If you had to guess, what portion of the hundred-thousand-mile journey to basic fiction-writing competence would belong to the pursuit and mastery of micro-tension? Ten percent? Thirty? I personally don’t have a clue, yet I’ve been persuaded of its necessity since first being introduced to the concept by WU’s Donald Maass. Accordingly, I’ve done my best to read everything he’s had to say on the subject, several times. I’ve picked apart books that demonstrate micro-tension. (How about that Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl, which has sold a reported 6.5 million copies due to unsettling lines like this opener? When I think of my wife, I always think of her head.)
Despite this, my understanding still feels distant and intellectual. I’m like a medical student who can quote chapter and verse on state-of-the-art brain surgery, yet who walks into the OR and forgets her booties and mask.
Is there a solution for people like me? Maybe. As I was writing this article, I thought of what I already knew about tension at the experiential level and tried a reverse engineering exercise. It helped. The proof will be in my future writing, of course, but micro-tension seems closer, attainable. Care to see if the procedure works for you?
When we’re done, I’m hoping Don and/or you other craft nerds will have time to chime in with your thoughts on the process and conclusions.
First, here are a few quotes from Don to make sure we’re on the same page.
Keeping readers constantly in your grip comes from the steady application of something else altogether: Micro-tension. That is the tension that constantly keeps your reader wondering what will happen-not in the story, but in the next few seconds. ~ Donald Maass from The Fire in Fiction
Tension” sounds drastic, but it can be simmering under the surface, it can be questions raised or false confidence, it can be so many different things. The Fire in Fiction contains an entire discussion (Chapter 8) on building tension and how it works — how a writer can make a riveting passage when absolutely nothing is happening. ~ from an interview with Pikes Peak Writers blog
Next, think back to a time in your life when you were on the edge of your seat throughout a relatively commonplace, ostensibly non-threatening activity — the more ordinary, the better. Have you got your example? Have any preliminary ideas about what made the situation so fraught?
Though I experienced an alphabet soup of emotions during my time as a family doctor, including grief and terror, I can honestly describe this “scene” as one of the tensest of my career.
1. In a sunny autumnal afternoon in my office during a series of routine check-ups and visits, I noticed my last appointment for the day was with a patient we’ll call “Ms. Brown”. The reason given for her visit? Personal.
In and of itself, that descriptor was a small red flag. It tended to signify that we’d be covering an intimate subject — worries about sexually transmitted infections, marital discord, etc. That said, a few patients used it out of a militant sense of privacy; they didn’t believe our receptionist had any right to inquire about the purpose of their visit, even if they were attending with a sprained ankle, even if that information would assist with their booking. (As you can imagine, this could signal bigger trust issues which would require ongoing negotiation in our relationship.) Yet other patients used it to guarantee a half-hour appointment with me — necessary if we were dealing with a language barrier or I was expected to do any kind of counseling.
So right off the bat, seeing that one word, I experienced a frisson of unease; I had no idea what I was walking into and it had the potential for being a challenging session.
(Micro-tension sources: A small mystery that might require an adaptable response and use of a rarer skill set.)
2. Further, I didn’t have the time or ability to manage an extended, complicated appointment.
I was running on fumes, my day having begun at 2:30 am with a delivery which left me with two hours of sleep and only enough time to shower before my hospital rounds and office. Lunch, my only food of the day, had been a greasy pizza consumed during a mandatory teaching seminar. My office was running behind, I had an hour to pick up my kids from childcare, and my backup sitter was out of town. In other words, for all our sakes, because Ms. Brown deserved a competent doc, I needed this appointment to be straightforward.
(Micro-tension sources: a ticking clock; external antagonistic forces — my brain and body’s exhaustion.)
3. Before stepping into the room, I scanned Ms. Brown’s chart, which was surprisingly thick for the few months she’d been in my practice.
She was in her mid thirties, single, and employed in a stable clerical job, but we’d already met five or six times about minor health concerns: a cold, abdominal pain, a question about over-the-counter meds for wrist pain. Though I shared an office with other doctors and my bookings were the craziest of we five, she always waited to see me. More red flags.
(Micro-tension source: an unusual pattern of health-care use for a young person.)
4. When I walked in the room and our gazes met, I recalled another source of puzzlement and unease.
Throughout our previous encounters, as we dealt with problem which ostensibly brought her to my door, she looked at me with expression which seemed to say And? Today was no exception. The personal matter she wanted to talk about was her stomach pain — the second time for the same trouble, you’ll notice — but even as we explored that issue in a medically responsible matter, she didn’t seem invested in it. I could feel the weight of that And.
