Avoiding Pointless Fiction by James Van Pelt

A couple years ago, I gave a talk for the Western Colorado Writers’ Forum called “Avoiding Pointless Fiction.” The talk went well, but it’s a huge subject, so this is a LONG blog, and it’s mostly about how to be intentional about your story’s themes.

I have given numerous presentations over the years, but I’d never talked to writers with this topic at the center. It’s difficult to not touch on theme no matter what the topic, but as I prepared the presentation, I found it hard to talk about it directly. Isn’t that interesting?

Part of the difficulty was that I spent decades in the classroom fighting the firmly held belief from some students that talking about theme ruined the reading experience. A poem, after all, some would say, paraphrasing Archibald MacLeish, should not mean/but be.

The problem I had with the argument is that I’m totally sympathetic to it. I was that student! As a teacher, I was always fully aware that the very act of “teaching” a piece of literature made some students (no matter how hard I tried) hate what we were reading. This was deeply frustrating to me and a source of existential angst.

It doesn’t help that some adult writers get downright in-your-face about their refusal to consider theme as part of a story’s construction. I find more theme-deniers in the unsuccessful writers’ camp than in the successful ones, but even among the successful, there are a couple who are gleeful about their antipathy to theme or meaning. “I just write to entertain,” they argue.

Mark Twain himself wrote at the beginning of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, “Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR.”

But as both a writer and English teacher, the meaning of the narrative justifies its existence. The reader doesn’t have to be able to identify the meaning. A book isn’t an English class, after all, but any story where the reader is left scratching their head and saying, “What was the point of that?” will be unsatisfied.

My argument has been that if you finish reading (or listening to or watching) a story, and you don’t say “What was the point?” it had one, whether you can identify it or not.

The presence of theme is intrinsic to that feeling of completion.

There are writers who never consciously identify their themes. They are fine, natural storytellers. Without articulating meaning, they know when and where the story needs the material necessary to create it. I don’t have a problem with them . . .

. . . except when they are in my workshop and keep giving me the evil eye because now, just as they did when they were kids, they think the sage on the stage talking about meaning and theme is full of it.

So, what do we know about “theme”? Where does it come from in a story, and how can we be intentional about it?

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Operating Premise: The definition of a story is that it is a meaningful event.

An “event” is a sequence of actions that have a beginning and an end. Both the beginning and/or end can be implied.

A single static image can imply an entire event. As human beings, we have a tendency toward narrative. We will imagine a narrative to explain a situation we come upon.

Examples of static scenes that imply an event:

• A hotel room with an empty bottle of champagne, two champagne flutes on the table, one with lipstick on it. A bed in disarray.

• A pair of shoes with a note stuck under one of the shoes on the railing of a bridge over a river far below.

• A car crashed into a tree beside the road, driver’s side windshield busted in the middle from within. An open, empty bottle of whiskey in the car.

• A deer’s carcass in a snow-covered field. Wolf tracks all around.

Here are a couple of static images that I notice frequently, and I can’t help but imagine the event:

• Flowers arranged in a cross stuck into the shoulder of the highway.

• A long skid mark that veers off the road, or tire marks/streaks of metal and paint on the cement dividers on a highway.

I picked up a one-ounce bottle of tea tree oil at City Market the other day. The box felt light, so I opened it. No bottle in it. Probably someone shoplifted the bottle. Taking the bottle from the box and then returning the box to the shelf would take longer than just taking both. The box was very small. Did they leave the box because they thought they might plausibly claim they always carried a bottle of tea tree oil? For reasons that probably say more about me than what happened, my default here was a woman took the bottle, and it went into her purse. Do I assume that because I think tea tree oil is something a woman is more likely to want? After all, I’m a guy and I was buying a bottle? When they took the bottle, were they casual and relaxed or tense and paranoid? Did they rush from the store, having stolen what they wanted, or did they continue shopping? Did they steal other things? Why tea tree oil? Did they take it for its aromatherapy qualities? Do they have a skin condition or dandruff or toe fungus?

Enquiring minds want to know, and not knowing will make up narratives.

We are a story-making, meaning-seeking species. We will try to explain what we see by constructing narratives from the evidence.

We also seek meaning. It’s through some events that we come to understand personal or universal truths. Almost everything you believe to be true about yourself or the world came either from someone telling you what to believe (like your parents or schooling or church, etc.) or through events that happened that you took meaning from.

