How to Create Tension – Am I Keeping You in Suspense?

Suspense is the tension that is created when you are waiting for something to happen. You might be waiting for news of a loved one; you might be waiting to see if the creak on the stair which sounded suspiciously like a footfall sounds again; you might be waiting, lottery ticket in hand, to see if your numbers have come up. Often, it's a period of magnified inactivity which anticipates a moment of action.

What interests me about suspense, which is often so gripping for your reader, is that it usually occurs when nothing is actually happening.

If this is a contradiction that you'd like to explore further in your work, why not write a scene in which nothing at all takes place, but the tension is excruciating?

In Defence of Flashback

I know that some writers – and editors – view the use of flashback with some misgivings, objecting to it because the reader is made to look back at events which have already happened and therefore knows there is a positive outcome (your heroine is still alive and compos mentis) meaning that the narrative tension is diminished.
I'm currently plotting a novel and I'm definitely going to tell some of it in flashback, for a number of different reasons.

• Looking back at something which has happened enables the writer to put a spin on events. They don't just happen sequentially, they can be viewed through the lens of the present, which gives you the potential to examine them more obliquely and add layers of subtlety. It's rather like lighting a scene for effect – do you use soft, rosie tones or go for a cool, blue hue? What you might possibly lose in tension, you certainly make up for in atmosphere.
• I don't believe that suspense is necessarily diminished. The reader knows that the protagonist has got from point A in the story to point B, but they have no idea of the route taken, the pitfalls, or the high points. In a novel written sequentially you don't know whether the heroine will make it to point B, but generally speaking they do, so it seems to me that nothing is lost.
• Writing in flashback can allow you to use an unreliable narrator, which is another way of adding tension to your work, as the reader gradually comes to see that the account given by your central character may not necessarily be accurate and unbiased.
• Using flashback enables you to exploit the full potential of dramatic irony, where the reader knows more than the characters do, thus giving a different kind of tension to the story.

It also has to be said that a number of writers have used flashback to dazzling effect. Off the top of my head, I'm thinking that Wuthering Heights opens with the ghost of Cathy outside the window and Heathcliff in terrible distress calling out to her. Emily Brontë then goes on to describe the course of their ill-starred relationship, but knowing from the outset that it ended tragically means the narrative is shot through, not just with dramatic irony, but a delicious kind of poignancy as well.
And one of the most famous opening lines in modern fiction is Last night I dreamt  I went to Manderley again...I don't suppose anybody had the effrontery to tell Daphne du Maurier to avoid writing in flashback.

Plotting - Taking Affirmative Action

I've recently finished reading My Dear, I Wanted to Tell You by Louisa Young. You'd think that everything  which could possibly be said about the First World War has already been said, truth, in this instance, being considerably stranger than fiction, but Ms Young certainly gives Sebastian Faulks a run for his money - her novel is infinitely finer and more unusual than Birdsong.

Without wanting to spoil the book in any way, it concerns the burgeoning relationship between Riley, a working class lad and a young bohemian girl called Nadine. The barriers her family try to throw up between them are as nothing compared to the devastating effects that the war has on their lives.

What makes the book so heartrending and compelling is the challenging journey Riley embarks upon: he defies the rigid class system of the day in order to better himself and win the girl he loves, but he also has to draw upon superhuman resources to survive the war and come to terms with the consequences of it. Along the way there is also much for him to learn about the integrity - and otherwise - of  human nature.

I think the reason My Dear was shortlisted for the Costa Prize and has chimed with so many readers is that in it Young provides a masterclass in the positive power of reading fiction. Her protagonists are beset with the worst things that life can throw at them, thus demonstrating the potency of creating characters with whom  readers will identify, in order to punish them mercilessly, to grind them down, so that we can then witness the inspiring process of their redemption. To see someone triumph over suffering in a fictional setting convinces us that it is possible to overcome the afflictions that may trouble us in our own lives. So in terms of planning a novel or story, be aware of the power of setting up your hero in order to knock them down - as long as you chart their recover afterwards.

In that sense, My Dear is a truly inspiring read; it is also well-researched, informative and utterly beguiling - rush out and buy!