It’s incredibly common for people to go to the doctor with a hidden agenda — one one they may not have acknowledged to themselves let alone be willing to share with their health-care team. Oftentimes this hidden concern is more important for health than the presenting complaint. Certainly, if it’s not specifically identified and addressed by the doctor, who is trained for such a purpose, patients leave feeling dissatisfied and will be significantly less likely to follow the treatment plan. For example, an appointment for a sore throat might be about assessing the need for antibiotics, but it might equally be about obtaining an HIV test because the individual had a recent sexual encounter and now their immune systems seems kaput. Again, the patient may or may NOT be aware of what’s truly bothering them.
(Micro-tension source: another mystery — did Ms. Smith have a hidden agenda? If so, was she aware of it?)
5. By this point in my career, with the totality of her presentation, I had a decent idea of what she’d eventually come to say, what she needed from me.
It was almost certainly going to have big implications for her health-care and, if mishandled, could drive her back underground, potentially forever. Here are a few of the possible explanations I entertained, though if I had to pick the most likely, it would be the first:
- sexual abuse, including a history of incest, sexual assault, etc.
- domestic abuse.
- a significant psychiatric illness, such as depression, anxiety, substance abuse, an eating disorder, bipolar disorder, OCD, Munchhausen Syndrome, etc.
- any of the above, complicated by a past history of disclosure to medical professionals who didn’t respond in a helpful manner.
- all of the above.
Of course it could also have been none of these things. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. I might be thrown because we had different communication styles or she might simply not trust easily.
Whatever the case, as we went about discussing her physical symptoms, I was entertaining different diagnostic possibilities (also known as STORIES) to explain her physical symptoms and the red flags.
(Micro-tension source: potential for significant stakes depending on the true narrative.)
6. As each story’s primacy fluctuated, according to our interaction, I found myself in the grip of different emotions, different desires. For instance (and I’m not proud of some of these but they’re truthful and real), I felt:
- compassion — I could imagine how terrifying it would be to possess a big secret and consider sharing it with a (gently intrusive) stranger.
- anticipation, excitement — at the possibility of getting to the heart of her health challenges. I’d gone into medicine to help people, after all. There are probably one hundred reasons why it’s helpful to identify a history of sexual abuse but these are the most basic: Besides getting effective help, she’d be less likely to be harmed via unnecessary procedures and investigations.
- fear, dread — could I handle the emotional torrent that would follow a disclosure? Could I handle it within the time I had?
- impatience, resentment — I caught myself thinking, Just get on with it already! I’ve been proving myself for months and I’m so freaking tired…
- anger — towards the previous medical professionals she’d seen. Were those people shirkers or incompetent?
- honored — that she seemed to be zeroing in on me as someone who could help.
- gratitude, pride — that I seemed to have a knack for noticing people with this kind of pain.
- frustration — that I seemed to have a knack for noticing people with this kind of pain.
- shame, guilt — at the existence of the dark emotions which sprang up, unbidden, and which would be hugely problematic if I allowed them any expression.
As exhausted as I was, it was a challenge to keep a lid on my emotions. I felt like a one-armed chef in charge of a twenty-burner stove, each station occupied by an old-fashioned jiggle-top pressure cooker, the gas stuck permanently on high.
(Micro-tension source: HUGE internal conflict about how to feel, how to act.)
7. If I was feeling overwhelmed by internal battles, could she be any different?
Look at the list above. Can you imagine any reason why she might feel compassion towards me? How about a sense of shame or honor? When two people are connected emotionally, there is a natural tendency for them to mirror each other’s feelings in quality, even if the quantity of the emotions and their relative proportions differ.
(Micro-tension source: my “antagonist” in this scene was in as much internal conflict as me, so as her idea of reality shifted, mine would need to do so accordingly.)
8. What followed was a period dominated by subtext.
The atmosphere was so thick with it that, had my exam room been exposed to natural light in the form of a sunbeam, I imagine I’d have seen dancing subtext motes.
