Fallon Walker's Blog: Grand Unifying Theory of Narrative

Here is a snippet from my novel, One of the Restless. In this chapter, the full moon has risen and Johnny has opted to keep the wolfed out Chris locked in his car until the full moon is over, rather than risk continung the trip to Salt Lake City. Johnny has parked his piece of shit Oldsmobile next to a field on an empty road and fallen asleep on the hood, and that is where we find him:

One moment, Johnny was dead asleep, the next, dread wrenched him to full wakefulness, but he didn’t open his eyes. The thing that had woken him up was a whisper. People. Close by.

There was another whisper, different from the first: “That a dog?”

“Shut up,” a third voice whispered fiercely. “Don’t wake sleeping beauty.”

Johnny’s heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the handle of his folded knife digging into his back, close to his waist. He must have fallen asleep on top of it. He couldn’t tell if the men were looking at him or not, but he couldn’t open his eyes for fear of them figuring out he was awake before he had the knife in hand.

He listened closely. He could hear the muffled sound of Chris snarling and snapping inside the car. He thought he heard some footsteps moving down the ditch bank. Another set circled the car, but he’d lost track of the third.

Johnny continued to breathe steadily, and he inched his hand up toward the knife, so slowly he sometimes wasn’t actually sure if he was moving or not. He felt an itch in the center of his forehead, the feeling someone was watching him--one of the few strings that even non-stringers could sense--and so he stopped for a moment. The moment stretched into eternity. When Johnny could no longer tell if the feeling was still there or if it was just his own paranoia, he moved again, his fingertips closing around the handle of the knife.

A hand grabbed Johnny’s ankle and unceremoniously yanked him off the hood of the olds. Johnny’s eyes flew open in surprise. He held onto the knife as his dress rode up, dragging the bare skin of his back across the hood with a painful squeak. Johnny hit the ground hard. He tried to catch his breath, but couldn’t.

He whipped his head around, trying to get a sense for his surroundings, searching for any useful strings. Three men stood over him. Beyond the men, there was an old beat to shit pickup, it barely had a back seat, the headlights blared out across the field.

“Thanks for the ride, hombre,” one of the men said, holding up Johnny’s keys and jingling them. The man had an almost perfectly round face, he’d tried to give it some shape with facial hair, but it did nothing to make his head look like less of a cantaloupe. He looked over at another guy, who looked even stupider than he was tall, and he was at least 6’5 so that was really saying something, and tossed him the keys. “Shoot the dog. Let’s get outta here.”

Johnny still had the knife hidden in his hand. He had to wait for the right moment to use it, he pretended to still be stunned by the fall. The third member of their little group watched him, with a cruel glitter in his eye. He was a handsome kid, couldn’t have been more than twenty, thin but muscular, he wore a tight plaid shirt tucked into some even tighter wranglers. He’d apparently decided to give up after only doing up two buttons on his shirt. Johnny had grown up in places just like this all his life, he recognized every one of these fucks, he’d seen their faces a million times, and the kid was the most dangerous. He was able to easily hold his own with guys much older than him, people his own age were probably scared of him--all shaking their heads, he was too crazy, took things too far--a rattlesnake, as likely to bite his friend as his enemy, wishing and aching for things to go wrong.

The big fella pulled a pistol from the back of his sagging jeans. He held the key to the Old’s in the other. He slid the key into the keyhole, Chris snapped at him, strings of hot drool splattered the window. Big Fella jumped backward. “Ahh--” He looked at the other two men sheepishly, and shook out his hands. “It’s scary.”

A spark gleamed in the snake’s eyes. “I’ll do it.”

Big Fella instantly realized his mistake. Giving someone like the snake control of a situation with a rabid dog and a gun might be the last mistake he ever made. “That’s okay, I got it.”

“Yeah Jake, let Thumper handle it,” Cantaloupe said.

“Do it then,” Jake the Snake said. “We gotta lotta shit to do before sun-up.”

Johnny took advantage of the trio’s momentary distraction to open the blade on his knife, still keeping it concealed. The three men weren’t paying him any attention, figuring someone like him couldn’t be a threat.

