Monthly Archives: June 2013

The Authorless Narrative

Not every narrative has an author. Just as art may be in the eye of the beholder, the existence of a narrative may be in the eye of the observer.

We are all pattern makers. This is evident in everything from ink blot tests to seeing figures in constellations, faces in wood grain and images in clouds. The patterns we make and how we come to make them are reflective of the perspectives and processes of our own minds.

We project these patterns on the external world in the attempt to better understand and predict it.  Therefore, the patterns we see in the real world tell us as much about ourselves as about our environment.

Fictional narratives are our attempt to document the nature and essence of the way people think, feel, and interact as determined through observation and internal exploration.

Real world narratives are the patterns and systems into which we organize our thoughts, feelings our relationships with others, as evidenced through the patterns and systems we create.

Though one might expect all fictional narratives to be intentional, consider sub-text and patterns of meaning that illuminate the nature of the author, but were unintentional and unseen by the author in the process of creation.

A single work, be it a simple tale, a fully argued story, a song ballad or stage play, may have many multiple narratives operating in the same narrative space simultaneously.  Individual readers or audience members may tune into several, many or none of these additional narratives beyond the principal intended ones.

A good example of this would be a story that was taken very seriously by the author, but strikes most of the audience as laughable – a comedy in fact.  And, what’s more, the audience may actually believe that the work was intended as a comedy, though that could be diametrically opposed to the intent of the author.  What is a passionately argued point of view to the author may appear as simple pandering or propaganda to an audience.

In fact, two different audiences may interpret a given work’s narrative meaning differently, as experienced by stage actors whose performance as a company may be virtually identical from show to show, but is received completely differently by each audience that enters the theater.

Further, contextual changes in the real world may cast a narrative into a different meaning than its initial impact, or may even appear to reflect a different author’s intent.

In the real world, when people gather together for a common interest or purpose, they self-organize into a narrative pattern.  For example, we each possess reason and also skepticism.  These qualities are part of a palette of human traits we bring to bear in the making of narrative patterns.

When we assemble, we  tend to specialize with each individual focusing on applying one of our problem solving methods, rather than having a collection of people all acting as general practitioners.  In this way, each specialist is able to delve deeper into the method they fulfill as they do not have to consider the others more than superficially.

An automatic byproduct of specialization is that each individual comes to represent a different aspect of the mind so that, as a group, they form a representation of a single mind in which each attribute has been made tangible and incarnate in one of the members.

It is this self-organizing principal and this externally projected model of the mind that was observed, documented and refined by hundreds of generations of storytellings until they became fixed in the conventions of narrative structure.

To the point of this article, since there is seldom, if ever, a conscious decision among the members of a newly formed group to organize themselves into a model of the mind the narrative patterns they form are authorless.

Certainly, the study and application of narrative is a popular endeavor of any larger organization these days, and justifiably so.  But the understanding of narrative is as a story, not as a self-organizing principal of society based on replication of internal patterns of psychology in an individual.

Let us then consider that when several narrative groups come together toward a common interest or purpose, the groups themselves will self-organize into a larger narrative – a fractal of the structural/dynamic patterns of each individual group.  Each group, then, become a character in the larger narrative, just as each individual in a single group is a character within that narrative.  This fractal replication may continue infinitely up one fractal dimension to the next until the very nations of the earth are acting a characters within a single global narrative.  I call this fractal psychology.

As each individual, group or group of groups operates, there are many free agents in the social petri dish who form the analog medium in which each narrative resonates.  Just as there may be two colonies of bacteria in a single dish or growth medium, there may be two social narratives in the same social venue or environment.

These multiple authorless narratives may stand alone and separate so that they do not interfere with or influence each other, or they may touch edges, overwhelm one another, combine, join together as members of a larger narrative, cancel each other out, or pass through each other like colliding galaxies traveling from here to there and sharing the same space, but never or rarely having any direct interaction or collision among their members.