I was all-in now. We’d had a lightning-quick moment of communication back when I glimpsed her hidden agenda. She’d glimpsed that acknowledgment. Then she’d recognized my recognition of her recognition, if you can follow my drift, so my part in our interaction was sealed. (On her end, this was probably still unconscious.) Now, if I were to do anything to signal disinterest, such as yawn with fatigue or take too long on the phone call which interrupted us — because of course, yes, I had a sick patient in hospital requiring urgent management — it would be interpreted as a rejection and she’d be my Gone Girl.
So as she told me about her bowel movements, she was asking silently, and perhaps unconsciously, Can I trust you?
I’d ask a follow-up question and telegraph back, just as hard as I might, I’m here and ready to help.
(Micro-tension source: external conflict — sanctity of exam room disturbed by outside forces, my body; subtext meant every movement or sigh had the potential for multiple meanings.)
The Ending to the Story
Whatever I was selling that day, Ms. Brown didn’t care to buy. She left the office with a treatment plan which addressed the official reason for her visit and nothing more. I don’t know whether she’d been thrown off by the phone call or a macro-bone-headed move on my part. I don’t know if the timing was bad for her; perhaps she had to leave and present a composed face to the world, so she couldn’t give herself permission to fall apart.
Yes, I was late to pick up my children.
I never caught up on my sleep which was, in part, why I left practice a few months later, before Ms. Brown and I ever got to a deeper level. But to this day, I’d bet my very life on her And’s existence.
I hope she gave her confidence to someone worthy.
Putting It All Together — What Ingredients Might Go into a Micro-Tension Recipe?
1. Multiple tiny mysteries and atypical patterns, signaling the potential for significant danger to someone we care for.
2. When a point-of-view character is in the throes of internal conflict, we’re less certain of their ability to handle potential danger. When things go south, which version of the protagonist will show up? Assuming the antagonist has a similar degree of emotional complexity, there’s an exponential rise in the number of potential outcomes for any single encounter.
3. Threats can only be interpreted properly within context, requiring the reader and participants to consume the story line-by-line, sometimes word-by word. As in an Ebola de-gowning protocol, no detail is too small to overlook.
4. Internal conflicts are subconscious or there are obstacles to giving them direct expression, so subtext becomes a key method of communication. Again, this will require a contextual interpretation to accurately decode threats.
5. Few assumptions are safe. We must constantly revisit the past in light of new information. We’re kept engaged by this sense of shifting reality. (I’d argue this is why a chase scene with life-and-death stakes can feel boring and unnecessary. The activities deal with basic laws of physics and contain nothing disorienting, nothing which would cause us to revise our understanding of the story’s reality.)
6. While the story’s landscape might be full of misty obstacles and ambiguity, it’s not so confusing as to leave the reader without a compass. There are multiple narratives which would provide a map, any of which could be plausible, feel familiar (even archetypal), and psychologically true. We’ll learn which story — and therefore which meaning — has won out when we reach its conclusion and put it in context.
For instance, suppose Ms. Brown had chosen to confide in me that day. Off the top of my head, I can think of three scenarios which would make the ending look and sound identical, yet leave the reader with very different messages.
- Suppose she decided to trust me and her disclosures were met with the better part of my nature. The message might be: hope and healing await the damaged.
- Suppose she felt backed into a corner by the weight of my expectations and talked to please me. The message might be: medicine pathologizes and worsens all who partake of it.
- What if she sensed my frustration and met it with pique of her own? (Think you’re going to get out of here on time? Well I have news for you…) The lesson? Victimhood begets victimhood.
In the end, in a story rife with micro-tension, if we are to understand the takeaway message of the story that will protect us in our real lives, we can’t just skip to the ending. The micro-tense story must be consumed and interpreted in a holistic way, the meaning earned through diligence or not at all. We sense this, which is why we’ll give up our sleep, go without food, maybe even enrage our babysitters to read one.
What say you, Unboxeders? When you consider your own stories of personal tension, does this make sense? What elements of micro-tension have I missed?
About Jan O'Hara
A former family physician and academic, Jan O'Hara left the world of medicine behind to follow her dreams of becoming a writer. She writes love stories (Opposite of Frozen; Cold and Hottie; the forthcoming romantic-suspense, Desperate Times, Desperate Pleasures) and contributed to Author in Progress, a Writer's Digest Book edited by Therese Walsh.
Brilliant, Jan.
Thanks for being willing to be so honest in your assessment of your own feelings . . . a great reminder that we all have choices about what to highlight in a POV character’s thoughts. Which you choose turns your reader’s opinion about that character.
