20 Master Plots (34 page)

This plot is a character plot. Action is completely a function of character. What a character does depends on who that character is. This plot supports Aristotle's claim that character
is
action.

CHECKLIST

As you develop your discovery plot, keep the following in mind:

1. Remember that the discovery plot is more about the character making the discovery than the discovery itself. This isn't a search for the secrets of the lost tombs of some Incan king; it's a search for understanding about human nature. Focus your story on the character, not on what the character does.

2. Start your plot with an understanding of who the main character is
before
circumstances change and force the character into new situations.

3. Don't linger on your main character's "former" life; integrate past with present and future. Place the character on the cusp of change. Start the action as late as possible, but also give the reader a strong impression of the main character's personality as it was before events started to change her character.

4. Make sure the catalyst that forces the change (from a state of equilibrium to disequilibrium) is significant and interesting enough to hold the reader's attention. Don't be trivial. Don't dwell on insignificant detail.

5. Move your character into the crisis (the clash between the present and the past) as quickly as possible, but maintain the tension of past and present as a fundamental part of your story's tension.

6. Maintain a sense of proportion. Balance action and emotion so that they remain believable. Make sure your character's revelations are in proportion to the events.

7. Don't exaggerate either your character's emotions or the actions of your character to "force" emotions from her. (This maintains proportion.)
Avoid being melodramatic.

8. Don't preach or force your characters to carry your messages for you. Let your characters and their circumstances speak for themselves. Let the reader draw his own conclusions based on the events of the story.

A
ristotle cautioned us about the dangers of resorting to extremes. Everything in moderation, he said. It certainly is the safe path. But life doesn't always follow the straight and narrow. We are fascinated with people who push the limits of acceptable behavior, either by choice or by accident.

This fascination for people who inhabit the margins of society is what makes this plot so interesting. You and I and most of middle America fall into a kind of comfort zone. What we do, although important to us, falls neatly into acceptable categories of behavior. We know how we're supposed to act and, to maintain civil calm, we are content to live within those confines. We're comfortable and happy (or some reasonable imitation of happiness, anyway). We have food, clothing and shelter, and the rest is gravy.

But life sometimes throws us a curve that we can't handle. Twenty years on the job and suddenly you're jobless. You can't find another job and suddenly you're homeless. Your spouse and your children leave you and you're alone in the streets without any idea where your next meal is coming from and where you'll spend the night. Now you're on the margins of society and probably on the margins of acceptable behavior.

The scary thing about wretched excess is that it can happen to anyone under any circumstances. It doesn't just happen to people

who are on the edge; it can happen suddenly to people who seem to be the rock of respectability. It doesn't really take much to unravel someone.

The real tension inherent in this plot comes from convincing the readers that whatever the excess, it could happen to them, too. Which of us knows what evil lurks in the hearts of those around us? Which of us can see the fatal flaws in our behavior or the behavior of others that lets us become unglued in an instant? True horror, authors like Stephen King have pointed out, lies in the commonplace. Vampires are easy (although fascinating), but to make horror from everyday people and everyday events strikes to the core. I don't expect to meet a vampire any time during the rest of my life, but a good writer could convince me that there are terrors just as great lurking in all our lives. All it takes is the right turn of events.

I don't want to give the impression that there is an evil scheme afoot, that some mastermind is spearheading a plan to take over our lives (although that wouldn't be such a bad interpretation of the Christian fear of Satan). The wretched excess plot is about people who have lost the veneer of civilization either because they are mentally unbalanced or because they have been trapped by circumstances that made them behave differently than they would under "normal" circumstances. Another way to put it: normal people under abnormal circumstances, and abnormal people under normal circumstances.

Knut Hamsun (sometimes called the literary father of Ernest Hemingway) wrote an extraordinary novel, called
Hunger,
about a normal man under extraordinary circumstances. The book chronicles a man's descent into madness as a result of his gradual starvation. The protagonist, a writer, slowly gives up his literary aspirations as finding something to eat becomes more and more his focus. As he descends into madness (because of his starvation), his perceptions of the world and the people in it get increasingly distorted.
Hunger
is stunning because of its feeling of authenticity; we actually witness the hero's descent by stages, from a normal young man with dreams of success to a deranged man who is capable of almost anything to get food.

Hollywood has always been fascinated with the extreme. William Wyler directed
The Little Foxes
with Bette Davis (written by Lilian Hellman and Dorothy Parker) about the Hubbard clan, a ruthless, upwardly mobile family in the American South. Or what about Michael Curtiz' direction of
Mildred Pierce,
a story about ambitious people with shadowy motives who live in a world of fear and violence. You could probably name a dozen films yourself, everything from
Lost Weekend
to
Monsieur Verdoux
(Charlie Chaplin's only talkie, in which he plays a mass murderer—it wasn't a hit) to Paddy Chayefsky's
Network
to John Milius and Francis Ford Coppola's
Apocalypse Now
to
Wall Street.
The battleground can be alcoholism, greed, ambition, war or any number of other difficulties. These characters have been pushed to extremes, and almost any one of them, under the right circumstances, could be us.

