Catalyst on a Hot Tin Roof

by Gary Fearon, Creative Director, Southern Writers Magazine


One of the most intriguing parts of any tale is the inciting incident.  That turning point—when the main situation of the plot is set into motion—is when we find ourselves committed to the story to see how things are going to play out.

By this point we've usually gotten to know the characters and their normal circumstances.  Just as we've gotten acclimated, along comes the catalyst that turns everything upside down.

Back to the Future: Marty's about to lose track of time

In Back to the Future that moment comes when Marty escapes terrorists by speeding away in Doc Brown's time machine and finds himself transported back to 1955.

In most cases, the inciting incident is something that happens to the hero, not something he or she causes.  Even in The Hunger Games, when Katniss makes the decision to take her sister's place in the deadly contest, it is because she is forced by her own sense of duty to do so.

In a romantic tale, multiple events will come along to complicate things, but it's the moment the lovebirds first lay eyes on each other than can usually be considered the one that turns everything topsy-turvy.

Katniss pays tribute to her sister in The Hunger Games

How soon in the story it should take place will vary, but plotters generally agree that this catalytic converter should occur during the first quarter.  For example, in Back to the Future, it happens at exactly the 1/4 mark, 30 minutes into the two-hour movie.  In The Hunger Games, it occurs only 15 minutes into the 2 1/2 hour flick.

In a different kind of example, the Oscar winner American Beauty centers around Lester's midlife crisis, which is triggered by more than one thing, including a lousy job and a cheating wife.  But the pivotal moment comes when he attends a school event and becomes enamored with his daughter's friend.  Everything prior is setup.  That inciting incident, for the record, takes place 15 minutes into the two-hour film.

Lester's life is about to change, and not for the better

Basically, the inciting incident is the event without which the main story cannot happen.  Doc Brown can invent a time machine, hunger games will take place no matter what, and Lester's unsatisfying life is already underway, but without these other key moments, the main crisis will not be inflicted upon the hero.

The most effective inciting incident will cause the audience to wonder how in the world he/she is gonna prevail over this problem.  At the very least, it will set the stage for bigger crises to increase the dilemma later.

Done right, this turning point will not only ignite the TNT of your story, but will become the no-turning-back moment for your reader too.

Seven Things Writers Can Learn from Marty McFly

by Gary Fearon, Creative Director, Southern Writers Magazine

October 2015 was a milestone month for fans of Back to the Future, having reached one of the target dates in Marty and Doc's cinematic adventures. Three decades after its release, the trilogy boasts a cult following of DeLorean restorers, cosplay devotees, and less fanatical folk who simply enjoy well-told tales.

With that enduring popularity in mind, I offer seven things that make the Back to the Future series worth a second look for writers.

1. Lack of a hero arc
Unlike the typical protagonist, Marty doesn't experience an inner change that makes him grow as a person by the end of the story.  Instead, everything around him changes.  For the audience, that is satisfying enough. Just like James Bond, Indiana Jones or Frodo, the hero is consistent from story to story, while it's the new adventure providing the variety.

2. Back to the Future wasn't going to be a trilogy
Screenwriter Robert Zemeckis had only intended to make the one movie.  Only because of its enormous success did he write two sequels.  Had he known up front that would happen, he says he would have ended the first movie differently: He wouldn't have had Marty's girlfriend get into the time machine. He would have preferred for Marty and Doc Brown to go on their next mission alone.  That script complication was dealt with (a little too patly) by zapping her with a ray to make her think it was all a dream. The lesson here is: The End might not be The End, so be forward-thinking just in case you're lucky enough for fans to demand a followup.
 
3. Believable characters
To maintain realism in a fantasy, it helps to anchor it with characters who react like real people.  There are no wild and crazy sidekicks or talking animals to suspend belief.  Even the quirky Doc Brown is no more off the wall than your crazy uncle.  Each character contains humanity that invites us to invest ourselves in them.

4. Keepin' it Real
As for the fantastic storyline, Michael J. Fox himself makes the observation that the more radical visionary aspects of Back to the Future still maintained some resemblance to life as we know it. For example, he says, flying cars wouldn't need imaginary lanes to drive in; they have the entire sky in which to navigate. But flying cars are fantastic enough without giving the audience too many additional concepts to distract themselves with.

5. Reassuring repetition
Like the movie posters that echoed each other, repeating gags and catch phrases from film to film also gave the audience a comforting sense of familiarity. Whenever Biff taunted, "What are you, chicken?", we knew Marty was about to go full McFly.

6. Be Flexible
When producers couldn't strike a deal with Crispin Glover to reprise his role as Marty's dad, they brought in another actor and tried -- in vain -- to fool audiences using prosthetics, showing him upside down or at a distance, etc, to awkward effect.  To ease everyone's pain, they eliminate him as soon as possible.  Bottom line: If one of your characters is giving you too much trouble, don't try to negotiate; write him out entirely.