Narratives, like galaxies or atoms are mostly open space.  Though they may rarely interact directly, each element of a narrative possesses some degree of the equivalent of gravitational pull and momentum so that, both as it components and as a whole, a narrative extends beyond its borders to exert social influence even where it has no actual connection.

Further, each element of a narrative may, in fact, be a member of another or several other narratives, so that each of us has many stories in our lives built around each individual relationship and function, be it as a parent, employee or club member.

It is the complex influences of the multiple magnitude overlapping narratives in any given social space the creates complex interference patterns as they operate, much like several stones dropped into a pond a the same time.

Some of these influences create standing waves of various durations: peaks, the shorter being thought of as memes and the longer being thought of as social conventions.  Similarly, there are troughs which become temporary social dead zones or transient restrictions of law, and in longer form fossilize into taboos.

But most important of all, because we (as both individuals and collectively as groups) create patterns, even from chaos (as in clouds and constellations), we seek to impose narrative forms on the peaks and troughs to find meaning that will provide understanding and prediction – a natural survival technique.

Though truly chaotic, the conjunction of the undulating influences of multiple narratives in a social space does create momentary truths that effectively represent the collection impact of all operating systems within the space, though the accuracy and duration of these truths varies.  And so, meta-narrative forms may be perceived that, though they have no author, still provide an organizing matrix for immediate decisions.

In addition, the manner in which the nature of an imposed narrative changes in the endless flux of the multi-narrative influences in the medium of the social environment may indicate collective inertia and collective acceleration, deceleration, sharpening or defocusing of narrative elements, not to mention the overall course and course-changes of the imposed narrative pattern.

And , since the human mind, and therefore the narrative mind, possess both a binary logical understanding derived from our neural networks and a passionate drive derived from the analog standing wave undulations of our own biochemistry projected into the personal interactions within the open space of a social group narrative group, narratives are imposed/perceived upon chaos both in reason and emotion and call us to action both in our individual and collective heads and hearts.

Finally, as we all (individuals and groups) have a conscious mind as well as memory, sub-conscious and pre-conscious filters, narratives may be imposed at any or all of these levels of consideration, and therefore acted upon both in calculated and responsive manners, both cognitively and affectively.

And so, the very fabric of culture truly has no author, for it is neither intended nor directed.  Yet ultimately, the broadest of these perceived narrative patterns are far beyond our ability to grasp in their entirety, and are therefore felt to possess universal truth, while the  perpetrator of these trans-human authorless narratives is assumed to be a deity.

Writing Tips Newsletter #122

Storymind Writing Tips Newsletter #122 is now available!

In this issue, we present the next in the series Write Your Novel Step by Step, plus articles on The Dramatica Model, Redistributing the Hero, How your story can benefit from Changing Impact, Video: A Story is an Argument, Dramatica Trivia andShining (an original song).

Click to read it!

Dramatica Trivia 3: The Contagonist Archetype

“Contagonist” is a name invented by Dramatica co-creator, Chris Huntley, to describe an archetype we hadn’t seen identified in our writing classes at USC.  Learn how the notion and the name came about:

When creating the Dramatica theory of story, we began with characters – archetypes to be specific.  We jotted down all the familiar ones – Protagonist, Antagonist, Reason, Emotion, Sidekick, Skeptic and Guardian.  But we had a problem…

First of all they all paired up except the Guardian: Protagonist/Antagonist, Reason/Emotion, Sidekick/Skeptic (faithful supporter / doubting opposer).  But the Guardian (essentially a helper/protector who is also the voice of conscience) just hung out there alone.

We suspected that stories had symmetry (though we didn’t know for sure and none of our instructors had ever said anything about that).  But, we really didn’t know what this character should be, or what to call it.

But, we were initially deriving our archetypes from the original Star Wars movie (episode IV) and saw that Protagonist/Antagonist were Luke/Darth (or so we initially thought).  Reason/Emotion were Leia/Chewbacca, Sidekick/Skeptic were the Droids/Han Solo and the Guardian was Obi Wan.

