Judge a tree by its fruit, not by its leaves – Euripides
One of the things I like about Lost is the depth of characterization. Just when you think you have someone figured out, a weed from the past sprouts up and strangles their belief system. Some characters, like Jack, have obvious merit and self-worth, but their heroic acts screen hidden stores of conflict. Others, like Kate, are light on details but heavy with admirable traits so that any zingers revealed don’t knock us completely off the love train.
No one, however, took quite as long to evolve as John Locke. He doesn’t speak a word of dialogue until the second hour of the pilot, giving new meaning to the phrase, “strong, silent type.” Despite the lack of verbal discourse, Locke still makes an impact. Let’s take another look at the pilot and shine the spotlight in John Locke’s direction.
Pandemonium prevails after the crash. Jack’s unflinching emergency services take center stage, so we barely register when Locke walks on. He’s one of two men assisting Jack in the rescue of a trapped man. Locke is eager to help, but wastes no energy on idle conversation. Once Jack works his way through the primary wave of injuries, an uneasy cadence settles over the crash site. Alone, Locke sits by the water’s edge, contemplating the vast, empty sea. Dusk trickles ashore. The jungle monster makes its cacophonous debut, trampling palm trees inside the green felt valley adjacent to the beach. Locke is one of many who turn in bewilderment.
Our first preview of Locke comes day two when Kate commandeers a pair of hiking boots from a dead passenger. Regret looms large as she searches for a pair her size. Successful, she catches Locke peering at her. His expression is pinched into a tight-lipped grimace. She stills. Does he know the person whose shoes she’s just pilfered? Guilt inflames remorse. Locke suddenly smiles. His lips strain around an orange slice, obscuring teeth and context. He chomps the wedge like Magilla Gorilla then looks away.
Huh? The moment leaves a strange taste in our mouths. While most main characters are drawn together in communal comfort, Locke isolates himself. An abrupt downpour scatters survivors like ants. Everyone scurries for cover - everyone but Locke. He’s seated amidst a circle of plane debris, drenched to the bone. Glancing skyward, he lifts his arms, a sinner rinsed clean by liquid redemption. A queer duck, to be sure.
His first words do little to dismantle the myth. He unearths a backgammon game and assembles the board. Michael’s ten-year-old son, Walt, wanders by. Is it like Checkers? Locke finally replies, Not really. It’s a better game than Checkers. Locke likes games. We know this is symbolic. Dialogue is never throwaway on this show. Every word counts, especially with a man stingy with them.
Locke asks if Walt plays Checkers with his pop - not father or dad. Pop. Informal, unstuffy. Walt discloses he’s been living with his mom, but she died a couple weeks ago. Locke ponders that. You’re having a bad month. No artifice, just simple sentiment. Michael’s initial forays into parenting have been ham-handed and somewhat patronizing. Walt laps up Locke’s candor like a thirsty puppy. He kneels down. Locke explains the origins of backgammon. Remnants of the game were found as far back as ancient Mesopotamia. Older than Jesus Christ. Dice made of bones. Just the kind of entertainment that captivates a ten-year old. No doubt Walt is mentally adding it to his Christmas list. Locke elaborates: Two players, two sides. One’s light, one’s dark. More symbolism? Oh, I think so. Dualism is sewn into the fabric of the show.
Here’s where it gets dicey. Locke leans in and asks, Walt, do you want to know a secret?
If this were HBO or Showtime, an Amber Alert would surely follow. Fortunately Locke is family-friendly peculiar not serial-killer cuckoo. But the question underscores the struggle and uncertainty that shroud Locke season long. This tiny nibble is all we get in the two hour premiere. It’s not until the next episode, Tabula Rasa, that we witness the compassion that insulates his ideology.
The revealing act involves his new BFF Walt. Michael struggles with Walt’s fascination with Locke. Jealousy tarnishes his efforts to connect with the son he barely knows. Michael asks what he and Locke spoke about. Walt is non-committal. Some of it’s secret. Michael’s paternal hackles go rigid. He tell you not to tell me? No. Walt relents. Mr. Locke said a miracle happened here. Michael shrugs. It’s a miracle any of them survived. He doesn’t want Walt hanging out with Locke anymore. Walt is furious – Mr. Locke’s his friend. I’m your friend, too, Michael reminds him. Walt begs to differ. If you were my friend, you’d find Vincent. Vincent is Walt’s yellow lab, missing since the plane crash.
Michael doesn’t believe Vincent survived, but he issues the standard platitudes – yes, he cares about the dog; of course he’ll do everything he can to find it once the rain stops.
Guess what? The rain stops. God’s own paternal prod. Make good or eat crow, buddy.
Despite giant reservations about entering the forest, Michael tramps in only to get chased out by something he doesn’t stick around long enough to see. Well, he tried, didn’t he? Meanwhile, Locke is whittling a small block of wood into a whistle. The main plot of the episode - the fate of the marshal – straddles these brisk snippets of Locke, Michael, and Walt. By the time Sawyer makes his fateful decision, forcing Jack to act, we’re ready for an emotional pick-me-up.
By dawn the next day, we get it. Locke parks himself on a spit of sand, facing a wall of dense vegetation. He blows into his whistle. The high-pitched frequency softly resonates. In the distance a dog barks in response. Out trots Vincent; happy, hardy and whole. The camp is just stirring when Locke returns. He wakes Michael to tell him he’s found Walt’s dog. Locke points to where he’s tethered Vincent to a tree. I know that Walt lost his mom. I thought you should be the one to bring his dog back to him.
When Walt wakes to see his dad leading Vincent toward him, we are putty in Locke’s hands. Fresh starts abound among the survivors, but only Locke’s gesture make this Hallmark moment possible for father and son. Before we pronounce Locke Santa Claus, though, he logs in a course correction. As Michael and Walt are enmeshed in a euphoric display of fist-bumping, the camera pans to Locke. He scrutinizes their mawkish spectacle with the unsentimental glower of an alpha male forced to watch High School Musical. Is Locke rethinking his generosity? Judging Michael’s parenting skills? Fantastically constipated?
We don’t have enough info to say either way, but the next episode, Walkabout, exposes a startling secret, adding a fascinating layer to the crazy quilt that is Locke’s character.
Showing posts with label conflict. Show all posts
Showing posts with label conflict. Show all posts
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
Paradise Lost
Character is what you are in the dark – proverb
Thanks to the modern marvel of DVDs, my family and I are watching the first season of Lost four years after it aired. It’s a thrill ride of tension and mystery that fills the yawning gap of grief left behind when we devoured seven seasons of Buffy and five years of Angel only to realize we had no more Whedonverse to enjoy. Sadness. There is Firefly, but with its first and only season truncated by cancellation, the attempt to fully examine character is somewhat compromised by network executive narrow-mindedness. But I’m not bitter.
Lost eases the resentment. Aviatophobics take note: if you are on the fence about flying, this show might ground you indefinitely. Proceed with caution. The writers took the suggestion, “start with action”, to heart with astonishing abandon.
The premiere opens minutes after a plane crash in a gripping, gruesome tableau of scorched, smoking fuselage and bleeding, soot-covered survivors waking to the shrieks and moans of the dazed and dying. A giant, detached jet engine screams in wheezing ululations as one of the main characters, Jack Shepherd, stumbles forward. The visual horror stands in direct contrast to the swaying palms and dulcet tones of surf gently curling ashore. Despite disorientation, Jack immediately approaches the injured. His medical assessments mark him a physician. As a result, he becomes the unofficial leader of the group, a responsibility that proves both instinctive and burdensome.
Because of the large ensemble cast, each episode revisits brief yet relevant snapshots of history to reinforce theme, expose motivation, foster understanding, or generate empathy whenever current action requires explanation. At the heart of the season, the literary underbelly bubbles to the surface in pockets of literal and figurative significance. These folks are not just physically lost; they veered off course long before they boarded Oceanic flight 815 and plunged into paradise. One that harbors polar bears and a giant, invisible something that occasionally crashes through the jungle with bowel-loosening vigor and skin-shredding panache. Gilligan’s Island it ain’t.
The heavy reliance on backstory would not be recommended in novel form but it’s deftly handled here. These peeks into the past support each episode’s theme while peeling away a facade that hides the real deal. It embodies Robert McKee’s take on writing: story is the revelation of true character in contrast or contradiction to characterization.
We deduce characterization based on observable attributes – gender, age, profession, socio-economic level, personality type, etc. Jack, the accomplished, caring doctor, is a surgeon and son of an elitist chief of surgery at an LA-based hospital. Sawyer, the island’s bad boy, is an insufferable, selfish loner who oozes southern charm and cantankerousness in equal measure. You know from the get-go these two will collide. Need living, breathing proof? Enter Kate, the attractive, eager-to-help, capable question mark caught in the middle.
Characterization offers unique and specific individuals who conceal flaws they’d rather not expose to the general public. Until forced by conflict. As time goes by, the civilized masks slip via character choices substantiated by flashbacks.
Now we have character. Jack’s overactive sense of duty and responsibility hide self-esteem issues fed by a conflicted relationship with his domineering father. Sawyer, the scavenging opportunist, promotes ill will because he hates himself more than anyone else could. Why? He became the thing he spent most of his life hunting – a manipulative, reckless con man. His conscience is tearing him up. Kate, the executor of island law and order, is actually a fugitive from justice wanted for a crime that’s yet to be disclosed. Whatever she did warranted a handcuffed escort courtesy of a now-dead U.S. Marshal - one convinced she was danger personified.
True character beads the skin of characterization with the sweat of contradiction and choice. Who they appear to be (characterization) vs. who they are (character). Since character is story, I’m going in-depth with this concept for several castaways to observe how true character is slowly crafted. Fasten your seatbelts! Ha, ha.
Thanks to the modern marvel of DVDs, my family and I are watching the first season of Lost four years after it aired. It’s a thrill ride of tension and mystery that fills the yawning gap of grief left behind when we devoured seven seasons of Buffy and five years of Angel only to realize we had no more Whedonverse to enjoy. Sadness. There is Firefly, but with its first and only season truncated by cancellation, the attempt to fully examine character is somewhat compromised by network executive narrow-mindedness. But I’m not bitter.
Lost eases the resentment. Aviatophobics take note: if you are on the fence about flying, this show might ground you indefinitely. Proceed with caution. The writers took the suggestion, “start with action”, to heart with astonishing abandon.
The premiere opens minutes after a plane crash in a gripping, gruesome tableau of scorched, smoking fuselage and bleeding, soot-covered survivors waking to the shrieks and moans of the dazed and dying. A giant, detached jet engine screams in wheezing ululations as one of the main characters, Jack Shepherd, stumbles forward. The visual horror stands in direct contrast to the swaying palms and dulcet tones of surf gently curling ashore. Despite disorientation, Jack immediately approaches the injured. His medical assessments mark him a physician. As a result, he becomes the unofficial leader of the group, a responsibility that proves both instinctive and burdensome.
Because of the large ensemble cast, each episode revisits brief yet relevant snapshots of history to reinforce theme, expose motivation, foster understanding, or generate empathy whenever current action requires explanation. At the heart of the season, the literary underbelly bubbles to the surface in pockets of literal and figurative significance. These folks are not just physically lost; they veered off course long before they boarded Oceanic flight 815 and plunged into paradise. One that harbors polar bears and a giant, invisible something that occasionally crashes through the jungle with bowel-loosening vigor and skin-shredding panache. Gilligan’s Island it ain’t.
The heavy reliance on backstory would not be recommended in novel form but it’s deftly handled here. These peeks into the past support each episode’s theme while peeling away a facade that hides the real deal. It embodies Robert McKee’s take on writing: story is the revelation of true character in contrast or contradiction to characterization.
We deduce characterization based on observable attributes – gender, age, profession, socio-economic level, personality type, etc. Jack, the accomplished, caring doctor, is a surgeon and son of an elitist chief of surgery at an LA-based hospital. Sawyer, the island’s bad boy, is an insufferable, selfish loner who oozes southern charm and cantankerousness in equal measure. You know from the get-go these two will collide. Need living, breathing proof? Enter Kate, the attractive, eager-to-help, capable question mark caught in the middle.
Characterization offers unique and specific individuals who conceal flaws they’d rather not expose to the general public. Until forced by conflict. As time goes by, the civilized masks slip via character choices substantiated by flashbacks.
Now we have character. Jack’s overactive sense of duty and responsibility hide self-esteem issues fed by a conflicted relationship with his domineering father. Sawyer, the scavenging opportunist, promotes ill will because he hates himself more than anyone else could. Why? He became the thing he spent most of his life hunting – a manipulative, reckless con man. His conscience is tearing him up. Kate, the executor of island law and order, is actually a fugitive from justice wanted for a crime that’s yet to be disclosed. Whatever she did warranted a handcuffed escort courtesy of a now-dead U.S. Marshal - one convinced she was danger personified.
