May Column -- FUTURES Web
The Writer's Mind by Shalanna Collins
"Plot Nuts and Bolts"
Shalanna Collins has been writing since she could hold a
crayon. Her novel, _Dulcinea, or Wizardry A-Flute_, is now
available in trade paperback, ISBN 0-7388-5388-7; get it
from www.amazon.com or www.borders.com, or visit her
website at for details.
"Plot Nuts and Bolts"
You've heard people talk about teaching or learning "the
nuts and bolts of writing," right? Some time ago, SF
writer Michael Stackpole coined the term "plot bolt," and
now I'd like to discuss the concept, along with the nut
that sometimes goes with it (and I'm not talking about the
writer.)
What, you may ask, is a plot bolt? Just as a bolt fastens
objects together by sticking through them and "hanging them
from the holes," a plot bolt extends _through_ the plot of
a story and helps to hold the parts together. Plot bolts
pull a story together by helping the reader to see the
connections and how things "all come together as a
connected whole." The role can be played by a minor
character (a "foil," for you literary types) who flits
between the two major characters--perhaps the nosy neighbor
à la Mrs. Kravitz on "Bewitched," or a pet bird who flies
between the two houses, or a cat like Pyewacket who runs
away and has to be rescued; maybe, instead, it's a
"maguffin" or semi-valuable object like the Maltese Falcon.
These "minor" things are not so minor, and their scenes are
not mere incidents, because the items or characters keep
reappearing, helping to complete the circle of the story.
In the film "Bell, Book, and Candle," the cat familiar
Pyewacket goes over to the Jimmy Stewart character's house
and causes him to march over to the Kim Novak character's
shop to return him? The cat also causes several other
events in the tale connected to reconciliations or another
fight. When he runs away, the viewers know that Gillian
has lost her powers from being in love. All these
functions bolt the story together at places where we'd have
no connections (or maybe have to rely on coincidences)
otherwise.
Character "business," "tics," or "tags" may also add to the
wholeness of the whole. Perhaps a characteristic little
bit of action like Shalanna tugging at her earlobe when
she's lying can irritate Drynxnyrd at first, until he
figures out that she's always fibbing (she wouldn't go
further than a compassionate white lie) or telling the
incomplete story when she does it, and this can reveal to
the hero later that she's not telling him the whole truth
about that old boyfriend of hers who shows up later. It is
something that starts out as characterization, and then the
reader giggles when she sees it, but later she exclaims,
"Of course! I should have expected that to be useful."
In Mary Stewart's THE GABRIEL HOUNDS, the narrator always
reacts to the presence of a cat, even when she can't see
it. This is established in an early chapter, when a kitten
spooks her. Later in the book, she realizes that another
character, supposedly a relative of hers, is an impostor,
because the real relative shares this reaction--but the
impostor doesn't even jump when a cat walks into the room.
This one's related to all the movie scenes in which a
character is "passing" for another character UNTIL the dog
growls or snaps at him or her, and people realize that
can't be good old Harry. . . .
A plot bolt basically ties one strand of the plot into an
entirely different strand. This may be the only thing that
makes the subplots related. It's the realization of the
reader that the romantic subplot that's been running
through the last five chapters has just crossed paths with
the minding-the-store thread, and they mesh. The reader
doesn't see it coming in advance, but once it's there, it's
inevitable. It's the only way things _could_ be. And the
book is praised as "tightly plotted."
Okay, now for the PLOT NUT (nope, that's not a fan who has
all the plotlines in the old STAR TREK series memorized.)
What I'm talking about is a "helper" for your plot bolt.
It's a reaction to the plot bolt that strengthens the
connection. It's the equal and opposite reaction to
whatever it was that prompted the "plot bolt." And it
starts an entire string of events by its very presence or
existence. This is tough to explain without an example. .
. .
Let's take an example from my upcoming mystery novel, _Nice
Work (If You Can Get It)_. Let's say that Christopher and
Diane (two City Council members) know that Kimberly (a
shrew, and his stalker--um, I mean she has a major jones
for him and intends to win his heart however she can, even
through blackmail or whatever) is watching them through the
surveillance camera at the spa (she got a job there as an
aerobics instructor just so she could follow him when he
works out, say.) OK, Chris and Di wait for a quiet moment
in the hot tub and strip, starting to make out, just when
they KNOW Kimmie can't get aloose and come bursting in on
them (she's stuck covering the security cameras or
something while others are at lunch.) This isn't real
attraction, but just X-rated implication to frustrate and
torment her. Let's say that, furthermore, they are doing
this while they whisper about the conspiracy working
against Kim (to reveal her theft from Chris's campaign's
money when she was on his staff as treasurer.)
Twist the nut on a little: Kimmie shoves in a blank tape
and records the whole "show." Then she mails it to, um,
the local TV station--these two are high-profile city
council members, let's say, and are assumed not to be
involved with each other because of a conflict of interest,
not to mention that they are both "taken." Whoa--the plot
thickens! The station manager shoves the tape into his
pocket and heads off to blackmail Chris.