But then, if Darth was the antagonist, what role did the empire under the command of the Gran Mof Tarkin play?  After giving it much thought, we realized that while Darth comes off, especially in the opening scene, as the quintessential melodramatic villain, he is quickly relegated to the role of henchman for the Empire.

So, at first, we thought that the last archetype was Henchman.  But after more thought, we realized that a Henchman was more like a Sidekick to a Villain.  But after even more thought we determined that there was only one Sidekick, but he might be associated with either the Hero or the Villain.  For example, Renfield (Dracula’s assistant) is actually a Sidekick (a faithful supporter) even though he works for the bad guy.  And so, we concluded that a henchman was just a Sidekick in wolf’s clothing.

But then we realized that Darth wasn’t just a pain in the neck to our heroes, but he was also a thorn in the side of Tarkin and the Empire.  Darth chokes one of the other commanders and he is the one who comes up with the plan to let the Millennium Falcon escape with a homing beacon, which leads to the demise of the Death Star (“I’m taking an awful chance, Vader,” says Tarkin.  “This had better work,” indicating it is Darth’s idea.)

So, if Darth screws up both sides, we realized he was similar to the archetype of the Trickster.  But, he also represented the dark side of the force – the temptation of the dark side.

And then we had it.  Darth was actually the opposite of Obi Wan.  Rather than functioning as Obi Wan’s help and conscience, Darth represented hinder and temptation – the exat opposites.  So Obi Wan /Darth represented a pair of archetypes, completing the symmetry of that part of story structure.

But – what to call that character?  He wasn’t really a trickster, but more like a monkey wrench in the plans of both sides.  And, he was also the tempter.   So, Chris considered that this new archetype had a negative impact on both the Protagonist and the Antagonist but often associated withe either of them a s a lieutenant or henchman, and cleverly named him the Contagonist.  Con (against – as in Pro and Con) and Con (with – as in Chili con Carne): Contagonist.

Since then (some 22 years ago as of this writing), I’ve seen the word creep into a number of literary discussions on the Internet that don’t mention Dramatica at all.  So, I suppose that’s a good indicator it is becoming part of the overall language of story.

Now, if only my spell checker would recognize it!

Melanie Anne Phillips
Co-creator, Dramatica

Write Your Novel Step by Step (Step 5)

Before we dive into this step, let’s take a moment to review the steps that got us here in order to set the stage for what comes next.

In Step 1 (Stage of Story Development), we outlined four stages in the creative process – Inspiration, Development, Exposition, and Storytelling.  In novels, each of these stages touches on all four aspects of story – Characters, Plot, Theme and Genre.  And so, our step by step method of story development begins with Inspiration.

Each stage starts with general steps that lay the groundwork for that stage, which are then followed by specific steps about your Characters, Plot, Theme and Genre before moving on to the next stage.

Step 2 (Get Out of My Head!) was about jotting down any and all creative ideas you may already have for your story so you can clear your mind and see the material in front of you in preparation for finding the center of your story.

Step 3 (What’s The Big Idea?) is about boiling down all your existing story material into a single log line – a one sentence description of what your story is about.  This becomes the lighthouse beacon that defines the reason for and center of your story that will guide all your future creative endeavors.

Step 4 (The Creativity Two Step) presents a method to generate a wealth of new material for your growing story.  Guided by your log line, you apply a question and answer system to your story ideas from Step 2 that alternates between logical analysis and the passion of the Muse.

Here is Step 5, we’ll once again clarify things by boiling them down to create a synopsis of our story so far.

Pulling It All Together

In Step 2, you jotted down any and all story ideas you may have already had for your novel.  In Step 4, you probably generated a huge number of additional creative ideas for your novel.  (If not, repeat Step 4 until you do!)

Problem is, the resulting collection of notions for your story from Steps 2 and 4 probably ranges far and wide, resulting in a hodgepodge of interesting concepts and schemes, all out of order and jumbled up in something of a chaotic mess.

