Introduction to the Story Mind

Syllabus from one of my seminars:

Introduction To The Story Mind
Excerpted from “Writing with The Story Mind”
by Melanie Anne Phillips

What if your story had a mind of it's own, as if it were a character unto itself with its own personality, its own psychology?

Suppose your characters were seen as the conflicting drives of this "Story Mind," theme as its troubled value standards, plot as its efforts to resolve its problems, and genre as the Story Mind's overall personality?

More importantly, what if you could psychoanalyze your story's mind to learn who your characters should be, what thematic issues you should explore, how your plot should unfold, and what unique twists define your story's genre?

In this book you'll learn about all facets of the Story Mind. You'll find out how to create a personality profile for your story and to use it as a map to exactly what your story is about and what happens in it.

Structure Vs Passion

The Story Mind approach to story is a structural one. But no one reads a book or goes to a movie to enjoy a good structure. No author writes because he is driven to create a sound structure. Rather, audiences and authors come to opposite sides of a story because of their passions - the author driven to express his, and the audience hoping to ignite its own.

What draws us to a story in the first place is our attraction to the subject matter and the style. As an audience, we might be intrigued by the potential applications of a new discovery of science, the exploration of newly rediscovered ancient city, or the life of a celebrity. We might love a taut mystery, a fulfilling romance, or a chilling horror story.

As an author what inspires us to write a story may be a bit of dialog we heard in a restaurant, a notion for a character, a setting, time period, or a clever twist of plot we’d like to explore. Or, we might have a deep-seated need to express a childhood experience, work out an irrational fear, or make a public statement about a social injustice.

No matter what our attraction as audience or author, it is our passions that trigger our imaginations. So why should an author worry about structure? Because passion rides on structure, and if the structure is flawed or even broken, then the passionate expression from author to audience will fail.

When structure is done properly, it is invisible, serving only as the carrier wave that delivers the passion to the audience. But when structure is flawed, it adds static to the flow of emotion, breaking up and possibly scrambling the passion so badly that the audience gets nothing of what the author was sending.

Yet, the attempt to ensure a sound structure is an intellectual pursuit. Questions such as "Who is my Protagonist?" "Where should my story begin?" "What happens in Act Two?" or "What is my message?" force an author to turn away from his passion and embrace logistics instead.

As a result, an author often becomes mired in the nuts and bolts of storytelling, staring at a blank page not because of a lack of inspiration, but because he can't figure out how to make his passion make sense.

Worse, the re-writing process is often grueling and frustrating, forcing the author to accept unwanted changes in the flow of emotion for the sake of logic. So what is an author to do? Is there any way out of this dilemma?

In the pages that follow, you'll discover a new way of writing stories - a method that allows an author to retain his passion even while serving the demands of structure. This system can be used either before you write to know exactly where things will be going or after you write to find and refine the structure already hidden in your passion.

You won't be asked to discard any techniques or approaches you are currently using. Rather, you'll simply be adding to what you already know, to what you are already doing; extending your understanding of how stories really work and how to write them.

So join me on an expedition into the new world of the Story Mind. The risks are low, the potential rewards are great, and all you need to carry with you is your own passion.

Introducing the "Story Mind"

This book is entitled, "The Story Mind." and as described above, the Story Mind is a way of looking at a story as if all the characters were facets of a larger personality, the mind of the Story itself.

To illustrate, imagine that you stepped back from your story far enough that you could no longer identify your characters as individuals. Instead, like a general on a hill watching a battle, you could only see each character by his function:

There's the guy leading the charge - that's the Protagonist. His opponent is the Antagonist. There's the strategist, working out the battle plan - he's the Reason archetype. One soldier is shouting at the pathos and carnage - he's the Emotion archetype.

The structure of stories deals with what makes sense in the big picture. But characters aren't aware of that overview. Just like us, they can only see what is around them and try to make the best decisions based on that limited view. And so characters must also be real people as well, with real drives and real concerns.

Characters, therefore, have two completely different jobs: They must act according to their own drives and desires and also play a part in the larger mosaic of the story as a whole. The trick is to create a story in which these two purposes work together, not against each other.

As individuals, each character must be fully developed as a complete human being. As cogs in the Great Machine, they must each fulfill a function. So, when we develop our characters we need to stand in their shoes, make them real people, and express ourselves passionately through each of their points of view. But when we develop our story's structure, we must ensure that each character fulfills his, her, or its dramatic purpose in the story at large.

