At the outset of any good story, we meet our protagonist and see him/her in their normal surroundings. An event occurs, the inciting incident.

The inciting incident:

• Happens to your protagonist
• Disrupts your protagonist’s life
• Is personal to your protagonist
• Gives the protagonist an objective/quest

The hero is thrown out of his comfort zone and into the situation, which is the core idea of your plot. This is the circumstance in which your protagonist finds himself at the beginning of the story. The circumstance forces an objective upon the main character.

In the opening pages of The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien, a respectable hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, is living a comfortable life in a prosperous, sheltered village, and has no desire to change that in any way. However, a casual, polite greeting made to a passing wizard sets a string of events into motion that will eventually change the course of history for the world of Middle Earth.

The wizard, Gandalf, tricks Bilbo into hosting a party for Thorin Oakenshield and his band of dwarves, who sing of reclaiming the Lonely Mountain and its vast treasure from the dragon, Smaug. When the music ends, Gandalf unveils a map showing a secret door into the Mountain and proposes that the dumbfounded Bilbo serve as the expedition's “burglar."

The dwarves ridicule the idea, but Bilbo becomes a little indignant and agrees to do it despite his misgivings. The next morning, he has second thoughts but at the last moment Bilbo literally runs out the door with nothing but the clothes on his back.

You must have a strong, unavoidable event that is your inciting incident. Ask yourself:

• What is the hero’s personal strength and health at the beginning?
• How will his physical and emotional condition be changed, both for better or worse? Will these changes be triggered by the hero himself or by the antagonist?
• What could possibly entice the hero out of his comfort zone?

Now we come to the next part of the core of your plot: Objective

A protagonist has no business showing up on the page unless he/she has a compelling objective. If he doesn’t want something badly enough to do just about anything to achieve it over the next couple hundred pages, then he doesn’t deserve to have a story told about him.

Bilbo does have an objective. Once he gets past his feeling of having made a terrible mistake, he desires nothing more than to help his friends achieve their goal: that of regaining their lost kingdom.

Gandalf exerts a nearly parental influence over Bilbo at the outset, guiding him and pushing him out of his comfortable existence.  But it is Bilbo who has common sense and compassion, who gradually takes over leadership of the party, guiding and rescuing them from their own greedy mistakes. This is a fact the dwarves can't bear to acknowledge, and a fact he doesn't realize himself.

Those turning points where with each adventure Bilbo gains confidence and a tool or weapon he will later need are what make up the best parts of the adventure. That is what you must inject into your story, be it a contemporary drama, an urban fantasy, a bedroom farce, or science fiction.

• At the beginning of the story, what could the hero possibly want to cause him to risk everything to acquire it?
• How badly does he want it and why?
• What moral (or immoral) choice is he going to have to make in his attempt to gain that objective?

Perhaps your tale is set on a space station. What does your protagonist need that is in short supply? What does he have to do to get it?

Perhaps you are writing an urban fantasy. Perhaps your main character is a vampire. Vampires requires sustenance--what will she do to get it? Or conversely, if a human, what will she do to avoid becoming vampire-food?

Protagonists begin their tale in their current surroundings. They are thrown out of their comfortable existence by circumstances and forced to identify objectives they must achieve or acquire to resolve their situation.

Thus, whichever you conceive first, characters or objective, you need to know why your character is willing to leave his circumstances and embark on his adventure. That objective must be compelling enough for him to risk everything he values to achieve it.

But what if a side character has such a compelling story that the book becomes his story and is no longer about our hobbit? If that is the case, rewrite your book so that the character with the most compelling story is the protagonist from page one.

The potential for gain must outweigh the potential for loss. The stakes must be high: perhaps they are headed into a life and death situation, or a couple finds their marriage on the rocks. Perhaps a young woman stands to lose her wealth and security.

For me as a reader, the greatest risk a hero can face is in moral coin. This is because personal values are fundamental to who we are as individuals, and when those intrinsic values are threatened, the risk is emotionally charged.

Emotionally charged stories are powerful.  Objectives create risk. Without great risk and potential for gain, there is no story.
 
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Connie J. Jasperson is an author and blogger and can be found blogging regularly at Life in the Realm of Fantasy.

Circumstances and Objectives: Crafting Tension, was first published on Life in the Realm of Fantasy, as “Creating Compelling Objectives,” by Connie J. Jasperson © 2017 appearing 25 Sept 2017. Reprinted by permission.

As I mentioned in the previous post, Crafting Violence, scenes that involve violence are difficult to write well because we feel pressured to make the events the story, which can lead to undeveloped, two-dimensional characters.

We forget to consider how the action affects our protagonist. We must remember to give the protagonist (and the reader) a small break between incidents, a chance to regroup and make plans. Action, aftermath, action, aftermath—often compared to the way a skater crosses the ice: push, glide, push, glide.

These moments in the aftermath of violence are the places where the protagonist pauses to absorb what just happened and to consider the next step.

You want to keep the rhythm of the piece moving, but if you don’t allow the reader to process things at the same time the protagonist does, you run the risk of losing the story in the confusion. The story is the hero’s journey, and it must be as much a personal journey as physical one.

We’re all familiar with the term ‘flatlined’ as a medical expression indicating the patient has died.

When the story arc is imbalanced, it can flatline in two ways:

• The action becomes random, an onslaught of meaningless events that make no sense.
• The pauses become halts, long passages of random internal monologues that have little to do with the action.

We want to know the protagonist, and the way we do this is through his introspections.

The trick is balancing the introspection and chaos, ensuring your introspection doesn’t devolve into info dumps where your character ponders at length, everything that happens to him. Some stories are meant to be more introspective than active, and some of my favorite literary classics are all about the character’s thoughts rather than his actions. But if you are writing genre fiction, you’re going to want to make sure you’ve properly balanced your action and introspection.

A good way to avoid a flatlined story arc is through character interaction. Your characters briefly discuss what is on their minds and bravely muck on to the next event. This serves two important (in my opinion) functions:

• Introspection offers an opportunity for new information important to the story to emerge.
• It opens a window for the reader to see who the characters are, how they react and illuminates their fears and strengths. It shows that they are self-aware.

In a gripping narrative, introspection is brief:

• Internal monologues are minimal and serve to illuminate a character’s motives at a particular moment in time.
• In conversation, introspection offers information not previously discussed.

Internal monologues should not make our characters too wise. They must show that our characters are somewhat clueless about their flaws, strengths, or even their deepest fears and goals.

Your point-of-view character will be in the most danger of this. Avoid situations where the dialogue is too exact in predictions and character self-analysis, ruining the mystery of the piece. The same follows for inner monologues, perhaps even more so.

As the character is forced to grow throughout the course of the story, these faults emerge gradually. The protagonist is pushed down the path to wisdom. Self-awareness should flower because of the “resurrection” that occurs near the end of the hero’s journey.

Great characters begin in an unfinished state, a pencil sketch as it were. They emerge from the events of their journey in full color, fully realized in the multi-dimensional form in which you originally visualized them.

For the protagonist, surviving the journey to self-knowledge is as important as the living through the physical journey.
 
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Connie J. Jasperson is an author and blogger and can be found blogging regularly at Life in the Realm of Fantasy.