So, before we go on into future steps, we need to do a little necessary housekeeping lest things get out of hand.  Just as we boiled down your Step 2 ideas into a single log line, in this step we’ll pull together all the material you’ve created so far into a more manageable form: synopsis of your novel,

A synopsis is like a map of the ground your story is going to cover, noting all the landmarks and important things that happen at them.  Just as we originally had you jot down any ideas you already had in Step 2 and then boil them down to a single log line in step 3, we’re now going to take all the creative concepts you spewed out in Step 4 and pull them together into a this single conversational description of your novel’s content.

The length of a synopsis is completely variable.  The shortest form would be a thumb-nail sketch, perhaps just a paragraph long – the minimum necessary to outline the key elements and scope of your story.

Typically, the longest synopsis is usually no more than a page.  So, don’t feel compelled to write more than comfortably flows, or to limit yourself to less than you have.  For example, Tolkien created whole worlds, histories, cultures, and languages in synopsis form before putting any of it in story form.

Our goal here is simply to take that unwieldy shopping list of story elements from Steps 2 and 4 and to turn it into conversational language that, more or less, describes all the interesting people, events, topics, and stylistic flourishes you’d like to include in your novel, as if you were talking about your story to a friend, rather than actually trying to tell your story.

So, for this step, your task is to refer to all that you created so far and describe it as if you were telling someone about your story who was very interested in it and wanted to hear every juicy detail.

“My novel is about….”  There.  I started it for you.  Now, go to town.  Guided by your log line that describes the crux and center of your novel’s concept, write your synopsis of every interesting and/or essential thing that is going to be in it, based on the work you’ve done in the last step.

Sample Synopsis (from my own work):

Snow Sharks: Don’t Eat Red Snow

The government has been developing a new breed of shark that lives in snow rather than water for use as mobile land mines in places such as Siberia or the Arctic.  A transport plane carrying them crashes in a storm high in the Rocky Mountains, just above a high-priced ski resort for the rich.

Normally closed at this time, the resort was opened for a powerful client so that his college-age daughter and her friends could have a ski vacation.  The sharks gradually slither down from the heights into the bowls shaped resort and begin feating on the kids.

Characters include the handsome but stupid jock, the stuck-up daughter of the patron, a cheerleader, a nerdy science geek who is the tag-along token outcast, and the usual crew of stereotypical college kids.

Scenes include night skiing where the proprietors had installed disco lights on the ski run, so they light up and create changing colored patterns under the snow.  During the night skiing, we see one of the kids ski by, followed by the silhouette of against the disco lights of a snow shark following him.  This is the first attack that alerts them that something deadly is out there on the slopes.

In a later scene, the jock trying to escape by out-skiing the others when the sharks attack and leaving them to die.  He ski-jumps over a chasm, looks back and laughs, looks forward and a snow shark has also jumped the chasm by shooting down the hill on the other side and is coming right for him.   The skis land solidly on the other side of the chasm with nothing but boots attached, and bloody stumps sticking out of them.

The government sees this as a great opportunity to see how effective the sharks are and send in an agent to document but not interfere.  He ends up dying a horrible death that both divulges to the kids what the government has done and provides the idea of how to escape.

Ultimately, they learn the sharks can no longer live in water, only in snow, so they blow up a geothermal spring to flash-melt the snow above the bowl-shaped valley, ironically drowning the sharks, and barely escaping dying in the flood waters themselves.

Armed with this rather cliche example, its time to write the first synopsis for your own novel.  As we continue through our step by step method, we’ll pause after each major new creative effort to fold what you’ve just developed into a revised synopsis.  In this way, you have a story right from the beginning that is continually evolving, step by step, into your finished novel.

Next, in Step 6, we’ll stand back a bit to look at the first draft of your synopsis just as your readers will,  looking for any holes they might see.  Then in the step after that, we’ll begin to fill them.

This article was based on  our StoryWeaver Step-by-Step Story Development Software that guides you through more than 200 interactive Story Cards from concept to completion of your novel or screenplay.  Just $29.95 for Windows or Macintosh.

Click here for details, demo download or to purchase.