This is timely for me, as well. I’m writing a book where I’m stuck in a lot of ‘terminology’ and a few alike-days. I’ve added tension, but not enough micro-tension, to help the reader get through this.
Thank you!
Just goes to show that award-winning novelists (the RITA) aren’t content to rest on their laurels, Laura. Thank YOU.
I want to know what was wrong with that poor woman: the missing element is the one writers have to provide – Resolution!
You’ve built up my curiosity – to the breaking point. The Fire in Fiction is my go-to book for precisely that reason: specific instructions on how to create microtension in each of 14 separate areas (I made myself a template I use with EACH scene with space for me to dig into the potential sources of tension; I fill it out and get so many ideas I have trouble deciding which to use).
Once you learn how (as you have – there is a huge amount of material in that description of a ‘Personal’ office visit to the doctor), the challenge is to use all that in support of a story, to create subtext, to guide a reader’s reactions to the way the writer has decided they story will end, and to make that seem INEVITABLE to the reader.
Then scenes packed with tension have a reason for being, and the plot moves.
I work it backward: I’m an extreme plotter, so I know what has to happen in a scene. THEN I go develop all these sources of microtension – and choose how to use them all to make the scene as tense and readable as I can.
The aim is to provide resolution for enough questions that the reader is satisfied – and enough new questions that she is not.
Alicia,
Even though I have a list of questions from FIRE IN FICTION that I use during my revision stages, I was inspired by your template idea and plan to approach my writing today with a new focus. Thanks!
My copy of FIF is so annotated that, when I finish this book, I will have to buy a fresh copy (my pleasure, Mr. Maass) to scribble in.
I don’t care that I have to be reminded over and over – that seems to be the kind of writer I am, and it works. Each pass, each reminder to consider one of these facets and ramp up the tension in it, makes the result better. You would think that it would start to look like patchwork – but for me, that’s how you make a quilt of many colors.
You’re welcome.
I agree with the others, Alicia, love your idea of the Micro-Tension Template.
Send me an email – abehrhardt [at] gmail; I’ll send you the files – as is.
If you felt like uploading your templates to Dropbox or Google, Alicia, I suspect many people would be interested in viewing them. Sounds like you’ve got a process which works for your brain. I can’t be that linear, sadly, but you have me intrigued.
As for the non-resolution, I understand. There’s a reason why I think of Ms. Brown on a regular basis all these years later, and part of it is those unanswered questions. It’s an itch I’ll never manage to scratch. (To categorize it as an itch seems flippant, which isn’t in the least how I feel.) However, for the purposes of illustrating that a non-event can feel excruciatingly tense, I couldn’t beat the choice of her visit.
Thanks, but they’re way too skeletal for anyone who hasn’t devoured the book. Maass has much better exercises at the end of chapters 3 and 8 to review the concepts and use them.
This certainly gets into the real meat of it! The micro tension you describe here appears so layered and my initial understanding was not that deep. Thanks, Jan.
Delighted if this helped, Paula. *I’m* grateful I tackled this subject, because wanting to do a decent job for you folks helped me get it at a deeper level. Now to write with it, eh?
Jan-
Ebola de-gowning protocol? I felt tense just reading those words.
All the way through your post my brain was screaming, what happened!? What was the patient going to say? How would the visit turn out?
The important thing to note, though, is that none of the tension in your tale comes from the patient. All of the tension is inside the doctor, you. It’s elaborated beautifully as guide us through the levels of your concern. Ultimately, whom are we more worried about, the patient or you?
I would argue you.
And that, I believe, is the underlying principle that makes micro-tension work. Talk is empty. Action is cold. Internal monologue is aimless musing. That is, until a fuse is lit inside the POV character. Tension comes from inside, not from outside. It’s inner apprehension not outer plot circumstances. It’s the doctor not the patient.
When that inner tension is present–your six point breakdown is excellent–then we are compelled to read everything next on the page. When that happens page after page, we have a book we call riveting.
In today’s post you took an ordinary office visit and made it riveting. Because of that even the inconclusive ending was strangely satisfying. That mattered is not that the patient got well but that the doctor was deeply engaged. The doctor cared. The doctor was attuned to her own worry. The doctor did her job.
Thanks for caring about us readers. Sounds like you went back to school. Micro-tension is a huge subject and hugely important. I’m looking forward to exploring it further in Salem at the Un-Conference. So glad you took this up today. Your fiction is healthier for it and we readers are happier.
