Not sure where to take an idea, character, situation, or plot that's sparked something in you? Use this guide to start a project, but more importantly—stick with it.
Writers are known for leaving fragments of great ideas unfinished in the wasteland of journals, laptops and cork boards. Frustrated by our inability to recapture that initial spark, we move on from any number of fantastic conceits. Sometimes we abandon idea after idea, ultimately finding ourselves in a dry spell: long stretches in the desert without a single, finished project.
A new idea is the last thing a writer needs. What she does need is to turn just one of her million ideas into reality.
An anecdote to get us started: A workshop mate once stopped writing his story because he'd just witnessed a horrifying death. He was stopped at a traffic light when a crane dropped directly on the convertible next to him—the driver was immediately crushed. Shaking with emotion, he came to class insisting he had to abandon his project to write this experience instead. He had to, right? It felt immediate, real, and close to the bone. So he did just that. But instead of entering the zone and banging it out, he found found himself immediately stuck. Why was it so hard for him to write this gruesome scene when it had so much ostensible potential ? I've been pondering this question for a very long time.
What if I told you the key to turning a small spark into a finished project is simply a matter of defining why the idea excited you in the first place? Dig deeper, and your initial infatuation with the idea will turn into genuine affection...and maybe even a long-term love affair. Now, we'll review how to turn a spark into a resonant conceit and that conceit into the Big Idea of your story.
Now, we'll review how to turn a spark into a resonant conceit and that conceit into the Big Idea of your story.
Our Example: "Araby," by James Joyce
I strongly encourage you to read (or re-read) this story, because it'll bring the 4-step process to life. Odds are you've come across Joyce's classic at some point in your reading and writing career. And if you have, you've likely spent some time analyzing the themes and symbols in this fine work. For our purposes, however, we're going to read Joyce as writers, not readers—and writers don't start with themes and symbols, we start with sparks. Read for detail, particularities, emotional resonance, and a-ha moments. Make a note in the marginalia of the text every time you think, "Wow, Joyce really got this right."
STEP ONE: IDENTIFY THE CONCEIT
Identify the conceit: a situation, character trait/type/habit, a gut feeling, a scene, or plot line you’re interested in. Did you just witness a horrifying scene? Have you always wanted to write a ghost story? Or did a disco song on the radio remind you of junior prom, 1979? Step One is the easy part. You're reading this guide because you've already been sparked. Write the idea down. Relish it. Get inside it. You'll need it for step two.
James Joyce could have had any number of reasons for laying down the first draft of "Araby." Let's take a wild guess and say he'd been happily anticipating sitting down with a newspaper, a glass of Irish whiskey, and a cigar after a long day of writing. But when he stepped out to purchase a copy of Il Piccolo (he was living in Italy at the time) he found, to his grave disappointment, the local newsstand had sold out of the paper. Oh, the disappointment! Instead of crying over spilt ink, however, Joyce promptly returned to his apartment, determined to write through this...FEELING OF OUTRAGEOUS ANTICIPATION...FOLLOWED BY UTTER DISENCHANTMENT.
STEP TWO: IDENTIFY WHY IT EXCITES YOU
Ask yourself WHY you’re interested in this conceit—thinking about this question often reveals a source of tension or a psychological connection to the idea, opening up opportunities for deeper reflection. Why did the original idea spark something in you? Are there ways your story could fan the flames of the conceit? Answer the following questions—and answer them loosely, as though free-writing...
1. I think this idea is interesting because…
2. How can I add even more interest or tension to this idea?
Good old James is sitting at his writing desk in Trieste, Italy, disappointment still smarting. Dejected, but with high hopes for building on his spark, he answers the questions above (if not literally, perhaps subconsciously...but let's play along), attempting to dissect its true nature.
I THINK THIS IDEA IS INTERESTING BECAUSE...disenchantment at the hands of unrealistic expectations is one of the most distressing and ultimately damaging sensations in the quiver of human emotion.
An interesting side note: aren't unrealistic expectations what get us in trouble when we're unable to act on our ideas? So meta! —Ed.
HOW CAN I ADD EVEN MORE INTEREST OR TENSION TO THIS IDEA? Truthfully, the idea of "disappointment at the hands of self-imposed romanticism" has been written ad nauseam. (See: Don Quixote) Maybe I can bring interest to this conceit by adding layers to the idea. Isn't disappointment, for example, most poignant when experienced by a child? And isn't disappointment in love most harrowing of all? Oh, first love—first unrequited love. Let's not get distracted here. But ugh, seriously, first love...isn't it the absolute worst? It feels like your life is crumbling around you—yet the world keeps spinning, indifferent to your pain.