Also, events happen that are not “stories.” Our lives are filled with events we don’t share narratively. Only bad storytellers (and don’t we all know one?) tell meaningless events. This is a feature of little kids and a special kind of adult. I see it most often when someone wants to tell me about a dream they had, but it could be anything: a long recitation of what they had for breakfast, or a blow-by-blow rendition of driving from one place to another.

By the way, the pointless story is actually a genre: we call it a shaggy dog story. The point of a shaggy dog story is to see how long the storyteller can string an audience along without reaching a point.

Generally, most sane, normal people tell their friends events that they think are meaningful. Oftentimes, they don’t state the meaning; they may not be able to articulate the meaning, but the event is shared because it is interesting, entertaining, shocking, funny, instructional, illustrative, etc. It was a meaningful event.

As writers, we bring to our readers stories just like we do when we join our friends at lunch and share a narrative with them. “You won’t believe what happened to me on the way here,” you say, or “The oddest thing happened last night,” or “That happened to me too,” or “An engineer, a physicist and a philosopher walked into a bar.” We share them because they have a point.

So here’s the test: if you read or watch or listen to a narrative where, when it’s done, your reaction is “What’s the point?” For you, it was not a story. For you, it lacked meaning. That doesn’t necessarily mean that it wasn’t a story for someone else. Maybe you weren’t the right person for the narrative, or you didn’t have the background necessary for the event to make sense for you, or, and this is where the talk is centered, the writer didn’t have the skill necessary to make the story work meaningfully, or the writer didn’t know what they were trying to say. Maybe the writer confused events with story.

This is different, by the way, from your reaction to a story that you do see the point, but you thought the point wasn’t worth the wait, or you disagreed with the point, or you thought the story got there unconvincingly or clumsily. Not having a “point” is a specific story flaw, one of many stories can have.

As a writer, realizing what your point is, and then consciously reinforcing the places in the story where the point arises will make your stories stronger. It will elevate them from mere events to powerful, reader-altering experiences.

Simple themes communicated through conflict and plot resolution (You should notice that themes are often revealed by how the story ends. Change the ending changes the themes): 

Conflict = two characters are in love and want to be together

Plot = multiple barriers stand between the two getting together

Resolution = couple overcomes the barriers and get together

Theme = love conquers all (Roxanne, The Notebook, The Graduate (sort of), Pride and Prejudice (sort of), Serena, Twilight)

Resolution = couple not getting together (Wuthering Heights, Witness, Romeo and Juliet, Casablanca)

Theme = love is tragic, or other things are more important than love

Change the ending changes the theme

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Conflict = weakling wants to win the prize

Plot = weakling keeps trying but it seems hopeless

Resolution = weakling wins in a climactic battle

Theme = purehearted underdogs defeat evil forces (Remember the Titans, Rocky II, The Sandlot, Tin Cup, The Natural, Lord of the Rings, Karate Kid)

Resolution = the weakling loses (Rocky, Bull Durham, The Bad News Bears, The Alamo, Braveheart, Anne of a Thousand Days, Thelma and Louise, All Quiet on the Western Front)

Theme = the effort makes the weaklings noble

Change the ending, change the theme

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Many aphorisms are actually simple theme statements:

• Don’t put all your eggs in the same basket.
• Slow and steady wins the race
• A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush
• Absence makes the heart grow fonder
• All that glitters is not gold
• Not all who wander are lost
• Actions speak louder than words
• He who hesitates is lost
• A coward dies a thousand deaths, a hero dies but one

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Common thematic topics: love, death, ambition, hate, family, war, good vs. evil, individual in society, prejudice, coming of age, survival, courage and/or heroism, power/corruption.

Remember that the topic is not the theme. A theme is what the story says about the topic. “Love,” is a topic and not a statement of theme. “Love conquers all,” is a theme.

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Stories can also communicate multiple themes, contradictory themes, nuanced and complicated themes, or open-ended ones where they raise the thematic question without answering it or answering it ambiguously.

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Regardless of the thematic topic of the story, how the plot is constructed, who the characters are, writing style, etc., the ending is where the point of the story is communicated. The ending tells the reader what was important in the story.

This is why endings can be so hard to get right. Not landing the ending can ruin much of the experience of what went on before and leave the reader disappointed, even if there were tons of cool moments before the ending.