It is that larger purpose that we call the Story Mind. As previously described, the Story Mind is like a Super Character that generates the personality of the overall story itself, as if it were a single, thinking, feeling, person. So, in addition to being complete people, each of our characters also represents a different aspect or facet of a greater character, the Story Mind.

For example, the Reason archetype represents the use of our intellect. The Emotion archetype illustrates the impact of our feelings. Individually as supposedly real people, they each employ both Reason and Emotion in regard to their own personal issues. But when it comes to the central issue of the story - the message issue that is the essence of what the overall story is about - then one of these two Characters will attempt to deal with that issue solely from a position of Reason and the other solely from the position of Emotion.

This is why we, the audience, see characters simultaneously as real people and also by their dramatic functions, such as Protagonist and Antagonist. Regarding their own concerns, characters are well rounded. Regarding the overall concern of the story as a whole, they are single-minded. Collectively, they describe the conflicting motivations or drives of the Story Mind.

But characters are only part of the story. As we shall see, Plot, Theme, and Genre are represented in the Story Mind as well. For now, suffice it to say that the Story Mind is the character of the story itself.

Why a Story Mind?

Before asking any writer to invest his or her time in a concept as different as the Story Mind, it is only fair to provide an explanation of why such a thing should exist. To do this, let us look briefly into the nature of communication between an author and an audience.

Tales vs. Stories

When an author tells a tale, he simply describes a series of events that both makes sense and feels right. As long as there are no breaks in the logic and no mis-steps in the emotional progression, the structure of the tale is sound.

Now, from a structural standpoint, it really doesn't matter what the tale is about, who the characters are, or how it turns out. The tale is just a truthful or fictional journey that starts in one situation, travels a straight or twisting path, and ends in another situation.

The meaning of a tale amounts to a statement that if you start from "here," and take "this" path, you'll end up "there." The message of a tale is that a particular path is a good or bad one, depending on whether the ending point is better or worse than the point of departure and perhaps whether or not the result was worth the journey.

This structure is easily seen in a vast majority of familiar fairy "tales." Tales have been used since the first storytellers practiced their craft. In fact, many of the best selling novels and most popular motion pictures of our own time are simply tales, expertly told.

In a structural sense, tales have power in that they can encourage or discourage audience members from taking particular actions in real life. The drawback of a tale is that it speaks only in regard to that specific path.

But in fact, there are many paths that might be taken from a given point of departure. Suppose an author wants to address those as well, to cover all the alternatives. What if the author wants to say that rather than being just a good or bad path, a particular course of action is the best or worst path of all that might have been taken?

Now the author is no longer making a simple statement, but a "blanket" statement. Such a blanket statement provides no "proof" that the path in question is the best or worst, it simply says so. If the blanket statement reflects popular assumptions, it might be accepted at face value. But, if the blanket statement diverges from conventional wisdom or expectation, an audience is not likely to accept such a bold claim, regardless of how well the tale is told. It will demand to be convinced; it will demand proof.

In the early days of storytelling, an author related his tale to his audience in person. Should he aspire to manipulate his audience by making a blanket statement that conflicted with the norm, the audience would likely cry, "Foul!" and demand that he prove it on the spot.

Someone in the audience might bring up an alternative path that hadn't been included in the tale. The author could then counter that rebuttal to his blanket statement by describing how the path proposed by the audience was not as strong as the path he did include. One by one, he would disperse any challenges to his tale until he either exhausted the opposition or was overcome by an alternative he couldn't dismiss.

But as soon as stories began to be recorded in media such as song ballads, epic poems, novels, stage plays, screenplays, teleplays, and so on, the author was no longer present to defend his blanket statements. If he were to convince his audience of his point of view he must anticipate all reasonable challenges that might arise to his blanket statement and incorporate them in his presentation in advance. In fulfilling this new requirement, authors pushed the tale format forward beyond the blanket statement until it became a new art form we call the story.

A story is a much more sophisticated form of communication than a tale, and is in fact a revolutionary leap forward in the ability of an author to make a point. Simply put, a tale is a statement, a story is an argument.

Now this puts a huge burden of proof on an author. Not only does he have to make his own point, but he has to prove (within reason) that all opposing points are less valid. Of course, this requires than an author anticipate any objections an audience might raise to his blanket statement. To do this, he must look at the situation described in his story and examine it from every angle an audience might consider in regard to that issue.