True character beads the skin of characterization with the sweat of contradiction and choice. Who they appear to be (characterization) vs. who they are (character). Since character is story, I’m going in-depth with this concept for several castaways to observe how true character is slowly crafted. Fasten your seatbelts! Ha, ha.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Lie to Me - Part 1
Coming events cast their shadows before – “Lochiel's Warning”, by Thomas Campbell
As a mother of two, I’m no stranger to the little white lie. I was a teenager myself once. I can hardly claim immunity from this ancient rite of passage. Revisionist history is a milestone for moral code formation. Can’t cultivate a sense of right until you walk on the wrong side. I always found it especially character-building to get caught in the act. Adds that extra layer of dread that’s so compelling and unforgettable.
At birth, you’re a clean slate primed for imprinting. Eat. Drink. Sleep. Cuddle. Crawl. Half instinct, half ability. All mandatory. Fibbing, though, is one of those optional talents. A coping mechanism typeset in early adolescence that’s filed away under survival skills. Every now and then it trots out when friends want to stay out passed curfew or that one last text message begs to be sent, even though you maxed out your quota one thousand messages ago.
Parents are sympathetic creatures, but when the devil has its due, the gloves come off. They confiscate pitchforks, blunt horns, clip tails. Suspend phone privileges. Kids learn each specific misstep earns a certain consequence. Think twice. The angel on your shoulder is not a complete snore. Wake up and smell the comprehension.
Thankfully, lying is more of a phase than a way of life. At least in my reality. Not so in fiction. People are forever hiding something to comfort, protect, or deceive. Fabrication – and its partner in crime, omission - are fabulous instigators of conflict, superb soothsayers of foreshadowing, and world-class generators of growth.
Conflict is the bread and butter of story. The basic framework demands character face obstacles on their way to self-realization. If nothing stands in the way, there is no story.
Readers and audiences alike love to put themselves in the protagonist’s place. They suffer when the hero suffers. Rejoice when the hero rejoices. Learn what the hero learns.
If conflict is the bread and butter, foreshadowing is the jam that sweetens the meal. Fans love to anticipate b/c they feel like an active participant in the unfolding drama. When a tale takes a sudden turn or a character reveals himself to be more than he is, you can’t help yourself. I knew it! I knew there was something going on with that guy! Like you’ve been accepted into the gifted & talented program and found you’re the star pupil.
It’s exhilarating to be immersed in this make-believe world on a personal level. You’re validated by the experience b/c the writer adroitly engages your inner detective, shifting from amateur sleuth to veteran bloodhound in the course of the story. And let’s face it, there’s little appeal if the magician pulls the rabbit out of the hat only to clock you over the head with it.
If you knew Darth Vader was Luke’s father before Luke did in Star Wars, wouldn’t you have felt cheated? Evidence early on indicates Luke’s father is not who Luke believes him to be. Dead, for one thing. Uncle Owen’s reaction to Luke’s desire to leave triggers an annoyance that’s later revealed as protective anxiety. Luke’s no farmer. Owen accepts that, but he also fears Luke has too much of his father in him. That worries him.
And now, it worries you. You’re invested. You learn just enough to rock the boat but not enough to tip it over. It takes brainpower to decipher deftly deposited hints and cleverly crafted clues. An innocuous action here, a sarcastic observation there. The writer wants you to work a little b/c it pays dividends. Satisfied fans are repeat customers.
In an episode of Lost entitled, “House of the Rising Sun”, the backstory of a Korean couple is unveiled. Sun, the obedient wife, watches her oppressive husband, Jin, wrestle with a fish bare-handed in the surf. Triumphant, he approaches and bashes the fish’s head against a nearby piece of wreckage. His crude aggression is jarring, but it also foreshadows Jin’s character.
For no apparent reason, Jin tackles and beats Michael, another survivor. Jin’s brutality seems excessive given his businessman’s persona. He’s subdued by other islanders and handcuffed to a section of fuselage. They refuse to release him until they understand what provoked Jin. B/c neither Jin nor Sun speak English, this exacerbates the conflict.
In flashbacks we learn Jin is a lowly waiter in love with a rich man’s daughter. To earn Sun’s hand in marriage honorably, he agrees to work for her father. Sun is troubled by this, but overjoyed to marry. Jin earns enough money to support her in the manner he envisions. As their marriage matures, however, the burden of this decision wears on him. One night he comes home covered in someone else’s blood. Sun is horrified. What does he do for her father? Jin does whatever her father tells him. “I do it for us.” Honor has changed him into a man of dangerous extremes.
Sun confesses to Michael she speaks English but she dare not tell her husband. The lie is sure to backfire on her, but not this episode. Jin attacked Michael b/c he was wearing her father’s watch. Michael lost his in the plane crash and found a replacement in the wreckage – unwittingly, her father’s. When Jin saw it, he considered Michael a thief and attacked him as a matter of honor.
Whether dressed for deception or cloaked in comedy, your conscious mind doesn’t always catch the significance of foreshadowing the first time. But your subconscious mind does. That’s what adds layers to storytelling. That’s what turns a good story into a great story. That’s why certain books are destined to be read over and over again.
The next Buffy the Vampire Slayer analysis is the aptly titled, “Lie to Me.” It has many excellent examples of foreshadowing using dishonesty as the backdrop. An old friend of Buffy’s relocates to Sunnydale and tests the bounds of friendship under false pretenses. As it turns out, he’s not the only one lying to her. Tune in tomorrow.
As a mother of two, I’m no stranger to the little white lie. I was a teenager myself once. I can hardly claim immunity from this ancient rite of passage. Revisionist history is a milestone for moral code formation. Can’t cultivate a sense of right until you walk on the wrong side. I always found it especially character-building to get caught in the act. Adds that extra layer of dread that’s so compelling and unforgettable.
At birth, you’re a clean slate primed for imprinting. Eat. Drink. Sleep. Cuddle. Crawl. Half instinct, half ability. All mandatory. Fibbing, though, is one of those optional talents. A coping mechanism typeset in early adolescence that’s filed away under survival skills. Every now and then it trots out when friends want to stay out passed curfew or that one last text message begs to be sent, even though you maxed out your quota one thousand messages ago.
Parents are sympathetic creatures, but when the devil has its due, the gloves come off. They confiscate pitchforks, blunt horns, clip tails. Suspend phone privileges. Kids learn each specific misstep earns a certain consequence. Think twice. The angel on your shoulder is not a complete snore. Wake up and smell the comprehension.
Thankfully, lying is more of a phase than a way of life. At least in my reality. Not so in fiction. People are forever hiding something to comfort, protect, or deceive. Fabrication – and its partner in crime, omission - are fabulous instigators of conflict, superb soothsayers of foreshadowing, and world-class generators of growth.
Conflict is the bread and butter of story. The basic framework demands character face obstacles on their way to self-realization. If nothing stands in the way, there is no story.
Readers and audiences alike love to put themselves in the protagonist’s place. They suffer when the hero suffers. Rejoice when the hero rejoices. Learn what the hero learns.
If conflict is the bread and butter, foreshadowing is the jam that sweetens the meal. Fans love to anticipate b/c they feel like an active participant in the unfolding drama. When a tale takes a sudden turn or a character reveals himself to be more than he is, you can’t help yourself. I knew it! I knew there was something going on with that guy! Like you’ve been accepted into the gifted & talented program and found you’re the star pupil.
It’s exhilarating to be immersed in this make-believe world on a personal level. You’re validated by the experience b/c the writer adroitly engages your inner detective, shifting from amateur sleuth to veteran bloodhound in the course of the story. And let’s face it, there’s little appeal if the magician pulls the rabbit out of the hat only to clock you over the head with it.
If you knew Darth Vader was Luke’s father before Luke did in Star Wars, wouldn’t you have felt cheated? Evidence early on indicates Luke’s father is not who Luke believes him to be. Dead, for one thing. Uncle Owen’s reaction to Luke’s desire to leave triggers an annoyance that’s later revealed as protective anxiety. Luke’s no farmer. Owen accepts that, but he also fears Luke has too much of his father in him. That worries him.
And now, it worries you. You’re invested. You learn just enough to rock the boat but not enough to tip it over. It takes brainpower to decipher deftly deposited hints and cleverly crafted clues. An innocuous action here, a sarcastic observation there. The writer wants you to work a little b/c it pays dividends. Satisfied fans are repeat customers.
In an episode of Lost entitled, “House of the Rising Sun”, the backstory of a Korean couple is unveiled. Sun, the obedient wife, watches her oppressive husband, Jin, wrestle with a fish bare-handed in the surf. Triumphant, he approaches and bashes the fish’s head against a nearby piece of wreckage. His crude aggression is jarring, but it also foreshadows Jin’s character.
For no apparent reason, Jin tackles and beats Michael, another survivor. Jin’s brutality seems excessive given his businessman’s persona. He’s subdued by other islanders and handcuffed to a section of fuselage. They refuse to release him until they understand what provoked Jin. B/c neither Jin nor Sun speak English, this exacerbates the conflict.
In flashbacks we learn Jin is a lowly waiter in love with a rich man’s daughter. To earn Sun’s hand in marriage honorably, he agrees to work for her father. Sun is troubled by this, but overjoyed to marry. Jin earns enough money to support her in the manner he envisions. As their marriage matures, however, the burden of this decision wears on him. One night he comes home covered in someone else’s blood. Sun is horrified. What does he do for her father? Jin does whatever her father tells him. “I do it for us.” Honor has changed him into a man of dangerous extremes.
Sun confesses to Michael she speaks English but she dare not tell her husband. The lie is sure to backfire on her, but not this episode. Jin attacked Michael b/c he was wearing her father’s watch. Michael lost his in the plane crash and found a replacement in the wreckage – unwittingly, her father’s. When Jin saw it, he considered Michael a thief and attacked him as a matter of honor.
Whether dressed for deception or cloaked in comedy, your conscious mind doesn’t always catch the significance of foreshadowing the first time. But your subconscious mind does. That’s what adds layers to storytelling. That’s what turns a good story into a great story. That’s why certain books are destined to be read over and over again.
The next Buffy the Vampire Slayer analysis is the aptly titled, “Lie to Me.” It has many excellent examples of foreshadowing using dishonesty as the backdrop. An old friend of Buffy’s relocates to Sunnydale and tests the bounds of friendship under false pretenses. As it turns out, he’s not the only one lying to her. Tune in tomorrow.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
The GMC & D of Trick or Treat - The Wrap Up
“Clothes don’t make the man.” - proverb
Previously on The GMCD of Trick or Treat: Angel, Xander, and Cordy search for Buffy, Giles and Willow attempt to unravel the mystery behind the demon-possessed denizens of Sunnydale, and Buffy is cornered by a homicidal, hygiene-challenged pirate while Spike closes in on Buffy…
Giles and Willow enter the costume shop and confront the owner, Ethan Rayne. Giles recognizes him but it’s no Brady Bunch reunion. Giles urges Willow to run. Now. She scrams. Ethan smiles and calls Giles "Ripper". Hmm, that’s new.
Xander, Angel and Cordy come to Buffy’s rescue. Xander pummels Larry, the black-toothed pirate, dispatching him with great relish. Though Xander still doesn’t recognize Larry, he feels “a strange sense of closure.” Xander shoots…he scores! Goal.
We now enter the boggy grounds of the climax, the Big Black Moment in Deb Dixon speak, or the Resurrection of the Hero’s Journey. Willow rejoins her friends just as Spike surfaces with a battalion of ghouls. The Scoobies flee to safety. Buffy can’t possibly keep up so Angel sweeps her up into his arms.
Ethan mocks Giles’ tweed-clad, goody-goody persona. Giles is apparently more than the well-mannered Englishman we’ve come to know. Rather than bluster with intimidation, he responds with astonishing violence and cold-cocks Ethan. Did I call Giles guileless?
The gang seeks refuge in a warehouse. Angel deposits Buffy where she clings to a resigned if resilient Cordelia. He helps Xander move boxes to block the door. Unfortunately, metal is no match for demon super-strength. Spike and the goon platoon pound their way in.
Giles demands Ethan tell him how to break the spell. When Ethan refuses, Giles delivers a vicious kick to Ethan’s ribs. Ethan realizes Giles has left the building and Ripper stands in his steed. He tells Giles he must break the statue. Giles hurls it against the wall, shattering it to pieces. When he turns back, Ethan is gone.
Xander and Angel are subdued by Spike’s minions. Spike taunts a cringing Buffy, slapping her across the face. He revels in his power over her. Xander breaks free, aims his gun, and pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. The gun in his hand is plastic. “What the…”
Spike’s cronies are now two quaking high school students and a couple of shell-shocked seven- year-olds. Before Spike can react, Buffy drops him with a nasty right hook, declaring, “It’s good to be me.” She thrashes Spike, who breaks free and scurries away.
Cordy jabbers to Angel about all the weirdness, but he only has eyes for Buffy. Xander advises Cordy to give up. She’ll never get between Angel and Buffy. He’s tried. It’ll never happen. Then he realizes Willow is gone.
Across town, Willow wakes up in her own body. She takes off the sheet, studies it, then tosses it away. Reborn. Shy, uncertain Willow takes over in the face of tremendous odds and comes through. She stands a little taller, walks a little prouder.