7. Take advantage of marketing tie-ins
Like cozy mystery authors who offer recipes and other tangible story elements to fans, Pepsi is capitalizing on one of the iconic series symbols this very day. A bottle of Pepsi Perfect, in a collectible container, sold out faster than 88 MPH on October 21st. Public demand, however, made 6,500 of them available again for, appropriately enough, $20.15.  They went on sale today, November 3rd, at 8:00 a.m. Central. (Update: They sold out within ten minutes.) http://shop.pepsi.com/

Some say Back to the Future is the best-written trilogy of all time.  Bob Zemeckis won't even attempt a fourth one lest he do it a disservice.  We can take many cues from Marty and friends in our own quest to write a story that stands the test of time.

Timing is Everything

by Gary Fearon, Creative Director, Southern Writers Magazine

There's a scene in Back to the Future in which Marty McFly dons a hazmat suit and tries to trick his father into thinking he's from outer space.  To support the ruse, Marty uses his Walkman like a weapon to inflict hard rock on this 1950s fellow, whose musical awareness has only gotten as far as "Earth Angel." When the dad is introduced to heavy metal, he thinks his brain is melting.  (I often feel that way too, and I've heard it before.)

It's a funny movie scene, but it evokes a stimulating consideration about the evolution of music, and for that matter, creativity in general.  What would be Mozart's first impression if he was transported 200 years into the future and experienced a sudden dose of Iron Maiden?  The possibility that his brain actually could melt aside, chances are he would interpret it as so out of his realm of consciousness that it isn't even a form of music.

By the same token, if we went back 1500 years and played Mozart to a group of medieval monks whose only exposure to music was vocal chants, they might well regard Wolfgang's classical concertos as the work of the devil.

As I watched Star Trek: Into Darkness last week, I had to wonder how someone like George Washington would react if he walked into a 2013 theatre unawares, and donned 3D glasses.  The convincing CGI spectacles of planets exploding and warp speed travel through the stars would appear all too real and life-threatening, and another brain might melt.

We've indeed progressed in mind-numbing ways from the very first evidence of entertainment on the big screen, namely cave paintings.  Some say cavemen were the first storytellers; others say these early drawings were a form of communication. All I know is, people were a lot skinnier then.

Whatever the case, whether we're talking movies, music or writing, what we create today comes from a long, gradual, and natural evolution of creativity.  Jules Verne imagined a future that, in some respects, we've already surpassed.  Dick Tracy's video wristwatch from the 50s took only a couple of generations to become reality.

What we imagine — and chronicle — in any lifetime becomes an important stepping stone in the future of mankind and culture.  As writers, we play a vital role in history, right where we are, right now.  I think that's kind of exciting.  I'm tired just thinking about it.

Marty McFly knew that each generation has its own voice, and that too much of a jump forward can be a jolt. Therefore, there's a lot to be said for all the parents who don't start their babies out on rock 'n roll, and instead buy their infants those "Classical Baby" CDs, said to give kids a smart start. 

After all, we need to crawl before we can rock.

A Few Good Mentors

by Gary Fearon, Creative Director

If you mention Homer’s Odyssey to today’s audience, there’s a good chance many of them will think it’s an episode of The Simpsons. But it is that Greek classic and its companion work The Iliad — written in the 8^th century — which introduced the character who would become the namesake for all mentors to come. 

“When the student is ready the teacher will appear.” This is never truer than in the movies, where we’ve observed countless heroes consulting with that one person who puts them on the path to their ultimate success. This figure may be in the story only briefly, or they may be a trusted companion who gets more than a single scene in which to convey their wisdom to the hero, teach them a new skill, or give them a special item they will use at a critical point in their adventure.

In The Odyssey, Mentor at times was actually the goddess Athena.  Similarly, in The Iliad, Mentor was targeted for some earthbound time-share by the god Apollo. Following this Grecian formula, mentors throughout the literary ages have often been gifted with supernatural powers.

Wizards in particular populate great epics. Merlin, Gandalf and Dumbledore have all been magical advisors to younger wards who have a destiny to fulfill. Meanwhile, their fairer-sex counterparts, fairies, have accommodated the gentler needs of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and Peter Pan.

Science fiction mentors can also possess abilities beyond those of mere mortals, from The Matrix’s Morpheus to the little green Jedi master who sounds like Miss Piggy. In such a futuristic setting we readily suspend disbelief and buy their mysterious, godlike qualities.

But because most novels take place in the real world, a typical mentor is a bit more down-to-earth; simply very good at what they do and more experienced than our hero.  You gotta love Doc Brown from Back to the Future, whose absent-minded professor qualities made him both funny and approachable. And who doesn’t get a kick out of The Karate Kid‘s Mr Miyagi?

Not that all mentors are looking out for our hero’s best interests. Melanie Griffith’s boss in Working Girl, Wall Street’s Gordon Gekko, and Tom Cruise’s bosses in The Firm all were out for themselves rather than their younger underlings. But even in these dysfunctional pairings, the hero ends up gaining just as much by learning what not to do. Take Private Benjamin. Judy’s commanding officer was bent on seeing her fail, but as in so many Army tales, this only helped Judy find the inner strength to prevail.

   

Being Thanksgiving week, I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank the many fictional mentors who’ve given ruby slippers to lost little girls, helped jungle boys escape from singing orangutans, and taught home run honeys that there’s no crying in baseball.

These are a few of my favorite mentors. Who are yours?