By incorporating all reasonable (and valid emotional) points of view regarding the story's message in the structure of the story itself, the author has not only defended his argument, but has also included all the points of view the a person would normally take in examining that central issue. In effect, the structure of the story now represents the whole range of considerations a human mind would make if fully exploring that issue.

As each of the points of view is explored and the argument is made, the structure of the story begins to resemble a map of the mind's problem solving processes, and (without any intent on the part of the author) has become a Story Mind. The more accurately the story's structure represents the Story Mind, the more powerful the story's argument.

And so, the Story Mind concept is not really all that radical. It is simply a short hand way of describing that all sides of a story must be explored to satisfy an audience. And, and if this is done, the structure of the story takes on the nature of a single character.

Armed with this information we are now prepared to examine the nature of the Story Mind, and to see how we might apply what we discover to meet the demands of a logical structure without sacrificing our passion.

What's In Your Story's Mind?

As with people, your story's mind has different aspects. These are represented in your Genre, Theme, Plot, and Characters. Genre is the overall personality of the Story Mind. Theme represents its troubled value standards. Plot describes the methods the Story Mind uses as it tries to work out it's problems. Characters are the conflicting drives of the Story Mind.

Genre

To an audience, every story has a distinct personality, as if it were a person rather than a work of fiction. When we first encounter a person or a story, we tend to classify it in broad categories. For stories, we call the category into which we place its overall personality its Genre.

These categories reflect whatever attributes strike us as the most notable. With people this might be their profession, interests, attitudes, style, or manner of expression, for example. With stories this might be their setting, subject matter, point of view, atmosphere, or storytelling.

We might initially classify someone as a star-crossed lover, a cowboy, or a practical joker who likes to scare people. Similarly, we might categorize a story as a Romance, a Western, or a Horror story.

As with the people we meet, some stories are memorable and others we forget as soon as they are gone. Some are the life of the party, but get stale rather quickly. Some initially strike us as dull, but become familiar to the point we look forward to seeing them again. This is all due to what someone has to say and how he goes about saying it.

The more time we spend with specific stories (or people) the less we see them as generalized types and the more we see the traits that define them as individuals. So, although we might initially label a story as a particular Genre, we ultimately come to find that every story has its own unique personality that sets it apart from all others in that Genre, in at least a few notable respects.

In the Genre section of this book, we'll describe how to get a feel for the personality of the story you wish to tell, how to create a Genre map describing your story's primary attributes, and how to develop your story so that its unique qualities surface and reveal themselves.

Theme

Everyone has value standards, and the Story Mind has them as well. Some people are pig-headed and see issues as cut and dried. Others are wishy-washy and flip-flop on the issues. The most sophisticated people (and stories) see the pros and cons of both sides of a moral argument and present their conclusions in shades of gray, rather than in simple black & white. All these outlooks can be reflected in the Story Mind.

No matter what specific thematic topic is explored, the key structural point about value standards is that they are all comprised of two parts: the issues and one's attitude toward them. It is not enough to only have a subject ( abortion, gay rights, or greed) for that says nothing about whether they are good, bad, or somewhere in between. Similarly, attitudes (I hate, I believe in, or I don't approve of) are meaningless until they are applied to something.

An attitude is essentially a point of view. The issue is the object under observation. When an author determines what he wants us to look at it and from where he wants it to be seen, he creates perspective. It is this perspective that comprises a large part of the story's message.

Still, simply stating one's attitudes toward the issues does little to convince someone else to see things the same way we do. Unless the author is preaching to the audience as choir, he's going to need to convince it to share his attitude. To do this, he will need to make a thematic argument over the course of the story which will slowly dislodge the audience from its previously held beliefs and reposition the audience so that it adopts the author's beliefs by the time the story is over.

In the Theme section of this book we'll outline how to discover your story's message and how to create a thematic argument that presents all sides of the issues. You'll find out how to make your point without hitting the audience over the head with binary statements of right and wrong, and how to lead the audience to your point of view.

Plot

Novice authors often assume the plot of a story is the order in which events unfold. In fact, the order in which events are revealed to an audience is seldom the same order in which they happened to the characters. Through exposition, an author unveils the story, dropping bits and pieces that the audience rearranges until the meaning of the story becomes clear. This technique involves the audience as an active participant in the story rather than simply being a passive observer. It also reflects the way people go about solving their own problems.

