Plot, Character, & Setting: It's Complicated

How many times have you heard someone say any of the following? “Oh, I'm a plot writer.” “Yeah, my stories are all character-driven.” “My setting is my main character.” I understand the thinking behind these statements. I also disagree with the principle upon which they're based.

Let's start off with the larger premise. We all have strengths and weaknesses as writers. I, for example, struggle to visually imagine interior environments like castles, dungeons, and so on. The pictures don't form in my mind. That makes descriptions of these things tough to write. However, I've been told my dialogue and imagery is great. Feel free to disagree, my point is that we all excel and struggle with different aspects of our craft.

It's very easy to dig ourselves into this hole of “Ok, every story has three major components. I'm good at this one, fine at this one, and suck at this one.” It's like playing fuck/marry/kill with vital aspects of your story, which means part of your story dies with that mindset.

So, what's the solution?

I can't just say “well, if you struggle with writing interesting characters, just write characters who are more interesting.” That'll be the last visit you ever make to this blog.

Let's start with an analogy. Did anyone hate vegetables growing up? Only everyone reading this? Ok, great. Did anyone’s parents put cheese on their broccoli to help them stomach all that cruciferous nutrients?

Hang onto that thought. Let's say you struggle with characters. Your plot is fine, and you excel at worldbuilding and painting a rich setting.

The characters are your broccoli. The setting is your cheese.

By merging a shitty thing you dislike with a fun thing you're good at, you can gain insight into your weakness when viewing it through the lens of your strength.

What do I mean by that? My philosophy is three simple statements.

  1. Characters are products of their environment.

  2. Character decisions drive the plot.

  3. The events of the plot shape the setting.

See, it's not so much like fuck/marry/kill as it is rock/paper/scissors. Now that we have our framework, let's get detailed.

Characters are Products of Their Environment

Back to the broccoli and cheese (using worldbuilding skills to understand your characters).

If you have a solid grasp on your world‘s geography, climate, and kingdoms, you'll probably also have an intimate understanding of the cultures in your book. Their views on family, marriage, their religious beliefs and customs, traditions, rituals, their government, justice system, economy, and social ladder, their attitudes towards other kingdoms and cultures, the professions and trades that are respected or looked down upon, the way they dress, the things they value, even the food they eat.

Your characters are part of these cultures, right? Understanding the environment your characters grew up in can help you understand the character. When you’re unsure of how your character should react to a certain situation or issue, take a step back and think about them as a product of their culture.

Some quick examples:

Someone raised in a puritan society would likely be sexually chaste.

Someone born in the antebellum south probably wouldn't share today's attitudes towards race.

Someone born in a land-locked country wouldn't share the same enthusiasm for sailing as someone raised in a seafaring environment.

People born today generally think 2-3 children is ideal, while parents in pre-industrialized societies had as many children as possible.

Someone raised in extreme wealth might have a fundamental lack of empathy or understanding of the problems facing the poor.

We are products of our time and society. Our characters are no different.

Once you understand how they were raised, you can filter everything through their personal experience. After all, societies are not entirely homogeneous.

I’m about to go into a detailed personal example, but if you get the idea, feel free to skip to the next section.

We in America tend to idolize celebrities. Athletes, actors, musicians, models, talk show hosts, reality TV stars, and so on. I hate it. At best, we vastly overpay genuine, talented, hard-working people, and at worst, we worship vapid, narcissistic imbeciles because it appeals to a selfish and childish part of our innate nature. I understand the psychology of our obsession with celebrities. That doesn't mean I agree with it.

Every time I hear about the Kardashians, I want to break something. I get a visceral, blood-boiling reaction any time I hear about the “Real Housewives of,” (insert whatever community is cursed with their self-absorbed shrieking.)

It doesn't matter that I was raised in a society that reveres these people. I will never be a part of that particular aspect of our culture. Still, it's had a profound effect on me: A deep-seated resentment for the society that allows them to thrive and flourish like designer-fashion-wearing cockroaches. That resentment affects my core value system, because I see what narcissism and entitlement do to people. It has made me determined to live my life with integrity, honesty, and hard fucking work.