Johnny had wrapped a few strings around his wrist. Powerful ones. He slid a steel grey string up from his wrist and tightened it around his knuckles. The string was a segment he had taken from a knife, when he wrapped it around his knuckles his punches would land like stab wounds. Johnny took a beat to make sure the other men were still ignoring him. They were, so Johnny used his knife to cut another string from his wrist. He threaded the string between his teeth, pushing it all the way to the gum line, all along his top row of teeth until he rang out of string. The sensation was just as horrific as it sounded, but it was a simple and effective weapon. He’d purchased the spool from his animal guy, the string was taken from a venom spitting cobra, and it allowed Johnny to spit venom. He hated the feeling of it, so he didn’t like to leave it in all the time. He had one other surprise tucked into the top of his boot. He really hoped he didn’t have to use it; it had been a huge pain in the ass to make.

Once Johnny was ready, he brought the attention back on himself, away from Chris. “Can I interject?” he said, playing up what his dad called the swishiness in his voice.

All three of the men whipped their heads toward him. “Shut the fuck up,” they said in perfect unison.

Johnny clapped. “That was impressive. Did y’all practice that? It was real nice. I liked it. I can see y’all now. Peter Paul and Mary.” He jabbed his finger at Cantaloupe. “You’re Mary.”

Cantaloupe lunged forward. “You fucking--” He was too angry to finish the insult.

Johnny had to handle Cantaloupe first. Johnny didn’t want the round-headed fuck sneaking up behind him while he was dealing with Jake the Snake.

The big one, Thumper, was a marshmallow; he wouldn’t do anything.

Johnny stepped up to meet Cantaloupe. Cantaloupe drew back his fist. He threw a punch and Johnny easily dodged it. He jerked Cantaloupe forward and trapped Cantaloupe’s arm under his own. Johnny bent at the waist--he was a couple inches taller than the other man--and headbutted Cantaloupe.

For once, Johnny had managed to put the headbutt in the right spot so as to avoid fucking himself up as much as he did his opponent. There was a muted crunch as their skulls collided. Cantaloupe’s melon was split. He crumpled to the ground.

“Jesus Christ!” Thumper said, taking a step back. He raised the gun and pointed it at Johnny.

“Don’t! You dare,” Jake said.

Thumper lowered the gun down to his side.

Johnny whipped around to face Jake the Snake. Jake’s eyes were bright, sparkling in the red gloom. He was wound so tight he was almost dancing, his boots scuffing the asphalt--ready to pop, like a kid at Disneyland when they finally get to meet Mickey. He smiled at Johnny with all his teeth, though he still spoke to Thumper. “Don’t you dare.”

There was a small cut in the center of Johnny’s forehead from the headbutt. A single drop of blood trickled down between his eyebrows, driving him crazy, but he made no move to wipe it away, not wanting Jake to take it as a sign of aggression. He’d fight Jake when he was good and ready.

The healing strings he’d applied had done their work, he wasn’t completely healed, but he felt a week along rather than just a few hours. Healed enough to fight. Healed enough to win.

“So you’re a little bit of a hand,” Jake said.

“I don’t like to brag,” Johnny said.

“Modest too.” Jake was still standing too close to the door to the Olds for Johnny’s liking. The keys hung from the lock, all it would take was a twist, and Chris would be out. Johnny had to keep Chris in that car; he didn’t know if he’d be able to subdue Chris again if he got out.

Jake seemed to sense Johnny’s concern, and took a step closer to the door. He gave Johnny a sly smile. He lunged for the door, Johnny took a step forward with his hands outstretched, but Jake had only been faking. He laughed and stepped back. “Just checkin’ your reflexes,” he said.

Johnny calmed himself down. He needed this to be his game, not the Snake’s. “I know what you’re asking yourself,” Johnny said. “And this is your only chance to find out.” Johnny brushed his long hair back out of his face. He twirled his knife between his fingers. “Come find out.”

A character can never truly be out of character (OOC) just like a real person can never really be out of character. If a person does something, then it is very much in their character, and the same can be said for characters themselves.

When an audience says that someone is acting out of character, what they are really saying is that they don’t understand why a character would do what they did. Any character can be pushed to any action with sufficient cause. It is the writer’s job to explain that cause.

The writer provides dialogue, body language, external motivation, or internal monologue to explain the character’s actions. The necessity of an explanation gives the writer an opportunity to let the audience understand the character better. A character doing something that seems OOC can actually be a huge help in making an audience more interested in a character, it can lead to better understanding of a character. No one wonders why a character who does the same thing every day is doing the same thing he always does. They wonder why a character who does the same thing every day has stopped. Juxtaposition lends complexity.