When people try to work out ways of dealing with their problems they tend to identify and organize the pieces before they assemble them into a plan of action. So, they often jump around the timeline, filling in the different steps in their plan out of sequence as they gather additional information and draw new conclusions.

In the Story Mind, both of these attributes are represented as well. We refer to the internal logic of the story - the order in which the events in the problem solving approach actually occurred - as the Plot. The order in which the Story Mind considers these elements as it develops a plan of action is called the Storyweaving.

If an author blends these two aspects together, it is very easy to miss holes in the internal logic because they are glossed over by smooth exposition. By separating them, an author gains complete control of the progression of the story as well as the audience's progressive experience. In the plot section of this book you will learn how to create a complete sequential treatment for your story and to develop an exposition plan that involves and captivates your audience.

Characters

If characters represent our conflicting drives yet they each have a personal point of view, where is our sense of self represented in the Story Mind? After all, every real person has a unique point of view that defines his or her own self-awareness.

In fact, there is one special character in a story that represents the Story Mind's identity. This character, the Main Character, functions as the audience position in the story. He, she or it is the first person experience of the story - the story's ego.

Earlier I described how we might look at characters by their dramatic function, as seen from the perspective of a General on a hill. But what if we zoomed down and stood in the shoes of just one of those characters, we would have a much more personal view of the story from the inside looking out.

But which character should be our Main Character? Most often authors select the Protagonist to represent the audience position in the story. This creates the stereotypical Hero who both drives the plot forward and also provides the personal view of the audience. There is nothing wrong with this arrangement but it limits the audience to always experiencing what the quarterback feels, never the linemen or the waterboy.

In real life we are more often one of the supporting characters in an endeavor than we are the leader of the effort. If you have always made your Protagonist the Main Character, you have been limiting your possibilities.

In the Character section of this book we will fully describe each of the Story Mind's drives, how to choose the right one as your Main Character, and how the Main Character needs to come into conflict not with the Antagonist but with an Obstacle Character who represents the opposite point of view.

Getting Our Mind Together

We've now established four key aspects of the Story Mind. Characters are the conflicting drives of the Story Mind, theme its reassessment of values, plot its problem solving techniques, and genre its overall personality. But how do these fit together in an integrated story?

When an audience sits down with a book, in a theater, or in front of a television, it is sitting down with a person to make conversation. In fact, it is a one-sided conversation. Your story must have a personality intriguing enough to hold the audience's interest until the show is over.

Is your story a good enough conversationalist, or does it need to go back to finishing school with another draft before it is ready for prime time? You have days, months, perhaps even years to prepare your story to exude enough charisma to sustain just one conversation. How disappointing is it to an audience when a story's personality is plain and simply dull?

As an author, thinking of your story as a person can actually help you write the story. All too often, authors get mired in the details of a story, trying to cram everything in and make all the pieces fit.

Characters are seen only as individuals, so they often unintentionally overlap each other's dramatic functions. The genre is depersonalized so that the author trying to write within a genre ends up fashioning a formula story and breaking no new ground. The plot becomes an exercise in logistics, and the theme emerges as a black and white pontification that hits the audience like a brick.

Now imagine that you are sitting down to dinner with your story. For convenience, we'll call your story "Joe." You know that Joe is something of an authority on a subject in which your are interested. You offer him an appetizer, and between bites of pate, he tells you of his adventures and experiences.

Over soup, he describes what was driving him at various points of his endeavors. These are your characters, and they must all be aspects of Joe's personality. There can be no characters that would not naturally co-exist in a single individual. You listen carefully to make sure Joe is not a split-personality, for such a story would seem fragmented as if it were of two or more minds.

While munching on a spinach salad, Joe describes his efforts to resolve the problems that grew out of his journey. This is your plot, and all reasonable efforts need to be covered. You note what he is saying, just an an audience will, to be sure there are no flaws in his logic. There can also be no missing approaches that obviously should have been tried, or Joe will sound like an idiot.

Over the main course of poached quail eggs and Coho salmon (on a bed of grilled seasonal greens), Joe elucidates the moral dilemmas he faced, how he considered what was good and bad, better or worse. This is your theme, and all sides of the issues must be explored. If Joe is one-sided in this regard, he will come off as bigoted or closed-minded. Rather than being swayed by his conclusions, you (and an audience) will find him boorish and will disregard his passionate prognostications.