The day wraps with Angel asking Buffy why she thought he’d like her better trussed up like a trimmed turkey. She wanted to be normal for once, be the kind of girl he used to like. Like? Angel shakes his head. He hated simpering misses. They were dull. Moronic. He’s “always wanted to meet someone exciting. Interesting…”
…and? Buffy needs to hear it. Needs him to tell her. That’s why this adventure started, after all. The dearth of personal details. So he gives a little. He shows her. By kissing her.
In the light of day, Giles returns to the costume shop. The place is deserted, the inventory stripped. Giles wanders across the room and finds Ethan’s business card. Scribbled across the front is a promise: “Be seeing you.” We haven’t seen the last of Ethan Rayne. Nor, I wager, Ripper.
Though unaffected by the spell, Giles is revealed to be more than he portrays. The benevolent watcher moves from stuttering professor to uncompromising combatant, a man who will do what he must to protect his slayer. As his inner life is slowly unveiled, we learn he’s capable of a whole lot more than a simple rib-bruising.
When Buffy’s super-strength is restored, she reverts to form – her true form. Here the relationship between midpoint and climax becomes very important. The choice she made that was meant to solve her problem with Angel, but instead escalates the disaster – pretense over personal power – is overturned. She faces her worst fear and trounces it.
She could have stepped aside and let Angel handle Spike if she wanted to continue role-playing. She didn’t. When the rubber hit the road, Buffy chose to be herself.
Xander may not have risen out of the ranks of sissy men completely, but Larry will think twice before thumping him again. Not b/c Xander played soldier boy and knocked Larry around. B/c Xander always backs Buffy up. Incognito or out. Any guy who stands with the slayer, even quaking in his boots – maybe especially so - is no coward. Not when it counts.
Spike lost this round, but he will be back. Sunnydale’s resident evil, he develops into a complicated character that spans many seasons and two series. Little is know about his internal world at this point, but he eventually swings from villain to hero in a convincing arc of evolution.
Self-realization should never come as a complete surprise. Buffy doesn’t abruptly recognize her worth. Willow doesn’t just discover her inner goddess. Xander doesn’t suddenly grow a spine. These things are within them. They just need a new lens through which to focus.
Did the writers drop hints so the audience could anticipate the end? You bet. They foreshadow early on that Buffy has the knowledge inside her. Remember her conversation with Willow, before they pilfered the watcher diaries? Willow definitively states Angel would never fall for Cordelia’s act.
Willow’s right. Angel doesn’t want Buffy to dress up or act differently. He just wants Buffy to be Buffy.
Moral (and theme) of the story - be yourself. You won’t be disappointed. This is first and foremost Buffy’s lesson, but they all hop onto the self-realization bus and hitch a ride. All except Cordy. Meow. But her time will come.
Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, Buffy has her own pair of ruby slippers. She doesn’t exploit the power until she learns to appreciate who she is and what she has to offer: herself. A kind, decent kid who trains hard, sacrifices often, and - every year or so – saves the world.
Dialogue in italics from, “Halloween”, by Carl Ellsworth
Previously on The GMCD of Trick or Treat: Angel, Xander, and Cordy search for Buffy, Giles and Willow attempt to unravel the mystery behind the demon-possessed denizens of Sunnydale, and Buffy is cornered by a homicidal, hygiene-challenged pirate while Spike closes in on Buffy…
Giles and Willow enter the costume shop and confront the owner, Ethan Rayne. Giles recognizes him but it’s no Brady Bunch reunion. Giles urges Willow to run. Now. She scrams. Ethan smiles and calls Giles "Ripper". Hmm, that’s new.
Xander, Angel and Cordy come to Buffy’s rescue. Xander pummels Larry, the black-toothed pirate, dispatching him with great relish. Though Xander still doesn’t recognize Larry, he feels “a strange sense of closure.” Xander shoots…he scores! Goal.
We now enter the boggy grounds of the climax, the Big Black Moment in Deb Dixon speak, or the Resurrection of the Hero’s Journey. Willow rejoins her friends just as Spike surfaces with a battalion of ghouls. The Scoobies flee to safety. Buffy can’t possibly keep up so Angel sweeps her up into his arms.
Ethan mocks Giles’ tweed-clad, goody-goody persona. Giles is apparently more than the well-mannered Englishman we’ve come to know. Rather than bluster with intimidation, he responds with astonishing violence and cold-cocks Ethan. Did I call Giles guileless?
The gang seeks refuge in a warehouse. Angel deposits Buffy where she clings to a resigned if resilient Cordelia. He helps Xander move boxes to block the door. Unfortunately, metal is no match for demon super-strength. Spike and the goon platoon pound their way in.
Giles demands Ethan tell him how to break the spell. When Ethan refuses, Giles delivers a vicious kick to Ethan’s ribs. Ethan realizes Giles has left the building and Ripper stands in his steed. He tells Giles he must break the statue. Giles hurls it against the wall, shattering it to pieces. When he turns back, Ethan is gone.
Xander and Angel are subdued by Spike’s minions. Spike taunts a cringing Buffy, slapping her across the face. He revels in his power over her. Xander breaks free, aims his gun, and pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. The gun in his hand is plastic. “What the…”
Spike’s cronies are now two quaking high school students and a couple of shell-shocked seven- year-olds. Before Spike can react, Buffy drops him with a nasty right hook, declaring, “It’s good to be me.” She thrashes Spike, who breaks free and scurries away.
Cordy jabbers to Angel about all the weirdness, but he only has eyes for Buffy. Xander advises Cordy to give up. She’ll never get between Angel and Buffy. He’s tried. It’ll never happen. Then he realizes Willow is gone.
Across town, Willow wakes up in her own body. She takes off the sheet, studies it, then tosses it away. Reborn. Shy, uncertain Willow takes over in the face of tremendous odds and comes through. She stands a little taller, walks a little prouder.
The day wraps with Angel asking Buffy why she thought he’d like her better trussed up like a trimmed turkey. She wanted to be normal for once, be the kind of girl he used to like. Like? Angel shakes his head. He hated simpering misses. They were dull. Moronic. He’s “always wanted to meet someone exciting. Interesting…”
…and? Buffy needs to hear it. Needs him to tell her. That’s why this adventure started, after all. The dearth of personal details. So he gives a little. He shows her. By kissing her.
In the light of day, Giles returns to the costume shop. The place is deserted, the inventory stripped. Giles wanders across the room and finds Ethan’s business card. Scribbled across the front is a promise: “Be seeing you.” We haven’t seen the last of Ethan Rayne. Nor, I wager, Ripper.
Though unaffected by the spell, Giles is revealed to be more than he portrays. The benevolent watcher moves from stuttering professor to uncompromising combatant, a man who will do what he must to protect his slayer. As his inner life is slowly unveiled, we learn he’s capable of a whole lot more than a simple rib-bruising.
When Buffy’s super-strength is restored, she reverts to form – her true form. Here the relationship between midpoint and climax becomes very important. The choice she made that was meant to solve her problem with Angel, but instead escalates the disaster – pretense over personal power – is overturned. She faces her worst fear and trounces it.
She could have stepped aside and let Angel handle Spike if she wanted to continue role-playing. She didn’t. When the rubber hit the road, Buffy chose to be herself.
Xander may not have risen out of the ranks of sissy men completely, but Larry will think twice before thumping him again. Not b/c Xander played soldier boy and knocked Larry around. B/c Xander always backs Buffy up. Incognito or out. Any guy who stands with the slayer, even quaking in his boots – maybe especially so - is no coward. Not when it counts.
Spike lost this round, but he will be back. Sunnydale’s resident evil, he develops into a complicated character that spans many seasons and two series. Little is know about his internal world at this point, but he eventually swings from villain to hero in a convincing arc of evolution.
Self-realization should never come as a complete surprise. Buffy doesn’t abruptly recognize her worth. Willow doesn’t just discover her inner goddess. Xander doesn’t suddenly grow a spine. These things are within them. They just need a new lens through which to focus.
Did the writers drop hints so the audience could anticipate the end? You bet. They foreshadow early on that Buffy has the knowledge inside her. Remember her conversation with Willow, before they pilfered the watcher diaries? Willow definitively states Angel would never fall for Cordelia’s act.
Willow’s right. Angel doesn’t want Buffy to dress up or act differently. He just wants Buffy to be Buffy.
Moral (and theme) of the story - be yourself. You won’t be disappointed. This is first and foremost Buffy’s lesson, but they all hop onto the self-realization bus and hitch a ride. All except Cordy. Meow. But her time will come.
Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, Buffy has her own pair of ruby slippers. She doesn’t exploit the power until she learns to appreciate who she is and what she has to offer: herself. A kind, decent kid who trains hard, sacrifices often, and - every year or so – saves the world.
Dialogue in italics from, “Halloween”, by Carl Ellsworth
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The GMC & D of Trick or Treat - Disaster
“The most successful people are those who are good at plan B.” - James Yorke
Previously on The GMC & D of Trick or Treat, we assembled the GMCD’s of three major characters: our heroine, Buffy, and her faithful sidekicks, Willow and Xander. We now introduce the villain of the piece and pick up where we left off.
While the Scoobies prepare for Halloween night, vampire villain Spike is plotting to add another notch to his slayer belt (goal). He’s well aware of the underworld tradition of playing nice on Halloween, but he’s never been one for conformity (character trait).
Plus, he’s emotionally invested. Dreamy, deranged Drusilla, his vampire squeeze, is in a weakened state. Spike plans to rid Sunnydale of its slayer so his girl can hunt and heal, worry-free (motivation). His conflict, of course, is the slayer herself.
To complicate matters, the costume shop owner, Ethan, has his own agenda. He begins chanting a spell to a creepy statue hidden in the backroom of his store. No good ever comes of secret chanting in Sunnydale. None. Trust me.
Back at Buffy’s, the girls change into their disguises. Buffy has pieced together a new look for Willow – low-cut belly shirt, leather mini-skirt, come-get-me boots. A heavy metal hussy with a genius IQ. Willow’s soul revolts but she’s too nice to say anything. She can’t toss the ghost sheet over her head fast enough when Xander arrives.
Xander is Private Hand-Me-Down, complete with recycled fatigues, dime-store dog-tags, and made-for-tots toy gun courtesy of Ethan’s shop. They head off to the high school to pick up their gaggle of grammar-schoolers.
Cordelia is dressed as – get this – a cat. Tight, leopard-print unitard, feline accessories, drawn-on whiskers. The writers at Buffy never miss an opportunity for irony.
Larry, a half-baked pirate, stalks over to Xander and sneers, "Where's your bodyguard, Harris? Curling her hair?" In the face of Xander's glare, Larry pretends to lunge. Xander flinches. Larry snickers and walks off. Xander aims his toy weapon at Larry's back, then lowers it, defeated. He tanks again.
Once everyone gleans their kiddie assignments, they hit the streets. The quest for the optimal candy cache is on. Meanwhile, Ethan lights black candles. The chanting gets louder. There’s Latin. And blood. It’s bad, folks. And about to get worse.
Abruptly the candles blow out and Ethan grins with merry malice. He has unhitched a floodgate, drenching Sunnydale in an invisible paranormal wave. One by one, the Scoobies and their charges are hit by something. Everyone is magically transformed into their Halloween costumes. Literally.
Creatures big and small swarm the sidewalks. Gargoyles, trolls, horned beasts. Claws and fangs. Warts and scales. Wings and webbing. People scream. Car alarms shriek. Chaos ignites as the more dangerous give chase to the less fortunate.
Willow collapses to the ground, lifeless, then re-awakens a real ghost. She rises out of the sheeted shell in her hard-rock regalia. Xander staggers then straightens, a fully functional M-16 clutched in his battle-hardened hands. Gone is the goofy grin and crispy quips. He is gun-ho GI-Joe, army of one.
Willow immediately searches for Buffy and Xander. Special Forces Xander doesn’t recognize her but is willing to join ranks. They turn to find Buffy stumbling towards them. Demons approach. Willow asks Buffy for guidance. Eighteenth century Buffy takes one look at the demons and faints dead away.
When she comes to, she doesn’t know who she - or anyone else - is. The slayer is a helpless, pre-suffragette heap. Amnesia abounds. Sunnydale has mutated into a monster mash Boris Karloff would envy. Major disaster.
Willow bemoans Buffy’s undercover camouflage. She couldn’t have dressed up as Xena, warrior princess? No. That was exactly what Buffy was trying to avoid. Being herself. Now what?
Never fear. Now Colonel Courageous, Xander pumps off a few rounds to scare the bad guys away. He’s duty-bound to mow down every menace until Willow reminds him they are real people under a spell. No shooting!
Stepping into the void left by Buffy’s Georgian make-over, Willow takes charge and decides they must get indoors to regroup. With Buffy out of commission, they need a Plan B. Willow leads them to the closest safe haven - Buffy’s house.
Xander stands guard and hears someone scream outside the door. He rushes out and rescues a woman dressed in a cat suit. Cordelia. Cordy apparently skipped memory deletion class and missed the conversion train. The Leona Helmsley of cattiness is always in costume. No need to upgrade. Hee, hee.
Willow has an idea. She tells them to sit tight and takes off, walking through walls. On the other side of town, Spike is elated by the mayhem. He couldn’t ask for better conditions to wage war. His fangs are tingling. Victory is assured.