Now, about that Ebola de-gowning protocol…
Don, thanks so much for elaborating on and refining my thoughts. I was hoping you’d have time to comment. “Tension comes from inside, not from outside. It’s inner apprehension not outer plot circumstances.” Got it. Man, I love it when an elusive principle crystallizes.
My appreciation for this article and for labeling a technique I didn’t realize I was using. I am glad I instinctively did not listen to a few critics who said my use of micro-tension was “fooling the reader” and which, up to this point, I called “dropping breadcrumbs”. I try to always have more subtle hints about “subplots” or themes. I will endeavor to learn more about this with some of the recommended readings.
There’s a truism about critique partners in that people often identify that something is wrong in a passage without necessarily having the ability to make a correct diagnosis and corrective prescription. It’s possible those people are feeling tense because they’ve encountered unexplained story questions (ie. your micro-tension technique, which is specifically designed to raise unease) and are confusing that with poor execution. In other words, they might be telling you you’re exactly on track.
Confusing, yes? Hope you sort it out and your instincts are proven correct.
Jan—way to bring it home! Great post, thanks!
Aw, cheers, Kathryn. Thanks so much for letting me know you enjoyed it.
Brilliant case study and deconstruction, Jan. The one that always poses the biggest challenge for me is #4: how to give direct expression of internal conflicts without telling the reader what is inside the head of the POV character. I tend to write in deep third person and I am always being warned by my critique group to stop telling the reader what the character is thinking. Subtext is key here but how to do it without the dreaded “telling” is crucial to success. It takes enormous skill to pull it off. Thanks for a deep and thoughtful essay.
Perhaps someone on WU can tackle subtext in another post, CG. I’d love to have a better handle on it myself. Have you discovered a way in?
Off the top of my head, I suspect it would be helpful to study screenplays or movies rife with subtext, where the viewer doesn’t have access to the characters’ thoughts. In the workshop I took with him, McKee mentioned the movie The Reader. I haven’t seen it and won’t spoil it for you, but the climax of the movie supposedly hinges on the presence or absence of one tiny gesture.
I second the request for a subtext post! It’s so challenging to do well. Thanks for THE READER movie suggestion. If others have book suggestions where this is handled well, I’d love to hear them.
Thanks for the suggestion. I may research and write a blog post on subtext. I’m happy to share it with WU readers.
Pitch it to Mama T, CG. I have a hunch she’d be interested. I certainly would be.
There is a ton of subtext in the story BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN by Annie Proulx.
I haven’t read it, but that makes sense, Tina. Anything where the topic is seen as shameful, dangerous, or contrary to societal norms invites underground communication.
Jan, I was tense reading this! Great post, and thanks for breaking it down so clearly.
Thanks for your helpful feedback, Liz! (Pre- and post-publication.)
Wow! This was a fabulous lesson in micro-tension with your personal story adding so much to it. I own all of Donald’s books and have attended some of his workshops and have a list of questions from FIRE IN FICTION that I use as I revise a novel. But I still needed this kick in the pants–thank you so much, Jan!
Proud to own the title “butt-kicker” today, Denise. My kids will be similarly pleased. ;)
Seriously, delighted if this helped. Who can’t use another lesson on craft?
Hi Jan,
This was a great example because I think when many writers imagine microtension they think of ways to add more excitement and will load a scene with unnatural twists that end up turning a reader off more than a dull passage. You’ve nailed it with your example as a doctor: absolutely any situation, even the most mundane, can be tense if you connect to the POV character’s uncertainty and curiosity. The true value of fiction isn’t about exciting events but rather what those events (even the ones that aren’t exciting in and of themselves) mean to the one who experiences them.
I’m glad you mentioned Gone Girl. How about that line, “For Valentines Day I bought a gun.” It’s such relentless lines as that which keep is asking why, what is wrong here? And the narrator moves on, continuing to unfold new layers, new mysteries at the same time as older ones are resolved.
