Early Introduction

Being the fourth part of a seven-part series based on Your New Favorite Writer’s recent WWA workshop “A Bulletproof Beginning: Five Ways to Anchor Your Story in Urgency from Word One.”

I can’t tell you how to write a great beginning. But here are FIVE BIG IDEAS—three Dos and two Donts—that ought to help quite a bit:

  1. Engage the reader immediately.
  2. Do not drown the reader in information. 
  3. Introduce important characters and plots early. 
  4. Do not let INFORMATION bog down the profluence of the narrative. 
  5. Shape early action toward later plot points.

This week, let’s look at the third Big Idea: Introduce important characters and plots early. 

Why?

The opening is the most important part of your book for engaging readers and getting them to read the whole book. The main characters and plots are the heart and substance of your story. If they don’t show up early on, the opening is cheated, the characters and plots are cheated, the reader is cheated, and you the author are cheated.

Important Characters

The important characters are the major characters: protagonist, antagonist, leading allies of the protagonist or antagonist, and operational or catalyst characters who trigger main plot points.

The Big Bad Wolf. Disney Pictures. Fair use.

The protagonist is not necessarily a good guy. Think of the Big Bad Wolf in the tale about the Three Little Pigs. It’s the hungry wolf who makes the story happen. His fondness for pork is the root of all action. We may not want him to achieve his desire, but we are deeply invested in the question of whether or not he does.

The Antagonist is the chief obstacle to the protagonist’s quest. The antagonist may be an impersonal force, as in Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. More commonly, the antagonist is a person whose interests collide with those of the protagonist. If the protagonist is a good guy, then the antagonist is a villain. Or if, as in “The Three Little Pigs,” the protagonist is a villain, then the antagonist—the wise and doughty little pig who built with bricks—is a hero.

Both protagonist and antagonist have allies or helpers. Some of those allies are minor characters, but the chief allies are major characters. A hero’s allies we call sidekicks; a villain’s allies are henchmen. If one or two of these will play important roles, they should appear in the early pages—at least before the beginning of Act II*, when your story shifts into high gear. 

*It is very useful to know something of traditional three-act story structure. I recommend Syd Field’s book, Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting, a simple, straightforward introduction to story structure. It applies to prose fiction or narrative nonfiction just as much as to movie scripts. 

Uncle Billy realizing he is about to kick the movie into Act III. Paramount Pictures. Fair use.

Important Catalysts—characters who may not be main plot drivers but who do something that injects a key plot point—should also be introduced early. Is a catalyst character is important? Well, how important is that character’s action to the plot? Think of Uncle Billy, portrayed by Thomas Mitchell in the movie It’s a Wonderful Life, which almost everyone has seen. Uncle Billy doesn’t do much in the film, except at a key point his action or inaction triggers the major crisis of the story. I won’t say more, in case you are the one person who has never seen the film and you still want to be surprised. Suffice it to say that Uncle Billy’s one major contribution to the plot occurs rather late. It’s really, I believe, the thing that kicks Act II into Act III. But because that contribution is critical, director Frank Capra makes sure we know who Uncle Billy is, and what kind of a person he is, by giving him little bits of business that build his character all through the movie, from Act I on. 

Go thou and do likewise, Gentle Reader.

Important Plots

All stories, or almost all stories, have a Main Plot, also called “the A Plot.” If you cannot discern a main plot, it’s either a failed story or an “experimental” narrative. You probably want to have nothing to do with either. You probably want your story to have a clearly delineated main plot. 

The length of the main plot defines the duration of the story. The main plot shows up early by definition. It is that sequence of causally-related events that reflects the struggles of the protagonist and the counter-moves of the antagonist, and that results in the protagonist getting his or her desire, or not. If a plot does not start to show its face in Act I, it’s not the main plot. 

Most good stories also have one or more Secondary Plots, sometimes called subplots, sometimes referred to as “B Plot,” “C Plot,” and so forth. These plots involve secondary, but still important, characters; or they involve another aspect of the protagonist’s quest. Secondary plots develop alongside the main plot, complement it, sometimes mirror it, and add interest and complexity. Think of a romantic comedy. The main plot brings the leading romantic characters together; and there’s almost always a subplot that unites the secondary romantic characters. 

Such plots, like the main plot, tend to last throughout the story. They start early, usually in the first act, and are often resolved along with the main plot in a sort of neat bundle. For example, the main romantic couple and the secondary romantic couple may celebrate a double wedding. Check Shakespeare.