Angel shows up at Buffy’s for another prearranged date, but neither Xander nor Buffy recognize him. Their up close and personal time will have to wait - again. Darn those pesky external obstacles.
Thankfully Cordy’s data banks are intact and she fills him in. But a vampire ambush frightens Buffy and she dashes from the house.
Willow nearly scares the life out of Giles when she materializes through the library wall. She explains the situation and realizes Cordy didn’t buy her getup at Ethan’s like everyone else. She also remembers Ethan being awfully accommodating when Buffy couldn’t afford to rent her Lady-of-the-Vapors vestment. Giles surmises the key to the spell lies there.
Spike prowls after Buffy while she cowers in an industrial area. She blunders upon Larry, who is now a real pirate. And not the yo-ho-ho, bottle of rum kind. The machete-wielding, murder-is-my-middle-name kind.
Avast! That’s all we have time for today. Tune in tomorrow for the dramatic conclusion and wrap-up. Savvy?
Dialogue in italics from, "Halloween", by Carl Ellsworth
Previously on The GMC & D of Trick or Treat, we assembled the GMCD’s of three major characters: our heroine, Buffy, and her faithful sidekicks, Willow and Xander. We now introduce the villain of the piece and pick up where we left off.
While the Scoobies prepare for Halloween night, vampire villain Spike is plotting to add another notch to his slayer belt (goal). He’s well aware of the underworld tradition of playing nice on Halloween, but he’s never been one for conformity (character trait).
Plus, he’s emotionally invested. Dreamy, deranged Drusilla, his vampire squeeze, is in a weakened state. Spike plans to rid Sunnydale of its slayer so his girl can hunt and heal, worry-free (motivation). His conflict, of course, is the slayer herself.
To complicate matters, the costume shop owner, Ethan, has his own agenda. He begins chanting a spell to a creepy statue hidden in the backroom of his store. No good ever comes of secret chanting in Sunnydale. None. Trust me.
Back at Buffy’s, the girls change into their disguises. Buffy has pieced together a new look for Willow – low-cut belly shirt, leather mini-skirt, come-get-me boots. A heavy metal hussy with a genius IQ. Willow’s soul revolts but she’s too nice to say anything. She can’t toss the ghost sheet over her head fast enough when Xander arrives.
Xander is Private Hand-Me-Down, complete with recycled fatigues, dime-store dog-tags, and made-for-tots toy gun courtesy of Ethan’s shop. They head off to the high school to pick up their gaggle of grammar-schoolers.
Cordelia is dressed as – get this – a cat. Tight, leopard-print unitard, feline accessories, drawn-on whiskers. The writers at Buffy never miss an opportunity for irony.
Larry, a half-baked pirate, stalks over to Xander and sneers, "Where's your bodyguard, Harris? Curling her hair?" In the face of Xander's glare, Larry pretends to lunge. Xander flinches. Larry snickers and walks off. Xander aims his toy weapon at Larry's back, then lowers it, defeated. He tanks again.
Once everyone gleans their kiddie assignments, they hit the streets. The quest for the optimal candy cache is on. Meanwhile, Ethan lights black candles. The chanting gets louder. There’s Latin. And blood. It’s bad, folks. And about to get worse.
Abruptly the candles blow out and Ethan grins with merry malice. He has unhitched a floodgate, drenching Sunnydale in an invisible paranormal wave. One by one, the Scoobies and their charges are hit by something. Everyone is magically transformed into their Halloween costumes. Literally.
Creatures big and small swarm the sidewalks. Gargoyles, trolls, horned beasts. Claws and fangs. Warts and scales. Wings and webbing. People scream. Car alarms shriek. Chaos ignites as the more dangerous give chase to the less fortunate.
Willow collapses to the ground, lifeless, then re-awakens a real ghost. She rises out of the sheeted shell in her hard-rock regalia. Xander staggers then straightens, a fully functional M-16 clutched in his battle-hardened hands. Gone is the goofy grin and crispy quips. He is gun-ho GI-Joe, army of one.
Willow immediately searches for Buffy and Xander. Special Forces Xander doesn’t recognize her but is willing to join ranks. They turn to find Buffy stumbling towards them. Demons approach. Willow asks Buffy for guidance. Eighteenth century Buffy takes one look at the demons and faints dead away.
When she comes to, she doesn’t know who she - or anyone else - is. The slayer is a helpless, pre-suffragette heap. Amnesia abounds. Sunnydale has mutated into a monster mash Boris Karloff would envy. Major disaster.
Willow bemoans Buffy’s undercover camouflage. She couldn’t have dressed up as Xena, warrior princess? No. That was exactly what Buffy was trying to avoid. Being herself. Now what?
Never fear. Now Colonel Courageous, Xander pumps off a few rounds to scare the bad guys away. He’s duty-bound to mow down every menace until Willow reminds him they are real people under a spell. No shooting!
Stepping into the void left by Buffy’s Georgian make-over, Willow takes charge and decides they must get indoors to regroup. With Buffy out of commission, they need a Plan B. Willow leads them to the closest safe haven - Buffy’s house.
Xander stands guard and hears someone scream outside the door. He rushes out and rescues a woman dressed in a cat suit. Cordelia. Cordy apparently skipped memory deletion class and missed the conversion train. The Leona Helmsley of cattiness is always in costume. No need to upgrade. Hee, hee.
Willow has an idea. She tells them to sit tight and takes off, walking through walls. On the other side of town, Spike is elated by the mayhem. He couldn’t ask for better conditions to wage war. His fangs are tingling. Victory is assured.
Angel shows up at Buffy’s for another prearranged date, but neither Xander nor Buffy recognize him. Their up close and personal time will have to wait - again. Darn those pesky external obstacles.
Thankfully Cordy’s data banks are intact and she fills him in. But a vampire ambush frightens Buffy and she dashes from the house.
Willow nearly scares the life out of Giles when she materializes through the library wall. She explains the situation and realizes Cordy didn’t buy her getup at Ethan’s like everyone else. She also remembers Ethan being awfully accommodating when Buffy couldn’t afford to rent her Lady-of-the-Vapors vestment. Giles surmises the key to the spell lies there.
Spike prowls after Buffy while she cowers in an industrial area. She blunders upon Larry, who is now a real pirate. And not the yo-ho-ho, bottle of rum kind. The machete-wielding, murder-is-my-middle-name kind.
Avast! That’s all we have time for today. Tune in tomorrow for the dramatic conclusion and wrap-up. Savvy?
Dialogue in italics from, "Halloween", by Carl Ellsworth
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
The GMC & D of Trick or Treat - The Set Up
“Goals are not only absolutely necessary to motivate us. They are essential to really keep us alive.” - Robert H. Schuller
Previously on The GMC & D of Trick or Treat, I defined GMCD and selected the “Halloween” episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer to dissect. Let’s meet the heroine and her two best friends.
Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenberg, and Xander Harris are the embodiment of Sunnydale’s Scooby gang. Their ranks swell and shrink as the series progresses, but they are the heart of the group. Buffy is the sardonic and super-strong leader of the pack. Willow is the brainy, wholesome computer specialist while Xander is the adorably dorky rear guard.
Buffy is attracted to Angel, the vampire with a soul who shares her destiny to fight evil. Like any girl, she’s unsure where she stands. Their relationship is new and tentative. He’s had two hundred plus years to perfect his vision of a dream girl. That’s a lot to live up to. That’s also internal conflict.
She plans to meet Angel at The Bronze, the non-alcoholic everybody-who’s-anybody high school hotspot. This is the external episode goal, a subset of the long-term story goal – a romantic relationship.
Because episodic TV flows differently than novels, the story arc of a particular character stretches across several episodes – even seasons. Consider an episode goal akin to a story goal. In the scope of the show it’s rather short-term, but it follows the same rules as a long-term external goal. Buffy will make several attempts at quality time with Angel until she gets it right.
Why does Buffy want this relationship? She likes him in a way she’s never liked anyone before. He’s special. Besides, what girl doesn’t long for a boyfriend? A universal desire for most teenagers. And a key motivator.
However, when Buffy walks in, she spies Angel chatting it up with teen beauty queen, Cordelia Chase. External conflict.
Cordy is the reigning rich girl with a lock on social status and a cadre of Cordettes who hang on her every fashion syllable. She’s shallow, sharp, and sensationally insensitive. She’s also everything Buffy isn’t: tall, statuesque, self-obsessed. Predatory.
More internal conflict. Buffy’s insecurity radar blips to life. She’s covered in muck from a tussle with vampires in a pumpkin patch and feels like Blue Collar Barbie next to Cordelia’s Rodeo Drive radiance.
Angel can’t dump Cordy fast enough when he sees Buffy, but Cordelia is tenacious. She drops a stealth bomb with pinpoint accuracy, “Love your hair. It just screams street urchin.”
In her diminished state, Buffy’s ego craters. Who is she kidding? Dates are for normal girls (internal goal). She’ll never be normal (internal conflict). Buffy slinks away to lick her wounds, her first attempt thwarted.
Her personal baggage orchestrates this disheartening symphony of concession. She is not yet strong enough to stand up to Cordy (external) or believe in her own feminine appeal (internal), hence she beats a hasty retreat (disaster, both internal and external).
At school the next day, the principal ropes the Scooby gang - and their orbiting satellite of scorn, Cordelia - into the annual Halloween safety program. They must dress in costumes and shepherd a flock of elementary school kids for a couple of hours of trick-or-treating.
Another external obstacle. And unwelcome news for Buffy. Halloween marks the day real ghosts and goblins go to ground while humanity pours into the streets masquerading as them. A sort of house arrest for the unholy.
Her one day off in three-hundred-and-sixty-five and she has to run herd over a bunch of sugar-frosted rug rats. The date with Angel is going to have to wait.
While she and Willow commiserate, Larry - high school jock and bane of Xander’s existence (external conflict) - approaches Xander and asks him what his chances are of “scoring” with Buffy. Xander longs to stand up to bullies (external goal) like Larry plus he’s had a crush on Buffy since they first met.
But – come on, she’s supergirl. What guy could champion her? Especially one who is convinced he’s a coward (internal conflict).
Xander immediately opens mouth, spouts tough guy rhetoric, and inserts foot. He gets exactly what you’d expect – Larry up close and personal. Before Xander can act, Buffy leaps to his defense (more external conflict), easily man-handling Larry. She face-plants him into a locker and recommends Larry “get gone,” which he does.
Angle on Xander, who is mortification squared. His reputation as “sissy man” will now have “unlimited shelf life” thanks to Buffy (disaster). Xander storms off.
Oops. Buffy and Willow contemplate this all of two seconds before moving on to more important things. Like dating. How did her date go with Angel? Buffy replays her lame performance at The Bronze, worrying that he seemed awfully tight with Cordy.
Willow doesn’t believe he’d fall for Cordy’s act for a minute. She’s not his type. That’s the problem, Buffy retorts. What is his type? He’s not exactly a motor-mouth of private minutiae.
A lightbulb goes on for Willow. There’s all kinds of information about Angel in the watcher diaries. Which are in the library. Where Buffy’s perfectly proper - if guileless - watcher, Giles, spends every waking hour as school librarian. Hot dog! Rededication and new short-term goal.
With a little finessing, they confiscate the texts and rifle through to find an image of a beautiful noblewoman. Coiffed, coddled. Entitled. The kind of woman Angel knew. The kind of woman Buffy will never be. Another nail to the heart. Cordy hammers the point deeper when she proclaims Buffy may be a demon expert, but Cordy’s the slayer where dating is concerned (disaster part deux).
Thoroughly demoralized, Buffy and company head to Ethan’s costume shop. Willow wants to stand out like Buffy (external goal), earn a ticket to popularity paradise (motivation), but she’s been president of the nerd club for years (external conflict).
Wouldn’t Halloween be the perfect opportunity to break the mold? Surrounded by possibilities, Willow picks the biggest costume cliché going – a white sheet with eye holes, a goofy smile, and the word “Boo” stenciled across the front (disaster).
Buffy urges Will to seize the moment. Halloween is the only day a nice girl can be someone she’s not, someone “sexy and wild with no repercussions.” This doesn’t sit well with the conservative Willow. She longs for confidence (internal goal), but Buffy’s suggestion is out of her comfort zone (internal conflict). Safer to hide in Buffy’s shadow (motivation).
Then Buffy sees a near replica of the ball gown in the watcher diaries. She doesn’t say it, but of course she’s thinking, “Wait till Angel gets a load of me in this!” Like it’s all about the wrapping, not the gift inside. Buffy doesn’t know that yet. She thinks being someone she’s not is the answer to winning Angel (belief system).
In classic plot structure, this is the midpoint, the point of no return that often marks a reversal in character. Deb Dixon defines it as the gray moment in her Big Black Moment workshop. The heroine develops a false sense of confidence. She’s been handed the keys to the kingdom, but she opens the wrong door.
Buffy doesn’t know it now, but the decision to compromise herself and wear this dress will greatly escalate the coming big black moment of disasters and work heavily in the villain’s favor.
