CHAPTER 14

THE SCENIC MASTER
PLOT AND HOW TO
WRITE ONE

IN PUTTING IT ALL TOGETHER in a finished novel, a writer uses every device at her disposal to capture the reader’s attention, keep him intrigued without letup during the course of the story, and provide him with a smashing climax that will fully satisfy. As has been shown, understanding of scene and sequel structure, with their smaller component parts, gives the writer all the structural building blocks she needs to accomplish these tasks for the reader.

By varying the intensity of scenes now and then – having an occasional scene proceed from a very quiet goal to an extremely subtle disaster, for example – or using one of the other variations discussed earlier in this book, you can completely conceal the fact that you are working with the same basic building blocks over and over. At the same time, these components provide you with all the weaponry you need to keep the reader constantly moving forward with the story in a mounting tightness of suspense.

Knowing this, it’s now time for us to take a look at how a writer might put everything together in a key pattern – a master plot, if you will – a plan for the content she will put in each part of her novel. The sample to be used is for a short suspense novel.

Every writer has in her mind some vague and generally unexamined idea of what a novel is for her. This mental prototype is different for every writer. Obviously, the prototype in the mind of a Jackie Collins is not very similar to the prototype in the mind of a Norman Mailer. Even two romance novelists selling to the same publishing house will have different master patterns in mind when they start to write; one may open with an immediate meeting of the heroine and her lover-to-be, for example, while the other novelist may tend to start by establishing the heroine and her career before having her meet a friend who will in turn lead her to the hero of the tale.

The more clear you can become about what you almost unconsciously assume as a model for your novel, the better you can manipulate scene structure to work in that very general pattern.

Now, my mental model for a novel is not yours – and my mental picture of how a novel should be organized may change when I start planning my next book if it’s a different type of story, a romantic tale as opposed to a suspense story, for example. Therefore it’s supremely important for you to remember that a master plot is not a fill-in-the-blanks proposition, and it’s not set in stone. It’s nothing more than a very general description of the way one writer might write one novel – the kinds of events he would hope to have happen, and generally in what sequence.

How can this help you? By giving you some further insights into the kind of strategic planning that goes into one kind of book, I may help you find your way more clearly to ideas about how you should best use scenes and sequels to achieve certain effects and produce the kind of book that exists in your mind somewhere as an ideal, whether you previously realized it or not.

To use an analogy that won’t hold up if you examine it too closely, let’s say that your knowledge and practice of stimulus and response and the internal structure of scenes and sequels are a bit like knowledge of the fundamentals – blocking, tackling, how to hand the ball off, or how to catch it – for a football player. Your understanding of how to plan and present scenes for maximum effect, and how to link them with sequels, is like the skilled player’s knowledge of the playbook. But one thing more needs to be added: In the case of the football player, it’s a game plan – what plays will be selected in what circumstances, the general strategy to be employed during the course of the game under changing conditions, how field position will have an effect on the planned sequence of offensive plays, etc.

Your master plot is your game plan, your general idea of how you’re going to put it all together for maximum effectiveness. It is completely flexible, and never requires you to have a certain kind of scene or sequel at any certain point. Further – I repeat this because it is so often misunderstood – it is not a fill-in-the-blanks that you should actually try to use. (Although some of my published novels can be seen to have many of the dramatic developments in them very closely patterned after the sample I’m to give you, even I have never produced a book that exactly follows this ideal sample, nor do I intend to.)

So if you study this brief master plot and try to do exactly what it describes, you’ll be missing the whole point. All I’m trying to do is show you how one writer visualizes a short novel’s dramatic development – give you a look into his mind as he puts scenes and sequels together in a long narrative.

Virtually everything in the first thirteen chapters of this book were based on the premise that good fiction is characterized by movement – meaning linear development from A through B to C in some kind of cause-and-effect relationship; such stories get somewhere, starting in one place, dramatically speaking, and ending up somewhere quite different. The master plot that follows may provide some insights into tactical planning intended to achieve this kind of linear story development and rising action.

In building a master plot or planning a blueprint for any novel, the writer’s primary concern should be to keep the reader hooked and reading. The reader who abandons a novel at some point has not necessarily failed the novel; the novel probably has failed him. So a novelist works to keep the suspense high, whatever kind of book she is at work on.

Now, if you were to walk downtown tomorrow and see a street juggler tossing up a single plate, I don’t think you would find it very interesting or suspenseful. If the juggler were to add a second plate, you might give him a glance. If he were to add a third, things might start to get interesting. Let the juggler get six plates in the air at once, and a crowd will have gathered. Why?