I have a little rule when I am writing that helps me maintain microtension. I picked it up during revision for my last manuscript, though by then it was too late and I decided instead of rewriting it I would move on to something fresh to try it out. The rule is this: if what I’m writing doesnt contain some level of uncertainty and the POV character’s need for some kind of resolution–something is amiss and it’s showing, even if it’s just subconscious–then I simply stop and think of how to connect to it. I often delete or rewrite a passage and find its a necessity that helps with new material to come. What I’m finding now in my current WIP is each chapter has some underlying problem that niggles the POV character, and each scene that problem rears its head in different ways. I don’t really set out with a formula for it, I just try to be aware that unless the reader is feeling the tension of the narrator, then all they’re reading is text, a bland what-happens that means nothing and has no value. I always find that so long as I’ve done my job in truly connecting to who my character are, their goals, fears, beliefs, then this is never a problem; there is always an opportunity for their narrative to come alive in the page, it’s just a matter of patiently and relentlessly seeking it out.
“If what I’m writing doesn’t contain some level of uncertainty and the POV character’s need for some kind of resolution–something is amiss and it’s showing, even if it’s just subconscious–then I simply stop and think of how to connect to it.”
What a fantastic rule, John, and I appreciate that it’s proactive. Don says to examine your manuscript out of order and ensure you can detect micro-tension on every page, but why not front-end load it as much as possible?
Wow, Jan,
This great journey through a simple event in your office makes me realize I have to become a much better student before I can make progress as a storyteller. I look forward to you soon becoming unqualified for the un-position you now hold and to reading the book that brings you there. I’m even a little keyed-up waiting.
Your comment is so kind, Tom. Thank you!
As far as learning craft, if you look to the top of the column, you’ll find a comment from a woman who won a RITA award this year for her debut novel, Laura Drake. We’re never exempt from the need to grow and improve. (Honestly, isn’t that kind of exciting?)
Loved this, Jan! But I really wanted to know what was wrong with the patient! Ah – cliffhanger!
Denise Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth and GOT
Sadly, the reason I’m so convinced Ms. Brown had a Big Issue running in the background was familiarity with her presentation, Denise. I can’t tell you precisely what was wrong, but that list of diagnostic possibilities wasn’t taken from a book.
Jan, what a wonderful post illustrating a *simple* office visit. And thank you for being so honest, revealing so much about your deductive reasoning and reactions. I worried about your patient; did she have stomach cancer? But I worried about you too … will you get to your children in time. This was brilliant.
One of my favorite books is Atul Gawande’s Complications … and coming to think of it, many of my favorite authors are former physicians. They peel the layers to reveal the heart.
That book is on my TBR pile, Vijaya. He was a resident when he wrote it, too. An author to watch, that’s for certain.
I didn’t have time to explain in the post, but the reason I was so focused on the probability of a heavy psychological burden was her presentation. If she had stomach cancer or another purely physical issue, that would explain neither her intense focus on my reaction, nor her disinterest in the management of her stomach pains.
When people are coping with a huge issue that’s been driven underground, their distress can be expressed through the body; they’ll complain of a multitude of vague, minor troubles and oftentimes go through a huge number of painful, costly, and unfruitful investigations before someone twigs to the fact there is a deeper problem. Can a sexual abuse survivor have stomach cancer? Absolutely, and patients deserve a full and competent investigation of their physical ailments regardless of what’s going on upstairs. But this is where medicine earns the title of “art” because it can be tricky to distinguish when one’s crossing the line from diligence into over-investigation and harm. Certainly, it’s a shame when medical staff look ONLY at the physical realm for an explanation, just as it’s tragic when physical illness is written off as hysteria.
I am such a craft nerd! So much so that I have a binder for the most helpful craft posts that I come across. This one’s going in the binder. Thanks so much for such a great example.
I’m honored, Tracy!
Perfect timing, exactly the reminder I needed in the final edit/revision of my book. My only roadblock with this is the use of the word “feeling”. I had my story processed through a writer’s critique group for 4 years, and every time the word “feel” or “feeling” popped up someone would say “show, don’t tell”. I understand the concept, and also that only X amount of words can be written into a book before that phrase has to be discerned. But, so many authors today shun the word. I’d like to hear some feedback on this.
I’m hardly an authority, but I can give you my thoughts by referencing the story guru, Robert McKee. His philosophy might help you find a way through that is true for your circumstance. He says whenever a question about story begins with the word “can”, the answer is always “of course.” (I’m paraphrasing.) So can you write a story where characters are labeling their feelings, as in “I’m feeling sad now”? Of course.
The question he says we should be asking is, What am I hoping to accomplish here? What effect am I hoping to achieve for the reader?