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Climax and denouement communicate the theme:

Symbolic action (the peasant tosses the pearl back into the sea in The Pearl, Dirty Harry tosses his badge in the water, the peasant gunfighter in The Magnificent Seven takes off his gun belt—this is accompanied by Yul Brenner’s last speech, Shane rides away)

Climactic speech (Casablanca “Hill of beans” speech, Hamlet’s last soliloquy, Red’s speech at the end of Shawshank Redemption, voiceover speech at the end of Stranger than Fiction, “Like tears in the rain” Bladerunner)

Character change/epiphany (Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, Taylor—Charlton Heston–Planet of the Apes, Col. Nicholson in Bridge on the River Kwai, Harry in When Harry Met Sally)

Climactic image (the gold blowing away in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, the happy passengers of the Titanic waiting for Rose when she dies, the 1930s picture of Jack Torrence hanging from the wall at the end of The Shining. The sled at the end of Citizen Kane. The Statue of Liberty, broken and half-buried at the end of Planet of the Apes.)

Narrative summation (Wuthering Heights, Stranger Than Fiction, Stand by Me, The Great Gatsby)

Resolution of the conflict. Whether the characters get what they want or not, and how they (or the readers) feel about that resolution communicates theme. Whether they win or lose is less important than how they (or the readers) feel about that ending or what they learn from that ending.

Rocky wanted to prove to himself that he was worth more than what the world said he was. Even though he lost the fight, he lasted until the end with the world’s champion. Luke Skywalker believed that life can be more than being a moisture farmer and ends by becoming a hero for the revolution. He gets what he wants at the end of the story, receives a medal, and is clearly happy about his choices. Rick Blaine in Casablanca believes that the purpose of life is to serve his own interests, but becomes a patriot for a greater cause at the end. He discusses his plans with Renoir as they walk away from the airport and indicates his contentment with the choice by telling Renoir, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

The ending could not tell you how the characters feel, but leaves an open question for the readers to think. The ending of Of Mice and Men specifically leaves the reader room to think. George has killed his friend/ward/responsibility, Lennie, rather than letting a mob of angry ranchers get to him. Lennie, who has limited mental faculties, accidentally killed a woman. At the end, Lennie is dead, George lies when asked how Lennie came to be killed, and the book ends this way:

Slim twitched George’s elbow. “Come on, George. Me an’ you’ll go in an’ get a drink.”

George let himself be helped to his feet. 

“Yeah, a drink.” Slim said, “You hadda, George. I swear you hadda. Come on with me.” 

He led George into the entrance of the trail and up toward the highway. 

Curley and Carlson looked after them. And Carlson said, “Now what the hell ya suppose is eatin’ them two guys?”

The question is thematic, but it’s really to the readers. What WAS “eatin’ them”? It’s something about the topics the story raised: responsibility, friendship, the ingrained tragedy of life, the difficulty of the poor to change their fates, life and death, the burden of choice, etc. The themes are not spelled out, and they aren’t as obvious as When Harry Met Sally, but clearly the events in Of Mice and Men are important and worth retelling. It’s a story whose importance to understanding what it means to be alive on this Earth is clear, but naming exactly what that importance is is not.

The ending of The Great Gatsby doesn’t sound like it is about the story at all:

And as I sat there, brooding on the old unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.

Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning——

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

The ending is ambiguous. Are we supposed to believe that “one fine morning” we will be able to catch the uncatchable past? For a moment are we thinking like Gatsby? Or is the last line the meaning, that we are like people in boats, furiously rowing upstream while our past drags us back?

The ending leaves the readers with questions, but clearly, obviously, the events of The Great Gatsby are worth telling. They are burdened with meaning, but what the meaning is isn’t clear, which is intentional. The events we experience in life seldom provide clear meaning.

The meaning individuals take from events in the real world are like that. A parent dies: the impact is clear. The death of a parent isn’t insignificant, at least it doesn’t feel insignificant. Telling the story of the death, then, clearly is more than talking about an ordinary breakfast, but the details of the character of the parent and their interaction with their child, and the character of the child, add up to different resolutions. The themes may be very different.

The joy of writing, the importance of writing, is in presenting moments that are vital enough to pay attention to.

The writer is like a witness to an event who staggers away from the experience and feels a compulsion to tell the story to others so they too can experience what the writer saw. Sometimes what the writer retells is a thing that is funny or tense or thrilling or heartrending or horrifying. It might be light, so the story is barely an amusing anecdote. It might be a thrill-a-minute pursuit with characters larger than life. It might be a biography or history or reporting of mundane-looking actions.