STEP THREE: WRITING THE FIRST DRAFT
Write the story or plot with the "spark" (#1) in mind, while always meditating on why your story conceit is so interesting to you (#2). The why will color your scene choice, action, characterizations, POV—allowing you to push through writer’s block and brainstorm situations aligned with the reasons behind the spark of your conceit.
James Joyce writes his "shitty first draft" of "Araby."
STEP FOUR: REFINING THE DRAFT (and a word on "THEME")
Once you've written your first draft, you'll refine your story for its Reason for Being. We can think of the Reason for Being as the “So What?” or the Big Idea of a story, that is, what the reader should take away from this story. Some call this the Theme, but I shy away from that word, because it sounds a bit high and mighty. More importantly, "theme" is a reader's word—not a writer's.
From a writer's perspective, the Big Idea of a story will evolve organically out of its Conceit in conversation with the Spark—or why the idea interested you in the first place. In a rewrite, one of your major tasks is to make sure the Big Idea is reflected consistently in the work. The Big Idea defines the narrative arc and appears more prominently in the final act, emerging as the major turn ¾ of the way through. It might even appear metaphorically in the final line of a story, as in many a Flannery O'Connor tale. The Big Idea appears in structure, language, imagery, scene choice, it's used to refine tension in the story—in short, if done well, it shows up, subtly, on every page. See a few examples from "Araby" below.
One might define the "So What?" of Joyce's classic story as The Pitfalls of Romanticism, but this is only a restatement of our original spark, "outrageous anticipation followed by utter disenchantment." Remember, we're not working with themes here—as writers our only job is to identify the soul of our story. The soul of "Araby" has something to do with unrealistic expectations, romanticizing the unknown, and the desire to get out of Dodge. And a well-defined soul, or "So What?" of a story has tension built right into it.
If you remember nothing else from this guide, remember this: TENSION MATTERS. Turn your story's core conceit into a study in contrasts.
Joyce brings the tension of his story's "So What?" to life by drawing a contrast between:
1) The Protagonist's Present Reality and
2) The Protagonist's Vision of His Ideal World
Now he's able to work with particular images and actions to illustrate the story's core narrative contrast. To wit: Joyce builds on this tension by introducing evocative language and imagery:
Religion: "The wild garden behind the house contained a central apple-tree and a few straggling bushes under one of which I found the late tenant’s rusty bicycle-pump. He had been a very charitable priest; in his will he had left all his money to institutions and the furniture of his house to his sister."
Drudgery: "The career of our play brought us through the dark muddy lanes behind the houses where we ran the gauntlet of the rough tribes from the cottages, to the back doors of the dark dripping gardens where odours arose from the ashpits, to the dark odorous stables where a coachman smoothed and combed the horse or shook music from the buckled harness."
The Exoticism of Araby: "The syllables of the word Araby were called to me through the silence in which my soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern enchantment over me."
Joyce uses his Spark and Conceit, transformed into the Big Idea to inform the structure of the story. The turn occurs 70% of the way through the story when the protagonist's aunt suggests he "may have to put off [his] bazaar for this night of Our Lord." This is our first taste of looming disappointment. Then, at 75% of the way in, our protagonist finally gets out of the house and makes his way toward Araby—with high hopes, even at this late hour. What ensues is an entire paragraph of the trip to the bazaar, in slow, excruciating detail. Will he make it to Araby in time?
I held a florin tightly in my hand as I strode down Buckingham Street towards the station. The sight of the streets thronged with buyers and glaring with gas recalled to me the purpose of my journey. I took my seat in a third-class carriage of a deserted train. After an intolerable delay the train moved out of the station slowly. It crept onward among ruinous houses and over the twinkling river. At Westland Row Station a crowd of people pressed to the carriage doors; but the porters moved them back, saying that it was a special train for the bazaar. I remained alone in the bare carriage. In a few minutes the train drew up beside an improvised wooden platform. I passed out on to the road and saw by the lighted dial of a clock that it was ten minutes to ten...
Though he sticks to the "So What" with religious devotion, Joyce never oversimplifies this story of disappointment. He complicates the plot in a number of ways; for example, the story ends not with Mangan's sister giving the protagonist the cold shoulder, but with a faceless and nameless "young lady," an undeserving proxy for the object of the protagonist's affections—and the vehicle for his heartbreaking epiphany.
Even Joyce had to start somewhere—with a spark, a germ, a wisp of an idea.
Now it's your turn.
Comments