Breaking the Spell

As a writer, you're an illusionist: you create brave new worlds for your reader and go to great lengths to make them seem as real and as plausible as possible -- that is what writing good fiction is all about.

The subversive in me is interested in the effects of setting up an illusion only to destroy it with a kind of devastating sleight of hand.  It can be the most fantastic plotting device and leave your reader open-mouthed with astonishment. Sarah Waters is an absolute genius at this: without wanting to give too much away, in her novel Fingersmith she creates one reality only to whip the rug from under the reader's feet and reveal another, different one in a way that can leave you feeling a little giddy.

So here's a challenge for you: set a wheel turning  within a wheel -- as you're weaving one illusion, produce another like a string of bright silk handkerchiefs hidden up your sleeve. Fiction is bluffing anyway, but take it a step further and go for double bluff. It can be a circus trick: cue drumroll, cue fanfare...

The Literary Come-On

 Ooh, I've been writing so hard I feel as if my head is spinning and I could easily have parked my bicycle high on the wall of this French restaurant and in fact perhaps I did!

 Although I hardly know whether I'm on my head on my heels, I do recall rash promises of talking about tension and suspense, so here are a few brief thoughts...

Tension, suspense, anticipation – all of them delicious emotions if you experience them in moderation, although the extreme versions take you into murky, E L James, pain-and-pleasure territory, so it's probably best to stay within the parameters of delicious and allow your reader the thrill of having their expectations built up, before they are fulfilled or thwarted.

There are a few ways of doing this.

• You can announce that something is going to happen up front and then leave your reader in an agony as to how and why.
• You can drop hints – the use of portents and omens a la Thomas Hardy can be very useful here – without being too specific, just enough to whet the appetite.
• You can take your reader right to the brink of the crisis, and leave them there.
• You can convince your reader that one thing is going to happen and then surprise them with another.

It's a form of structural flirtation, a literary come-on. In a way, plotting the novel is an extended seduction, so we're back in EL James territory once again. You want to confound your reader, but not too often. You want to leave them hungry for more.

Story Structure Made (Very, Very) Simple

In my previous post I made a few suggestions about how you might approach the plotting of your story and finished with rash promises about offering some thoughts about structure, so here goes...

I've never read how-to books on structure, other than Christopher Vogler's much trumpeted The Writer's Journey and although I found it fascinating, I found it equally difficult to apply to my own work.I couldn't forge my story to fit his framework, no matter how much I tried to hammer and bend it, so consequently I'm wary of instruction manuals that are too specific about assembling the elements of a narrative, because it's such an intuitive, organic process and you don't want your well-crafted work of fiction to read as though it's come off a production line.

There are a few basics which are unarguably necessary, among them a beginning and an end. You'll notice I've left out the middle, because in fact I think you need two middles, as I suspect the old three act structure of the well-made play does have something to recommend it. So...

• Act One: a beginning, the arrival of some complicating factor, a crisis.
• Act Two: some high-stakes attempts to resolve the crisis, denouement.
• Act Three: resolution.

...and even that feels a little too prescriptive.

The best advice I can give you is to pay attention to contrast and pace, because if you are vigilant about these you will automatically create and then dissipate tension, thus providing well-integrated climaxes in your story.

Perhaps in my next post I'll look at how you handle tension, (but on the other hand...)

Creative Writing - Making Plans

I've been appraising manuscripts for a couple of literary consultants in London recently and there is one thing which crops up time after time in the books that I've been reading and that is a lack of planning. The most brilliant conception is going to lead to an extremely poor delivery if you don't make proper preparations.

Inspiration honestly, truly isn't enough and the perspiration which is said to be a necessary accompaniment should consist of at least some careful planning. You won't do justice to your genius idea if you don't spend time thinking about the execution of it. The stories I've been working on are well-written – no problems there -  but the characters are on the skinny side because the writers haven't lived with them for long enough, and the plots are prone to hideous expediency, because the necessary traps haven't been set in advance.

Great artists do preliminary sketches for their paintings, and in order to fulfil your own potential it wouldn't do any harm to come up with an outline plan for the story you intend to write. Nothing needs to be set in stone - the process of thinking ahead will have made you ask important questions about your plot and that is the main thing;  the answers may come later and will perhaps surprise you.

