in fact, I think a variety of degrees is desirable, lending the story texture, depth, authenticity. and a certain “ je nesces quois” that causes the story to linger in the heart of the reader after the last page has been closed.ĭoes this mean every single scene has to carry the same degree of tie-in to that underlying element? No. An ability to stand up to winds, an ability for the stronger scenes to help support the weaker scenes, rather than to be pulled into the wind along with them. When each and every plot point or scene has an invisible line running from its place up on the story structure arc, down to the anchor bar of theme, story question, or moral premise, suddenly, the story is infused with something more. Whatever it is, it is an underlying, between-the-lines element that runs in currents throughout the whole story– sometimes visibly, sometimes very subtly. It could also represent story question, moral premise, or any number of predominant features in the craft of story. Imagine that classic story structure diagram, but with a line running straight across the bottom of the diagram, too. it doesn’t necessarily lend it strength, or at least not as much strength as it could have. When each scene or plot point is tied one-to-the-next, like the balloons in the first arch in our fable, it lends the story a certain amount of flow and cohesiveness.īut. Drawn out on paper, this structure resembles an arch.
When we write a novel, we know there is a classic story structure– introduction, rising action, climbing action, falling action, denouement, that most stories follow and most readers expect and are happy to experience. There is a metaphor here, as you likely suspect. When one in the middle popped, the others held their shape– because not only were they attached to one another, but also to the anchor bar at the ground.When that one popped, the others were not re-formed to two or three free-flailing, flying strings, but maintained their arch shape, holding up the sadly deflated one, holding fast together. It blew all the harder when it met with resistance. The wind returned, as the wind is wont to do, and it snatched grasses and churned dust and tried its very hardest to wreak havoc upon the plucky balloon arch, setting them to bobbing in their line. Only this time, instead of just tying the balloons one-to-the-next in one long chain and securing the ends to the ground, they did so again but also ran a weighty metal bar along the ground, and tied each balloon to its own string, with each string the correct length to maintain the shape of the arch, and with each string anchoring at the bottom to that weighty bar. When the wind had settled back down, they returned to the site of the arch to rebuild. The balloon arch builders watched in dismay, for it had truly been a work of art. One in the middle popped, another one flew off, and the rest, as a result, were left in a frantic, loose-ended dance and eventually carried away to the land of lost things. They tried to hold on– they really did! But the moment one of them came loose, that was it for the rest of them, too, tied end to end as they were. Suddenly, a wind tumbled through the land, snatching bits of grasses, churning up swirls of dust, and setting the balloons to bobbing in their line.
The chain was anchored at the beginning and at the end to the ground, with the middle balloons tied together in a long chain of balloons, arching upward in the middle to form a bright and cheerful and welcoming sight to behold. Each one inflated with helium and care, each one secured to the one before it, on and on, to form a chain. Once, there was a splendid and colorful arch of balloons.
We are storytellers, yes? So, let’s begin with a story:
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