Dessert is served and you make time, between spoonfuls of chocolate soufflé (put in the oven before the first course to ready by the end of dinner) to consider your dinner guest. Was he entertaining? Did he make sense? Did he touch on topical issues with light-handed thoughtfulness? Did he seem centers, together, and focused? And most important, would you invite him to dinner again? If you can't answer yes to each of these questions, you need to send your story back to finishing school, for he is not ready to entertain an audience.

Your story is your child. You give birth to it, you nurture it, you have hopes for it. You try to instill your values, to give it the tools it needs to succeed and to point it in the right direction. But, like all children, there comes a time where you have to let go of who you wanted it to be and to love and accept who it has become.

When your story entertains an audience, you will not be there to explain its faults or compensate for its shortcomings. You must be sure your child is prepared to stand alone, to do well for itself and to not embarrass you. If you are not sure, you must send it back to school.

Personifying a story allows an author to step back from the role of creator and to experience the story as an audience will. This is not to say that each and every detail in not important, but rather that the details are no more or less important than the overall impact of the story as a whole. This overview is one of the benefits of looking at a story as a Story Mind.

The following is excerpted from
Dramatica: A New Theory of Story
by Melanie Anne Phillips & Chris Huntley

The Four Throughlines
It is not enough, however, to develop a complete Story Mind. That only creates the argument the audience will be considering. Equally important is how the audience is positioned relative to that argument.

Does an author want the audience to examine a problem dispassionately or to experience what it is like to have that problem? Is it more important to explore a possible solution or to weigh the benefits and drawbacks of alternative solutions? In fact, all of these points of view must be developed for a story to be complete.

An author's argument must go beyond telling audience members what to look at. I must also show them how to see it. It is the relationship between object and observer that creates perspective, and in stories, perspective creates meaning.

There are four different perspectives which must be explored as a story unfolds in order to present all sides of the issue at the heart of a story. They are the Objective Story Throughline, theMain Character Throughline, theObstacle Character Throughline, and theSubjective Story Throughline.

The Objective Story Throughline
The first perspective is from the Objective Story Throughline, so called because it is the most dispassionate look at the Story Mind.

Imagine the argument of a story as a battle between two armies. The Objective Story view is like that of a general on a hill overlooking the battle. The general focuses on unfolding strategies and, from this perspective, sees soldiers not by name but by their function on the field: foot soldier, grenadier, cavalryman, scout. Though the general may care very much for the soldiers, he must concentrate on the events as they unfold. Because it emphasizes events, the Objective Story Throughline is often thought of as plot, but as we shall see later, plot is so much more.


The Main Character Throughline
For a story to be complete, the audience will need another view of the battle as well: that of the soldier in the trenches. Instead of looking at the Story Mind from the outside, the Main Character Throughline is a view from the inside. What if that Story Mind were our own? That is what the audience experiences when it becomes a soldier on the field: audience members identify with the Main Character of the story.

Through the Main Character we experience the battle as if we were directly participating in it. From this perspective we are much more concerned with what is happening immediately around us than we are with the larger strategies that are really too big to see. This most personally involved argument of the story is the Main Character Throughline.

As we shall explore shortly, the Main Character does not have to be the soldier leading the charge in the battle as a whole. Our Main Character might be any of the soldiers on the field: the cook, the medic, the bugler, or even the recruit cowering in the bushes.

The Obstacle Character Throughline
To see the third perspective, keep yourself in the shoes of the Main Character for a moment. You are right in the middle of the story's battle. Smoke from dramatic explosions obscures the field. You are not absolutely sure which way leads to safety. Still, before there was so much turmoil, the way was clear and you are confident in your sense of direction.

Then, from out of the smoke a shadowy figure appears, solidly blocking your way. The shadowy figure is your Obstacle Character. You can't see well enough to tell if he is friend or foe. He might be a compatriot trying to keep you from stepping into a mine field. Or, he might be the enemy luring you into a trap. What to do! Do you keep on your path and run over this person or try the other path instead? This is the dilemma that faces a Main Character.

To completely explore the issue at the heart of a story, an Obstacle Character must present an alternative approach to the Main Character. The Obstacle Character Throughline describes the advocate of this alternative path and the manner in which he impacts Main Character.