Sometimes, I see people and characters as paintings. As you learn more about them, more brushstrokes are added to the canvas. Some of those brustrokes may seem like they don’t belong there (a big splotch of black on a cotton candy colored portrait) but just because it seems incongruous doesn’t mean it doesn’t belong there, it is the writer’s job to incorporate this information into their understanding of the character and make the audience understand it.

Looking at character motivation in this way also lends the writer more freedom to take the characters where they need to go. You can make a character do anything you want, anything the plot requires, so long as you give sufficient motivation. The key part of that statement is “so long as you give them sufficient motivation.”

Characters are a lot like actors. I studied film in college and I’ve been involved with a lot of theater both as an actor and a director, so I have had ample opportunity to think about character motivation. Motivation informs the performance.

It’s not enough to know that a character is angry, we need to know why they are angry. Perhaps the character is yelling about a broken window but is actually angry because he got in a fight with his wife earlier. That performance will be different than it would be if he was legitimately angry about the window. Readers don’t have the benefit of having actors act out the story for them and so they are left with our explanations of context to understand character behavior.

There is a story about Alfred Hitchcock working on The Birds that comes to mind whenever I think about character motivation. Tippi Hedren is the star of that film and there is a scene in the movie where her character is supposed to go up the stairs to the attic. Hedren asked Hitchcock,”why? Why would I go up there when I know it’s dangerous?” Hitchcock replied “Because I tell you to.”

I wouldn’t argue that Alfred Hitchcock is anything less than brilliant as a filmmaker and storyteller, but most of us are not Alfred Hitchcock. And so while Hitchcock can get away with this attitude, it would not be helpful for writers to take this same type of attitude with their characters. The answer to why a character did a particular action cannot be: because the plot demanded it. That is when you will truly get complaints that a character is acting OOC, it isn’t because the character wouldn’t do what they did, it’s because the audience doesn’t understand why they would do what they did.

When I was younger, I had a very fraught relationship with theme. I resented it. I didn’t like the idea that a story needed to teach a lesson in order to be valuable. I thought stories were inherently valuable on their own. I didn’t understand that a theme isn’t something that’s painted on at the end, it isn’t something that is tacked on to appease the snobs and English teachers and snobby English teachers. Theme is absolutely essential to a story. It is a component of every story just the same way that characters or plot are.

So, I understood the importance of theme, but I still didn’t understand how to actually incorporate it into a story, how to make sure it was baked in from the very beginning and not just slathered over the top.

I finally figured out a method that worked for me while I was thinking about character and story structure, because--of course--all these things are connected. I found a method that allowed me to incorporate theme into a story and use the theme to create an ending that feels satisfying and earned.

All of this may have been very obvious to other people, but if you’re having trouble wrapping your head around theme and want a concrete way to work it into your story, then this might help.

The theme and the emotional throughline are the same thing. The theme is something--some concept--that the character needs to understand, some part of them that is missing, and the story is a world that has been specially constructed to teach our character that concept and deliver them some wisdom that will help them in the end. Whether the character actually uses this wisdom is up to the writer (and the character).

Structurally, it can play out like this:

I. The Beginning--We don’t know the character at all. The character either doesn’t know what they are missing, or they know exactly what is missing but they don’t want to acknowledge it.

II. Holding Back-We progress through the story and we see the ways that whatever the character is missing is holding them back. Characters focus on what they want instead of what they need, they obfuscate, they focus on things that they prefer were their problem because they are easier to deal with than their actual problem.

III. Midpoint-Both the audience and the character understand what the character is missing, but the character either doesn’t know how to get it or has to undergo a struggle in order to get it.

IV. Attempts and Frustrations-The character finally understands what they need to do, but things get in their way. There are setbacks and losses and the character's resolve is either strengthened or weakened.

V. Moment of Truth-This is the moment before the climax, when the hero finally understands the wisdom that has long been eluding them, they see what they have to do. This is the second major realization. The first was the midpoint when they saw what was wrong, this is the realization where they understand what they must do to fix it. This is the moment where they either decide to use their hard-won wisdom and become whole, or ignore what they have learned and remain incomplete.

