sitten) down and written it all in marvelous, pointed, contrasting and ultimately poignant lines of dialog. . .
I’m so sorry. That sucks so bad. it reads like a fricking script. . .
Read the full essay on The Art & Craft of Fiction.
Bouncing through an action scene
Let’s try microcosm with an action scene.
You know what the set-up is, the plot point this scene needs to fling the reader at. You know who’s in the scene, what fuels the action, the moves they have to make during the course of it, and where they have to wind up at the end. You’ve got it choreographed in your mind.
So you sit down and write it:
move #1
move #(1+ <= n – 1)
move #n
(I think that’s the right code. It’ been a lot of years since I wrote incrementation. Anyway, you get the gist.)
Then you go back and read it. And you know what? It’s just like with dialog. It reads like an instruction manual. . .
Read the full essay on The Art & Craft of Fiction.
Bouncing through description
And let’s wind up our exploration of microcosm in scene with a bounce through description.
You’ve got a spot where you need a little breather. You’ve just come out of an intense piece of action or dialog, you want to give the reader a second to let it fully sink in, but you always have to keep moving the story forward. So you take a glance around, setting the stage for the next rush.
What’s your hook?
Remember Kanen and the sharpened hunting stick? Remember what was significant about it? That’s right—foreshadowing.
What’s the climax of the upcoming scene (the one you’re setting up with description)?
Read the full essay on The Art and Craft of Fiction.