Here also we see the theme of the show manifest: being someone you’re not to make people like you. To win over a boy (Buffy), build esteem (Willow), or earn respect (Xander).
Will it work? Find out in the next installment of the GMC & D of Trick or Treat. We will pick up with the villain of the piece, rising tension, surprising character revelations, and the episode disaster.
Dialogue in italics from, “Halloween”, by Carl Ellsworth
Previously on The GMC & D of Trick or Treat, I defined GMCD and selected the “Halloween” episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer to dissect. Let’s meet the heroine and her two best friends.
Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenberg, and Xander Harris are the embodiment of Sunnydale’s Scooby gang. Their ranks swell and shrink as the series progresses, but they are the heart of the group. Buffy is the sardonic and super-strong leader of the pack. Willow is the brainy, wholesome computer specialist while Xander is the adorably dorky rear guard.
Buffy is attracted to Angel, the vampire with a soul who shares her destiny to fight evil. Like any girl, she’s unsure where she stands. Their relationship is new and tentative. He’s had two hundred plus years to perfect his vision of a dream girl. That’s a lot to live up to. That’s also internal conflict.
She plans to meet Angel at The Bronze, the non-alcoholic everybody-who’s-anybody high school hotspot. This is the external episode goal, a subset of the long-term story goal – a romantic relationship.
Because episodic TV flows differently than novels, the story arc of a particular character stretches across several episodes – even seasons. Consider an episode goal akin to a story goal. In the scope of the show it’s rather short-term, but it follows the same rules as a long-term external goal. Buffy will make several attempts at quality time with Angel until she gets it right.
Why does Buffy want this relationship? She likes him in a way she’s never liked anyone before. He’s special. Besides, what girl doesn’t long for a boyfriend? A universal desire for most teenagers. And a key motivator.
However, when Buffy walks in, she spies Angel chatting it up with teen beauty queen, Cordelia Chase. External conflict.
Cordy is the reigning rich girl with a lock on social status and a cadre of Cordettes who hang on her every fashion syllable. She’s shallow, sharp, and sensationally insensitive. She’s also everything Buffy isn’t: tall, statuesque, self-obsessed. Predatory.
More internal conflict. Buffy’s insecurity radar blips to life. She’s covered in muck from a tussle with vampires in a pumpkin patch and feels like Blue Collar Barbie next to Cordelia’s Rodeo Drive radiance.
Angel can’t dump Cordy fast enough when he sees Buffy, but Cordelia is tenacious. She drops a stealth bomb with pinpoint accuracy, “Love your hair. It just screams street urchin.”
In her diminished state, Buffy’s ego craters. Who is she kidding? Dates are for normal girls (internal goal). She’ll never be normal (internal conflict). Buffy slinks away to lick her wounds, her first attempt thwarted.
Her personal baggage orchestrates this disheartening symphony of concession. She is not yet strong enough to stand up to Cordy (external) or believe in her own feminine appeal (internal), hence she beats a hasty retreat (disaster, both internal and external).
At school the next day, the principal ropes the Scooby gang - and their orbiting satellite of scorn, Cordelia - into the annual Halloween safety program. They must dress in costumes and shepherd a flock of elementary school kids for a couple of hours of trick-or-treating.
Another external obstacle. And unwelcome news for Buffy. Halloween marks the day real ghosts and goblins go to ground while humanity pours into the streets masquerading as them. A sort of house arrest for the unholy.
Her one day off in three-hundred-and-sixty-five and she has to run herd over a bunch of sugar-frosted rug rats. The date with Angel is going to have to wait.
While she and Willow commiserate, Larry - high school jock and bane of Xander’s existence (external conflict) - approaches Xander and asks him what his chances are of “scoring” with Buffy. Xander longs to stand up to bullies (external goal) like Larry plus he’s had a crush on Buffy since they first met.
But – come on, she’s supergirl. What guy could champion her? Especially one who is convinced he’s a coward (internal conflict).
Xander immediately opens mouth, spouts tough guy rhetoric, and inserts foot. He gets exactly what you’d expect – Larry up close and personal. Before Xander can act, Buffy leaps to his defense (more external conflict), easily man-handling Larry. She face-plants him into a locker and recommends Larry “get gone,” which he does.
Angle on Xander, who is mortification squared. His reputation as “sissy man” will now have “unlimited shelf life” thanks to Buffy (disaster). Xander storms off.
Oops. Buffy and Willow contemplate this all of two seconds before moving on to more important things. Like dating. How did her date go with Angel? Buffy replays her lame performance at The Bronze, worrying that he seemed awfully tight with Cordy.
Willow doesn’t believe he’d fall for Cordy’s act for a minute. She’s not his type. That’s the problem, Buffy retorts. What is his type? He’s not exactly a motor-mouth of private minutiae.
A lightbulb goes on for Willow. There’s all kinds of information about Angel in the watcher diaries. Which are in the library. Where Buffy’s perfectly proper - if guileless - watcher, Giles, spends every waking hour as school librarian. Hot dog! Rededication and new short-term goal.
With a little finessing, they confiscate the texts and rifle through to find an image of a beautiful noblewoman. Coiffed, coddled. Entitled. The kind of woman Angel knew. The kind of woman Buffy will never be. Another nail to the heart. Cordy hammers the point deeper when she proclaims Buffy may be a demon expert, but Cordy’s the slayer where dating is concerned (disaster part deux).
Thoroughly demoralized, Buffy and company head to Ethan’s costume shop. Willow wants to stand out like Buffy (external goal), earn a ticket to popularity paradise (motivation), but she’s been president of the nerd club for years (external conflict).
Wouldn’t Halloween be the perfect opportunity to break the mold? Surrounded by possibilities, Willow picks the biggest costume cliché going – a white sheet with eye holes, a goofy smile, and the word “Boo” stenciled across the front (disaster).
Buffy urges Will to seize the moment. Halloween is the only day a nice girl can be someone she’s not, someone “sexy and wild with no repercussions.” This doesn’t sit well with the conservative Willow. She longs for confidence (internal goal), but Buffy’s suggestion is out of her comfort zone (internal conflict). Safer to hide in Buffy’s shadow (motivation).
Then Buffy sees a near replica of the ball gown in the watcher diaries. She doesn’t say it, but of course she’s thinking, “Wait till Angel gets a load of me in this!” Like it’s all about the wrapping, not the gift inside. Buffy doesn’t know that yet. She thinks being someone she’s not is the answer to winning Angel (belief system).
In classic plot structure, this is the midpoint, the point of no return that often marks a reversal in character. Deb Dixon defines it as the gray moment in her Big Black Moment workshop. The heroine develops a false sense of confidence. She’s been handed the keys to the kingdom, but she opens the wrong door.
Buffy doesn’t know it now, but the decision to compromise herself and wear this dress will greatly escalate the coming big black moment of disasters and work heavily in the villain’s favor.
Here also we see the theme of the show manifest: being someone you’re not to make people like you. To win over a boy (Buffy), build esteem (Willow), or earn respect (Xander).
Will it work? Find out in the next installment of the GMC & D of Trick or Treat. We will pick up with the villain of the piece, rising tension, surprising character revelations, and the episode disaster.
Dialogue in italics from, “Halloween”, by Carl Ellsworth
Monday, April 28, 2008
The GMC & D of Trick or Treat - Definition
“All writers are amateurs in a craft that knows no masters.” – Ernest Hemingway
I always find this quote comforting. If someone this famous and talented considered himself an amateur - well, then…braid my hair and call me Pollyanna.
I’ve been studying the craft of writing a long, long time and found it’s true what t, hey say – the more you learn, the less you know.
If stories were Legos, the final product would be a rainbow of color, one for each story element: character, goal, motivation, conflict, scene, sequel, disaster, setting, pacing, back story, foreshadowing, theme, premise, symbolism, motif, crisis, climax, resolution…just to name a few.
Then there are the many ways to convey these elements: exposition, introspection, dialogue, point of view, tone, voice. Plot. Sub-plot. Prose. Punctuation. Show, don’t tell. And don’t get me started on grammar.
There are countless plotting methods. The Three Act structure. The Four Act structure. The Hero’s Journey. The Character Arc. Discovering Story Magic. Storyboarding. The Seven Steps of Structure. The courageous, seat-of-your-pants writer who starts at page one and keeps writing until The End.
And let’s not forget: research, critiques, revisions. First drafts, second drafts. Final drafts. Synopses. Manuscript preparation. Query letters. Rejections.
Need help? Search the internet. There are thousands of articles on every aspect of writing: Six Points about Character, Plot, and Dialogue You Wish You’d Have Known Yesterday, 8 Ways to Bring Fiction to Life, Top 10 Plotting Problems, 12 Steps to Planning a Scene, 13 Prime Principles of Plot, 14 Steps to Better Dialogue, 20 Master Plots, 36 Dramatic Situations, 78 Ways to Start Your Next Book or Article, 1000 Verbs to Write By.
Still with me? There’s a reason writing is not for the timid. It’s enough to propel the sturdiest person towards an analyst’s couch.
Does it comfort you to know we’ve all been there? I hope so. We cope in many different ways. Some don’t even bother learning craft. They just sit in front of a computer and pound away, blissfully ignorant of the rules. Others learn as they go. Still others devour chocolate by the pound or swig wine by the barrelful.
I’m something of a combination. I started out naïve then scrambled onto the craft bandwagon when critiques returned with comments like, “Is this going anywhere?... Does this character have a goal?... That shrew is the heroine?” The last was from my sister. Love hurts.
Clearly I had some things to learn. Always will. I continue to inhale books, read all kinds of fiction, and attend writers’ conferences. And write, write, write. I only hit the bottle in extreme cases. Never alone. Hardly ever. Well, except that one time…
Isn’t this encouraging? If you’re overwhelmed, start small. Think GMCD.
GMC is writer shorthand for goal, motivation, and conflict. Debra Dixon wrote the definitive book on the subject. If you’re a writer-in-training – Ernest Hemingway would certainly think so - I recommend it. The ‘D’ tacked onto the end stands for disaster.
Goal is what the character wants, the prize he must gain to solve or avoid a problem. Motivation is the reason the goal is formed. The why. Conflict is the roadblock thrown up to prevent the character from achieving the goal. Disaster is the consequence of action taken to overcome that obstacle – often the hero’s worst nightmare. He either fails to get the goal, or gets what he wants but finds himself worse off than before.
Once a goal is set, the character must decide how to proceed. He acts. Action forces choices. Choices create consequences. The character reacts to these consequences, rethinks his course of action, and rededicates to a new plan, surging onward in a spiraling cycle of choice and consequence until the big black moment (the story-level disaster) is reached and the hero conquers all.
Triumph depends on a couple of things. First, his own personal baggage - belief systems, moral code, coping mechanisms, personal vulnerabilities, character traits, and world view, to name a few. And second, how much he learns on the journey.
There are two types of GMCD – internal and external. External is the physical, tangible goal, the motor that drives the plot and action of story. Internal is the character’s inner life, the spark, fuel and catalyst that powers the engine oscillation of choice and consequence.
In The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy’s external goal is to get back home. Every choice she makes is steeped in the need to see Auntie Em. Her internal goal is to find a place where she belongs, somewhere she thinks is “over the rainbow.” She learns they are the same place, but she doesn’t make this revelation until the very end.
There are two levels of GMCDs. Scene-level GMCDs are the baby steps the character must take on their way to achieving the story level GMCD. For example, in order for Dorothy to get home, she tackles several smaller scene goals before she can achieve her story goal. First, she makes allies. They, in turn, recommend she see the Wizard - he can solve her problem. Off to the Emerald City they go. And so on.
Dorothy takes her new friends along, but she must earn their respect first. When she agrees the Emerald City is the right course of action, she must overcome a spell the wicked witch casts or she can’t cross the poppy field. She gets her audience with the Wizard, but he will only help if Dorothy brings him the broom of the wicked witch.
The closer the hero gets to their goal, the bigger the barriers become. In the end, the goal may or may not be reached, but the character always learns a valuable lesson that makes him stronger than when he started. This requires an adjustment to the character’s personal baggage. Or, more simply put, growth.
The self-titled, “Halloween”, episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a showcase of self-esteem issues, one of many internal conflicts that plague the slayer. At the heart of the show is Buffy’s longing to be normal, a thread that is sewn into the fabric of the entire series. But each episode has its own lesson, not only for the slayer, but often for her loyal troupe of friends as well.
In the next installment, The Set Up, I’ll begin destructing this episode in terms of GMCD. Several characters have a clear GMCD in the course of the story, including the villain, and it’s helpful to see how these arcs collide and affect one another. Until tomorrow.
I always find this quote comforting. If someone this famous and talented considered himself an amateur - well, then…braid my hair and call me Pollyanna.
I’ve been studying the craft of writing a long, long time and found it’s true what t, hey say – the more you learn, the less you know.
If stories were Legos, the final product would be a rainbow of color, one for each story element: character, goal, motivation, conflict, scene, sequel, disaster, setting, pacing, back story, foreshadowing, theme, premise, symbolism, motif, crisis, climax, resolution…just to name a few.
Then there are the many ways to convey these elements: exposition, introspection, dialogue, point of view, tone, voice. Plot. Sub-plot. Prose. Punctuation. Show, don’t tell. And don’t get me started on grammar.