VI. The Climax-The character either uses their new wisdom and succeeds or ignores it and fails, even if they win in whatever the actual plot is, if they ignore their wisdom it will be a pyrrhic victory.

VII. The Come Down-We see how the characters' lives were improved by using their new wisdom or how their life is empty because they chose to ignore it.



In my book, Eldest Son of an Eldest Son, we can examine how this works in practice.

***Spoilers for Eldest Son of an Eldest Son***

I. The Beginning-We don’t know Allard at all. Allard starts as a child. We learn that he was assigned female at birth but that he is actually a man. We learn that his father does not approve of this and that this has made life difficult for Allard. We learn that Allard feels insecure about his gender due to these difficulties.

II. Holding Back-Allard does not reveal his face at tournaments because he fears that people will be angry when they discover they have lost to him. Even though he feels that he should rightfully be king--as his father’s eldest son--he is unwilling to challenge his brother or father for it. Then, he becomes fixated on the idea of proving that he is a man by slaying a dragon. He is certain that this will prove his manhood to his father--and himself. Allard hides parts of himself from the people he meets for fear that they will stop seeing him as a man if he reveals who he truly is.

III. The Midpoint-While traveling through the Tunnel of Interminable Suffering, Allard is confronted by a vision of his father. He understands that slaying the dragon will not prove that he is a man to his father, that there will be no external validation. This realization is very painful for him and it weakens his resolve, he plans to give up on his goal of slaying the dragon and instead run away. We as the audience understand that Allard does not need to look to external factors to prove he is a man, because we as the audience see very clearly that Allard is indeed a man.

IV. Attempts and Frustrations-Allard has given up on the idea of external validation for his masculinity and has decided to run away, but then he finds out that a young woman has been captured by the dragon and needs to be rescued. Allard’s conscience would not allow him to abandon someone in need and so he resolves to rescue the young woman before the dragon sees them and never confront the dragon at all. The dragon shows up in the middle of Allard’s rescue attempt. Allard is nearly killed by the dragon, but the young woman he rescued, Evaine, manages to save him and take him away.

V. The Moment of Truth-Allard is safe. Evaine is safe. If Allard wanted to, he could just ride off into the sunset and live as a man for the rest of his life, leaving the kingdom to be terrorized by Allard’s evil brother and the dragon. He could have what he wanted, to live as a man, but not what he needed, to live as a man of honor and bravery. He no longer cares if he has the external validation of his father, in fact he has reason to expect that successfully slaying the dragon will do nothing to change his father’s mind, but he will slay the dragon anyway. He knows he is a man and the question is simply: what kind of man does he want to be?

VI. The Climax-Because of Allard’s realization, he decides to go back to the dragon’s cave and fight the dragon, because he could not live with himself if he didn't. He has to use all of his wit and strength in order to finally defeat the dragon.

VII. The Come Down-Allard is reunited with Evaine and he is confident enough to return to the castle in order to gain his rightful place as king. He knows that things might not work out, but he truly believes he would be the better king and so he tries anyway. His father respects the change Allard has gone through and agrees that Allard will be king. Allard had a very long rule in which he was widely recognized as kind and just. He figured out what kind of man he wanted to be, and then he proceeded to be that man.

This is an example of how you can work your theme into the very structure of the story and use it to craft an emotionally satisfying ending.

Happy Work in Progress Wednesday!

This week I am sharing a snippet from my current work in progress One of the Restless.

It is the story of a trans boy named Chris whose father was the leader of a werewolf motrocycle club until he was murdered. In order to keep Chris safe until they can figure out who killed their leader, the club sends Chris to stay with Johnny, a man who can wirld powerful magic and has also had a few run-ins with the law.



Eddie walked out the door and climbed on his bike. He rode out of Duston--west--away from the desert, toward the looming mountains. Leading up to the mountains, the road was dead flat and the mountains grew until they filled his entire field of vision. Eddie easily passed the sparse cars that got in his way. The road curved as he reached the foothills and tilted his bike to hug it. As the road became more twisted, Eddie pushed his bike faster and faster. There was no room to think about anything while he was riding like this, no room for distraction. He went screaming around a corner and there was a car driving under the speed limit right ahead of him. He whipped around the car, even though there was another blind curve up ahead. The driver of the car laid on the horn, but Eddie ignored him and rode on.