There is no rule about secondary plots, but most good stories will have one, two, or three that stand out. That is, a B plot, a C plot, maybe even a D plot. These develop in tandem, weave around one another, and add to the strength and meaning of the main plot. For example, the Scarecrow, the Lion, and the Tin Man all have secondary plots alongside Dorothy’s main plot in The Wizard of Oz.

There are smaller subplots—but enough with the capital letters, already! These minor subplots may involve a minor character and last for a brief time. They may intersect with a key part of the main plot, like Uncle Billy’s fateful action late in It’s a Wonderful Life. Or maybe they may be a brief distraction—comic relief, for example—in the otherwise long, unrelieved tension of the second act. When one of these little bitty subplots works well, and stays within its limits, it is like the sparkle on a diamond. 

Next week: Do not let INFORMATION bog down the profluence of the narrative.

Blessings,

Larry F. Sommers

Your New Favorite Writer

Police

In the spring of 1965 I flunked out of Knox College. The timing of this was pretty spectacular, as there was a war on. 

I lost my student deferment and went to the top of the Draft Board’s list for two years’ service in the Army or Marines. Instead I volunteered for a four-year hitch in the U.S. Air Force. They sent me to Monterey, California, to learn Chinese. 

After learning Chinese, I spent a year on a Taiwan mountaintop, monitoring Chinese Communist radio communications; then spent about fifteen months flying out of Okinawa, grinding away at the Chinese Problem from recon aircraft over Southeast Asia. 

RC-135 reconnaissance aircraft. Photo by Tim Felce, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

I completed my service in September 1969 and came home to a land I barely recognized. Gone was the familiar America of Walt Whitman, singing its varied carols. In its place wallowed a society designed by, or for, Saul Alinsky and Howard Zinn.

The culture shock was starkened by my having gone immediately from military service to the University of Wisconsin campus at the height of its anti-war, revolutionary, zeal. The serious leftists in Madison, some of whom I got to know pretty well, were dedicated, if mostly amateur, Marxist-Leninist-Maoist agitators. 

Revolution

Turned loose by Uncle Sam, I sought now to redeem myself as a student. This time around, I promised myself, I would shun all-night poker parties and all-day Frisbee flinging. I would hit the books with righteous fervor. Admitted to the university on academic probation, I was determined to clear my name in one semester. 

Meanwhile, the campus of 35,000 students seethed with anger, revolt, socialist machinations, and broken windows.

On the twelfth floor of Van Hise Hall, East Asian and South Asian language students gathered to read, translate, argue, and kibbitz. From a perch nudging the stratosphere we gazed down on ant-like protesters surging at straight lines of National Guardsmen and police. Puffs of white smoke plumed the ground here and there—signs that our homeward treks at day’s end would be tinged with tear gas.

“The Pigs”

One day a young man whose name I no longer recall complained about the police—whom he called “the pigs,” in the argot of the day.

Pig. Photo by BadgerGravling, licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

“I wish you wouldn’t call them pigs,” I said.

He frowned. “Why not? That’s what they are.”

“No. Pigs are animals; police officers are people. They may not share your ideas, they may be ranged against you in a riot. But they are human beings. If you call them pigs you deny their humanity and make it convenient to disregard their human attributes. They may have a viewpoint  of their own, but you will never bother to consider it, because they’re only pigs.” 

For me, this was a long speech.

Policeman. Photo by rocor, licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.

The young man gazed at me for a moment and said, “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that. From now on I will not call police officers pigs.”

A transformative moment, in the midst of the Revolution?  Fat chance.

If this young man was changed by my earnest entreaty, then he was the only one. I soon figured out that I was not made for political battles, or any other kind of battles. I gave up trying to engage intellectually with my friends on the left and shunned politics from that day to this. 

The protesters of 1969-70 opposed the police not only in practice but in principle. Policemen enforced the law. Thus they were tools of the Establishment, defenders of the status quo. The enemy.

Kent State, Sterling Hall

On May 4, 1970, Ohio National Guard members killed four students at Kent State University. Then on August 24, here in Madison, revolutionaries planted a huge bomb that demolished Sterling Hall, a large academic building, and killed a physics researcher.These grim events took steam out of the anti-war movement; but only in January 1973—when President Richard Nixon pulled the U.S. out of Vietnam, the South Vietnamese government collapsed, and Ho Chi Minh’s communists took over the whole country—did that movement end.

Pre-Vietnam normality began to seep back into the United States. But the gaping wound in our national fabric did not heal. Fifty years later, we remain mired in distrust of one another, of our government, and of authority in general.