There are countless plotting methods. The Three Act structure. The Four Act structure. The Hero’s Journey. The Character Arc. Discovering Story Magic. Storyboarding. The Seven Steps of Structure. The courageous, seat-of-your-pants writer who starts at page one and keeps writing until The End.
And let’s not forget: research, critiques, revisions. First drafts, second drafts. Final drafts. Synopses. Manuscript preparation. Query letters. Rejections.
Need help? Search the internet. There are thousands of articles on every aspect of writing: Six Points about Character, Plot, and Dialogue You Wish You’d Have Known Yesterday, 8 Ways to Bring Fiction to Life, Top 10 Plotting Problems, 12 Steps to Planning a Scene, 13 Prime Principles of Plot, 14 Steps to Better Dialogue, 20 Master Plots, 36 Dramatic Situations, 78 Ways to Start Your Next Book or Article, 1000 Verbs to Write By.
Still with me? There’s a reason writing is not for the timid. It’s enough to propel the sturdiest person towards an analyst’s couch.
Does it comfort you to know we’ve all been there? I hope so. We cope in many different ways. Some don’t even bother learning craft. They just sit in front of a computer and pound away, blissfully ignorant of the rules. Others learn as they go. Still others devour chocolate by the pound or swig wine by the barrelful.
I’m something of a combination. I started out naïve then scrambled onto the craft bandwagon when critiques returned with comments like, “Is this going anywhere?... Does this character have a goal?... That shrew is the heroine?” The last was from my sister. Love hurts.
Clearly I had some things to learn. Always will. I continue to inhale books, read all kinds of fiction, and attend writers’ conferences. And write, write, write. I only hit the bottle in extreme cases. Never alone. Hardly ever. Well, except that one time…
Isn’t this encouraging? If you’re overwhelmed, start small. Think GMCD.
GMC is writer shorthand for goal, motivation, and conflict. Debra Dixon wrote the definitive book on the subject. If you’re a writer-in-training – Ernest Hemingway would certainly think so - I recommend it. The ‘D’ tacked onto the end stands for disaster.
Goal is what the character wants, the prize he must gain to solve or avoid a problem. Motivation is the reason the goal is formed. The why. Conflict is the roadblock thrown up to prevent the character from achieving the goal. Disaster is the consequence of action taken to overcome that obstacle – often the hero’s worst nightmare. He either fails to get the goal, or gets what he wants but finds himself worse off than before.
Once a goal is set, the character must decide how to proceed. He acts. Action forces choices. Choices create consequences. The character reacts to these consequences, rethinks his course of action, and rededicates to a new plan, surging onward in a spiraling cycle of choice and consequence until the big black moment (the story-level disaster) is reached and the hero conquers all.
Triumph depends on a couple of things. First, his own personal baggage - belief systems, moral code, coping mechanisms, personal vulnerabilities, character traits, and world view, to name a few. And second, how much he learns on the journey.
There are two types of GMCD – internal and external. External is the physical, tangible goal, the motor that drives the plot and action of story. Internal is the character’s inner life, the spark, fuel and catalyst that powers the engine oscillation of choice and consequence.
In The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy’s external goal is to get back home. Every choice she makes is steeped in the need to see Auntie Em. Her internal goal is to find a place where she belongs, somewhere she thinks is “over the rainbow.” She learns they are the same place, but she doesn’t make this revelation until the very end.
There are two levels of GMCDs. Scene-level GMCDs are the baby steps the character must take on their way to achieving the story level GMCD. For example, in order for Dorothy to get home, she tackles several smaller scene goals before she can achieve her story goal. First, she makes allies. They, in turn, recommend she see the Wizard - he can solve her problem. Off to the Emerald City they go. And so on.
Dorothy takes her new friends along, but she must earn their respect first. When she agrees the Emerald City is the right course of action, she must overcome a spell the wicked witch casts or she can’t cross the poppy field. She gets her audience with the Wizard, but he will only help if Dorothy brings him the broom of the wicked witch.
The closer the hero gets to their goal, the bigger the barriers become. In the end, the goal may or may not be reached, but the character always learns a valuable lesson that makes him stronger than when he started. This requires an adjustment to the character’s personal baggage. Or, more simply put, growth.
The self-titled, “Halloween”, episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a showcase of self-esteem issues, one of many internal conflicts that plague the slayer. At the heart of the show is Buffy’s longing to be normal, a thread that is sewn into the fabric of the entire series. But each episode has its own lesson, not only for the slayer, but often for her loyal troupe of friends as well.
In the next installment, The Set Up, I’ll begin destructing this episode in terms of GMCD. Several characters have a clear GMCD in the course of the story, including the villain, and it’s helpful to see how these arcs collide and affect one another. Until tomorrow.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Lessons learned
"Experience is a hard teacher. She gives the test first and the lessons afterward." - Anonymous
I was a shy kid growing up. A good student who loved reading and preferred a small circle of friends to a bursting rolodex of who’s who in high school. My day wasn’t exactly packed with extracurricular activities, unless you define writing stories sequestered in a bedroom with the head phones on extracurricular.
I thought life was more fulfilling for the outgoing and the funny. The social butterfly whose day was stuffed with hobbies and whose calendar was full to excess.
When I became a mother, I wished that experience for my kids. I thought that led the way to teenage harmony. . . wait - that’s an oxymoron, isn’t it?
Well, I got my wish. Our sunny, freckled-face, blue-eyed daughter is the picture of a social panorama. She makes friends everywhere: at school, at dance, at home, at church. Even on a plane. An impressive and alien skill.
My husband, also a card-carrying member of introverts anonymous, is as bewildered as I. How did two social misfits create this loquacious, people-seeking miracle? We shake our heads, mystified. A beautiful anomaly.
When I was weaving dreams of peer acceptance and social accord, I didn’t consider the dark side. Something’s got to give, right? Always a ying for a yang. And guess what that is? Academics.
A girl that feeds on social stimulation doesn’t get the same charge from hitting the books. Making the grade. Doing the chores. She’d much rather be out with her friends, chatting it up, soaking in the rays, putting off the chores. As long as humanly possible. Who knew?
She gives me some of the brightest moments in life, a bona fide chatterbox aglow with daily high points and female profundities. Her teachers have only one, consistent complaint: she talks too much. And not to the adult in the room. Big surprise.
If that’s the worst teenage tribulation we have to face, I’ll color myself lucky and do the hokey-pokey in public. But it’s also a fine example of one tried and true human experience. Good intentions sometimes have unexpected consequences.
The coolest thing a writer can do is give the hero exactly what he wants then watch it blow up in his face. Holy print run! Fans love this stuff. Nothing like a deepening dilemma to keep the reader turning the pages.
This heart-wrenching element played out in an episode of Angel entitled, ‘Origin’. Wesley, Team Angel’s resident demon expert - whose moral compass occasionally spins out of control - senses all is not right at Wolfram & Hart, their new home office.
The team’s mission has been compromised by this change of address. The firm was their arch enemy for several years and now they run the place. But they don’t have unconditional control. And, as it turns out, no one but Angel knows the true contract terms of their relocation package.
A family approaches Wesley on behalf of their son, Connor. While Connor was out getting the mail, someone deliberately ran him down. Wesley assumes they want help finding the people responsible for this horrific crime. He’s only half right.
Connor emerged from the incident without a scratch. His parents are understandably upset but are equally startled he walked away unmarked. How is that possible? Wolfram & Hart specializes in paranormal oddities. Is there something they should know about their son? Can Angel and company help?
Wesley’s immediate response is, “of course”, but when Angel sees the parents – more specifically, their son - he refuses the case with a vehemence out of line to the situation.
Wesley’s shocked. They’ve dealt with their share of ethically ambiguous cases before, but this boy hardly seems worthy of antagonism. Wesley’s natural curiosity and suspicion compel him to solve the mystery. For which he will be very, very sorry.
Wesley started his fictional life on Buffy the Vampire Slayer as a single-minded, somewhat cowardly, watcher (a slayer trainer). His pretentious fumbling hid an endearing identity crisis, but he made some bad calls – with the best intentions – and was fired. He slinks off and pops up near the end of Angel’s rookie season as a ‘rogue demon hunter.’
This laughable self-proclamation proves to be a brilliant bit of ironic foreshadowing. Over the course of the show, Wes is subjected to a series of physical and psychological trials that transform him into a proficient warrior. At one point, he’s banished from the team and goes solo.
However, Wesley’s lone wolf side trip has been wiped from his memory, along with the betrayal that initiated his expulsion. Why? Because the consequences of good intentions, agonizing choices, and the terms of Team Angel’s contract with Wolfram & Hart collide.
As demon expert, Wesley translates ancient texts concerning the coming apocalypse. While deciphering a recovered scroll, Wes stumbles upon a series of prophecies concerning Angel. Recently a new father, it predicts he will kill his son and doom humanity.
Wesley tries desperately to disprove it, but all signs point to the inevitable. To save Angel the torment of murdering his own son, Wesley kidnaps Connor. But he walks into a trap and Connor is taken by Holtz, a man with a centuries-old vendetta against Angel. Holtz, in turn, escapes into a hell dimension with Connor.
Wesley’s misery is compounded when he learns the prophecy was fabricated to dislodge the wheel that Wesley unwittingly set in motion. He was duped, a victim of his own unyielding sense of right, losing everyone and everything he holds dear. His rogue days are upon him.
Connor is eventually recovered, but time passes swiftly in a hell dimension. He’s a seventeen year old boy who hit puberty in hell with a man who hates Angel’s guts. Suffice it to say, Connor is not the poster child for mental health. He secretly yearns for family and connection but does everything in his power to self-destruct. And he loathes Angel with a ferocity that is both poignant and psychotic.
To save Connor, Angel accepts Wolfram & Hart’s offer to head the L.A. branch in exchange for two things: one, Connor is given the family and life he always wanted, and two, reality is altered so Connor’s memories - and every else’s - reflect this change. Angel gives up his son to save him. And Angel is the only one who will know.
Wesley’s deceit, exile, and anguish are extinguished. Until Connor shows up with his new family in tow. Angel’s reaction is that of a protective father, but Wes doesn’t know that. He doesn’t recall it. He’s learned his memories are tainted but has no idea why. And fears Angel has sold them out to Wolfram & Hart.
Wes tracks the demon, Vail, responsible for running Connor down and learns Vail also changed the timeline. Vail has summoned Connor out of ‘retirement’ b/c he is the only one who can kill Sahjahn, the demon who monkeyed with the scroll that started this whole mess.
The original prophecy foretold Connor as Sahjahn's destroyer, so Sahjahn reconfigured events to delete Connor from the equation. Sahjahn is a threat to Vail, so Vail recalls Connor. Vail possesses a vessel that still holds Connor’s origin, so if Angel can’t get Connor to kill Sahjahn, Vail will release Connor’s nightmare childhood memories.
Agonizing choices. When Wes finds them, he sees Connor being forced to fight a demon and fears the worst. Angel begs Wes to trust him, but Wes can’t. “Not anymore.” Wes breaks the vessel, unleashing Connor’s true origin and what he finds…well, you know the rest.
The mystery of Connor is solved but Wesley must relive one of the most painful, questionable calls of his life. But he adapts, as he has all along. The fabricated memories were created for a reason - to push the harsh reality of life out of his mind. Not to hide from it so much as endure it. He finds solace, however small, in that.
Connor defeats Sahjahn. He is returned to his family and seems to suffer no ill effects of the memory spell. Not because he doesn’t remember. Because he learned something, too.
“You gotta do what you can to protect your family. I learned that from my father.”*
He acknowledges the sacrifice Angel made by giving him up, giving him what he always wanted. The bitterness and hatred Connor once harbored are erased by Angel's selfless act of love, but he chooses his new family over his real one. Not the perfect ending for Angel, but an acceptable one.
Choices. Consequences. Lessons. When you put a character through his paces, don’t forget the vital wrap up of a lesson learned. Readers require closure, deserve to see the hero learn something vital, especially if they’ve hung in there for the rollercoaster ride.
Wesley began almost a caricature of a man - untested, earnest, and entrenched in a belief system where the line between right and wrong was solidly drawn. As he grew in skill and confidence, that line did not waver so much as shift. And every decision he made was a direct result of that belief system.
Growth born out of character is essential in the hero's journey. And Wesley’s is a humbling, heartbreaking march down the deep end of human nature.
What lesson did I learn from my social dissertation with my daughter? Going from one extreme to another is not always the path to success. A balance should be struck between school and friendship, academics and living life. And it’s not just my lesson to learn. It’s hers, too.
*Dialogue from Angel episode, ‘Origin”, by Drew Goddard
I was a shy kid growing up. A good student who loved reading and preferred a small circle of friends to a bursting rolodex of who’s who in high school. My day wasn’t exactly packed with extracurricular activities, unless you define writing stories sequestered in a bedroom with the head phones on extracurricular.
I thought life was more fulfilling for the outgoing and the funny. The social butterfly whose day was stuffed with hobbies and whose calendar was full to excess.
