Plot Tensions: Set ‘Em Up Before You Knock ‘Em Down

[Today's guest blogger is Lynda Williams. Lynda is the author of the ten-novel Okal Rel Saga, set in a future full of bold characters, unique cultures, love, blood and humor. She taught in computing fields for many years, and currently works as an instructional designer for BCIT. Saga books can be read individually, as appetizers, or from end to end for the full meal deal. Latest book in print is Avim's Oath from Edge Science Fiction and Fantasy, , the sixth in the series.]

Any story relies on some sort of set up to deliver an emotional impact.

Very short stories do it by exploiting pre-existing plot clichés. A novel that start with a bang ease us into the real story afterwards. Spoofs and fan fiction capitalize on the “setting ‘em up” work done by well-known series, resolving tensions left untapped in canon.

Setting up tensions in original fiction is hard work.

I write a ten-novel series set in a universe with its own social norms and cultures. Many of the funniest or most poignant moments would have little impact divorced from context. Take this exchange in the third novel, Pretenders, for example:

“I can’t believe I slept with you!” Ayrium erupted aloud. And flushed crimson, because that was not what she had meant to say first.

Ameron’s smile faded ruefully. “I cannot believe I forgot I was not taking ferni,” he replied.

The passage can elicit squeals from a reader who understands the sexual-politics of the Sevolite empire. Curiosity is the best it can inspire in isolation.

Part of the pleasure of SF is discovering how the world you are reading about “works”. A lot of the necessary learning can be slipped in through the behaviour of supporting characters, so beware of making every character a rebel because it makes for uphill work establishing societal norms. Create questions in the reader’s mind before you answer them. Suspense has to be built up, and then delivered, never draining the whole charge until the end.

In my ten novel series, clues sprinkled through the earlier books never contradict the truths revealed in later ones, but are part of the background until their turn arrives. For example, the main plot is busy getting a worried Erien in to visit Ameron in Book 4: Throne Price, when he encounters a curious hazard.

Erien squinted against the optical illusion induced by the Lorel Stairs, concentrating on the woman’s broad shoulders and strong features. “It’s the tiles,” he realized. “and the patterns in them.”

“Just like the Flashing Floor,” Zind said. “You’ll have heard of that.”

The character, Zind, features again in Book 6: Avim’s Oath. The Lorel Stairs and Flashing Floor continue to be just part of the setting until Books 10: Unholy Science. Someone re-reading the series would recognize them in this passing scene.

Even within a single book, or chapter, you can lay the groundwork for setting up big tensions while creating and discharging lesser ones. In Book 1: The Courtesan Prince, Ann’s sexual appraisal of each man she runs into helps keep the story lively until she actually meets “Beauty” – who turns out to be Pureblood Prince Amel, the archetypal prince raised as a commoner. It never bothered me that readers would quickly guess Amel is the “courtesan prince” of the title. The reader knows before the characters do, and keeps reading to discover what is going to happen when they start figuring it out. The harder work was establishing backstory for the cultures to explain the anachronistic use of swords (to limit warfare) and the nature of Sevolites (elite bioengineered sub-race of humans). Fortunately, I had lots of space to introduce all the variations and quirks.

Plotting is like an emotional symphony with movements: big themes echo through the whole work, while smaller passages rise and fall within the larger envelope. But big or small, you have to set ‘em up before you knock ‘em down. And there’s no way to do it in a really original way unless you and the reader do the work.