December
has gone by way too fast for my liking.
Anyway,
before we all head off to watch Star Wars: The Force Awakens and get some
final holiday shopping done, I though I’d talk about something completely unbelievable.
No,
seriously.
There’s a
phrase you may have heard called willing suspension of disbelief. Simply put, it’s when a reader is willing to
ignore or forgive obviously false things for the sake of enjoying a story. They deliberately choose to ignore the
impossible. It’s why we can enjoy Lord
of the Rings when we know there’s no such thing as elves, dwarves, or
invisibility rings. It’s also why we can
enjoy Star Wars when our adult minds realize the Force, lightsabers, and
hyperdrive are all a little questionable, logically. And if there really was a hockey-masked serial killer taking out a dozen kids per summer up at the same lake...
seriously, shouldn’t someone have caught on by now?
Fantasy,
sci-fi, thrillers, a lot of horror—the genre stories are the ones that we
immediately think of when it comes to willing suspension of disbelief. But the ugly truth is that any story
can make a reader shake their head and toss it aside. There is no genre, no point of view, no style
of writing that is immune. Sometimes a
writer asks us to make a leap and... we just can’t.
Why is
that, y’think? When was the last time
you shook your head at something you were reading? Has something ever happened in a movie or
television show that just made you decide you couldn’t take it seriously any
longer? Or maybe you just shut it off?
I have a
few thoughts on this topic...
One of the
biggest things that’ll make a story believable—any story—is the
characters. I may have mentioned once or
twice or thrice that good characters make for good stories. I can’t have a believable story without believable
characters. It’s just not possible.
Yeah, even
if I slap “based on a true story” or “inspired by real events” under the title.
Once it’s on the page or on the screen,
all anyone cares about is if it’s a good story about believable characters. This is a common mistake—one I’ve made myself. Whether or not they’re real is
completely irrelevant. If that’s my only
selling point... I’m in trouble.
If my
characters are going to be believable, they’ve got to be consistent—or at least
consistently inconsistent. I can’t have
them acting and reacting in whatever random way happens to move my plot along. My readers need to see motives they can
understand. Natural-sounding dialogue. Relationships that are
somehow relatable to the average person.
This is important because once my readers believe in my characters,
they’ll believe in what happens to my characters. If I believe in Phoebe and Phoebe ends up
meeting Santa, then—by extension—I have to believe in Santa. Stephen King is a master at this. He gives us very normal, relatable folks,
lets us get to know them, and then plunges them into nightmarish circumstances
with inhuman, otherworldly threats. We believe there’s a weird
clown-spider-elder god thing living under this small Maine town because we
believe in the kids-who-become-adults who encounter it and decide to fight
against it. Just saying that up
above—clown-spider-elder god thing—makes it sound kind of goofy and silly. But millions of people were terrified by IT
and completely believed in that creature... because they believed in the
characters Pennywise the clown was terrorizing.
Now,
something I haven’t touched on yet. How
can I make someone believable in a completely fictional world? Star Wars is set on other planets
centuries ahead of our own, technology-wise (don’t be that person arguing about
“a long time ago...”). The Game of
Thrones books are set on another world that’s arguably thousands of years
behind us. The Harry Dresden series by
Steve Butcher is set on a different version of Earth. The whole Marvel Universe (comic book and
cinematic) may have been vaguely close to ours once, but is far off into sci-fi
at this point, even right in the middle of Manhattan.
A lot of
this will depend on how foreign I make my world. The more difficult it is for a reader to find
relatable ground, the harder it’ll be to find something relatable in the
characters. And as I mentioned last
week, being relatable is a key to good characters.
Let’s
consider Star Wars (no, don’t worry, no spoilers). The first movie (episode IV if you want to be
pedantic) starts with a battle between massive starships, but quickly shifts to
a boarding party—one on one action where we see people being killed and
captured. And then it’s revealed this is
a spy mission and the Empire is looking for some sort of stolen plans. Good so
far—all of this is very understandable stuff.
Our hero, Luke,
works on his uncle’s moisture farm where he drinks blue milk and is expected to
work on droids who will work on the vaparators.
This is all vaguely understandable, yes.