On the way, the station manager has a fender-bender with a
little old lady (in her car, not as a pedestrian!) as he's
headed for the council meeting to confront Chris. He
throws off his overcoat (which lands somewhere on the hood
of his car) to change her tire and then to help the man
hook up the tow truck for his Ferrari (these things are
expensive, you know--you can't have Just Anyone touching
the axle, or whatever.) The videotape (you saw this
coming, but you were giddy for it to happen, weren't you?)
slides out of his pocket onto the pavement, of course. The
tow truck guy picks it up to hold it for him and forgets to
give it back. Guess what is in the pocket of the tow
trucker's coat when the trucker gets back to pick up his
wife, who runs the city's biggest day care place . . . and
the owner's bratty kids pull it out, thinking it is their
Rainbow Frog tape he promised to rent for them. Suddenly,
on the screens of the kids' day care room, there is a
suggestive picture that does not go unnoticed. . . .
As someone said, imagine those smart missiles during the
Gulf war suddenly showing DEBBIE DOES DJIBOUTI. And trying
to find THAT target. (Not to worry: nothing graphic is
going on at the beginning of the tape, at least not YET.)
It's not a pretty sight, all those caregivers and women
screaming and dashing for the VCR. The one who ultimately
snatches the tape out is the best friend of Chris's long-
time girlfriend, a woman who has long hoped to "wake up"
her friend and make her dump Chris because of what she
feels are his Unethical Practices. She'd love to get him
off the city's power base. Now she has the ammo!
I'd say that this tape is a little more than a maguffin,
perhaps a Plot Nut that holds that Plot Bolt (which was the
intersection between the Kimmie-is-stalking-Christopher
thread and the City-Council-Scandal thread) firmly on. It
helps to make the coincidences and implausibilities in the
plot seem a lot less so.
I've used this technique to connect two wildly varying
plotlines, such as subplot 1, the girlfriend who wants
Chris and her friend to break up (hey--possibly so that SHE
can snag Chris for herself, or so she can snag her
girlfriend for her homely brother Gus who is in place to
console her . . .) and subplot 2, the mayoral race in which
Chris hopes to be a candidate, and which would be lost for
him if he were caught fooling around with Diane, who is the
wife of the current mayor. (This book is part screwball
comedy.) Tensions heighten and the audience squirms in
delicious anticipation of the blow-up that is surely to
come.
Let's try something more subtle. Henry does not talk about
his family, ever. In this mystery, the prologue and some
scenes from the (unnamed) murderer's POV have established
that he's doing it to protect a secret in his family. Every
time anyone asks about Henry's holidays, relatives, etc.,
he quickly deflects the question, never having to answer.
(There's the plot bolt.) Everyone suspects Henry, of
course. (A nice diversion.)
Late in the book, Theo (our sleuth) is at a party where the
punch is spiked and also (unknown to any of the party-
goers) doped with a fashionable party drug. Theo (our
heroine) is the only one besides Henry (and the real
killer) who does _not_ drink the Mickey Finn punch, leaving
her the only one to deal with the killer who drugged the
punch. Naturally, she's now convinced Henry didn't drink
it because he spiked it, and therefore the killer
blindsides her when he takes Henry hostage. The hero
arrives, and the two of them play out the final
confrontation with the killer, who now has Henry as a
hostage. (Here comes the plot nut.) The reason Henry
never spoke of his family is because he's ashamed: his
father, who's all the family he has, has been jailed for
drunk driving (and has dodged the bullet once with a
vehicular manslaughter charge) and is an alcoholic. And
that's why he didn't drink the punch: he saw the gin being
surreptitiously added, and he won't touch alcohol. The
suspicion (a bolt throughout the book) is answered and ties
right into why he's the only other one left on his feet for
the confrontation, forming a plot nut.
Naturally, MOST of the best plot bolt and nut combinations
are serendipity. Usually, when you were writing the first
scene, you didn't realize why you were putting in that part
about the alcoholic daddy until it came time that the later
scene was flowing from your fingertips. And then people
ask how you come up with these tight plots. Only another
writer could understand the unexpected thrill of that plot
nut screwing into place!
You can, of course, plan a connection between your subplots
from the very beginning. That's why the subplots are
there--to enrich the main story--and thus they need to be
related. If you can come up with something that really
sets up conflicts between major characters, such as his
being a pilot and her being totally petrified of any
thought of heights or flying, so much the better. Then
she'll HAVE to get in the plane with him, barfbagging it or
cowering on the floor of the light plane while they do the
dogfight, or whatever. Conversely, maybe she turns out to
be right about heights when he realizes the plane will NOT
get off the ground in the shape that it's in, and then they
jump out and let the criminals steal it and crash it into
the stand of trees just across the road from the airstrip.
. . . this is called "setting up your crisis early" with
things that your critique group tries to get you to cut,
claiming you don't need these little hints that are
obviously in there only for characterization.
The heck with them, say I. Plan your plot bolts, and place
them throughout your book to strengthen and tighten it.
And if you find a nut for one of them, twist it down tight!
(Shalanna Collins has been writing since she could hold a
crayon. Her novel, _Dulcinea, or Wizardry A-Flute_, is now
available in trade paperback, ISBN 0-7388-5388-7; get it
from www.amazon.com or www.borders.com, or visit her
website at for
details.)