More plates = more things to worry about.

More things to worry about = greater suspense.

Greater suspense = more intense observer interest.

You the author must be a little like the juggler when you plan and write a story as long as a novel. We’ve already noted that you can’t allow the story to be circular – characters endlessly arguing over exactly the same old ground; you can’t even allow a scene’s conflict segment to be circular. So what you have to do in devising a plan for a sequence of scenes is develop new twists and turns in the plot as the character tries different tacks in trying to reach his story goal. Each new twist – often meaning the logical but unanticipated disaster at the end of a scene – adds a new dimension to the central character’s problem; it also often raises new questions for the character – and the reader – to worry about. Thus “new plates” go up in the air.

In addition, your master plot probably will allow for additional plates to be tossed up, adding to reader tension, as secondary characters bring in their personal life stories and problems in trying to help the main viewpoint character or his primary opponent. Thus a novel made up of “a single story line” can get very complicated indeed, with a great many plates in the air for the reader to worry about.

Finally, while the paragraphs immediately above are completely true, they do not tell the whole story of the structure of most contemporary novels. Most novels today are not composed of a single story, intricately developed; they are made up of one major story line (complex as it may be) joined by two or six or eight lesser story lines or subplots (with their own related story questions) marching along with it in loose formation.

Each new subplot in a novel – each new subplot story question – is like another plate or pack of plates being put in the air by the street juggler. The more plates (up to some point), the more suspense and reader intensity. Thus your job as a novelist is more complex than earlier hinted in this book. Not only do you have to know how to build scenes and link them in various ways to build a single linear story line; you have to build other plots at the same time, then know how to juggle them and finally get all your plot plates down safely.

The following master plot attempts to give some ideas on how one writer might try to achieve all these objectives in one kind of story. It delineates in a general way the kind of dramatic “moves” an author might make at various points in the novel, and why.

We’re going to assume that our goal is a short novel, perhaps 225 to 250 manuscript pages, 50,000 words or a bit more. Remember (again!) that nothing about it is set in stone. It merely shows you the kind of planning and thinking that might go into such a project.

A SCENIC MASTER PLOT

Prologue

This may or may not be used. If used, it is made up of a single scene, or two or three scene fragments. Its sole intention is to establish an immediate threat, aura of violence, sense of drama or romance, or whatever will intrigue and hook the reader. It should not exceed four or five manuscript pages, maximum. A dramatic “plate” or two go into the air: Who is involved here, what has happened, how bad will things become in the main body of the novel, who was that handsome man at the ball? This section is almost never told from the main character’s viewpoint. The relationship between this prologue and the main story to come does not have to be at all apparent at once; it might be a sequence of events that do not obviously connect to chapter 1, which could mystify and further hook the reader. It might even be composed of two or three scene fragments which don’t seem to relate to one another, thus setting up an aura of mystery. In terms of story time, it could take place moments before the opening of chapter 1 , or far earlier. (In one of my suspense novels it takes place about eleven years before the present story opens in the first chapter.)

(Ordinarily the time span of the first three chapters should be very tight. Long time transitions early in a novel tend to slow it down, and your reader may not yet be hooked.)

Chapter One

Two or three scenes. Establishes the main character’s viewpoint. This chapter is all in his viewpoint. A major change – perhaps learning of whatever happened in the prologue – perhaps something else entirely – alters the status quo and jars the main character off dead center. This chapter must start quickly, and hook the reader hard. That means starting at the beginning of a scene he has planned in the backstory, or being confronted by another character with that character’s goal as the starter. For speed and a good reader hook, the opener can even start in the middle of an ongoing scene, or with an unforeseen disaster requiring immediate action.

Sample opening sentences:

When he reached the apartment and kicked the door down, they had already killed the girl.

Or:

The letter arrived at noon, and nothing would ever be the same again.

Or:

“Like hell I’ll take that case!” she said.
“You’ll take it, or you’re through here.”

By the end of this chapter, the main character has formulated either the long-term major story goal or a short-term goal that will link into a few future chapters and make matters worse – or both. (At least two or three plates should go into the air.)

Chapter Two

Viewpoint of the major antagonist (hereafter called “the villain”). Two to four scenes show him or her as aggressive, dynamic, strongly motivated against the main character (hereafter called “the hero”), and already well into his first steps in his story-long quest or vendetta against the hero. Above all, this establishes the villain as powerful and ruthless. He has an immediate plan already under way. This goal is revealed or hinted at, thus putting up another story plate for the reader to worry about.