Does what you’re wanting to do allow for that level of semi-detached self-analysis? For example, if you’re writing within deep point of view, knowing your character’s nature, are they likely to be going “meta” at the time of said emotion? If yes, then it makes perfect sense to keep the word. If no–if they are likely to be lost in the sensations of the feeling and the thoughts and actions coming from the emotional state–then it may feel more truthful to describe it via those methods. It’s more immersive.
I can tell I will be rereading this post several times, Jan–not because it wasn’t clear, but because it’s such a detailed and effective example! What is resonating now, as I work on a rough draft, will change when I come back to the scene in revision, and when I have digested the concept of micro-tension even further. (Had read some of Maass already, but love seeing it put into practice.)
And it’s an excellent reminder that I can start to play with levels of tension, even this early in the process (the somewhat-outlined, somewhat-pantsing process). What a way to start the week. Thank you!
Did you read John’s excellent suggestion above about how to bake the micro-tension in?
As for revisiting the post, that will apply to me as well. :) I don’t know if it’s a function of age or the nature of writing, but two weeks from now, this article will feel as if someone else wrote it. Ha!
I did, but you prompted me to reread it with a fresh brain this morning! :-) “Something is amiss”…exactly. As I draft, I can feel the lure of the “bland what-happens,” as John put it. It’s easy to go there in the quest for figuring out the story, but the result will be a lifeless thing.
Now to walk the walk.
Hi, Jan:
I think everyone has touched on this in one way or another, but the post itself was full of micro-tension precisely because of its honesty — your honesty. Thanks, first and foremost, for that.
I agree that a state of conflict or at least vulnerability on the part of the POV character automatically accentuates the tension in the scene. This instantly heightens the stakes, for exactly the reason you state — you don’t know which aspect of the character will rise to the occasion. And we can sense that something may go wrong, raising the question every reader craves: What’s going to happen next?
Lee Child wrote an excellent piece for the NYT on suspense, where he said the problem with most “recipes” for suspense asked the question in the form of, “How do I bake a cake?” Instead, he said, the question should be: “How do I make my family hungry?” He noted — and demonstrated rather cagily in the piece — how we as humans naturally hang on for the answer when a question is posed, and suspense is really nothing more than posing a question and delaying the answer.
There are a number of ways to pose a question — micro-tension might even be defined as the constant presentation of unsettling questions. They needn’t be huge, as you point out so well. But they need to register as meaningful to one or more character in the scene, especially the POV character (or one for whom you’ve established some empathy).
I’m also reminded of Jean Cocteau’s remark that the spirit of creation is the spirit of contradiction, which he considered the gateway to a different reality. In The Art of Character I emphasize contradiction as one of the five cornerstones of characterization, because it provides a way of presenting two starkly opposite possibilities in the character’s reactions within any scene (as you propose in your second ingredient for micro-tension).
Contradiction is just the betrayal of expectation, and one more element to focus on when trying to create micro-tension is to be aware of what expectations are inherent in the set-up, and which ones you’ve established up to that point in the story, then find a way to betray or contradict them. It can be as subtle and simple as the use of “head” in the Gone Girl example you provided — or the use of “Personal” for the reason for the visit in your own example.
As for subtext — that discussion could go on for days. And, knowing this crew, most likely will, and not before too long.
I really admire your willingness to get “clinical” in analyzing this element of writing, and your reverse-engineering of this experience to get at what you needed to make it work.
One last thing — during the revision process, we can amplify micro-tension by paying attention to how often we unconsciously tend to over-write a scene, and over-determine what is happening. It’s a natural flaw for every writer, and learning how to spot it during the re-writing process — knowing what to cut and where — can be a crucial tool in amping up the tension.
Wonderful post. Thanks a million.
What a helpful comment, David. Thank you so much. (I had a hunch you’d add your voice to the comments.)
I particularly liked this bit. “Micro-tension might even be defined as the constant presentation of unsettling questions. They needn’t be huge … but they need to register as meaningful to one or more character in the scene, especially the POV character (or one for whom you’ve established some empathy).
As for the bit about awareness of expectations in the set-up, and then purposefully violating them, I expect this is something that writers develop a sense for over time, after getting feedback from their critique group, beta readers, or editors. (And by knowing their genre’s conventions, of course.) Would you say that’s true? I ask because if and when I succeed at this, it’s largely accidental. I’d love to believe it’s another competency that can emerge with time and practice.
