Oh damn, here we go with the freakin’ rules again. Chill out my peeps, relax, have a soda.
You see, I was out having coffee with one of my fave people, my granddaughter. Is she brilliant? Yes, in fact she is. So we are talking about stories, and how they are formed, and what makes a good one. She starts talking about the hero’s journey. Wow. Well, it turns out her very excellent english teacher had been talking about it. Oh, and my granddaughter is 12 (going on 25).
Anyway. I did a lot of Joseph Campbell reading at one time, including his work on archetypes, and his book the Hero With a 1000 faces. I think this was where I first encountered the hero’s journey, and I was deeply intrigued by it.
I couldn’t quite recall all the steps, so I asked my granddaughter what she remembered—and of course, she remembered them all, and backed them up with examples from books like Harry Potter. (True, we might have messed up the order… doesn’t matter.)
I’ve often used a structure like this to analyze books, and films, and who knows what else—the grocery list? Sure, why not. I sometimes will deny the call to action: BUY BANANAS! Until my wife tells me to get in the damn car and go to the store. She’s a mentor of sorts.
I digress.
I also love structure like this when I’m both analyzing my own work—often in the editing stage. But even in the first draft stage. Though, I can’t always recall all the steps, I’ve internalized a lot of them. I know that there needs to be that call to action. Agents love to call these: stakes. I’ve come to hate that word so much I spit every time I say it. (Brent Butt reference for those Canucks who watched Corner Gas.)
There has to be something to start the hero in motion. I’ve read too many books where the hero pisses around, goes bowling, and washes their car before getting around to anything remotely quest-like. But on the other side, you medias-res lovers, the quest can be sprung on the reader too fast. We are minding our own business, when all of sudden before the first paragraph has ended the whole damn thing has been laid out, often with a lotta bodies (looking at you crime fiction writers.)
So that’s why the second step of refusal, or denying the call, is so important. It’s the whole push and pull thing. If you are a naturally good storyteller, you will feel this. My wife, and she admits this, is a horrible storyteller. She says a line, and then goes immediately to the end… and the fish had a turnip in its mouth. The end. (Hey, weird story.) Whereas, I will milk a story, say a walk to go mail a letter, into a quixotic epic.
And then I did smite the dog that barketh at mine butt and I leapeth over the fence to freedom!!! Huzzah.
Not sure why I slipped into the King James there, but so be(eth) it.
Where was I?
Coffee with the granddaughter. She had chai tea, and a slice of butter tart pie that had more sugar than, I dunno, things that have a lot of sugar in them. We were really enjoying the back and forth hero’s journey talk, and how it could apply to me new novel, Sam’s Song. Incidentally, she knows all my books, though she is not old enough to read them. Soon.
I started peppering her with questions. So here is Sam’s call… why does she refuse? What makes her finally accept the call (third step)? And how about a mentor (step 4-ish, I think), who is it? Where do they come from and how do they help?
Now look, I’m an avowed pantser, and I couldn’t outline a novel to save my soul. But I will have a convo with someone about what makes a good story, and I roll that around in my head. Which is what I’ve been doing since we had our talk yesterday.
I started out this stack by bemoaning those writers who don’t like rules or structures. And sure, you can ignore them, but at your own peril. Same goes for those who ignore Freytag’s Pyramid. Do you really want to piss off Mr. Freytag?!! He’s a badass. And pointy.
Okay, I get it. You don’t want to be boxed in by the rules, man. You want to float your own boat, let your freak flag fly, don’t harsh my mellow… Sorry, got carried away. Look, you can always ignore structure. Maybe you think that it creates all the same cookie-cutter stories (it doesn’t). Or it robs you of creativity (it doesn’t). I teach my design students that creativity comes out of limitations. There are always boxes that we need to integrate, and then possibly throw in the incinerator. But dammit, at least look at the boxes.
I’ve judged some story competitions, and been a beta reader (both paid and unpaid) for longer works. I have found that thinking about structure helps me understand why a certain piece might not be working. And I’ve applied that often to my own work. It doesn’t need to be the hero’s journey, or Mr. Freytag’s Taco. There are many ways to look at structure. Save the Cat is another one that screenwriters have been taught, and has now spilled over to novel writers.
Finally, the use of structure can be a very subtle one. Here is a short excerpt from my WIP, Sam’s Song.
To set it up, Sam has just had a serious altercation with some drug dealers/ hoods. The scene previous to this one suggests that she needs to go and seek them out, to finish what she started. But I wanted her to resist this idea (the refusal of the call), simply by having her ignore the situation. Meanwhile, the reader is yelling at Sam to get her ass in gear. Push/Pull.
The days after her confrontation at the hood’s place slid by in a quiet ease. The sun was bobbing up and down like a buoy in a deep lake. It was strange but Sam barely noticed the passage of days. She had times like that, more after her father disappeared, when she felt herself adrift. She went to her job at the lumber yard, ate lunch at the café on Main Street, finished her shift and came home. In the evening she’d watch a bit of TV or read, usually history books or something science-like, or on plant life. She didn’t need the escape of a book where the hero took chances and tried to save the world, the town, or often the girl.
She even mentions the hero in the passage, as if to say, nope, she’s not going to be one of those.
I invite you to think about structure. There’s a ton of articles on the hero’s journey if you want to know more. Here’s one. It even has a diagram! (Ignore the dumb ads.)
Or just go watch the movie, Jaws, which follows it very closely. (Or read this.)
Here is the post-interview with the granddaughter - what I call, the walk and talk.
(The wind sound gets better, honest).
Thanks for reading.
You're going to make me extract my Joe Campbell from the pile, aren't you? Although the one I regularly peek into is about Myth, not the hero's journey, but it all hangs together....
I've been thinking about this lately, because my brain isn't wired this way ... I'm an episodic thinker, I guess? I try, I do. But it sometimes feels a little forced, and right! underneath! the writing is still stubbornly episodic.
I gather that in other cultures, the episodic form isn't considered a flaw, but that's not terribly helpful.
Sigh.