And of course, the irony is not lost on me that I still watch movies, sports, and scripted TV. Without the astronomical importance American culture puts on entertainment, these things I love wouldn't exist. So I, too, participate in that culture to some extent, which only brings…

More resentment. I could write an entire essay on this instead of a moderately long digression (I apologize), but I think you get the idea. That resentment, and even the value system that stems from it, is a product of our society, filtered through the lens of my own beliefs and experiences.  

This can form a complex network of attitudes, beliefs, and feelings, which you can then sort through to figure out what action that character will take.

Nobody is immune to the world around them. If your world is rich, immersive, and detailed, you can use that to bring your characters to life.

That's our cheese and broccoli example. Or the “rock and paper” of our rock/paper/scissors example.

Character Decisions Drive the Plot

In this section, we’ll discuss how to use good characters to improve your plot. This is the “paper and scissors.”

Who here writes plot first?

I do. I get struck with ideas about things happening before I imagine the people they happen to or the people that do those things.

This is dangerous territory. If you do this and let the plot run away unfettered, you run the risk of having work that looks like season eight of The Walking Dead. I love that show. It was my absolute favorite show for a little while. But season eight was so terrible, so laughably bad in every aspect of writing, that I nearly quit watching. I'm glad I didn't, because season nine is much better, and I'm optimistic about the show's future.

But season eight… what a Goddamn train wreck. And here's why: the writers basically decided that a bunch of “stuff” needed to happen, and then made their characters do said stuff with no regard to who the characters actually were. They had characters literally changing core ideologies (kill prisoners vs. spare them, etc.) in the span of a single episode.

And the dialogue… The dialogue was next-level bad. Aside from the lines themselves being terrible, it felt like the writers wrote the script with no speaker tags, just lines of vague, banal dialogue, and then assigned those lines to people at random. Seriously. If I couldn't hear the character’s voices and see them talking, I wouldn't have known who was speaking because the lines were all interchangeable.

That's bad.

Really, really bad.

That's what happens when you let the plot drive what the characters do. They become reactionary robots living in a world that moves without them, instead of breathing individuals that influence the world around them by taking action based off their core motivations.

So, knowing this, when I write plot first, I have to carefully consider what kinds of characters would react to these situations in a way that the plot demands. And because of that, nearly every character ends up different from how I initially imagined them.

About halfway through the book, I have a very firm grasp on who my characters are.

Then I go back and look at the plot and change anything that needs to be changed. Sometimes entire chapters hold up. Sometimes I have to chop or drastically alter them. I had to rewrite the entire ending to Sundering.

Twice.

Because otherwise it wouldn't have made as much sense, and characters would have betrayed aspects of themselves that I had meticulously cultivated over the course of the story.

Once I've rewritten anything in the past that doesn't align with who the characters are, I look ahead to make sure future events play out the way they logically would, given the characters in the story.

It's a weird process, and it may even seem contradictory to my entire premise since I start with the plot, but the end result is this: the characters have the final say in what happens in the story. Everything that happens should happen because of a decision your characters make based on who they are and their current circumstances. You’d be amazed at how easy it is to follow a plot when it's a logical extension of the characters’ motivations.

Look at Breaking Bad. Despite being a fast-paced whirlwind of drug deals, power plays, and manipulation, at no point is the plot unclear or convoluted, because every character is so clearly defined that every action we see makes perfect sense. We grasp their decisions naturally, instinctively, because we understand their motivations.

Before I get lost in another tangent on the greatest TV show of all time, let me repeat my main point.

The characters have the final say.

Let's pause to get our bearings. Remember our three initial points?

  1. Characters are products of their environment. (Rock and paper)

  2. Character decisions drive the plot. (Paper and scissors)

  3. The events of the plot shape the setting. (Scissors and rock)

The big takeaway from #1 is: If you struggle with character development, you can use your worldbuilding skills to foster it by understanding that your characters are products of their world.

The big takeaway from #2 is: If you struggle with plotting, you can use your understanding of your characters to improve the tightness and cohesiveness of your plot by relating every plot point to a character decision that aligns with their core motives.

So let's look at #3, now. Our “scissors and rock.”

The Events of the Plot Shape the Setting.