50 Sure-Fire Storytelling Tricks! (Trick 5)

(Excerpted from the book, 50 Sure-First Storytelling Tricks)

Trick 5

Building Importance (Changing Impact)

In this technique, things not only appear more or less important, but actually become so. This was a favorite of Hitchcock in such films as North By Northwest and television series like MacGuyver. In an episode of The Twilight Zone, for example, Mickey Rooney plays a jockey who gets his wish to be big, only to be too large to run the race of a lifetime.

Don’t wait!  Get all 50 tips right now!

In Paperback or for your Kindle

50 Sure-Fire Storytelling Tricks! (Cover - Create Space 2)

“Hero” is a Four Letter Word (Part 3)

Excerpted from “Hero” is a Four-Letter Word

Redistributing the Hero

In part 2, we split the hero down into its component structural and storytelling elements.  But why would one want to do such a thing?  In this part, we provide a well-known example of how the components of the hero can be reassembled in different combinations to create a powerful dramatic impact.

In the classic story of racial prejudice, To Kill a Mockingbird, the Protagonist function and the Main Character View are separated into two different characters, rather than into a single hero.

The Protagonist is Atticus, played by Gregory Peck in the movie version. Atticus is a principled Southern lawyer in the 1930s who is assigned to defend a black man wrongly accused of raping a white girl. His goal is to ensure justice is done, and he is the Prime Mover in this endeavor.

But we do not stand in Atticus’ shoes. Rather, the story is told through the eyes of Scout, his young daughter, who observers the workings of prejudice from a child’s innocence.

Why not make Atticus a typical hero who is also the Main Character? First, Atticus sticks by his principles regardless of the dangers and pressures brought to bear. If he had represented the audience position, the audience/reader would have felt quite self-righteous throughout the story’s journey.

But there is even more advantage to splitting these qualities between two characters. Here’s how it works, step by step:  First, the audience identifies with Scout. And we share her fear of the local boogey man known as Boo Radley – a monstrous mockery of human form who forms the stuff of local terror stories. All the kids know about Boo, and though we never see him, we hear their tales of his horrible ways.

At the end of the story, it turns out that Boo is just a gentle giant, a normal man with a kind heart but low intellect. As was the custom in that age, his parents kept him indoors, inside the basement of the house, leaving him pale and scary-looking due to the lack of sunlight. But Boo ventures out at night, leading to the false but horrible stories about him when he is occasionally sighted.

As it happens, Scout’s life is threatened by the father of the girl who was ostensibly raped in an attempt to get back at Atticus. Lo and behold, it is Boo who comes to her rescue. In fact, he has always been working behind the scenes to protect the children and is not at all the horrible monster they all presupposed.

In a moment of revelation, we, the audience, come to realize we have been cleverly manipulated by the author to share Scout’s initial prejudice against Boo. Rather than feeling self-righteous by identifying with Atticus, we have been led to realize that we are just as capable of prejudice as the obviously misguided adults we have been observing.

The message of the story is that prejudice does not have to come from meanness, but will happen within the heart of anyone who passes judgment based on hearsay rather than direct knowledge. This statement could never have been successfully made if the elements of the typical hero had all been placed in Atticus.

So, the message here is that there is nothing wrong with writing about heroes and villains, but it is limiting. By separating the components of the hero into individual qualities, we open our options to a far greater number of dramatic scenarios that are far less stereotypical. 

Are there more ways to split up the stereotypical hero and redistribute his traits?  Absolutely!  But to explore these, we first need to take apart our villain as well.

“Hero” is available for Kindle

Hero

Narrative Dynamics (Part 4)

Excerpted from the book, Narrative Dynamics

The Dramatica Model

In this book, I’m documenting the development of a whole new side of the Dramatica theory – story dynamics.

Dramatica is a model of story structure, but unlike any previous model, the structure is flexible like a Rubik’s Cube crossed with a Periodic Table of Story Elements.  If you paste a story element name on each face of each little cube that makes up the Rubik’s Cube, you get an idea of how flexible the Dramatica model is.