Today’s Crises

“Authority” can mean two different things. Let’s call them “intrinsic authority” and “conferred authority.” 

Intrinsic authority speaks for itself. Jesus was said to have taught “as one having authority, and not as the scribes.” When you have a knee replaced, you may rely on the surgeon’s medical diploma; but your go/no-go decision might be based on your gut’s  confidence in the surgeon, not on his formal qualifications. That’s intrinsic authority.

Conferred authority is legal, or legalistic. It is the authority of a city clerk to license a couple for marriage. It is the authority of a president to okay the launch of nuclear-tipped missiles. 

When intrinsic authority and conferred authority coincide, one of the results is a high-trust society. Unfortunately, such coincidence is becoming a rare thing. We give little obedience to conferred authority because we discern no intrinsic authority within it. We jeer our leaders; we defy those to whom they delegate power, including the police. 

Then and Now

The long-drawn-out war of our present day, being fought in Afghanistan since 2001, does not attract the intense interest that the one in Vietnam did fifty years ago. Fewer American troops are involved, none of them are draftees, and Southwest Asia seems even farther away now than Southeast Asia did then. 

Today’s great controversy is not war but race—racism, racial discrimination, white privilege, and the oppression of blacks. But in one way our time does resemble the past: Police and policing stand at the center of the conflict.

I have not heard the term “pigs” applied to police in recent years—not even in the past two or three weeks. They are still regarded as humans, which is good. Recent events, however, paint them as racists—which may be worse than pigs.

Because of this, people keen on public order rush to point out that “most police” are dedicated, overworked public servants and should not be tarred with the brush of racism.

Defunding

But people keen on social justice assert that racism is systemic in our society. They profess that “defunding” the police would be a good step toward redressing the balance. The general public views this concept with horror, so the would-be defunders belatedly explain they do not mean complete defunding but only partial defunding. This satisfies nobody, because some folks really do want to abolish the police, while everybody else thinks the police need more funding, not less.

In all this palaver, what gets lost is any mature reckoning of the unique position that police occupy in our society. 

Mao Zedong in 1963. Public Domain.

The late Chairman Mao got at least one thing right: Political power does grow from the barrel of a gun. That is true always and everywhere. In a free society, we place that gun in the hands of a police officer and expect that officer to exercise conferred authority within limits prescribed by law.

George Orwell in 1943. Public Domain.

George Orwell said, “Those who ‘abjure’ violence can only do so because others are committing violence on their behalf.” Police are the people we hire to do violence on our behalf.

Protectors

What I am getting at is that, while police officers are humans, they are humans of a special kind.

Most of us fall into the category of the Protected. Police officers are the Protectors.

My wife’s cousin was a police officer in a Chicago suburb. He said that within a few weeks of putting on his badge, he had learned to lump people into two categories: good folks and bad guys. And he made this distinction within seconds of entering a situation. Such swift decisions must have included a large reliance on intuition. Was he ever mistaken in his assessments? The conversation did not extend that far. 

Those who have the “take-charge” kind of personality that leads them into law enforcement, and who need to survive in potentially hazardous situations, will most likely develop the same reliance on snap judgments that my wife’s cousin described. 

So when we, the People, lay plans to send out social workers in place of cops, let’s get real. When we modify police training and rules of engagement, let’s remember that police will need to translate their instructions into action in fluid situations. We should not be surprised when they find their powers creatively enhanced by statutes that we had thought would curb their power.

Remember that we license the police to use violence—brutal acts labeled as “authorized use of force”—on our behalf. If we do not wish to confer this authority, perhaps we should completely defund the police; abolish the departments. 

Then all of us, including those who “abjure” violence, would need to become the Protectors for ourselves and our families. Thirty-one states allow firearms to be carried openly. I suppose a general defunding of police departments would bring us back to the old Western ambience of Dodge City. Is that the outcome we seek?

#

What we face, in practical terms, is a need to improve the way we confer authority upon our police officers.

But the greater issue is seldon spoken of. It is simply this: Unless those who wield conferred authority combine it with intrinsic authority, our problems will continue, will intensify, and will multiply.

Intrinsic authority = character. 

There is no substitute for character. Its short supply, in the police and in the whole population, is our real problem. 

When can we start working on that?

Blessings,

Larry F. Sommers, Your New Favorite Author

Author of Price of Passage—A Tale of Immigration and Liberation.

Price of Passage

Norwegian Farmers and Fugitive Slaves in Pre-Civil War Illinois

(History is not what you thought!)