Sunday, February 12, 2012

Four Elements of a Try-Fail Cycle (as Demonstrated by Breaking Bad)

I had a breakthrough about try-fail cycles while I was watching Breaking Bad yesterday. (Dan Wells and Marion Jensen recommend this as a great show for writers who want to learn about plot and character development, and they were right, at least for me.)

I've heard a lot about try-fail cycles, of course. I knew the basics--the protag keeps trying and failing until something works--, and I could probably even have recited some of the basic principles of a good try-fail cycle if asked to, but I didn't really get it. In fact, the try-fail cycle in my own novel was killing me.

So instead of writing, I spent several nights watching Breaking Bad. (I would not recommend watching TV instead of writing, and normally I wouldn't have done it, but I was stuck, yo) and suddenly there was an episode that illustrated try fail cycles incredibly well. I think it was because the objective (to get the RV to start so they don't die in the middle of the New Mexico desert) was clear and simple and each cycle was so discrete that it allowed me to easily identify and analyze each component of the cycle. While watching, I realized that each cycle had several important characteristics.

Now an analysis of those cycles, and a total spoiler alert for Breaking Bad 2.9, "Four Days Out."

I learned that good try-fail cycles have at least four important characteristics.

  • First, each attempt increases in either the level of sacrifice or the level or resourcefulness, possibly both, that it requires.
  • Second, each try-fail period has a failure penalty (usually foreshadowed in some way) that makes the situation worse, either by using up a needed resource or introducing an additional complicating element to the situation. The failure penalty is different from the sacrifice required. The sacrifice required to make the attempt is known to the character in advance, and they choose to make it. The failure penalty is an unexpected outcome of the attempt that complicates the situation further.
  • Third, each attempt comes progressively closer to succeeding but ultimately fails.
  • Fourth, the attempt that finally works requires either great sacrifice or great resourcefulness in ways that are unique to the protag's situations and ability and that, ideally, the audience does not predict.

Using these four characteristics to increase the narrative tension makes it so that when the solution ultimately comes, it's satisfying to the audience. Solving the earlier, lower-risk version of the problem with any of the earlier low-sacrifice, low-resourcefulness attempts results in a low-satisfaction ending. (Personally, I think this is why so many readers were dissatisfied with the end of Breaking Dawn. They say it's because it lacked a battle, but I think what they really mean is that it lacked a satisfying try-fail cycle.)

So here's how that played out in this episode:

Attempt One: They siphon gas out of the trailer into the generator so that they can use the generator to jump the RV's battery. When they start the generator, it bursts into flame because Jesse has unwittingly spilled gasoline on it. In order to put out the flame, Jesse dumps their drinking water on the generator.
Sacrifice required to make this attempt: Low. (Walt gets a little gas in his mouth, but it's no big deal.)
Resourcefulness required to make this attempt: Low. (Pretty much anyone could think of that.)
Closeness to success: Low. They couldn't even get the generator started.
Failure penalty: They lost their water and, one assumes, damaged the part of the generator that uses gas to create power. The penalty, running out of water, is foreshadowed earlier in the episode where Walt asks Jesse if that's really all the water he brought and Jesse asks him how much water he thinks they're going to use.
Audience satisfaction if that solution had worked: Low. No one wants to see a low-risk situation resolved with little resourcefulness and little sacrifice.

Attempt Two: They use Walt's cell phone to call for help. Unfortunately, the person they call gets lost and the phone's battery dies as a result of the phone call.
Sacrifice required: Moderate. (Walt has resisted using his phone to call for help because he believes his wife tracks his cell activity. Now he's forced to take that risk.)
Resourcefulness required: Low.
Closeness to success: Moderate. They believe for many hours that their buddy is on the way and that they're out of trouble.
Failure penalty: The phone battery is dead. This penalty is foreshadowed during the first phone call when Walt briskly warns Jesse to make it fast because roaming drains the battery. Therefore, we are not surprised when the battery dies during the second phone call. They now no longer have that option even as a last resort.
Audience satisfaction if that solution had worked: Low. I would have been relieved that they were alive, but I would have expected another complication or some other larger plot to define the episode.