That’s what sets Dramatica apart from other systems of story development and also what gives it form without formula.  Now, imagine that while the elements on each little cube already remain on that cube, they don’t have to stay on the same face.  In other words, though there will be an element on each face, which ones it is next to may change, in fact will change from story to story.

What makes the elements rearrange themselves within the structure?  Narrative Dynamics.  Think of each story point as a kind of topic that needs to be explored to fully understand the problem or issue at the heart of a story.  That’s how an author makes a complete story argument.  But, just as in real life, the order in which we explore issues is almost as important as the issues themselves.  At the very least, that sequence tells us a lot about the person doing the exploring.  In the case of story, this is most clearly seen in the Main Character.  So, the order of exploration of the issues by the Main Character illuminate what is driving him personally.

The Dramatica model already includes a number of dynamics that describe the forces at work in the heart and mind of the Main Character, as well as of the overall story, the character philosophically opposed to the Main Character and of the course of their relationship as well.  But, in a structural model – one in which the focus is on the topics and their sequence, there are a lot of dynamics that simply aren’t easily seen.

For example, you might know that in the second act, the Main Character is going to be dealing with issues pertaining to his memories.  But how intensely will he focus on that?  How long will he linger?  Will his interest wane, grow, or remain consistent over the course of his examination of these issues.  From a structural point of view, you just can’t tell.

And that is why after all these years I’m developing the dynamic model – to chart, predict and manipulate those “in-between” forces that drive the elements of structure, unseen.  Part of that effort is to chart the areas in which dynamics already exist in the current structural projection of the model.

Read Narrative Dynamics

Available in Paperback and on Kindle

Narrative Dynamics (Front Cover)

Storytelling Tip: Trapped in a Routine

As with real people, characters can become trapped in their routines. When a person sets up a routine in order to achieve a goal, service the infrastructure of his or her life, cope with an emotional necessity, or engage in a desired ongoing experience, the situation, reasons, passions, or even the nature of the person himself may have changed in some way that makes the routine no longer effective, counterproductive, inordinately costly, or unsustainably unpleasant.

Still, because the human mind responds to conditioning, a person may continue in their routine by sheer force of psychological inertia. And since the human mind filters out going non-threatening repetitive stimuli (such as a ticking clock or air conditioner noise – called a selective filter) a person may never even become aware that they are in a routine, no matter how difficult or unenjoyable the routine is.

Stories that explore such issues can be very involving for readers or an audience, as they not only strike close to home, but also spark internal consideration which may illuminate similar solvable dissatisfactions in their own lives.

Learn more about incorporating thematic topics in your story in our book:

A Few Words About Theme

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Learn more about storytelling in our book:

50 Sure-Fire Storytelling Tricks!

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Writing Stories About Hopes and Dreams

A lot of people, writers included, use the words “hope” and “dream” pretty much interchangeably. Fact is, each describes a completely different way of imagining the future. Being clear not only of their definitions but of the different states of mind each invokes will not only help you better communicate with your readers or audience, but may also open a deeper level of sophistication in the message you are trying to convey.

Hope is a desired future to which at least one definitive pathway exists. It doesn’t have to be a sure thing or even a likely outcome that the hope will be achieved – just that there is at least one causal path that, if completed, will arrive at the desired future.

For example, if one hopes to graduate, it is a matter of following a laid out series of steps that, when completed, will result in a diploma.

In contrast, Dream is a desired future for which no definitive pathway exists.  Dreams may be likely to be realized or may be nearly impossible, but there must be at least some possibility of being achieved or it is not a Dream but a Fantasy.

For example, if one dreams of becoming a movie star and sits around a popular restaurant for studio executives every day, there literally is no Hope, but the dream can remain alive forever.

It is important to note that the pathway to achieving a hope is not necessarily only linear.  While getting a degree may require taking some course in given order (101 before 201, for example), other course are electives and the only requirement to achieve the hope is that a certain number are fulfilled, regardless of the order.

Similarly, one can try to realize a dream by taking steps, such as singling out a studio exec and stalking them, or by creating a favorable environment, such as showing up not only at a restaurant, but also at a gym and a charity fundraiser, believing that by being more visible, the odds are increased for being “noticed.”

