episodic storytelling – One Thousand And One Parsecs

Trope Tuesday: The Beach Episode

I’m so glad my Mom doesn’t read this blog.

I’m at Cape Cod this week, at a condo that doesn’t have internet, so it’s going to be a quick and dirty Trope Tuesday post this week (no, not like that) because I’d rather be on the beach than at the Dennisport Public Library. Speaking of beaches …

One of the commonest beach tropes, at least for most anime and TV shows, is to take the cast of characters and put them on the beach for an episode. This rarely has anything to do with the actual plot of the show, and is usually just an excuse to parade the characters in swimsuits and/or give the audience a little fanservice.

Actually, that’s not entirely fair. There’s a bunch of ocean related recreational activities that the characters may participate in, such as beach volleyball (or other games), surfing, making sand castles, burying each other in sand, and getting a suntan (or an embarrassingly painful sunburn). There may even be a single-episode romantic subplot that results in a beach kiss.

Basically, the beach episode is a chance for the audience to take a breather from the main story arc and hang out with their favorite characters at the beach. Because really, who doesn’t like to go to the beach every now and then? And if you can tag along with a bunch of fictional characters who have come to feel like friends, so much the better.

I’ve got to admit, most of the books and series that I’m a fan of don’t really have a beach episode. The only one that comes to mind is the Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya, and that one’s a bit unusual because the beach episode(s) turn into a murder mystery that actually ties in pretty well with the main plot. Also, the episode is based off of one of the original Japanese novels, so it’s a lot closer to canon than what you’ll see in most anime adaptations from manga (or so I’ve heard).

The beach episode doesn’t pop up in science fiction or fantasy a whole lot, probably because of the secondary world aspect. I’m sure there are beaches on Middle Earth, but if I see a bunch of hobbits playing beach volleyball in bikinis, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to throw up. Most fantastical worlds don’t have room for modern-style vacations, because so much of the setting is so far removed from the world we live in. The last thing you want to do is throw your reader out of the story, so for most sci-fi and fantasy, a trip to the beach is probably a bad idea.

Of course, there are exceptions, depending on the story and the appropriateness for such an excursion in the fictional universe. If you guys have any favorite examples, please let me know.

Needless to say, since most of my stories take place on alien worlds in the far-distant future, you won’t usually find this trope in my own stories. However, there is a beach chapter in Desert Stars, where Mira spends some time out in nature, walking along the ocean and taking in the gulls and the waves. She doesn’t wear a swimsuit, though. In Stars of Blood and Glory, there’s a planet that’s nothing but ocean, with giant floating cities populated by people who are half Japanese, half Polynesian. Not any beaches, though–at least, not natural ones.

plot vs. PLOT and an interesting serial publishing idea

Back in English 318 at BYU, Brandon Sanderson used to tell us that there was a big difference between “little-p plot” and “big-p Plot.” The first applies mostly to chapters and scenes, which he said he could teach us. The second refers to the overall story structure, which he couldn’t teach in a classroom setting and said we’d have to discover on our own.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this recently, because it seems that my books are starting to fall into a recognizable pattern–and that pattern has some interesting potential for serials and other alternate forms of publication. Each book is divided into 3-4 parts, each part is divided into 3-6 chapters (typically 5), and each chapter is divided into 3-5 scenes. Here’s how it works:

Chapter 1: Setup for the basic story arc. Introduction of the characters and setting, the prominent theme or premise, and a little foreshadowing of the coming conflict.
Chapter 2: The inciting incident, a discovery or event that starts the plot rolling and puts the characters in motion and conflict.
Chapter 3: Complications arise, the problem gets worse, the first attempt at a solution fails, generally leaving the characters at a loss.
Chapter 4: Setup for the resolution. The characters discover or build something that will help them to settle the conflict. They stop reacting and start to be more assertive.
Chapter 5: The resolution. The characters either succeed or fail, but the arc comes to a close either way. The story question is answered, the thematic elements come full circle, and the story either closes or moves on to the next part.