When I became a mother, I wished that experience for my kids. I thought that led the way to teenage harmony. . . wait - that’s an oxymoron, isn’t it?
Well, I got my wish. Our sunny, freckled-face, blue-eyed daughter is the picture of a social panorama. She makes friends everywhere: at school, at dance, at home, at church. Even on a plane. An impressive and alien skill.
My husband, also a card-carrying member of introverts anonymous, is as bewildered as I. How did two social misfits create this loquacious, people-seeking miracle? We shake our heads, mystified. A beautiful anomaly.
When I was weaving dreams of peer acceptance and social accord, I didn’t consider the dark side. Something’s got to give, right? Always a ying for a yang. And guess what that is? Academics.
A girl that feeds on social stimulation doesn’t get the same charge from hitting the books. Making the grade. Doing the chores. She’d much rather be out with her friends, chatting it up, soaking in the rays, putting off the chores. As long as humanly possible. Who knew?
She gives me some of the brightest moments in life, a bona fide chatterbox aglow with daily high points and female profundities. Her teachers have only one, consistent complaint: she talks too much. And not to the adult in the room. Big surprise.
If that’s the worst teenage tribulation we have to face, I’ll color myself lucky and do the hokey-pokey in public. But it’s also a fine example of one tried and true human experience. Good intentions sometimes have unexpected consequences.
The coolest thing a writer can do is give the hero exactly what he wants then watch it blow up in his face. Holy print run! Fans love this stuff. Nothing like a deepening dilemma to keep the reader turning the pages.
This heart-wrenching element played out in an episode of Angel entitled, ‘Origin’. Wesley, Team Angel’s resident demon expert - whose moral compass occasionally spins out of control - senses all is not right at Wolfram & Hart, their new home office.
The team’s mission has been compromised by this change of address. The firm was their arch enemy for several years and now they run the place. But they don’t have unconditional control. And, as it turns out, no one but Angel knows the true contract terms of their relocation package.
A family approaches Wesley on behalf of their son, Connor. While Connor was out getting the mail, someone deliberately ran him down. Wesley assumes they want help finding the people responsible for this horrific crime. He’s only half right.
Connor emerged from the incident without a scratch. His parents are understandably upset but are equally startled he walked away unmarked. How is that possible? Wolfram & Hart specializes in paranormal oddities. Is there something they should know about their son? Can Angel and company help?
Wesley’s immediate response is, “of course”, but when Angel sees the parents – more specifically, their son - he refuses the case with a vehemence out of line to the situation.
Wesley’s shocked. They’ve dealt with their share of ethically ambiguous cases before, but this boy hardly seems worthy of antagonism. Wesley’s natural curiosity and suspicion compel him to solve the mystery. For which he will be very, very sorry.
Wesley started his fictional life on Buffy the Vampire Slayer as a single-minded, somewhat cowardly, watcher (a slayer trainer). His pretentious fumbling hid an endearing identity crisis, but he made some bad calls – with the best intentions – and was fired. He slinks off and pops up near the end of Angel’s rookie season as a ‘rogue demon hunter.’
This laughable self-proclamation proves to be a brilliant bit of ironic foreshadowing. Over the course of the show, Wes is subjected to a series of physical and psychological trials that transform him into a proficient warrior. At one point, he’s banished from the team and goes solo.
However, Wesley’s lone wolf side trip has been wiped from his memory, along with the betrayal that initiated his expulsion. Why? Because the consequences of good intentions, agonizing choices, and the terms of Team Angel’s contract with Wolfram & Hart collide.
As demon expert, Wesley translates ancient texts concerning the coming apocalypse. While deciphering a recovered scroll, Wes stumbles upon a series of prophecies concerning Angel. Recently a new father, it predicts he will kill his son and doom humanity.
Wesley tries desperately to disprove it, but all signs point to the inevitable. To save Angel the torment of murdering his own son, Wesley kidnaps Connor. But he walks into a trap and Connor is taken by Holtz, a man with a centuries-old vendetta against Angel. Holtz, in turn, escapes into a hell dimension with Connor.
Wesley’s misery is compounded when he learns the prophecy was fabricated to dislodge the wheel that Wesley unwittingly set in motion. He was duped, a victim of his own unyielding sense of right, losing everyone and everything he holds dear. His rogue days are upon him.
Connor is eventually recovered, but time passes swiftly in a hell dimension. He’s a seventeen year old boy who hit puberty in hell with a man who hates Angel’s guts. Suffice it to say, Connor is not the poster child for mental health. He secretly yearns for family and connection but does everything in his power to self-destruct. And he loathes Angel with a ferocity that is both poignant and psychotic.
To save Connor, Angel accepts Wolfram & Hart’s offer to head the L.A. branch in exchange for two things: one, Connor is given the family and life he always wanted, and two, reality is altered so Connor’s memories - and every else’s - reflect this change. Angel gives up his son to save him. And Angel is the only one who will know.
Wesley’s deceit, exile, and anguish are extinguished. Until Connor shows up with his new family in tow. Angel’s reaction is that of a protective father, but Wes doesn’t know that. He doesn’t recall it. He’s learned his memories are tainted but has no idea why. And fears Angel has sold them out to Wolfram & Hart.
Wes tracks the demon, Vail, responsible for running Connor down and learns Vail also changed the timeline. Vail has summoned Connor out of ‘retirement’ b/c he is the only one who can kill Sahjahn, the demon who monkeyed with the scroll that started this whole mess.
The original prophecy foretold Connor as Sahjahn's destroyer, so Sahjahn reconfigured events to delete Connor from the equation. Sahjahn is a threat to Vail, so Vail recalls Connor. Vail possesses a vessel that still holds Connor’s origin, so if Angel can’t get Connor to kill Sahjahn, Vail will release Connor’s nightmare childhood memories.
Agonizing choices. When Wes finds them, he sees Connor being forced to fight a demon and fears the worst. Angel begs Wes to trust him, but Wes can’t. “Not anymore.” Wes breaks the vessel, unleashing Connor’s true origin and what he finds…well, you know the rest.
The mystery of Connor is solved but Wesley must relive one of the most painful, questionable calls of his life. But he adapts, as he has all along. The fabricated memories were created for a reason - to push the harsh reality of life out of his mind. Not to hide from it so much as endure it. He finds solace, however small, in that.
Connor defeats Sahjahn. He is returned to his family and seems to suffer no ill effects of the memory spell. Not because he doesn’t remember. Because he learned something, too.
“You gotta do what you can to protect your family. I learned that from my father.”*
He acknowledges the sacrifice Angel made by giving him up, giving him what he always wanted. The bitterness and hatred Connor once harbored are erased by Angel's selfless act of love, but he chooses his new family over his real one. Not the perfect ending for Angel, but an acceptable one.
Choices. Consequences. Lessons. When you put a character through his paces, don’t forget the vital wrap up of a lesson learned. Readers require closure, deserve to see the hero learn something vital, especially if they’ve hung in there for the rollercoaster ride.
Wesley began almost a caricature of a man - untested, earnest, and entrenched in a belief system where the line between right and wrong was solidly drawn. As he grew in skill and confidence, that line did not waver so much as shift. And every decision he made was a direct result of that belief system.
Growth born out of character is essential in the hero's journey. And Wesley’s is a humbling, heartbreaking march down the deep end of human nature.
What lesson did I learn from my social dissertation with my daughter? Going from one extreme to another is not always the path to success. A balance should be struck between school and friendship, academics and living life. And it’s not just my lesson to learn. It’s hers, too.
*Dialogue from Angel episode, ‘Origin”, by Drew Goddard
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Grappling with Hooks
"Each time, storytellers clothed the naked body of the myth in their own traditions, so that listeners could relate more easily to its deeper meaning." - Joan D. Vinge
Puppies are irresistible. A cliché, maybe, but one that’s hard to argue. When you spot a rumbling, tumbling ball of frolicking fur, you can’t resist. Even if you don’t like dogs. Puppies are powerful magnets that draw you against your will b/c the pull is beyond your ability to resist.
Why? There’s the cuteness factor, but the underlying vulnerability and unconditional love complicate matters. They generate conflict, soften the hardest of stone cold cynics, and punch holes through the barrier of cliché to capture the rational mind within.
That’s what a good story hook does. I’m wrestling with this in my current wip (work-in-progress), so it’s near and dear to my heart. Since hook is the launching pad for all other story elements, it helps to get it right. It sells your idea and attracts readers. It’s the warm furry coat encasing all that boundless energy and eagerness into a package that is both universal and unique.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer had a distinct hook. California teen loves clothes and slays vampires. You can almost guess that from the title. What you may not guess? The girl behind the myth is as defenseless to the human condition as the next gal.
Joss Whedon, the creator of Buffy, took the classic horror movie moment – the flailing, falling, female victim – and flipped it upside down. In Whedon’s universe, the girl does not collapse in a heap at the monster’s feet. She pivots, blocks, and delivers a roundhouse kick that can topple a one car garage. The ultimate powerpuff girl with fashion flare. Gidget, the next generation.
Finally! A teen role model a mother can get behind.
Buffy is no Rhodes Scholar but she’s nobody’s dumb blonde, either. On the surface, she’s like any transplanted teen. She relocates to a new town, leaves behind all her friends, and struggles to remake herself at a new high school. Every kid’s nightmare. But a universal one.
With two, tiny exceptions. One, the town, Sunnydale, is located over a Hellmouth. That’s pretty unique in my experience. Two, a stranger appears on her sixteenth birthday to give her the news all teenagers long to hear – she’s a superhero! But – and there’s always a but - she will spend the rest of her life fighting evil. And no one can know. Not even her mother. Stuck with the worse vocation since Obi Wan Kenobi and she can’t tell a soul.
Buffy rejects it immediately, but providence crashes the party. She corners a gang of vampires inside her old high school gym and burns it to the ground. She can’t explain this to the principal, her mom, or her dad. They think Gidget’s gone postal. Her parents’ marriage crumbles and Buffy’s mom resettles in Sunnydale for a fresh start…
…over the Hellmouth. The school librarian turns out to be a watcher, the man charged with training Buffy in the fine art of staying alive. He’s a proper British encyclopedia of all things that go bump in the night: demons, werewolves, zombies, incubi, succubi. Buffy can’t run away fast enough. In fact, she spends most of the first season ducking her destiny, but is constantly sucked back in b/c there’s no one who can do what she can do.
Complications. The best hook opens the door and invites conflict in.
She makes friends. Friends she’d rather not see turned into vampire cat toys. She grows fond of her father figure watcher. She can’t sit back and let demons have their due. They’ll eat everyone she cares about. Or worse – transform them into blood-sucking fiends.
The show is steeped in mythology, but it’s the human element that grips the audience. Like all superheroes, Buffy must hide her identity, but the way it’s done prevents story from descending into cliché. Safeguarding this secret - a whopper for any teenage girl – compounds her life, undermining her relationship with her mother. Buffy is forced to make choices she can’t defend, cutting classes during the day and breaking curfew at night.
She gets what every kid gets in that situation. Grounded.
Hard to save the world when you’re grounded. And a subtle reminder that Buffy’s still a girl, one who wants what every girl wants - to fit in, be accepted. Normal. Something she will never be.
Yanks the puppy heartstrings, doesn’t it? That’s what a good hook does - zeroes in on a universal theme then juices it up with the fresh squeezed fruit of characterization. Buffy loves her mom, sweats her grades, longs for approval. A human trapped inside a superhuman body.
This is no ‘monster of the week’ show. The question is never, “What new creepy crawly will Buffy face?” It’s, “What does she need to learn to survive? Why now?”
The hook is the ultimate teenage metaphor – high school is hell - where each new monster symbolizes another challenge in the march to adulthood: peer pressure, accountability, facing fears, the heartache of unpopularity. The list is endless, fascinating, and relevant.
And all circle back to the hook. Why does this work? Character development. A stereotype (sunny, blonde valley girl) turned on its head (vampire slayer) and littered with heart (family, friends, self-esteem issues), muscle (preternatural powers), and location (Southern California), location (high school), location (Hellmouth).
Grappling with a hook? Take a stereotype, twirl it in an unexpected direction, layer it with flesh and bone, and set it in an unlikely place. Then see where it takes you.
On a personal aside, it's my sister's birthday. Happy Birthday, Rita!
Puppies are irresistible. A cliché, maybe, but one that’s hard to argue. When you spot a rumbling, tumbling ball of frolicking fur, you can’t resist. Even if you don’t like dogs. Puppies are powerful magnets that draw you against your will b/c the pull is beyond your ability to resist.
Why? There’s the cuteness factor, but the underlying vulnerability and unconditional love complicate matters. They generate conflict, soften the hardest of stone cold cynics, and punch holes through the barrier of cliché to capture the rational mind within.
That’s what a good story hook does. I’m wrestling with this in my current wip (work-in-progress), so it’s near and dear to my heart. Since hook is the launching pad for all other story elements, it helps to get it right. It sells your idea and attracts readers. It’s the warm furry coat encasing all that boundless energy and eagerness into a package that is both universal and unique.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer had a distinct hook. California teen loves clothes and slays vampires. You can almost guess that from the title. What you may not guess? The girl behind the myth is as defenseless to the human condition as the next gal.