ALL RIGHT, SO DON'T DO THE RIGHT THING

We can't talk about wretched excess without talking about one of the most perfectly written plots of this type, Shakespeare's
Othello.

I know what you're thinking: Oh, no, not more Shakespeare. I can defend my choice by saying the author is just so good that you
can't
ignore him. In all fairness, as I pointed out earlier, his stories were derived from a variety of sources, but he made those stories distinctly his. If you go back and read the sources that he took from, you'd realize the real quality of his genius.
And
he could rhyme.

Othello
was written during what historians called Shakespeare's period of despair. Besides
Othello
he also wrote
King Lear, Hamlet
and
Macbeth—
all of them about wretched excess when you get down to it. But none of the stories captures the character of excess better than Othello's jealousy.

ENTER, VILLAIN

The villain of a wretched excess plot can be a person (as in the case of
Othello'
s Iago) or it can be a thing, such as a bottle of whiskey (to the alcoholic in
Lost Weekend).
Iago is the epitome of villain. He has no redeeming characteristics. From beginning to end, this guy is bad news.

An ensign in the armed forces of Venice, Iago's superior is a Moor (that is, a black man). When Othello passes over Iago for promotion, Iago decides to get revenge. (This isn't a revenge plot, because the focus of the story isn't Iago's revenge, but Othello's paranoia.) Iago is clever and knows how to manipulate people, but the tragedy is Othello's. Iago is merely the instrument that pushes Othello beyond the boundaries of proper behavior.

Iago is a sadist: He enjoys giving pain (revenge ultimately is just an excuse for him to do what he wants to do anyway) and he doesn't care who gets hurt along the way. (A test of this is that, when Iago's punishment at the end of the play is to be tortured to death, we feel that's too good for him.)

Iago starts off by telling Brabantio, Desdemona's father and a powerful politician, that Othello has stolen his daughter and forced her to marry him. Not good.

Brabantio confronts Othello, who denies forcing his daughter to do anything she didn't want to do. Desdemona backs him up. Not much the father can do. But Othello must go off to fight a battle, so he leaves his bride in the care of Iago's wife. Not a smart move, although he doesn't have any reason to suspect Iago yet.

Iago is busy plotting against Othello, who doesn't have the faintest idea that Iago's "mad" at him. The fact that Othello is unaware of Iago's feelings toward him is a plus because it heightens the tension for the audience. Think of how many first-, second- and third-rate films you've seen—ranging from psychological thrillers to cheap slasher flicks—that involve a person who's
unaware
of being stalked. (Iago's quest for revenge is out of balance for the slight against him. He's just mean. If he does have a strength, it's his deviousness.)

Iago cooks up a clever plan to get Cassio, the man who has gotten the promotion Iago believes he deserved, fired. Then he sidles up to Cassio and says he'll put in a good word with Othello's wife to help him get his job back.

Iago sets up a meeting between Desdemona and Cassio, then makes sure Othello sees the two of them together while he—as they say—casts aspersions about them. He even suggests that the officer and Desdemona had an affair before Othello married her.

Iago is an excellent judge of character. He finds people's soft spots and exploits them. Othello's soft spot is his insecurity about his wife. Iago feeds that insecurity, and jealousy, the "green-eyed monster" (the phrase comes from this play) raises its head.

Iago is on a roll now that he sees Othello has taken his bait. He even plants Desdemona's handkerchief—which had been a wedding gift from Othello —in Cassio's bedroom, then tells Othello he saw the two of them in bed together. Othello goes crazy and orders Iago to kill Cassio and promotes Iago to Cassio's rank.

It's all downhill for Othello from there. He demands Desdemona show him the handkerchief, which, of course, she can't do because Iago's stolen it. Othello goes into deep depression and becomes increasingly unstable. Meanwhile, Iago is busy covering his tracks, stabbing people who know too much.

THE NOT-SO-GOOD GUY

Othello's descent into madness is the play's real focus. It's not about power or treachery or revenge. It's about the extreme of emotion that dooms Othello and his wife. A psychiatrist would've had a great time analyzing Othello, trying to get at the root of his suspicions and inadequacies. But Othello can't deal with the fact that his wife might have been fooling around when even
common
sense would've told him Desdemona loved him dearly. He loses reason and gives in to jealousy and rage. Everything gets out of proportion. He continues his spiral into madness and loses control, finally smothering his wife beneath a pillow.

When Iago's treachery finally comes to light, Othello tries to kill Iago but fails. He has only one option left: suicide.

Iago is certainly a sick man, but he alienates us. We don't feel for him; he is a villain. Othello commits sins that are arguably just as bad if not worse, and yet we feel for him. Why?

The reason has to do with character development and the attitude the writer takes toward his characters. Shakespeare wasn't sympathetic to Iago. The character was a rotten apple, and rotten apples need to get thrown out. But Othello's psychology is more complex. Shakespeare felt a lot more for Othello than he did for Iago. Othello has a tragic flaw (as do MacBeth and Lear) that leads to his downfall. Othello's fear (that his wife was cheating on him) and his jealousy (that she might have eyes for anyone else) take him out of control. When you write about someone like Othello, you're writing about aberrant behavior. In his jealous rage he even lies to his wife that her so-called lover had confessed to him.