A few miles later, he came upon a car that was going the speed limit, but the speed limit was too slow for Eddie, he couldn’t get stuck behind someone going 45. So, he gunned his bike and pulled out into the oncoming lane to pass. At that moment, a large semi-truck hauling logs came around the bend in the road.

The truck blasted the air horn. There was no way that Eddie would be able to slow down enough to get back into the right lane behind the car he was passing, his only hope was to try and shoot the gap and hope the car slowed down enough to let him in. He hit the throttle and raced forward, steering the bike back into his lane. He made it, but only because the car he was passing slammed on the brakes.

The truck driver flipped him the bird as he drove on, and Eddie knew he deserved it. Up ahead, there was a pull off with a couple tent campsites and picnic tables. Eddie pulled over, the car he’d passed drove past him, the driver, a dad looking guy with a mustache screamed out the open window, “FUCK YOU!”.

Eddie bailed off his bike, instinctively kicking up the stand. He stalked over to the picnic table, his legs were stiff and shaking, if he bent his knees he was fairly certain he’d fall to the ground. He ripped off his helmet and dropped it on the ground. He ran his fingers through his hair, taking deep breaths of the mountain air.

When he reached the picnic table he sat down on top of it and buried his face in his hands. He let his hands travel back through his hair with his fingers laced behind his head. He closed his eyes and saw the truck blaring toward him, imagining that the truck actually hit him, but then it wasn’t his blood and guts strewn on the road; it was Dev’s. He forced his eyes open, staring at the red cinder bark he could see through the gap between the bench and the table. He stroked his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck.

A few minutes later, he heard the rumble of an approaching motorcycle. Eddie sat up and cleared his throat, wiping at his eyes. He tilted his head back and looked up at the towering trees. A few rays of sunlight poked through the branches and warmed Eddie’s face. He heard, rather than saw, the motorcycle pull over and park next to his. The rider climbed off the bike and walked toward him, and he knew who it was before they spoke, he recognized the sound of their walk.

“You alright?” a soft drawling voice asked.

Eddie stopped looking down at the trees and brought his gaze back to Earth, back to Clive. He climbed off the bench and grabbed Clive, crushing their mouths together. His fingers clutched the lapels of Clive’s leather cut, dragging him closer. Clive kissed him back, burying his hand in Eddie’s hair, and pressing him closer, using the other hand to cup Eddie’s face.

When I am starting a new story, one of the very first things I do is "cast" my story. I will choose actors to play characters in the mental movie of my story.

This mental casting helps in two ways:
1. It makes my dialogue more distinctive
2. It makes for more dynamic character body language descriptions

If you have ever run into the criticism that your characters all sound the same, then casting your story could help. You can use an actor’s natural rhythm and delivery to make your dialogue feel more realistic and--more importantly--sound different than all of your other characters.

Let’s say that in a scene, you need to show that a character is angry, Kenau Reeves is going to sound different when he is playing angry as opposed to Pedro Pascal or Denzel Washington. Charlize Theron is going to portray cold indifference differently than Viola Davis. And so you can imagine those differences and use them to write your dialogue. Imagine how your Robert Downey Jr.-esque character would say a line as opposed to your Lee Pace-esque character. This helps differentiate your character’s voices and it also helps keep them consistent throughout the story, you’ll be less likely to lose their voice as you delve deeper into the plot.

This method also works really well for body language. Have you noticed that all of your characters are constantly burying their faces in their hands when they’re upset? Or that someone is rolling their eyes every few lines? You can visualize how your actor would speak and move throughout a scene and it will help differentiate different characters’ body language and keep it fresh and dynamic.

I would recommend using actors that you have seen and heard in action if you’re using this method, finding a picture of someone who looks the part is all well and good, but unless you’ve seen their face move, heard them speak different lines, and portray different emotions, the method probably isn’t going to be a huge amount of help.

I like to watch acting compilations on youtube so that I can see great performances and work them into my writing. I also keep a running document of actors that I like, along with pictures. I, like most people, don’t have trouble keeping track of the big stars, but my actor database is very helpful when I’m trying to come up with the name of a character actor who was “in that one thing” I really liked.

This method isn’t mandatory or the end all be all, but if you’re having trouble finding your character’s voice, then it might help. It certainly has helped me.