Chapter Three

Hero viewpoint. He deals with some aspect of the problem shown in chapter 1, and in two or three scenes comes into contact with two or three supporting characters, usually including the “best friend,” a “minor antagonist,” and the “romantic lead.” Each of these characters has a small story of his own. Each in a small way represents another plate going into the air. This chapter usually has a scene or extended sequel which establishes some of the hero’s background, and further shows his dedication to his main story goal. In the course of getting information from the secondary characters, or perhaps as a result of some new missile hurled from the hidden story by the villain or one of his aides, the hero painfully alters his original plans and comes up with a short-term goal (something that has to be accomplished to “clear the decks” before he can proceed on his major quest). The romantic question is usually planted here, too. The chapter usually ends at the end of a sequel, with the hero in motion toward his next big scene.

Chapter Four

This tricks the reader by going to other viewpoints – letting him worry awhile about the scene the hero was about to enter at the end of chapter 3. For the first time, some hours or even days may have elapsed between chapters, and there can be further time passage between the scenes in this chapter. We have several fairly short scenes from the viewpoint of one or more secondary characters while the hero is offstage somewhere. This chapter establishes secondary characters and their roles, and should intensify reader interest in their subsidiary story goals. If you have a major subplot to start, you start it here. One or more of the characters should talk about, and so characterize, the hero or the villain or the situation, or all three. Through this analysis, the reader should see higher stakes than earlier realized. This chapter should end with a scene disaster that is a startling new development obviously involving the hero’s fate. The disaster puts up still another plate, this one perhaps short term, and raises a new “shocker question.”

I am not going to explain further about the “shocker question” except to say that it is usually the stunning revelation of some allied problem, complication, or raising of the story stakes which was entirely unexpected by the cast prior to this point. The story needs a boost here, as assembly of the cast and introduction of secondary story lines has tended to slow things down a bit. The escalation of stakes, or whatever, jars the reader into renewed intensity of interest.

Chapter Five

Two to four scenes, all in the hero’s viewpoint, in which he struggles with the shocker question disaster and helps the secondary character or characters to solve it. The moment he has accomplished this, however, he must return to his own short-term quest, as alluded to (at least) in chapter 1. This should be seen by the author as a three-chapter quest, investigation or trip; it will raise a new subplot story question – another plate – which will come down in chapter 8. The hero, or circumstances, may set a short-term ticking clock here. “I’m going to have the answer to this by Saturday night, or else.” The time span between this point and chapter 8 must be brief – perhaps hours, more likely a day or two.

Chapter Six

Four scenes. Two or three in the viewpoint of the romantic lead as she pursues her own subplot goal, or tries to help the hero (now offstage) in some way. Often a sequel here defines her background and personality. A function of this chapter may also be to introduce a “red herring” or two – a false clue, bad lead or character who seems suspicious but may actually be innocent. One scene in this chapter might well be villain viewpoint as he gets wind of the romantic lead’s plan of action, or the hero’s three-chapter quest, and begins to countermove. One effect of this chapter on the reader, psychologically, is to tantalize him, drawing out the time before he can read about the hero’s exciting short-term quest.

Chapter Seven

Hero viewpoint. He is embroiled in his three-chapter quest. Three scenes: one leading him nearer a confrontation with the villain, the second momentarily delaying him or complicating his situation, the third bringing him into direct confrontation with the villain or a minion. This is an action sequence – preferably physical: a car chase, a face-to-face confrontation with violent words and emotions, perhaps even an attack on the hero’s life. This is the first really big peak in the book. The end of the chapter is at a new disaster which will allow no time for sequel, or at some turning point in the middle of the ongoing scene. This chapter hooks instantly into the next.

Chapter Eight

Chapter 7’s climactic scene continues. It is still the hero’s point of view. The villain pulls some unexpected and potentially catastrophic trick to get the upper hand, or seem to, and the hero teeters on the edge of a disaster that would not only end his three-chapter quest with total defeat, but possibly end his story entirely. The chapter-opening scene continuation furnishes this disaster, and then there may or may not be time for a sequel, but if there is one, it should be brief. In the next scene, the hero narrowly wins or escapes, but does not fully realize his three-chapter quest goal. This is his disaster, often shown in a chapter-ending sequel in which the romantic lead and/or best friend come to help him lick his wounds. There can be a hint of stronger romantic attraction here, reemphasizing the ongoing romantic subplot question. Maybe she hints of some complication to the possibility of a relationship, which would toss another plate in the air.