The big takeaway here will be: If you struggle with worldbuilding, you can use your plotting skills to determine the kind of world in which your plot would happen.

And this, by the way, is how I built the world of the Shattered Fate series. It was a struggle, but I looked back at my plot to determine the core elements of the setting, and used that as my base foundation for all the cool little details.

Write down your biggest plot elements.

Mine were:

  1. An elected leader refuses to surrender power to a newly-elected leader in a medieval setting

  2. This causes a big civil war and incites conflict with neighboring kingdoms

  3. There's some telepathic magic and time travel

Those were the core elements of the story that relate to the world and the realm of Corbryn. There are other personal elements for the characters, of course, but those are my three broadest strokes.

So I created a governmental system that I'll call “representative feudalism,” where a chosen leader rules with near-absolute power for seven years. That leader is chosen by other nobles, who are “supposed” to vote in accordance with the wishes of the commoners they govern. If that sounds like a blend of our modern representative democracy and medieval monarchical feudalism, that's because it is.

I then wrote a history that led up to such a system, which included a pair of civil wars and a rebellion. Basically, a corrupt king was a real piece of shit for a while, and when he was overthrown, his successor put into practice the current government seen in the story.

I then fleshed out the inciting incidents of those wars, the aftermath, and the attitudes today about those wars and the reasons they were fought. This ended up providing me with good insight into the two factions of the current civil war the book features, as well as the neighboring kingdoms, one of which has a heavy stake in the conflict.

After that, I developed the magic system and gave it a brief origin that will be explored as magic is further discovered in the series. Then I wrote the history from when magic was first discovered to present day, how it affected the common people and the magic users, and the role of the magic users in present day. (They're telepathic with each other and can sense people's emotions. They can't read minds, but they're close. They serve as advisors to powerful rulers and as communications vessels in armies. They're highly respected by those in power, but still mistreated by the common people.)

Those were the things that HAD to be a certain way for the plot I wanted. From there, I just branched out with more and more details that were consistent with the big foundations I had laid down.

It took several weeks, but after enough digging, I had about sixty pages of detailed notes on Corbryn and the surrounding world. And it all started with the plot.

Here are some other brief examples, in case you're tired of reading about me.

A story where the main character becomes a vigilante and goes on a murderous spree would probably feature an ineffective or corrupt government with a lot of organized crime.

A story featuring an LGBT romance would probably happen in a fair-minded, tolerant society. Unless the story revolved around the external conflict of being in such a relationship, in which case, it would have to take place in a sexually conservative/intolerant/bigoted community, depending on the severity of the conflict.

A story with heavy magic use would have to have that magic woven into the fabric of everyday life. Harry Potter is a fantastic example of this- pots and pans scrub themselves, technology is far behind because there's no need for it, broken bones are no big deal, so extremely dangerous sports can be played by children, etc.

The events of the world dictate what the world becomes, right?

Your fictional world is no different.

Conclusion

We’ve now covered all three main principles and their applications. Here they are, one last time.

  1. Characters are products of their environment. (Using setting to determine your characters.)

  2. Character decisions drive the plot. (Using characters to determine the plot.)

  3. The events of the plot shape the setting. (Using the plot to determine the setting.)

If you've been paying attention, you'll realize this is just a big circle. Setting determines character determines plot determines setting, and on and on it goes. Paper covers rock smashes scissors cuts paper. See, my analogies aren't entirely stupid.

Hopefully this gets the wheels turning, and you can use the aspects of storytelling you're good at to improve the aspects you struggle with. This philosophy is helpful in editing, too. After you have a full story in front of you, you can better understand what's necessary to truly make it shine, and again, use your strengths to hack your weaknesses.

After all, the writing industry is at an all-time competitive high, and we can no longer afford any missteps on any of those three crucial elements of storytelling. And even if you don't care about finding an agent or getting traditionally published, think about the reader. They deserve your absolute best effort.

So throw some cheese on that broccoli.

Thanos Editing: Why and How

Editing sucks.

Right?