Attempt Three: They spend all day in the blazing sun with no water manually winding the generator. After exhausting themselves and pinning all their hopes on this attempt, they are able to start the RV engine, and they burst into cheers, but the engine immediately dies. Since it took all their physical energy to generate enough power to start the engine once, they have no hope of being able to try again.
Resourcefulness required: Moderate/high. Only through Walt's scientific expertise do they get this idea. Most people wouldn't think of manually winding the generator or if they did, they wouldn't know how.
Sacrifice required: High. The video makes it clear that this is an exhausting, dehydrating process that takes many, many hours and all of their physical energy.
Closeness to success: Painfully high, but not quite there.
Failure penalty: They've taxed themselves to the point of dehydration and extreme exhaustion. They are now many hours closer to dying and there's no chance of them being able to walk out of the desert. Additionally, because they had pinned all their hopes on this succeeding, they pay a high penalty in loss of morale when it fails. Both of these penalties are foreshadowed when Walt says to Jesse earlier, "This has to work. Do you understand me?"
Audience satisfaction if this solution had worked (which I thought it would): Moderate. It would have felt acceptable, but not really triumphant.

Attempt Four: Walt has given up, but Jesse gives him a frantic talk about doing "something scientific" to save them. In a flash of inspiration, Walt realizes that they can build a battery from scrap metal and parts of the trailer. They build the battery from loose coins, nuts, and bolts, and hook it up. The engine starts. They make it home.
Sacrifice required: Low, though they are required to have one final rally.
Resourcefulness required: Extremely high. It's important to note that the resourcefulness relies on the protag's specific strengths. This solution is exciting only because it draws upon Walt's scientific knowledge, which is his distinguishing trait. It's not easy for Walt to execute this solution (that would be unsatisfying), but it would be impossible for almost anybody else.
Audience satisfaction when this works: High. At least good enough for a single plot element. I suspect that series satisfaction will require a higher level of sacrifice, but for a plot resolution, the high-risk, high-resourcefulness solution works.

If you've stuck with this post this far, thank you. I'm not a published author, so you have no reason to think that anything I have to say about the craft of writing is worthwhile. In truth, I wrote this largely for myself. It helped to clarify my understanding and even generate some additional insights. But if you've already done me the favor of reading this, I'm asking one more: before I plunge into outlining my own try-fail cycle, I'd like to know if there are any other elements I'm missing. Is there anything else that's vital to a successful cycle that I should make sure I include? If so, I'd love to hear your explanations and examples of those elements.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Results (Not) Guranteed

I like results. As long as there's a guaranteed or very likely result, and as long as it's a result I value, paying a high price in effort, money, time, or emotion doesn't bother me.

Case 1: I will pay for expensive products if I think they'll work, but there has to be a money back guarantee. If I don't get results, I want my money back.

Case 2: Two days after giving (all-natural, because it's the only way to ensure that there are no lingering side-effects to mom or baby) birth to my last baby, I rose at 5 am and went outside to tackle a landscaping project that my husband had given up on because he thought it was impossible. It was brutal, exhausting, miserable work that left me doubled over and clutching my back in pain, but I didn't care. Why? I knew I'd get results. (And I did. It was awesome.)

Case 3: Remember all those ads you used to see for getting gift cards by trying certain products? I actually made between 3 and 4 thousand dollars (that's profit, after paying for the products) on those things. I read the small print, tracked the cost of the products, and found the ones that would actually yield a profit. Then I wrote articles telling other people how to do the same thing and gave them my referral link. It worked (for all of us). Results.

Case 4: Graduate school. You go. You put in the time. It's hard, but if you're halfway competent, you'll get a degree. Results guaranteed.

Here's what I have no time for: Anything where the results are uncertain.

Most Important Case: Writing. My results-guaranteed orientation is precisely why I spent all of my twenties trying to not want to write. I thought it was a total waste of time. I still think it's probably a total waste of time. But the urge to write wouldn't go away. Won't go away. It appears that in this case, my guaranteed result is that I'll be restless and a little unfulfilled if I don't at least give writing a shot. (Which, by the way, I bitterly resent. If I could turn off the part of my brain that wants to write, I'd do it in two heartbeats.)

It's unfamiliar territory. I don't like doing things that don't yield results. I don't like giving up entertainment, sleep, and family time for something that probably won't pan out. I'm worried that in five years I'll still be restless and unfulfilled, but I'll also be bitter that I wasted so much time (and looked like a total idiot) chasing this delusion. But I don't know that will happen, and I do know I'll be unhappy if I don't try, so I'm giving it a shot.

