I’ve been studying two books by Yves Lavandier: one is “Writing Drama;” the other is “Constructing A Story.”
In adulthood I’ve intermittently attempted to write short stories. Alas, I had no idea how that’s done. I’d have an idea about a character, try to tell a story, not know where I was going or what came next. So, no story. Just unfinished fragments. I read a few books but that didn’t help. You’d think I’d have taken a course, but no.
Now, as, in a few days, I’ll complete the first half of my ninth decade, — i.e., 85th birthday, but I prefer the flavor of ancientness in “ninth decade.” Note this does not indicate any change in my longtime fear and rejection of old people and the dangers their immanent collapse present to innocent bystanders — Lavandier is providing me structure and detailed discussion of what a drama is, whether it be tragedy or comedy or a mix.
He says a protagonist, due to an inciting incident, acquires an objective, encounters multiple obstacles in striving for the objective, each obstacle producing conflict that generates emotion such as frustration and anxiety in the protagonist, and hope, fear, and identification in the spectator. The more conflict the protagonist experiences, the more the spectator identifies with them. In fact, Lavandier determines who is the protagonist in a drama by finding the character experiencing the most conflict.
Obstacles usually build in a crescendo of increasing conflict until the protagonist encounters the final obstacle, the final conflict, and, at the climax, does or does not overcome, producing a drama in which the protagonist does or does not reach their ultimate objective. Of course, he covers much more, but this is enough to get one thinking. His books take one much further into how it’s all done.
I’m delighting in them and even working on a for-real story. Experience suggested I would fail at producing ideas, even with such excellent tutoring, but I was surprised and delighted to have ideas about characters, characterization, obstacles, conflict, and emotions come pouring into mind. Meditation, where, in the deep silence, the clarity of thought is remarkable, has been a big help. I can actually imagine completing a story.
Naturally, reading a few books and making a first attempt is only a beginning. Hadley Wickham, the professor of statistics and award-winning author of numerous major advances in the open-source programming language, R, says that whenever you begin to do something new, whatever it is, you suck at it. For evidence Wickham suggests recalling when you learned to ride a bike, type, drive, etc. Persistence is the way. I’m a beginner. Time will tell if I persist enough to reach my objective. So far, it’s been pure pleasure.
Lavandier also suggests that life is like drama. Life entails action. Everyday human action can be viewed in terms of his model of drama. An inciting incident happens provoking us toward an objective, perhaps physically, perhaps mentally. Obstacles obstruct, producing conflict between the action and the limits on action imposed by those obstacles. We react emotionally, and we do or do not overcome. Success or failure in reaching the objective then can act as an inciting incident for the next action.
From this perspective, in life as in drama, obstacles need not be external. Internal obstacles produced by the protagonist obstruct action and produce conflict as readily as does the external world. Consider procrastination, that famous thief of time. The disposition to put things off rather than get started can be as great an obstacle as a wall or an antagonist. It stifles action as effectively as a gag or handcuffs. Writer’s block is another famous internally produced obstacle.
Lavandier also mentions internally produced external obstacles. These are where the obstacle is external to the character, but the character is responsible for the obstacle. Annoying a boss. Forgetting to put gas in the car.
Does dramatic structure model our everyday lives without our realizing it? An interesting conjecture. Do we root for the underdog because we anticipate all the obstacles and conflicts that they’ll suffer and thus identify with them? Do we, in life, as in the movies, identify with animals and even robots because they have endured conflicts? Does every action involve an objective, even though it may be unconscious?
In any case, it seems useful to sometimes apply the structure, asking what incited me, what’s my objective, what are the likely obstacles. Am I making some myself? Will I persist?
Richard S. Bogartz is professor emeritus of psychology at the University of Massachusetts Amherst.