I’m reading Larry Beinhart’s excellent How to Write a Mystery, which is the be-all end-all book on writing sleuth-driven fiction.
Larry talks a lot about narrative drive — the force that moves a story forward, and carries the reader with it. When you’re reading a story with powerful narrative drive, you are beseiged with the feeling that something is about to happen … and so you tag along, eager to see what happens next.
Soap operas, Beinhart points out, are prime examples of how narrative drive strings you along. Ever notice how very little actually happens on a soap opera? An action, tryst, or murder, hinted at on Monday, will occupy the attention of characters for the next three weeks. Twenty-one days later, someone might actually take that action, have that tryst, or kill that long-lost relative … and by that time, there are sixteen other long-delayed actions on the table, inching forward day by day.
LOST, this season’s biggest hit, is another great example of a show that knows how to use narrative tension to keep viewers tuning in. The personal backstories of each character — those flashbacks — are used to slow down the story telling. In the present, much more is hinted at than ever really happens. Most of the real action in the show takes place in the last five seconds, when a missing person pops out of the underbrush or a discovery is finally made … and this is quickly defused the next week, so we can start the entire cycle again!
ALIAS is the same technique (from the same creator/producer) in different clothes. In a stroke of genius, ALIAS uses fight scenes the way LOST uses flashbacks — to slow down the story telling and drag out the narrative tension. The various missions are all red herrings; the sense that a shocking revelation is just around the corner is what keeps us tuned in.
As a writer, I’ve got a lot to learn from examples like these. I’m a straightforward person — you don’t have to wonder what I’m thinking. As a result, I tend, as a writer, to put too much on the table too quickly — to over-explain, to over-reveal.
With an eye toward maximizing narrative drive and tension, I’m learning to pace my story better by hinting at events more often than I allow them to happen.
I couldn't agree with you more!!
I'm reading your post now, in 2010, and of course the finale for LOST has aired, and I'm with the group of people who felt let down by all the promises the writers made but never delivered on. It makes me feel a bit sick about making promises in my own writing. It feels manipulative, but then again, it IS manipulative. The reader wants us to manipulate their emotions, just like diners want the chef at a restaurant to manipulate their dining experience through ambiance, food taste, and presentation.
I wonder if hooks are harder for writers who have outlines and know what is going to happen? Someone who writes without an outline could just "have something strange happen" and worry about it later.
Here I thought only mystery books had mysteries. Turns out people want mysteries in ALL of their books now.