Basically, it’s the 3-act format divided into five chapters. When I wrote Heart of the Nebula, all four parts fell into this pattern, and now that I’m writing Star Wanderers, I’m finding myself falling into the exact same pattern again. Stars of Blood and Glory is a little bit different; there are three parts instead of four, and each part is divided into six chapters instead of five. But still, it’s all very structured.

In short, Brandon was right. It took me a few books to really learn “big-p Plot,” but now that I’ve found a story structure that works for me, it’s starting to come quite naturally.

The cool thing about this particular structure is that it’s very conducive to serialization. Each chapter is between maybe 3,000 to 5,000 words, so each complete sub-arc is between about 15,000 to 25,000. That’s the length of a short novella, and it takes me only a month or two to write (sometimes three, depending on how much revision it needs).

The only reason I haven’t done more with serialization up to this point is because I’ve found that sharing my work while it’s still unfinished tends to throw a wrench in my creative process. The idea of publishing a work in progress on a chapter-by-chapter basis scares me, because if one of the story arcs has a flawed beginning, I wouldn’t be able to fix it.

However, by following a five-chapter arc format (with bits and pieces here and there to hint at a larger overarching structure), I can see myself publishing a novel or epic in a serial format. It would be something like the Perry Rhodan series, which follows an arc structure of 25 to 100 issues (each a small novella) per cycle.

So here’s how I’m thinking of doing it:

Publish the first installment and price it at free while writing the second one.
Publish the second installment and price it at free, raise the price of the first installment to $.99 and write the third one.
Publish the third installment and price it at free, raise the price of the second installment to $.99 and write the fourth one.
Publish the fourth installment for $.99, drop the price of the first installment to free and publish the completed novel for $2.99.

So what do you think? Does it seem like a good way to publish a book? It gives the reader a reason to keep coming back, and rewards those who got in early by charging them less for the completed work. By selling the novel in shorter chunks, I would be able to put more work out and hopefully gain more visibility, especially by making a portion of it free at any given time.

I’m seriously thinking about publishing Star Wanderers this way, once I hear back from Writers of the Future. I’ve already finished the rough draft for the second part; it probably needs a good revision or two before it’s ready, but since it’s shorter, it shouldn’t take more than a few weeks to get feedback from some first readers and finish the next draft. And if the third part is already finished by then…

So many awesome possibilities! 🙂 What do you think?

Trope Tuesday: New Year Has Come

Just like a story, every year has a beginning and an end. For this reason, New Years has become a time to celebrate change, renewal, and the setting of impossible goals which we will all probably break by March. Over time, this tradition has become so ingrained in our culture that it’s only natural for it to pop up in our fiction.

Most stories that feature a New Year subplot are episodic, such as cartoons, comics, anime/manga, and television shows. They usually reflect real-world holiday traditions, such as the practice of setting New Year’s resolutions. Because all stories need conflict (but also because fiction sometimes reflects reality), the characters in these stories are often just setting themselves up for failure in some hilarious way.

At first glance, this might seem depressing. After all, if most of us will never reach our goals, why do we even bother setting them? Why torture ourselves with guilt when, in all likelihood, we’re just setting ourselves up for failure?

In some ways, I think it comes down to this quote from David Gemmell:

May all your dreams come true save one; for what is life without a dream?

One of the things that makes us human is that we all need to have some impossible dream to strive for, some sense of hope for the future. Through our New Year’s resolutions, we tap into that sense that anything is possible, and that we can change who we are and become better people.

For some of us, those resolutions are an effective tool to turn their lives around. For those of us who lack that kind of will or self-discipline, the act of setting resolutions still helps us reflect on our lives and change in ways that perhaps we don’t immediately perceive. After all, the truest measure of success isn’t whether you’ve accomplished all your goals, but how much you’ve changed through striving to meet them.

That’s my take on it, anyway. In any case, a New Year’s story is a great way to give your characters some time for reflection, since it’s probably the most introspective holiday in our Western culture. It’s a time for beginnings, endings, and chasing impossible dreams.

Happy New Year!