You spend all this time pouring words onto a page, cultivating the perfect descriptions and dialogue, explaining every detail of the story, leaving no corner of your world untouched. And then you look at your word count…

If you’re anything like me, you realize that the next several months is going to test your resolve, your eyesight, and the structural integrity of your coffee table. I can’t be the only person who gorilla-thumps nearby objects out of frustration, can I? After all, editing is difficult. You’re selectively tearing out pieces of a story you’ve created. It’s a mentally strenuous task with emotional weight behind it, and you’ll be doing it for months, at least.

If you’re familiar with my blog, you might recall that I recently turned down a publishing deal with a small press and went back to edit my manuscript yet again. I had “edited” before, and the fruits of those labors had cropped my 165,000-word-story down to 147,000. On this editing wave, my goal is to get below 120,000, preferably down to 110,000. I’m currently at 140,000 after editing the third chapter. Yes, I’ve cut 7000 words out of three (long) chapters.

I’m seeing things I couldn’t see before. I'm deleting entire paragraphs, huge chunks of dialogue. Condensing twelve lines down to two. Why am I able to do this now, when I wasn’t able to before?

Distance.

The first time(s) I edited Sundering, I had taken a month off beforehand.

Now, it’s been six months since I had last worked on the story.

That distance allows me to see everything with greater clarity. I can be brutal with my edits because I’m not as close to the story as I used to be. Sure, I wish I could keep it all in. But I can’t. That word count doesn’t look good to agents, and I know I can tighten the story. And having that zoomed-out perspective allows me to distinguish the crucial from the unimportant.

So the first piece of advice I can give you is this: take more time off than you think you need. Work on other stuff. If you’re excited to edit, then wait. You’re still too into your own story.

This fresh-eyed approach has allowed me to cut almost a third of my words so far. That means a much smoother and faster reading experience and lower printing costs if I choose to self-publish. Below, I’ll discuss the two main strategies I use to Thanos my manuscript. If you haven’t seen Avengers: Infinity War, Thanos is a shockingly powerful villain who wipes out half the entire universe with a snap of his fingers. He’s pretty intense.

Here’s how you can do the same thing to your manuscript.

Two words: Cut and condense.

Cutting

Basic premise: if it doesn’t advance the story, it’s got to go.

Some stuff just doesn’t need to be in the story. It’s cool, it’s funny, it’s entertaining, it provides depth to the characters or shows something about the setting… But it’s just not necessary. These kinds of things are the hardest to cut. It can be a line of dialogue, a paragraph of description, a page of heavy-handed exposition, or an entire scene or chapter. But if it doesn’t move the story forward or provide some sort of crucial development, it can be cut.

I had to cut a meeting/conversation between two character who become very close later in the series, because the meeting did nothing for the immediate story. I also had to cut an entire fight I wanted to write because there was no point to it. These hard decisions will earn you 2000-5000 words every time you make them, which can be a saving grace for pitching your manuscript.

Ask yourself “what’s the point of this scene?” If you don’t have a good reason, give it the chop. And remember, “but I love it,” and “it’s so cool,” are not good reasons.

If you’re really struggling with whether or not to cut something, make a copy of your WIP, cut it, and come back for a read much later. If it stays smooth, leave it out. If it feels awkward, put it back in and find something else to cut, or condense the material by cutting the fluff and paring it down to the essentials.

That’s the nature of strategy number two:

Condensing

In my opinion, this is even more vital to editing than cutting, because no matter how much you cut, you’ll still be left with a story, and the pacing and delivery of that story need to be, in the words of Breaking Bad’s Tuco Salamanca…

tight-tight-tight-yeah.jpg

There are very few sentences and paragraphs that can’t be expressed more concisely. My first drafts are full of redundant phrasing, and while the information therein is important, it doesn’t need to be stated more than once.

What’s redundant phrasing? It can be something as simple as “she shrugged her shoulders.” Well yeah, what else would she shrug? Her knees? Also in this category are things like “he nodded his head,” and “she blinked her eyes.” If that last one sounds excessively stupid, that’s because it is.

It can be something that’s already implied, like “he screamed in terror.” Well, if some scary shit is happening and the character is screaming, we can assume he’s terrified. Now, there are times when the “in terror” adds flavor, structure or rhythm to the sentence, I get it. Just be aware that you can take it out, and that the reader will still know that your character is having a bad time.