Be prepared. Otherwise you may sell yourself short, may not do justice to your ability. Because planning is a practical thing to do, it may feel like the opposite of creativity, but it will provide you with a structure for your story and a gilded frame for your talent.

Plotting with Polonius

In Hamlet, Polonius suggests tso his son Laertes that he should, "by indirection find direction out." In other words, it can be helpful to take a lateral approach to something, that by going the long way round you will eventually arrive at the heart of the matter. It's advice you could well apply to creative writing, as it can be a  helpful device when you are structuring your plot.

Think about the possibilities of your hero laying a false trail, either to ensnare another character, which will provide delicious opportunities for dramatic irony (where the reader knows more than the characters they are reading about) or, indeed, to trip up the reader themselves.

A little red herring for the weekend, perhaps...

En Route to Experience

David Lodge, in his excellent book The Art of Fiction, maintains that, "All novels are essentially about the passage from innocence to experience," and while I'm not sure that I entirely agree -- the novel that I'm working on at the moment follows virtually the opposite trajectory, from world-weariness to redemption - I think it is interesting food for thought.

Novels are most definitely about a journey and essential to that journey is the process of change and growth. It is up to you as the author whether that journey is from innocence to experience, or from despair to hope, but you need to make sure that during his adventures your hero acquires the self-knowledge that he lacked at the outset. The path he follows should take him up one or two blind alleys, the gradient should be steep and there should be plenty of setbacks and breakdowns en route. The creativity for you, as a writer, lies in how you engineer the discoveries your protagonist makes, how you inflect his emotional encounters, but it might be worth putting David Lodge's theory to the test and telling a story that arcs from one state to its opposite....

....just to see what doors it opens for you and your characters along the way.

Literary Leger de Main

As a writer, you're an illusionist: you create whole worlds for your reader and go to extraordinary lengths to make them seem as real and as plausible as possible -- that is what writing good fiction is all about.

The subversive in me is interested in the effects of setting up an illusion only to destroy it with a kind of devastating sleight of hand.  It can be the most fantastic plotting device and leave your reader open-mouthed with astonishment. Sarah Waters is an absolute genius at this: without wanting to give too much away, in her novel Fingersmith she creates one reality only to whip the rug from under the reader's feet and reveal another, different one. I finished reading it last week and I'm still feeling a little giddy.

So here's a challenge for you: set a wheel turning  within a wheel -- as you're weaving one illusion, produce another like a string of bright silk handkerchiefs hidden up your sleeve. Fiction is bluffing anyway, but take it a step further and go for double bluff. It can be a circus trick: cue drumroll, cue fanfare...

You Always Hurt the One You Love

I seem to be in song title mode at the moment (see my earlier post It Ain't What You Say It's the Way That You Say It) but here's a little pinch of plotting snuff for you to breath in deeply.

When you are thinking about constructing a plot, at some point -- this is going to sound unkind of me, I know -- it is an excellent idea to punish a sympathetic character, ideally your hero or someone close to them, by ensuring that something truly dreadful happens to them. Your reader will find it extremely hard to bear any wanton act of cruelty towards  a character to whom they have become deeply attached, and the calamity will have the effect of drawing them far more closely into your story, as they will be waiting with bated breath to see if everything comes right in the end.

Simples!

Demystifying the Myth

Hollywood script consultant Christopher Vogler, who worked on epic films like The Lion King and Fight Club wrote a book called The Writers Journey which has since become a seminal text for anyone interested in how to use myths and archetypes to help resolve the challenges of devising the perfect plot.  If you haven't already read it, rush out and borrow or buy a copy.  Although I wouldn't follow it to slavishly, his advice is great for getting yourself thinking and asking pertinent and important questions.

Vogler starts from the premise that a narrative is activated when the hero is called to adventure. See -- already you have something that you can apply  to your own work! Why not write the opening scene of a story in which a dream, an accident, a coincidence, a revelation, a loss or a warning acts as a catalyst to spurring the hero into action and setting the plot in motion.  You could try it several times over, experimenting with different calls -  try them all -- and you'll find that you have the material for a whole raft of writing.  And that's just the start of it...

I think you can't beat a good door as a call to adventure, or a call to something, or someone....