Edging, withdrawal, and the narrative climax
It’s hard not to see that Western story structure follows the pattern of the male orgasm. A progressive escalation of stakes and tension until a single climactic moment. This is particularly true in America, where “fiction is inseparable from the project of the individual (Matthew Salesses, Craft in the Real World) and where the Iowa Writers’ Workshop was set up with an agenda to “overthrow the domination of totalitarian manipulation (if Soviet) or commercial manipulation (if American) by being irreducibly individualistic” (Eric Bennett).
Seeing it is one thing. Doing anything different is another. Even when you’ve seen some incredible examples of ki-sho-ten-ketsu and other, less individualistic narrative structures, when you try to write them for the first time, it feels unsatisfying. Incomplete. Because you’re in withdrawal for the three-act structure and the simplicity of a single climax.
(Take it from someone who has used graphs to modulate the intensity of emotions over a series arc)
I am 130,000 words into my novel, just past the traditional climactic moment (bombs averted, emotional breakthrough, even a wedding), and yet—it’s only now that my characters feel ready to actually begin their stories. Here’s what they tell me (initials only because their names may change):
Y: Yes, I stopped the bombs. This time. What do we need to do to prevent this from happening again? Also I had to kill someone to do that. Am I going to jail now?
A: I just had an absolute emotional breakdown on the eve of becoming the youngest ruler of a country. Am I fit to lead? What if they all see through me? What if they no longer respect me now that they’ve seen me vulnerable?
N: I didn’t even want a wedding. This was just stupid bureaucracy so I could adopt the kid before they took her away into their stupid education system. I wonder whether S is taking this marriage seriously or if it’s just bureaucracy to her too.
I had a chapter outline for the denouement titled Cleanups, but every bullet in that outline is now turning into a full chapter of its own. This is the point where most people would cry “Sequel!” But I actually have a whole other sequel planned. This is just getting through the hangover / aftershocks of the first climax.
Which makes me think it’s a perfect time for edging. After all, why does the climax I’ve written have to be The Climax? Can it be more of a tipping point, one that sensitizes all characters, makes them come alive like a bunch of nerve endings, so that the remaining 50% of the novel (yes, I am groaning too at the thought of another 130,000 words) can be about each of them facing the consequences of Climax 1 and dreading Climaxes 2-10 but inviting them through acts of self-sabotage? That would mean, for each of the characters above:
Y: I am paranoid and on edge, and convinced someone’s going to try to bomb us again. So I’m going to alienate everyone in my attempt to get ahead of it. (Wait, why did they try to bomb us in the first place?)
A: That was a cathartic moment, but now it’s over. It’s never happening again. Clearly, to be a leader, I need to get some distance and perspective. (Not as if trying to be hyper-rational was what led to my first breakdown).
N: I’m going to pre-empt any heartbreak, for both me and my wife, by making it clear we only married for legal reasons. Maybe an expiration date in a contract? (It’s not as if that’s going to add to the kid’s abandonment issues at all).
Maybe what’s going on is that I’m rejecting the idea that anybody learns their big Narrative Lesson in a single try. And with it the idea that there is such a thing as a Character Arc, rather than a Character Chutes and Ladders.
After all, when I read fan fiction (including works that are over 300,000 words) I’m not waiting for one big payoff. Every single scene is a payoff, because characters are like amateur motorcyclists—they keep looking at the tree they’re trying to avoid, and end up driving straight into it.
All right, trainwreck characters. Let’s buckle in. We’re going to be sharing headspace for a lot longer than I thought.