Chapter Nine

Mostly the villain’s viewpoint. First a sequel showing his reaction-feeling and thoughts that he did not attain his ends in chapter 8, and so also in his own way experienced a disaster. Thus set back, he lays new plans, but often reestablishes his own villainy by doing something terrible to someone else – perhaps a henchman he can blame for the chapter 8 debacle as he sees it. If you are developing a major subplot, and started it by establishing the secondary character in chapter 4, this is an excellent place to return to that character’s viewpoint and move his story line along to its next logical dropping-off point – a disaster, we hope. At the end of this chapter, the villain is just moving into a new scene with a goal which may or may not be stated. In either case, it raises another villain plot question – another plate.

Chapter Ten

Three to five scenes and sequels, most in hero viewpoint, possibly one in romantic lead viewpoint. The hero reevaluates, heals up, collects new information, reexamines everything that has happened and his motives. (The author asks herself here: “Why doesn’t he just resign from this story, if it’s this hard?” She then has the character, in effect, ask himself the same thing, and give an answer about his motivation.) The main story goal is restated here, perhaps in different terms in light of bad things that have happened here, near the midpoint of the book. The romantic subplot question usually becomes much stronger here, sometimes with a first sexual encounter (postcoital sequel is a good time for a dialogue sequel to review the plot and consider plans), other times without sex and even with further complications in the romance which make it appear doomed. At any rate, the romantic plot questions – will they end up together? – must not be answered until much, much later. At the end of this chapter, the hero is committed anew, and moving back toward new action.

(A note on general strategy here: Novels often start well and busily because there is so much to set up and get moving. Just as often, they end with a fine rush of excitement as “all the plates come tumbling down.” It’s in the boggy middle where so many novels fail. For that reason, this sample master plot format injects a four-chapter “mini-novel” in the middle of the book, a story-within-a-story, designed to be very fast-paced, related to the central story question but often with side issues involved, and a ticking clock whenever possible. This mini-novel is designed to entrance the reader in very fast-moving action and development for four chapters, thus getting the story to the point where plates can start coming down and the story can begin to move toward its climax.)

Chapter Eleven

Two to five scenes, all in hero viewpoint. He sets out on the course of action he decided in chapter 10, and immediately is thwarted, or runs into, the course of action plotted by the villain. This must be a strong, fast-moving, action-oriented sequence of events. Each scene shows the hero’s maneuver thwarted in disaster, with little time for a thought-out sequel. There may be “contact scenes” here – scenes butting directly into other scenes with no sequel at all. This may involve a chase, a capture, a cornering, or a very strong turn of events that puts the hero into desperate, time-restricted action. Often there can be another ticking clock. The chapter ends with a strong, immediate action hook at the end of a scene.

Chapter Twelve

Continues chapter 11 with little or no time gap between them. The villain clearly gets the upper hand. If we did not know the villain’s motives earlier, or his plan, we see them now. A small part of the general story mystery is solved, but in action that makes it unlikely the hero will live to use it. At the end of the third scene in this chapter – all in hero viewpoint again – there is an even more terrible scene-ending disaster as the hero’s “last ploy” fails – and he faces ultimate ruin.

Chapter Thirteen

To tantalize the reader, this chapter turns to the viewpoint(s) of the romantic lead or the best friend or others. It may be that one scene here shows the romantic lead trying to solve whatever subplot problem she sees as standing between her and the hero, but the disaster ending this scene is some knowledge of the hero’s present plight, or revelation to her of where he went, what he was going to try to do. She and/or the best friend rush to try to help, but the ticking clock tells the reader that they will be too late. (The cavalry never comes to the rescue! The hero will have to get out of the mini-novel on his own.)

An alternative here, if a major subplot has been developing, is a lengthy return to that character’s viewpoint for story review and analysis, and possibly the injection of considerable backstory. (This is the sort of move that was being made by the author in Appendix 5.)

Chapter Fourteen

One or two big action scenes climax and bring to a close the mini-novel. The hero momentarily survives and gains some ground, but the villain “gets away” to fight again. This chapter often ends in a sequel – perhaps with the friends who arrived too late to help – in which the hero sees that new information gained through the mini-novel now make somewhat clear his future course of action. Sometimes here he will have new difficulty with the romantic lead, or his best friend may even turn on him with suspicion. The hero is near his wits’ end and must start his final novel game plan, planting still another story question. If a clock has not been set ticking before, it is started here – the time or goal that will end the story clearly in view, and time running out.

