photo by Francois Le Nguyen on Unsplash
Since grade three we’ve had that story structure pyramid drawn on the chalkboard or paper, and heard the words about “rising action,” “climax,” and “denouement,” aka Freytag’s pyramid.
There are many ways to “diagram” a story—that can be another post. But here I want to talk about an alternative way to think about the essence of story, instead of such words and phrases as “upping stakes,” “inciting incident,” “plot points.”
Freytag’s pyramid exists for good reason: most stories do follow this incline and decline. But there are other ways to envision and process the drive in a story.
Some years ago, I heard the great Katherine Paterson speak. Paterson grew up as an “MK”—a missionary kid—and has been a minister’s spouse. Her books for young people have been banned for many reasons, including her portrayal of spiritual faith. Her themes are not light. She said, when I heard her, that her reason for writing The Great Gilly Hopkins was to try to understand her own failed attempt at being a foster parent. (Hard to imagine! I’d move into her house any day, and do her Saturday morning vacuuming for gold stars on the fridge door chart…) She has won both the Newbery and the US National Book Award twice. This year, she will be 90 years old.
She understands story structure, at the levels of human empathy, compassion, suffering, and healing. At the same time, she understands how to use language with a light hand and laughter.
Slipped into the middle of her presentation she shared an idea that I’ve pondered and wrestled with since. When you’ve written for a long time, and been to multiple conferences, you really don’t expect to walk away with much. But Paterson handed over a wisdom nugget that required a wheelbarrow to take home.
“In every story there’s a need for forgiveness.”
All those words we usually hear, about conflict and tension and resolution, took a turn in that moment.
I remember returning to the grad workshop group I was teaching at the time, a group of less than twelve. It was an all-year class—hard to find now. For the majority of the writers, all those months in the classroom meant writing the first rough draft of a novel, or most of, anyway. There were a number who considered themselves to be feminist, and a few who had majored in women’s studies; for these people in particular, Freytag’s Pyramid was a problem—they called it an ‘ejaculatory model’ for story-building, and they’d been looking for something else. One expressed to me her dismay about the constant and weighing call for “conflict” in story: she wanted something else, but didn’t know what. When I shared Paterson’s words with the group, lightbulbs went off, and a few sparks flew.
Of course, the “need for forgiveness” is rife with tension/conflict and dramatic elements! But… it is a different way to see.
To consider: (no need to answer all)
Who has done what? In what ways does it require forgiveness from another? from self? from an estranged person? from a beloved?
To what degree are the characters cognizant of the need? Does this change through the story? Think forgiver and forgivee.
Is the awareness of it, and the growth/process, an evolving one? Or an awareness that moves quickly?
How do you reveal/show this forgiveness? What shape does the forgiveness take? Is there a physicality to it? What are its intellectual and/or emotional properties?
Are you forgiving of your characters as you write?
In the opening line of C.S. Lewis’s The Voyage of the Dawn Treader is a word that denotes the writer’s and/or narrator’s sense of this:
“There was a boy named Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.”
But not quite.
The almost makes all the difference.
Note: * and of course, even if you are forgiving towards your characters, you’ll not be off the hook for causing “terrible things” to happen to them…
In the comments, share thoughts. Have you been aware of this in your work? Are there questions you might add to this list?
Post Script - recap of February posts
After I sent out the first-of-the-month newsletter, I realized I left off my usual summaries of the previous month’s post! The brain-slip must have been something about February being short by two or three days. (?) Or could possibly be the “re-formatting” I’m doing to e-publish two of my YA out-of-print titles! (Dizzying. My hat is off to all line and copy-editors…)
So here we go:
The February 1 newsletter had a Q&A with MG writer, Danielle Daniel!
I also shared the link for a potential short fiction market, right here on Substack:
The February prompt, a visual of an old trolley, inspired a number of stories—so good to see! Check out, offer feedback, and add your own work.
The close read post looked at “animals” in Robert Hillman’s The Bookshop of the Broken Hearted.
And we shared a thread about reading and our fiction faves of the past year. Add yours, and you’ll find a few here.
The February holidays/vacations prompted a couple of posts: Valentine’s Day/self love, and Family Day (how to write with little ones).
And we were overdue for a business-related post—I looked at covering letters, and using them to set a tone for an editor/agent reader.
Finally, some thoughts on what makes a “good story.”
Peace—
Alison
The forgiveness aspect is eye-opening. I’ve been thinking about Happy-endings in stories. When a bad person has a happy ending it can feel wrong. Forgiveness would provide closure.
Thank you for this, Alison. This is similar to the way that I tend to approach my fiction writing. My protagonists tend to have a problem gnawing at them: an ethical problem; an emotional problem; an unfulfilled need. They make choices, often poor choices, in response. There is a build-up of tension as the consequences of their choices proliferate, become increasingly unsustainable. This may bring them into conflict with other characters, and/or with their self-understanding. There is a crisis, a denouement or moment of insight. There's rarely an external antagonist to drive the action, partly because I think that 'villains' are vanishingly rare in real life. There will be characters with different standpoints, different agendas, of course.