Whatever the writer reports, though, and recreates through skills in language, characterization, setting, dialogue, etc, the basic message is “Listen! I witnessed this event that caught my attention. It stuck with me, and I’ve been thinking about it. I promise that it’s worthy of your time.” And for the moment on the page, the writer tries to recreate in the readers’ minds the meaningful, attention-worthy event.

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How Do You Do It If You Want To Be Intentional About Theme?

Identify your story’s thematic center by naming its topic or topics and what questions it wants to answer about that topic. Casablanca, for example, seems to be about war, patriotism, and love (among other things—it’s a rich and complicated narrative).

It’s questions might look like this:

• How should one behave when faced with tyranny?
• Should one serve a greater cause?
• What is the value of love?

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Structuring your story thematically

The beginning should introduce the thematic question or topic of the story. The beginning of Hamlet introduces the ghost and Hamlet’s problem of what is his responsibility in life. When Harry Met Sally starts with the statement “Men and women can’t be friends,” Bladerunner starts with a test to determines a character’s humanity, Casablanca starts with Rick claiming he doesn’t stick his neck out for anyone (actually Casablanca starts with introducing the war).

The middle gives the story space to explore the theme in different ways. Actions and speeches focus on what the thematic center of the story. Casablanca’s middle is directly about whether we should serve self-interest or a greater cause. Ugarte begs Rick, “Help me.” Rick does not. Rick’s girlfriend is mad at him for not meeting her. He is unapologetic. Rick pointedly says he is neutral when talking to the Nazi, Major Strasser.

But he hears about the Belgian’s couple problems in getting a visa and listens to the Belgian girl’s dilemma about whether she should do something in secret that her husband would hate in order to save him. Rick chooses to help her. Rick and Ilsa bargain over love, loyalty and duty when she tries to get the letters of transit from him.

The movie is about Rick constantly facing characters who choose between helping themselves or serving greater causes: Captain Renault deals with self-serving and the greater cause, as does Victor Laszlo and Ilsa Lund.

Everything in the story’s middle should be attachable to the story’s thematic topics. LOTS of things can attach, though, and they can take a while in the scenes to get there.

Also, what drives a plot is conflict, what the character wants. So, if what the character wants is related to what the topics of the story are, then everything the character does will also be thematic. The writer doesn’t shoehorn in theme; theme is intrinsic to the conflict and plot.

The end, the resolution of the story, resolves the conflict (the character wins or loses or draws), and along the way the story will have developed and expanded the parameters of what it says about the story’s topics. Casablanca says a lot about love through the multiple scenes between Rick and Ilsa, and the conversations with Renault, and the Belgian girl. It explores quite a bit ideas about patriotism or serving greater causes through Rick’s conversations with Strasser, Renault, Laszlo, and Ilsa.

Because Casablanca, like life, is complicated, it manages to blend the topics. Somehow love becomes related to patriotism. War comments on serving a great cause.

If you were a fly on the wall, and you watched the events of Casablanca unfold, you probably would be moved to tell the story to someone else. Ilsa joining Laszlo and getting on the plane at the end while Rick and Renault go to war would leave you pregnant with the knowledge that what you just saw means something.

If a story is worth someone else’s time, if you have the skill to tell it, if you can marshal to tools necessary to recreate the events for others, so they, like you, are moved by its meaning.

You will have written something that is not pointless.

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Oh, and here’s a P.S. if you’ve read this far that I might have lead with:

Don’t worry if you don’t know the theme of your story when you start writing it. I hardly ever know until I get a thousand or so words into the piece and start asking myself, “Why is this important?” “What drew me to this subject?” “What am I trying to say?”

For me, discovery is an element of writing. I write to figure out what I think is vital and why the subject matter drew me to it.

There’s no way for me to get to what is important without writing my way there.

And even though I was an English teacher and taught about theme for years, it’s not unusual for me to reach the end of a story and not be able to tell someone exactly what the story’s themes were.

But I can say with confidence, “This is story has something to say and is worth your time.”

 

James Van Pelt has been selling short fiction to many of the major venues since 1989. Recently, he retired from teaching high school English after thirty-seven years in the classroom. He has been a finalist for the Nebula, the Theodore Sturgeon Memorial Award, Locus Awards, and Analog and Asimov’s Reader’s Choice awards. Years and years ago, he was a finalist for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer. He still feels “new.” Fairwood Press recently released a huge, limited-edition, signed, and numbered collection of his work, THE BEST OF JAMES VAN PELT. He can be found online at his website or on Facebook.