Chapter Fifteen

Three to six scenes, all in viewpoints other than the hero. They see the big picture, and make new moves. The romantic lead is in despair. The villain plans his new strategy in sequel to what he (again) experienced as a disaster, this time in the mini-novel. If there has been a red herring character or major subplot, this chapter clears the red herring or brings the subplot quite near its conclusion. (It is mandatory to start bringing down some plates this early, because the novel is beginning to end.) Very often, the romantic lead – either in a disaster set up in a scene where she tried to be of further help, or as a result of a shot from the hidden story by the scheming villain – is thrown into grave peril here. This puts up another short-term worry-plate about her safety.

Chapter Sixteen

About four scenes, all hero viewpoint, a series of scenes in which he tries repeatedly to “crack the case,” and is thwarted each time. If there has still been some lack of clarity about how the Prologue related to this story, the connection must by now be made completely clear. The present plot clock is ticking. The hero finds the villain and meets him again more or less on his (the hero’s) terms this time. But the tables are turned at the end of scene three, and some violence occurs. Often a villain’s henchman or friend of the hero come to a bad end here. The hero learns of the romantic lead’s plight and rushes to help. This makes an immediate hook at the end of the chapter.

Chapter Seventeen

Three scenes, possibly four, in various viewpoints including the villain’s. The romantic lead is freed, or that kind of subplot question answered, but at the cost of putting the hero on weaker ground. The romantic lead is left disillusioned and thinking the love story is over. At the end of the last scene, the hero and villain are closing in on one another, or perhaps are already face-to-face on a rooftop, in a courtroom, on the side of a mountain, in the drawing room. The showdown is now.

Chapter Eighteen

The ultimate confrontation takes place in one long, exciting, extended scene. If there has been a backstory or hidden story of significance, it now comes out and all those plates come down. Most secondary plot line questions are answered, and the only ones left are about this showdown … and the romance which now seems doomed. The villain, in the scene closing this chapter, plays his last, shocking trump card, and it is ultimate disaster for the hero.

Chapter Nineteen

Probably two scenes. In the first, the villain, with the upper hand, may offer the hero a way out of his dilemma if he will do something immoral, unethical or illegal. This poses a moral dilemma for the hero, who must choose fast between the good (by the reader’s definition) decision – and lose everything, perhaps including his own life – or select the bad course of action, and be given some sort of break by the powerful villain. The hero chooses sacrificially, in most cases, reopening the fight because this ultimate test has shown him to be a person who will not go back on certain basic principles fundamental to his self-concept. The biggest fight, chase, struggle, argument, or maneuvering of all take place here, with the author pulling out every stop and “topping” all that has gone before in terms of suspense, terror and possibly violence. At the end, the hero’s scene, unlike all others in the book preceding this one – ends well. In this single case, he somehow wins. But he is often left in sequel, wondering something like “What did it all mean?” or “Was it worth it?” This “downside” questioning, right after an apparent victory over the villain, raises a final thematic question for the reader to worry about as a hook into the last chapter. (He also has the romantic story question still up in the air.)

Chapter Twenty

Worry about the romantic story question lures the reader into the final chapter, where the author usually uses two to three short scenes, invariably in the viewpoint of the main character, to tie up loose plot threads. Secondary characters who have played fairly big roles often must be trotted onstage in the last chapter to show their feelings and condition at the end of the book – providing what psychologists would term “closure.” The meaning of everything that has happened often comes somewhat clearer here. The romantic subplot question is finally answered at the very end of a scene between the hero and the romantic lead, sometimes with the best friend as a witness or commentator. The answer to the romantic question, like the answer to the main question in the entire book, must be addressed, but the answer may be something less than perfect. (“Perhaps we’ll never know why he tried to kidnap the president.” Or: “Will I marry you? I don’t know yet, Frank. I really don’t. But we can see. …” How clearly, happily and finally these last questions are answered will depend on the kind of closing feeling the author wishes to leave with the reader. An ending that is too neat and happy in all regards may be experienced by the reader as a cheap trick.) At any rate, the closing usually comes in a scene, often in the middle of one, so that there is some sense of the story “going on after the book is closed.”

Having read through this scenario, you may begin to see how its author wanted certain kinds of things to happen in certain parts of the novel; he had a general idea of strategy – ideas of the kind of dramatic moves to make at certain points – and so his master plot or story blueprint set up a sequence of scenes and sequels generally intended to accomplish his ends.

I hope you will try to work on your own “master plot.” Far from being a straitjacket, it can be a dynamic, ongoing, developing manifestation of your growing understanding of scene and structure, and how they are the building blocks of success.