Joss Whedon, the creator of Buffy, took the classic horror movie moment – the flailing, falling, female victim – and flipped it upside down. In Whedon’s universe, the girl does not collapse in a heap at the monster’s feet. She pivots, blocks, and delivers a roundhouse kick that can topple a one car garage. The ultimate powerpuff girl with fashion flare. Gidget, the next generation.
Finally! A teen role model a mother can get behind.
Buffy is no Rhodes Scholar but she’s nobody’s dumb blonde, either. On the surface, she’s like any transplanted teen. She relocates to a new town, leaves behind all her friends, and struggles to remake herself at a new high school. Every kid’s nightmare. But a universal one.
With two, tiny exceptions. One, the town, Sunnydale, is located over a Hellmouth. That’s pretty unique in my experience. Two, a stranger appears on her sixteenth birthday to give her the news all teenagers long to hear – she’s a superhero! But – and there’s always a but - she will spend the rest of her life fighting evil. And no one can know. Not even her mother. Stuck with the worse vocation since Obi Wan Kenobi and she can’t tell a soul.
Buffy rejects it immediately, but providence crashes the party. She corners a gang of vampires inside her old high school gym and burns it to the ground. She can’t explain this to the principal, her mom, or her dad. They think Gidget’s gone postal. Her parents’ marriage crumbles and Buffy’s mom resettles in Sunnydale for a fresh start…
…over the Hellmouth. The school librarian turns out to be a watcher, the man charged with training Buffy in the fine art of staying alive. He’s a proper British encyclopedia of all things that go bump in the night: demons, werewolves, zombies, incubi, succubi. Buffy can’t run away fast enough. In fact, she spends most of the first season ducking her destiny, but is constantly sucked back in b/c there’s no one who can do what she can do.
Complications. The best hook opens the door and invites conflict in.
She makes friends. Friends she’d rather not see turned into vampire cat toys. She grows fond of her father figure watcher. She can’t sit back and let demons have their due. They’ll eat everyone she cares about. Or worse – transform them into blood-sucking fiends.
The show is steeped in mythology, but it’s the human element that grips the audience. Like all superheroes, Buffy must hide her identity, but the way it’s done prevents story from descending into cliché. Safeguarding this secret - a whopper for any teenage girl – compounds her life, undermining her relationship with her mother. Buffy is forced to make choices she can’t defend, cutting classes during the day and breaking curfew at night.
She gets what every kid gets in that situation. Grounded.
Hard to save the world when you’re grounded. And a subtle reminder that Buffy’s still a girl, one who wants what every girl wants - to fit in, be accepted. Normal. Something she will never be.
Yanks the puppy heartstrings, doesn’t it? That’s what a good hook does - zeroes in on a universal theme then juices it up with the fresh squeezed fruit of characterization. Buffy loves her mom, sweats her grades, longs for approval. A human trapped inside a superhuman body.
This is no ‘monster of the week’ show. The question is never, “What new creepy crawly will Buffy face?” It’s, “What does she need to learn to survive? Why now?”
The hook is the ultimate teenage metaphor – high school is hell - where each new monster symbolizes another challenge in the march to adulthood: peer pressure, accountability, facing fears, the heartache of unpopularity. The list is endless, fascinating, and relevant.
And all circle back to the hook. Why does this work? Character development. A stereotype (sunny, blonde valley girl) turned on its head (vampire slayer) and littered with heart (family, friends, self-esteem issues), muscle (preternatural powers), and location (Southern California), location (high school), location (Hellmouth).
Grappling with a hook? Take a stereotype, twirl it in an unexpected direction, layer it with flesh and bone, and set it in an unlikely place. Then see where it takes you.
On a personal aside, it's my sister's birthday. Happy Birthday, Rita!
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Introduction
"Begin with the end in mind." - Kathy Clark
Welcome. This is my inaugural entry into blogging. I’m an unpublished romance writer. I’m not trying to command an influential, worldwide audience or publish breaking news. I’m just trying to hone my writing skills when I’m stumped creatively. If you learn something along the way, that's icing on the cake.
I’m in my forties and the sad fact is, I’m in my forties. I can’t put it any more eloquently than that.
Writing is all about revealing character. I’ll try to reveal something about myself in every entry, along with nuggets of craft I’ve picked up along the way. I can’t promise I’ll do this daily and I think you’ll thank me for that in the long run.
Why a blog? Because there just aren’t enough of them out there. Truthfully, I stumbled across the blog of Jane Espenson, a seriously savvy television writer. I’m a dedicated Joss Whedon fan and Jane was on staff at Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I learned tons about character and story from the Whedon-verse, including some fascinating insights from Jane’s blog.
Check it out. I recommend it, no matter what writing medium you pursue. She targets the nuts and bolts of script writing, but so much of it is relevant to craft – character, dialogue, humor. You can’t go wrong. Plus she’s layers of funny.
To get an idea what inspires me, check out the sidebar for some of my favorite things. If these don’t work for you, it’ll save you a lot of time. I won’t list dislikes, but I have to be honest - I don’t like mushrooms. I can’t eat fungus, I’m sorry. If that’s a deal-breaker, I’ll understand.
Since TV is the theme, let’s start there. The best shows are those that emphasize character in terms of hook. The hook draws us in, but characterization keeps us thirsting for more.
Several successful 90’s sitcoms centered on characters living in the big city – Friends, Seinfeld, and Sex in the City come to mind - but it was the characters’ evolving emotional life that had people tuning in. The ha-has were great, but they were reactions to their urban situations, and those reactions revealed something about character.
For a bigger dramatic payoff, take Angel. This spinoff of Buffy the Vampire Slayer featured a vampire with a soul who moves to Los Angeles to help people while seeking salvation for his “vampire without a soul” past. The soul angle freshens the vampire hook and guarantees a moral struggle with every person – or creature - he encounters, good and bad.
In a fifth season episode, “Just Rewards”, Angel has been handed the reins of the law firm, Wolfram & Hart, and decides to use their extensive resources to continue the good fight. He elects to fire an undesirable client. Spike, another vampire, tags along for the sacking. They’ve always had a contentious relationship, but Angel’s unique status as “vampire with a soul” is challenged b/c Spike has a soul, too.
Why is this an issue now? Angel only recently learned of Spike’s spiritual enhancement. He’s astonished and not a little intimidated. When Spike complains Angel has this empire at his disposal while Spike has been transformed into a lousy ghost after surrendering himself to save the world - how’s that fair? - Angel retorts: “Fair? You asked for a soul. I didn't. It almost killed me. I spent a hundred years trying to come to terms with infinite remorse. You spent three weeks moaning in a basement, and then you were fine! What's fair about that?” *
Big reveal in contrast - Angel was cursed with a soul, Spike asked for one. We know this entering the episode, but we don’t know Angel’s reaction until now. It’s speaks directly to his internal conflict, neatly linking back to the episode’s title – not to mention the show’s hook. Both characters feel unjustly served by sacrifices they’ve made on their journey for redemption. What is just rewards, then? How is justice earned? Or is it? It also plants a new story question. Spike is not only strong enough to seek a soul, but pay the consequences with relative ease. What does that say about Angel? Who’s the hero now?
Why do we care? Infinite remorse. Those two words evoke a boatload of empathy. Remorse is universal. Infinite punches up the ‘ouch’ factor. And the inequality of one hundred years versus three weeks – well, that would sink sinner and saint alike.
The premise was not, “How does Angel feel about Spike’s new soul?” Angel’s goal is to fire an evil client. A fairly straightforward decision. With unforeseen emotional consequences. The client is understandably unhappy and convinces Spike to double-cross Angel. Or does he? The line between hero and villain is blurred, almost redefined at times. Angel is forced to confront this truth and re-examine his path in life. Instead of getting clearer, it gets a whole lot murkier.
Romance writers must capture the emotional heart of story through premise. A story is about a character seeking a goal. The romance is not the goal. It’s the thing that gets in the way of the goal. Maybe not the only thing, but it’s definitely a monster obstacle.
I’ve personally struggled with this concept in the past and found analyzing well written episodic TV a great help. Premise is easy to detect. It’s external. The emotional heart is internal. And it’s what sells books. So do hooks, but that’s a topic for another day.
During your down time, watch one of your favorite shows and see if you can catch the reason this episode was written. Not the premise, but the emotional heart. What is revealed about character? Why now? And most important – why did you care?
* Dialogue from ‘Just Rewards’ teleplay by David Fury and Ben Edlund
Welcome. This is my inaugural entry into blogging. I’m an unpublished romance writer. I’m not trying to command an influential, worldwide audience or publish breaking news. I’m just trying to hone my writing skills when I’m stumped creatively. If you learn something along the way, that's icing on the cake.
I’m in my forties and the sad fact is, I’m in my forties. I can’t put it any more eloquently than that.
Writing is all about revealing character. I’ll try to reveal something about myself in every entry, along with nuggets of craft I’ve picked up along the way. I can’t promise I’ll do this daily and I think you’ll thank me for that in the long run.
Why a blog? Because there just aren’t enough of them out there. Truthfully, I stumbled across the blog of Jane Espenson, a seriously savvy television writer. I’m a dedicated Joss Whedon fan and Jane was on staff at Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I learned tons about character and story from the Whedon-verse, including some fascinating insights from Jane’s blog.
Check it out. I recommend it, no matter what writing medium you pursue. She targets the nuts and bolts of script writing, but so much of it is relevant to craft – character, dialogue, humor. You can’t go wrong. Plus she’s layers of funny.
To get an idea what inspires me, check out the sidebar for some of my favorite things. If these don’t work for you, it’ll save you a lot of time. I won’t list dislikes, but I have to be honest - I don’t like mushrooms. I can’t eat fungus, I’m sorry. If that’s a deal-breaker, I’ll understand.
Since TV is the theme, let’s start there. The best shows are those that emphasize character in terms of hook. The hook draws us in, but characterization keeps us thirsting for more.
Several successful 90’s sitcoms centered on characters living in the big city – Friends, Seinfeld, and Sex in the City come to mind - but it was the characters’ evolving emotional life that had people tuning in. The ha-has were great, but they were reactions to their urban situations, and those reactions revealed something about character.
For a bigger dramatic payoff, take Angel. This spinoff of Buffy the Vampire Slayer featured a vampire with a soul who moves to Los Angeles to help people while seeking salvation for his “vampire without a soul” past. The soul angle freshens the vampire hook and guarantees a moral struggle with every person – or creature - he encounters, good and bad.
In a fifth season episode, “Just Rewards”, Angel has been handed the reins of the law firm, Wolfram & Hart, and decides to use their extensive resources to continue the good fight. He elects to fire an undesirable client. Spike, another vampire, tags along for the sacking. They’ve always had a contentious relationship, but Angel’s unique status as “vampire with a soul” is challenged b/c Spike has a soul, too.
Why is this an issue now? Angel only recently learned of Spike’s spiritual enhancement. He’s astonished and not a little intimidated. When Spike complains Angel has this empire at his disposal while Spike has been transformed into a lousy ghost after surrendering himself to save the world - how’s that fair? - Angel retorts: “Fair? You asked for a soul. I didn't. It almost killed me. I spent a hundred years trying to come to terms with infinite remorse. You spent three weeks moaning in a basement, and then you were fine! What's fair about that?” *
Big reveal in contrast - Angel was cursed with a soul, Spike asked for one. We know this entering the episode, but we don’t know Angel’s reaction until now. It’s speaks directly to his internal conflict, neatly linking back to the episode’s title – not to mention the show’s hook. Both characters feel unjustly served by sacrifices they’ve made on their journey for redemption. What is just rewards, then? How is justice earned? Or is it? It also plants a new story question. Spike is not only strong enough to seek a soul, but pay the consequences with relative ease. What does that say about Angel? Who’s the hero now?
Why do we care? Infinite remorse. Those two words evoke a boatload of empathy. Remorse is universal. Infinite punches up the ‘ouch’ factor. And the inequality of one hundred years versus three weeks – well, that would sink sinner and saint alike.
The premise was not, “How does Angel feel about Spike’s new soul?” Angel’s goal is to fire an evil client. A fairly straightforward decision. With unforeseen emotional consequences. The client is understandably unhappy and convinces Spike to double-cross Angel. Or does he? The line between hero and villain is blurred, almost redefined at times. Angel is forced to confront this truth and re-examine his path in life. Instead of getting clearer, it gets a whole lot murkier.
Romance writers must capture the emotional heart of story through premise. A story is about a character seeking a goal. The romance is not the goal. It’s the thing that gets in the way of the goal. Maybe not the only thing, but it’s definitely a monster obstacle.
I’ve personally struggled with this concept in the past and found analyzing well written episodic TV a great help. Premise is easy to detect. It’s external. The emotional heart is internal. And it’s what sells books. So do hooks, but that’s a topic for another day.
During your down time, watch one of your favorite shows and see if you can catch the reason this episode was written. Not the premise, but the emotional heart. What is revealed about character? Why now? And most important – why did you care?
* Dialogue from ‘Just Rewards’ teleplay by David Fury and Ben Edlund
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)