The redundancies can also be long and complex. Consider the following paragraph:

She got dressed, pulling her shirt over her shoulders and smoothing out her hair. It was always so frizzy. She crossed the room, grabbed the doorknob, and pushed it open, making sure to lock the door behind her with the key that she then stuffed into her pocket. Padding down the hall, she glanced at the pictures on her left side, the family she once had, and felt that crushing sadness once again. They were gone, and that would never change.

That paragraph almost put me to sleep writing it. Who the fuck cares that she got dressed, walked across the room, put the key back into her pocket, etc? This isn’t that third-grade experiment about teamwork where you had to direct your partner to make a PB&J sandwich using only verbal cues, and if you skipped a step like “open the peanut-butter jar” or “pick up the spoon,” your partner just stood there looking like an idiot who couldn’t figure out that to scoop the peanut butter, they had to first pick up the jar and open it, even though it was technically your own fault for not following directions and GODDAMNIT JEFF, WHY DID YOU HAVE TO GO AND MAKE ME LOOK BAD?

Anywaaaaaays…

Let’s condense that above passage, removing all redundancy and implied actions.

She pulled her shirt over her shoulders and smoothed out her frizzy hair. As she exited the room, the door shut behind her with a haunting finality. She glanced at the pictures lining the hallway, the family she once had, and felt that crushing sadness once again. They were gone, and that would never change.

The first two sentences are condensed into one much shorter sentence. Hell, even that one can be cut, as it isn’t crucial unless you really want to let the reader know about the character’s frizzy hair. The second sentence is wholly unnecessary, so I just gutted it and added a small bit that adds some emotional weight instead of a mundane description of leaving the room. The important stuff is at the end, so that’s largely unchanged.

Now, that paragraph was purposefully written to be bad. So, let’s look at some examples from Sundering. In both cases, I thought these passages were good enough to make the “final cut,” before I realized my manuscript needed way more work.

Below is part of a conversation between two main characters. First is the long version, second is the condensed version. I’m pretty sure you’ll notice the difference.

Pre-Edit (365 words)

“I’m sorry,” Ryden mumbled, his bravado visibly deflated. “I didn’t mean to question what you’ve done for us. But I don’t understand why I don’t have a say in what my life is going to be.”

“Because that isn’t the nature of life. Life isn’t about self-serving choices and freedom of consequence, it’s about responsibility and duty. It’s about doing what’s right. Think of your future children. Do you want them to live? Remember, I lost four siblings in my youth.”

“Of course.”

“Do you want them to be well provided for? To never know hunger or desperation?” Rylar asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you want them to be protected from the criminals of the world? The thieves, the murderers, the rapists? They prey on those who cannot protect themselves.”

“Of course, I do.”

“Then your path is clear. Marrying the farmgirl will not give you those things. Becoming an artist will not give you those things. You would be voluntarily stepping down the ladder of power and influence after I clawed my way to the top to give you and your sister a chance to live a life of comfort,” Rylar said.

Ryden scoffed. “Why do you care so much about power and influence?”

“I have no desire to rule over others and dictate how they live their lives. You’ll notice we have only one servant, and I pay and treat him well. I don’t need to be ‘Lord Greyhart.’ I want you to be able to choose to be Lord Greyhart, because although you might not care to at the moment, you may change your mind later in life. And when you’re a modestly paid artist married to a commoner with no family influence, you will have no way to climb back up that ladder. Those opportunities will be too far gone, you will live a life of regret, and your children and all their children after them will pay the consequences of your short-sightedness. I know what I’m asking of you isn’t easy. But nothing worth doing is.”

Ryden sat against the wall and massaged his temples, taking a deep breath. “I know... I know you’re right, but I can’t deny how I feel.”

Post-Edit (111 Words)

“I’m sorry,” Ryden mumbled. “I didn’t mean to question what you’ve done for us. But still… I wish I had a choice.”

“Life isn’t about self-serving choices and freedom from consequence. It’s about responsibility and duty. It’s about doing what’s right. Think of your future children. Do you want them to live in comfort, to never know hunger or desperation?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Then your path is clear. Marrying the farmgirl will not give you those things. Becoming an artist will not give you those things.”