I think the more intuitive and less deliberate you can make a writing decision, the more likely it will feel organic and not forced. But sometimes you just have to force the issue, if only to see how and why it doesn’t work. We sometimes get so locked in to what “should” happen we don’t realize that what shouldn’t happen also possesses some curious kind of truth we didn’t recognize until we defied logic and went for it.
Hey Boss, just want to thank you for the enlightening aid on this. It’s a concept for which I clearly need a better grasp. When it comes to its application in my own work, I find it gets more slippery. Threads like this one, with all my cool and confident tribe mates, make me feel even more like the slow kid in class. Hoping there are no dunce caps assigned in Salem. At least they’d be witchy black there, right? Thanks again for helping the slow kid!
Hey Vaughn,
In Salem, we’ll be the establishing members of the local chapter of A Yankeeracy of Dunces. At least this first year, the black team caps are not covered by the basic tuition.
I believe that in Salem we should stick with Ye Ole Yankeeracy of Dunces! Thanks for haunting the back corner of the classroom with me, Tom!
Cool and confident? If you’re applying those terms to me, then I’ve fooled you, V. I’ve been writing this piece in my head for over a year and had many false starts. Me try to grasp this in public? In front of Don and the other WU crew? What a pretentious disaster in the making.
But as with most everything I share publicly, I hit the point where it was more important to learn than stay safe. (The same spirit which made me go all-in with Ms. Brown, I suppose. When I trust that instinct I haven’t been led astray.) Once I was committed, out of necessity, I wanted to do a good job. Don’t forget, basic understanding does not a masterful implementer make!
Ms. Brown made you nervous – so you wrote about it and made me nervous.
Perfect.
Exactly. :)
I should’ve said so, but from the first few paragraphs I thought you very brave, Jan! Then the rest was just a riveting read. You’re my hero, as always, Boss. Thanks!
Riveting, Jan, because of the protagonist’s (you) interpretation of both action and lack of it in the other character based on knowledge and insights. Now, how to put that into a dramatic scene . . .
“Now, how to put that into a dramatic scene . . .”
Amen! Thanks so much, Ray.
Jan, traveling and didn’t see this until now. Very sharp breakdown of the tension-building, and a meta-example (as others have pointed out) of the breakdown itself being a builder of tension. My work does suffer from a lack of these nuances and positionings, but it’s helpful to be reminded of the advantages of trying to build them into the structure.
Hope the traveling was fruitful and for an inherently pleasant purpose, Tom.
As for your comment, I hear you. It’s a neverending quest to improve.
Wow, Jan, this was riveting. The focus of the piece was something I had not thought about before in those terms, but what a perfect way to illustrate the concept, both in references to Gone Girl and your office visit example.
I felt the same frisson of tension as others, of course, but now I’m subjecting myself to all sorts of other questions about the nuances of the interaction and expectations of the patient, which will plague me for some time to come! Questions as disparate as 1) whether she felt you were too exhausted and harried for it to be a fruitful discussion to 2) simply putting “personal” as the reason to make sure she saw you as opposed to another doctor, because she felt you were more empathetic to her minor medical issues.
This is a wonderfully rich post that I will be mining for more nuggets as I continue to reread it.
Deborah, it isn’t just you; Ms. Brown has been with me mentally for almost a decade because of the questions you raise, and then some.
I wonder if people know how often their doctors think of them after the moment the exam room door closes.
Anyway, thanks for reading and for your kind comments.
I’ve nothing to add to the conversation except that this is one of the best examples I’ve seen of micro-tension (outside of Don Maass’s books)–and coupled with the explanations, it’s a fantastic post. Thank you.
Very kind of you to take the time to let me know, Robin. I’m glad it precipitated us meeting, too.
Ah, this was fantastic. I love working out what you might call macro-tension, where the unease builds over chapters. What a delight to get a chance to learn about how to take that wonderful discomfort and compact it! Any specific tips for building micro-tension outside of a first person POV?
Well, building upon what Donald Maass said in his comment above, Patrick, it’s all about building a state of tension within a character and having us empathize with them to the point we’re experiencing their emotional state. To me, that means maintaining deep point of view, whether in first or third.
A technique I’ve read about–from award-winning Joanna Bourne, if I’m not mistaken–is to write within first person, then switch the pronouns to he, she, etc. That has the effect of keeping us close.
Does that make sense?
Terrific example of micro-tension. Thanks, Jan!
How lovely to hear. Thank you, Heather! (Was nice to meet you in the UnCon and now have a face and voice to go with your name.)