We Call This Writing

I Like My Stakes Rare

I LIKE MY STAKES RARE

Forever a problem of the literary writer, where plot doesn't drive the book like a Ferrari down the Autobahn. How do you keep the story enticing when by the end of the romance novel, you know the two protagonists are going to get together and it will be wonderful, there will be tears, et cetera, et cetera.

So how does a writer keep the story interesting when the reader essentially knows how it's going to end? When there aren't dragons or murderers lurking around the corner? How do you raise the stakes of ordinary life, keeping lovers star-crossed and full of sexual tension until they can finally be together?

This doesn't just apply to romance, either. A lot of contemporary work struggles with this problem. I do myself. It is infinitely harder to plot out indefinite events in a Teen Fiction work than it is to nail down plot points of a mystery. In a mystery, certain clues need to fall in certain order to propel the story forward. It's not always the case for character-driven contemporary work.

Let us begin...

Miscommunication

An ever-classic tool in the world of modern day. Heroine sees her lover talking closely to another woman across the street. He kisses her on the cheek before loading her into a cab. Scandal, outrage. She doesn't even give him the chance to explain that the woman in the cab was his sister.

Okay, it sounds campy when I say it like that, but how many such scenes have you seen in movies where just this sort of thing? Really and truly, people are terrible at communicating. We never say what we mean, we constantly fail to solve problems that could easily be resolved with a simple straightforward conversation.

I think the most effective use of this trope is to use it with Dramatic Irony. Which, if you slept through English class, is when the reader knows something that the character doesn't. You know that Danny's sister is in town visiting, but Leah doesn't, which makes her outburst all the more painful when she's accusing Danny of two-timing her.

This is admittedly easier to accomplish, the dramatic irony, when using third person. In first person, it does become trickier to utilize it as a tool.

When dramatic irony is out of the realm of possibility for your first-person narration, do let hidden character motivation speak. You still know stuff that Leah doesn't. Maybe Danny is anxious about his sister's visit, starts to act weird. Maybe he's worried Leah will find out about his sister and he isn't sure if the relationship's at a point where he can start introducing Leah to family. Characters should still act on hidden motivations.

Priorities

Something keeps getting in the way of a character accomplishing what they want. They're split between wanting to pursue art school and having to take care of their ailing father. What's more frustrating than a character neeearly getting what they want, just to be yanked away by something so equally important, you can't even be mad at them? Midway through Hilary's big interview to land a museum internship, the hospital calls to tell her Dad's getting prepped for surgery.

Give characters more than one thing that's important to them, so they're always stuck in a position of having to choose. Give them impossible ultimatums. Interrupt their efforts to achieve their dreams with the ring of responsibility.

This approach can be very powerful because it makes them choose. It makes your heart ache a lot harder if Hilary chooses to be with her father rather than take the interview, versus Hilary going to the interview and not getting the job anyway. There's a level of character action to make these things work.

Dig Their Own Grave

There is nothing I love more than characters causing their own problems and having to claw their way out of them again. Innate character flaws should play a role in the troubles of a character. Their flaw should actually cause them serious inconvenience if not straight up trouble.

Caleb should risk loving the guy of his dreams because he can't stop living with one foot in the door. If he smartens up, he can keep his relationship. If he can't, well, there should be real consequences for it. And it's perfectly okay if that's the end of the story, but it's also wonderful if he has to lose something before he realizes what he's lost and strives to earn it back. Ya know, internal conflict at its best.

The Wrong Place at the Wrong Time

I've talked about setting before, and I'll probably talk about setting again, but it's such a wonderful and under-utilized tool. Have characters meet at the most inappropriate spots. Have them have to speak in subtext because they're in an office meeting and can only subtly remind their co-worker of the blackmail they have on them. Have characters who hate each other have to plaster on polite smiles and work together because they're both volunteering for a Senior Ladies' luncheon and it would be inappropriate to start throwing finger sandwiches or hot tea at each other (or maybe it dissolves into that. How deliciously dramatic).

Turn innocent activities into sexually tense events. Juxtapose Mia taking a ballroom dance class and meeting The One in a crowded community centre and there's a spark, an instant connection. It's both crazy intimate, but also in a very unprivate place. And halfway through the song, the instructor calls to switch partners.

Imagine the worst possible locations for a meet cute. A funeral, a bingo hall. How about a family reunion, seeing some unfamiliar eye candy and immediately getting a gross feeling of oh God, we're probably related only to find out later that he's actually from the catering company. (Then imagine going to all the parties that company caters for to find him again.)

Setting is fun! Make it work for you. Amp up the tension.

The Useless Fiancé

I'm going to touch on this because this trope drives me crazy and rom-coms and Hallmark movies are notorious for this plot line. Tall, dark and brooding returns to his small town to find his high school sweetheart is engaged to a usually preppy, polo shirt kind of Country Club guy. By the end, the girl leaves her fiancé like it's no big deal and Sweetheart and Broody get together like they should've back in high school.

I don't know about you, but getting engaged is usually a big deal. Usually you date for a while, sometimes years and years, before making that leap and some guy you dated in high school shows up and the engagement's off?

Maybe Broody and Sweetheart do deserve each other. Maybe that's the way the story ends, but I'm always upset at how the Country Club fiancé is never a real point of contention. It's such a waste of glorious conflict not to use him and Sweetheart's obvious affection for him (they did get engaged after all. They're planning a life together.)

Other relationships can be a great conflict for people getting together. One of my favorite movies, Dan in Real Life, revolves around Steve Carrell's character falling for his brother's girlfriend before he realizes that's who she is. Oh man, it aches, because the brother is a fun guy and neither Steve Carrell or the girlfriend want to hurt him. That's how you make the boyfriend-in-the-way work for you. Make the decision hard. No walking away from the fiancé like it's nothing. Conflict should never be that easier to overcome. It stops even being conflict at that point.

(And the more I think about it, I highly recommend watching Dan in Real Life for its excellent use of basically all the points above, from miscommunication to priorities to digging his own grave. Watch it, love it.

I hope this has been helpful in creating character-driven, stake-raising story lines.