At least in the end, no one will be able to say I didn't try. I guess that's one result guaranteed.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

When I Want My WIP to RIP

Blarg! My WIP is driving me crazy. The story itself is good, I think (though of course, I get insecure about even that when I start to think about it), but I'm not satisfied with my presentation of it. It is way more difficult than I thought it would be to slowly reveal little segments of the mystery without giving away too much of it at once. I'm eager to finish this thing, revise it, and get it to Alpha readers who can tell me whether I manage to pull off any surprise at all or whether they realize what's going on way before the main character does.

I've learned by now to have faith in the process, which sounds disgustingly touchy-feely, but I've learned that if I keep plugging away at something, I will eventually have an "oh, duh," moment that clarifies how to make certain elements of the story work. That doesn't make this stage of it--the hard work, the stubbornness of the story line, the boredom because I sense that this isn't quite having the pizazz I want--any easier, but it does encourage me to keep going.

Monday, November 21, 2011

8 Pre-Scene Writing Questions

I've been finding that once I force myself to write a scene, even if it doesn't flow very well, I often realize that the scene could have been much better if I'd written some aspect of it differently. Instead of getting it "right" (or closer to right) the first time, I then know that I'll have to go back and fix it in a revision. I've been wondering if there are questions I could ask myself before starting a scene that would make that scene's first incarnation stronger than it would otherwise be. Here are some of the ideas I've had:
  1. Going into this scene, what does each character want, both in the book as a whole and, more importantly, from this interaction in particular?
  2. What does each character know or think they know?
  3. What is each character afraid of?
  4. (Related) What is each character trying to conceal?
  5. What is the setting?
  6. What aspects of the setting reflect the POV character's mood?
  7. What aspects of the setting is the POV character likely to notice and be affected by?
  8. (Per Mary Robinette Kowal's excellent suggestion on Writing Excuses) Which of Orson Scott Card's M. I. C. E. elements (milieu, idea, character, event) most defines this interaction? How does that influence where the scene stops and starts?

Just brainstorming these ideas has given a bit more structure to both the scene I just wrote and the scene I'm about to write. I think this idea has promise. What other questions would it be productive to ask?

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Showering Brilliance

Mwa ha! This is why I don't give up on stories even when they limp along agonizingly for weeks or even months. Because I know that one day while I'm in the shower rubbing Olay foaming cleanser onto my face, all the pieces that I've been trying to tether down will jump into place. The problems will become solutions. The plot holes will become plot twists. The characters will become real.

Today was that day. My hair is wet, my face is soft, my mind is zooming. It's a good day to keep on writing.

Friday, November 11, 2011

To Realize You Suck

In one of the Writing Excuses episodes, Brandon Sanderson said (and cited others who said), that one of the biggest advantages they had as beginning writers was that they had no idea how bad they were.

I was, and still am, so jealous of that. I realized how bad I was when I was about sixteen. I submitted something to the Reader's Digest and it was, of course, rejected. As I considered what I'd written I thought, "Wow. I suck." And that knowledge stayed has stayed with me for fifteen years. It's part of the reason I never took my desire to write seriously.

Jessica Day George has said that during first drafts, she's like a toddler on a sugar high. I envy that, too. First drafts are agony for me. With every word, I'm shooting myself corrections. "POV slip. Not enough conflict. Action doesn't rise high enough. Redundant descriptions. Wrong character carries most of the action. Cliched phrase." And all the time I'm wondering to myself, "Do I go back and correct these things? Do I make marginal notes? Do I fix this section even though I suspect that doing so may require a massive rewrite of several chapters or even changing the main character?"

I try to take the advice of authors whom I admire, and the almost universal advice seems to be no, don't revise. Finish the draft. It may not be as broken as you realize. It may be much more broken than you realize. Either way, you need to view it in its entirety before you can really know what to fix and, more importantly, how to fix it.

What keeps me going, aside from the grim determination of imagining I'm smothering a jar full of mice, is trying to drop myself into the scene, to forget about the words and just see the characters bursting into motion, to feel the things they're feeling. (I suspect that this makes my face look really weird and MPDish when I write.)

I wonder if it's worth it. I wonder if I'll be glad I did this in the end.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Boot to the Head!

I want to kick my novel in the head. It's not doing what I want it to do.

I just keep reminding myself that I've had other novels that I hated just as much. One of them truly was a disaster, but the other one now looks like it might have potential. I'm pressing on.