Ryden slumped against the wall, head down. “I know... I know you’re right, but I can’t deny how I feel. I love her, Father.”

The essence of those two passages is the exact same, only the first is three times as long. Some of my chapters are full of back-and-forth dialogue between characters, and though the dialogue eventually gets somewhere, “eventually” isn’t ideal for maintaining a reader’s interest. So you condense, over and over and over.

Until your eyeballs hurt.

But how? How do you choose what to take out and what to leave in?

For dialogue, I often ask myself “what is the TLDR (too long, didn’t read, which, in millennial speak, means ‘summary’) of each exchange?” What’s the outcome? And what is the quickest way to reach that outcome?

In the above section, Rylar originally asks his son three variants of the same question, which eats up six lines on the page. Then Ryden challenges him, and Rylar responds for an entire paragraph before the conclusion comes around. I condensed the three variants down a single question, and then removed the challenge, because in the end, that mini-exchange doesn’t change anything.

The above section is just one part of their long discussion, but after boiling several lines down to the vital bits multiple times over, I’m left with a chapter that’s 1000 words leaner. A book with 38 chapters that are each 1000 words leaner is a book that’ll read much smoother once the words are cut and the tears have dried.

Here’s another example, this one two descriptive paragraphs.

Pre-Edit (214 words)

Rylar rode back to Castle Elhan in the morning, anticipation clouding his ability to enjoy the new spring day with which Rossane had blessed them. The breeze was pleasant and the sun bright, but he felt a peculiar sourness, like something had spoiled inside him. Fatherhood seemed to be an unending exercise in indecision, one that made him long for the relative simplicity of military command. Had he shared too much with Ryden last night? Had he not said enough? And if this war came to fruition, what would it mean for his family?

The father in him wanted to keep Ryden as far from the conflict as possible. The commander in him was almost eager for his son to finally prove himself. However, since Ryden had not yet graduated his training, his involvement in any fighting would be unlikely, except in the most dire of circumstances. Rylar was glad the choice had essentially been made for him. Despite his words the previous night, he knew his son’s lineage did not make him invulnerable. He would never forgive himself if he were to send Ryden to his death, and yet, he knew he couldn't shelter him forever, not if his dreams of cementing the Greyhart legacy into Corbryn’s upper echelons was to be realized.


Post-Edit (158 Words)

Rylar rode back to Castle Elhan in the morning, his doubt spoiling the new spring day with which Rossane had blessed them. The breeze was pleasant and the sun bright, but he felt a peculiar sourness. The constant indecision of fatherhood made him long for the relative simplicity of military command. Had he shared too much with Ryden last night? Had he not said enough? And if this war came to fruition, what would it mean for his family?

The father in him wanted to keep Ryden as far from the conflict as possible. The commander in him was eager for his son to finally prove himself. Though Ryden hadn’t yet passed Vindication, it loomed closer by the day. Rylar held no illusions that if war came to Corbryn, his son would be spared from the fighting. He briefly reconsidered his course. For all his words the previous night, he knew the Greyhart name alone couldn’t protect Ryden.  


214 down to 158 is about a 25% reduction. Extrapolate that to a whole chapter and you’ll have a much tighter flow. Not every chapter will be equally reduced, of course. I’m pretty sure my earlier chapters are the most bloated, because I was trying to fit so much information in. Still, I was able to cut out a quarter of the language and keep 100% of the content.

This wasn’t achieved through obliterating any single sentence or phrase, but rather rearranging them to deliver the same information. Look out for words and phrases that mean the same thing or draw the same conclusion. Pick out the strongest parts and delete the rest. There’s no need to state anything more than once. Your readers are smart. This also gives your writing more punch, since your most vivid words won’t be surrounded by dull, empty ones.

Hopefully, by removing unnecessary sections of your work and condensing vital sections into extra crispy subsections, you can maintain control of your language, your word count, and most importantly, your story.

Be dispassionate. Be ruthless. Treat your story like you’ll make a dollar for every word you cut.

And remember, when your resolve weakens and your finger hovers over the “delete” key in a moment of emotion-driven paralysis, just ask yourself:

What would Thanos do?