I think I agree with everything that's been said so far..... but I also think, perhaps, that there's some over-thinking happening, too. At least, if I sit down to write a scene, there's only so many steps and procedures and principles I want in my head or it's too much to keep track of.
First, I've got the important thing that happens, the thing that makes this scene necessary. Perhaps it's the same as the arc, or the change, or whatever else. I'm not sure - that's not how I think about it. I've got something that I'm building up to, and there's a piece that needs to happen to get there, and that's why I need this scene. It's possible that there's more than one important things. If I've got different plots - if I have something I want to do for character development - I might have two or three things that could be separate scenes, but if there's a good opportunity, I want to mash them into one.
Second, I've got kind of the game that's happening in the scene. That phrase actually comes from improv and usually refers to comedy, and it means that you've found the thing that's funny about the scene and that you can keep building on for laughs. That's what I'm looking for - but with tension, or other micro-reactions. The game is my ongoing source of micro-reactions that I can build on and play with throughout the scene, my trick to kind of building up all the tension. It's like an emotional tug of war.
Here's a great example of a game - it's the opening passage to my Ladybug fanfic.
There's all this awesome visual action happening around this character, but none of it matters to the character. To me, that's a great game because it opens up a bajillion avenues for micro-reactions (or tension? Or the Rhuhk beneath that tension?) that can happen in the prose. Of course, the game develops and changes a little as she gets closer to asking her question.
Now, you might be thinking, "Wait, people have been talking about goals, and your game here is just the character's goals." But it's not. The goal is to ask the question. The game is the notion that all these awesome events that normally are awesome don't matter. The game is a step or two beyond that basic goal. It's a way of reshaping the scene in a way that I can pull drama from it in every line for as long as it goes on.
I mean, there's only so much pre-planning that I can put into a scene. There's only so much thinking you can do before it starts to cripple the fun out of it. And no amount of pre-planned steps is going to get you comfortably, line by line, through scene after scene. So I think about what I need to do, I look for the game, and I take it from there.
First, I've got the important thing that happens, the thing that makes this scene necessary. Perhaps it's the same as the arc, or the change, or whatever else. I'm not sure - that's not how I think about it. I've got something that I'm building up to, and there's a piece that needs to happen to get there, and that's why I need this scene. It's possible that there's more than one important things. If I've got different plots - if I have something I want to do for character development - I might have two or three things that could be separate scenes, but if there's a good opportunity, I want to mash them into one.
Second, I've got kind of the game that's happening in the scene. That phrase actually comes from improv and usually refers to comedy, and it means that you've found the thing that's funny about the scene and that you can keep building on for laughs. That's what I'm looking for - but with tension, or other micro-reactions. The game is my ongoing source of micro-reactions that I can build on and play with throughout the scene, my trick to kind of building up all the tension. It's like an emotional tug of war.
Here's a great example of a game - it's the opening passage to my Ladybug fanfic.
It didn’t matter that her camera was shaking when a moving car shot up into the air on a torrent of sewage from an open manhole cover. It didn’t matter that she missed Chat Noir pull the driver out in time or that she didn’t get the lucky shot of the lucky charm dropping into Ladybug’s hand. Helicopters and high tech camera equipment would catch the action better than she could. News reporters would get all the details on Pipeline and her gross sewage powers without any help from the Ladyblog.
Alya needed to use her connection with the superhero team to get an answer to one good question. A deep question. A real question. Her exclusive interview with Ladybug had been labeled nothing but a fluff piece. If Alya wanted to secure a partnership between TVi and the Ladyblog, and snatch a huge jumpstart on her career as a reporter, she needed to get a response from the heroes of Paris about something poignant.
Poignant. That’s what the exec told her, and it felt like TVi code for mean.
There's all this awesome visual action happening around this character, but none of it matters to the character. To me, that's a great game because it opens up a bajillion avenues for micro-reactions (or tension? Or the Rhuhk beneath that tension?) that can happen in the prose. Of course, the game develops and changes a little as she gets closer to asking her question.
Now, you might be thinking, "Wait, people have been talking about goals, and your game here is just the character's goals." But it's not. The goal is to ask the question. The game is the notion that all these awesome events that normally are awesome don't matter. The game is a step or two beyond that basic goal. It's a way of reshaping the scene in a way that I can pull drama from it in every line for as long as it goes on.
I mean, there's only so much pre-planning that I can put into a scene. There's only so much thinking you can do before it starts to cripple the fun out of it. And no amount of pre-planned steps is going to get you comfortably, line by line, through scene after scene. So I think about what I need to do, I look for the game, and I take it from there.