But, as quickly becomes apparent, Luke doesn’t want to work on the farm
his whole life. He’s suffocating
here. He wants to go off and do big,
exciting things. And that’s something we’ve all heard before. Hell, a lot of us
have probably felt that before, right?
So even though it’s set on spaceships and desert planets, Star Wars
immediately grounds us with familiar, believable characters and situations.
Okay, so once I’ve got good characters, that whole disbelief thing is taken care of, right?
Well... not exactly.
Okay, so once I’ve got good characters, that whole disbelief thing is taken care of, right?
Well... not exactly.
Another
thing that can mess up willing suspension of disbelief is if I get my facts
wrong. If I tell my readers there are
only six countries in Africa, that the human heart is made up of just one cell,
that Ronald Reagan was the 25th President of the United States, or that Hitler
died in 1958... well, most people are going to see the mistakes there. Even if they don’t know the right answer,
they’ll know I got these wrong. And that
knowledge is going to jar them out of the story for a minute. It moves us from experiencing the story to analyzing it. We start looking
for wrong things, and that pokes holes in our suspension of disbelief.
Again, the
world of my story will have some say in this.
What we consider a fact in one story might not hold true in
another. There’ve been one or two
successful stories where Santa Claus was a main character. A fairly successful movie actually made the
claim that Hitler died in 1958. By
the time it made this claim, though, it had already introduced average, relatable guy John Myers (and us) to the hidden supernatural world of the story.
There’s
also a flipside to this, one that takes a bit of empathy. I can also blow the reader’s willing
suspension of disbelief by using completely true facts that are
unbelievable. There are lots of things
that are statistically possible, but that doesn’t mean they’re actually
going to happen, or happen that often.
Likewise, there are tons of late night cable shows that will tell you
about amazing true coincidences or billion-to-one events that actually
happened. If I’m basing a whole
chapter—or a whole story—around these things, it could cause problems.
I spoke
with a documentary filmmaker years ago.
He’d just finished a film about the botched invasion of Iraq and the
even bigger mess that came after it. One
of the most amazing things he told me, though, was how much he had to cut out
of the film. There were points of such
complete incompetence in the year after the invasion that—if he had left them
in the film—nobody would’ve believed them.
And he was telling me this three years later, when it was becoming
pretty clear to everyone how poorly things had been thought out over
there. Even then, he had to cut some
things so his documentary wouldn’t get dismissed as a hatchet job.
If I present something that’s too hard to
believe, even if it’s true, it’s still going to make the reader pause and shake
their head. As I mentioned above, nobody cares if it’s true or not. There’s a
phrase you may have heard that started with Lord Byron, passed through Mark
Twain, and has even been used by Tom Clancy—the difference between fiction and
reality is that fiction has to make sense.
And when it doesn’t make sense, it’s going to knock people out of the
story and chip away at their disbelief some more.
Y’see,
Timmy, this is the big thing. When our
suspension of disbelief is broken, even for a moment, it breaks the flow of the
story. The more often the flow is
broken, the harder it becomes for my readers to be invested in the story. And soon they’re setting it aside to do something
more exciting... like the dishes or thank-you cards.
So keep it
believable.
Next
time... Heck, next time is Christmas Eve.
Wow. I may try to jot down
something really quick for that morning, but I’ll understand if you have other
plans.
Until then... go write.
Until then... go write.
Believably.
So - what I understand you to mean is that consistency is key. If there is something unbelievable which is key to the story, then it is critical to build to that point with "facts" or what-have-you prior to introducing the concept to the reader. If this can't be done in a believable way, the "great idea" may not be that great, and needs to be rethought and redesigned until it approaches common sense or until it can be realistically brought to the fore through good story telling and consistent "facts" prior to its introduction. Am I understanding correctly?
ReplyDelete- Jeremy
Hey, Jeremy-- It's not so much consistency as flow. I need to start believable and end believable, but what people believe at the end may not be what they believed in the beginning. It just needs to be smooth between them.
ReplyDeleteThere will always be an exception or two, but by nature something that's unbelievable is... well, it's a game-ender because my readers can't believe in it. And once they don't believe, they're no longer invested in the story or caring about it.