To be a true hope, there must be a certain cause and effect relationship between the steps or conditions in which one engages and the achievement of the hope state.  But a dream, by definition, is built on indirect relationships and influence, rather than certain connections.

Keep in mind that there are two kinds of causal relationships – if/then and when/also.  If/then is standard temporal causality, as in One bad apple spoils the bunch.  When/also is the spatial version of causality, as in Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.  In each case, there is a direct connection between condition one, and condition two:  If condition one is met, condition two is certain.

It is this absolute association that is not present in dreams.  But from an emotional standpoint, there is no difference between hoping and dreaming.  Each is a future state that is highly desired, but in hoping, one expects that future if all the conditions are met, while in dreaming, meeting the conditions provides no guarantee.

In Dramatica theory, Hope vs. Dream is a thematic conflict.  It describes stories in which the message revolves around proving that in the given situation of that particular story, it is either better to hope or to dream.

Is one deluded by an intense dream into thinking there is real hope?  Or, is one missing out on life experience and the rare but real advent of a lucky chance by confining oneself to only those things for which hope exists?

We’ve all seen these kinds of stories in books, movies, television and stage plays.  As an author, it can improve both your work and your life to explore the difference between the two.

Here are the specific definitions of Hope and Dream from the Dramatica Dictionary:

Hope

Variation – dynamic pair: Dream ↔ Hope

a desired future if things go as expected

Hope is based on a projection of the way things are going. When one looks at the present situation and notes the direction of change, Hope lies somewhere along that line. As an example, if one is preparing for a picnic and the weather has been sunny, one Hopes for a sunny day. If it was raining for days, one could not Hope but only Dream. Still, Hope acknowledges that things can change in unexpected ways. That means that Hoping for something is not the same as expecting something. Hope is just the expectation that something will occur unless something interferes. How accurately a character evaluates the potential for change determines whether he is Hoping or dreaming. When a character is dreaming and thinks he is Hoping, he prepares for things where there is no indication they will come true.

syn. desired expectation, optimistic anticipation, confident aspiration, promise, encouraging outlook.

Dream

Variation – dynamic pair: Hope ↔ Dream

a desired future that requires unexpected developments

Dream describes a character who speculates on a future that has not been ruled out, however unlikely. Dreaming is full of “what ifs.” Cinderella dreamed of her prince because it wasn’t quite unimaginable. One Dreams of winning the lottery even though one “hasn’t got a hope.” Hope requires the expectation that something will happen if nothing goes wrong. Dreaming has no such limitation. Nothing has to indicate that a Dream will come true, only that it’s not impossible. Dreaming can offer a positive future in the midst of disaster. It can also motivate one to try for things others scoff at. Many revolutionary inventors have been labeled as Dreamers. Still and all, to Dream takes away time from doing, and unless one strikes a balance and does the groundwork, one can Dream while hopes go out the window for lack of effort.

syn. aspire, desiring the unlikely, pulling for the doubtful, airy hope, glimmer, far fetched desire

Learn more about Theme in my book:

A Few Words About Theme

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50 Sure-Fire Storytelling Tricks! (Trick 4)

(Excerpted from the book, 50 Sure-First Storytelling Tricks)

Trick 4

Message Reversals (Shifting Context to Change Message)

When we shift context to create a different message , the structure remains the same, but our appreciation of it changes. This can be seen very clearly in a Twilight Zone episode entitled, Invaders, in which Agnes Moorhead plays a lady alone on a farm besieged by aliens from another world. The aliens in question are only six inches tall, wear odd space suits and attack the simple country woman with space age weapons. Nearly defeated, she finally musters the strength to overcome the little demons, and smashes their miniature flying saucer. On its side we see the American Flag, the letters U.S.A. and hear the last broadcast of the landing team saying they have been slaughtered by a giant. Now, the structure didn’t change, but our sympathies sure did, which was the purpose of the piece.

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50 Sure-Fire Storytelling Tricks! (Cover - Create Space 2)