The Subjective Story Throughline
As soon as the Main Character encounters his Obstacle, a skirmish ensues at a personal level in the midst of the battle as a whole. The two characters close in on one another in a theatrical game of "chicken," each hoping the other will give in.

The Main Character shouts at his Obstacle to get out of the way. The Obstacle Character stands fast, insisting that the Main Character change course and even pointing toward the fork in the road. As they approach one another, the interchange becomes more heated until the two are engaged in heart-to-heart combat.

While the Objective Story battle rages all around, the Main and Obstacle Characters fight their private engagement. The Subjective Story Throughline describes the course this passionate battle takes.
The Four Throughlines Of A Story You Know

Here are some examples of how to see the four throughlines of some well known stories. Completed stories tend to blend these throughlines together in the interest of smooth narrative style. From a structural point of view, however, it is important to see how they can be separated.
Star Wars
Objective Story Throughline: The Objective view of Star Wars sees a civil war in the galaxy between the Rebels and the evil Empire. The Empire has built a Death Star which will destroy the Rebels if it isn't destroyed first. To even hope for a successful attack, the Rebels need the plans to the Death Star which are in the possession of a farm boy and an old Jedi master. These two encounter many other characters while delivering the plans, ultimately leading to a climactic space-battle on the surface of the Death Star.

Main Character Throughline: The Main Character of Star Wars is Luke Skywalker. This throughline follows his personal growth over the course of this story. Luke is a farm boy who dreams of being a star pilot, but he can't allow himself to leave his foster parents to pursue his dreams. He learns that he is the son of a great Jedi Knight. When his foster parents are killed, he begins studying the religion of the Jedi: the Force. Surviving many dangerous situations, Luke learns to trust himself more and more. Ultimately he makes a leap of faith to trust his feelings over his computer technology while flying into battle as the Rebel's last hope of destroying the Death Star. It turns out well, and Luke is changed by the experience.

Obstacle Character Throughline: The Obstacle Character of Star Wars is Obi Wan Kenobi and this throughline describes his impact (especially on Luke Skywalker) over the course of the story. Obi Wan is a wizened old Jedi who sees everything as being under the mystic control of the Force. He amazes people with his resiliency and ability, all of which he credits to the Force.

Subjective Story Throughline: The Subjective Story throughline of Star Wars describes the relationship between Luke and Obi Wan. Obi Wan needs Luke to help him and he knows Luke has incredible potential as a Jedi. Luke, however, needs to be guided carefully because his desires are so strong and his abilities so new. Obi Wan sets about the manipulations which will help Luke see the true nature of the Force and learn to trust himself.
To Kill A Mockingbird
Objective Story Throughline: The Objective view of To Kill A Mockingbird sees the town of Maycomb with its horns locked in various attitudes over the rape trial of Tom Robinson. Due-process has taken over, however many people think this case should never see trial. As the trial comes to fruition, the people of the town argue back and forth about how the defense lawyer ought to behave and what role people should take in response to this alleged atrocity.

Main Character Throughline: The Main Character of To Kill A Mockingbird is Scout and her throughline describes her personal experiences in this story. Scout is a young tom-boy who wants things in her life to remain as simple as they've always been. Going to school, however, and seeing the town's reaction to her father's work introduces her to a new world of emotional complexity. She learns that there is much more to people than what you can see.

Obstacle Character Throughline: The Obstacle Character point of view in To Kill A Mockingbird is presented through Boo Radley, the reclusive and much talked about boy living next door to Scout. The mystique surrounding this boy, fueled by the town's ignorance and fear, make everyone wonder what he is really like and if he's really as crazy as they say.

Subjective Story Throughline: The Subjective Story view of To Kill A Mockingbird sees the relationship between Scout and Boo Radley. This throughline explores what it's like for these two characters to live next door to each other and never get to know one another. It seems any friendship they might have is doomed from the start because Boo will always be locked away in his father's house. The real problem, however, turns out to be one of Scout's prejudice against Boo's mysterious life. Boo has been constantly active in Scout's life, protecting her from the background. When Scout finally realizes this she becomes a changed person who no longer judges people without first trying to stand in their shoes.
Summary - The Grand Argument Story
We have described a story as a battle. The overview that takes in the full scope of the battle is the Objective Story Throughline.

Within the fray is one special soldier through whom we experience the battle first-hand. How he fares is the Main Character Throughline.

The Main Character is confronted by another soldier, blocking the path. Is he friend or foe? Either way, he is an obstacle, and the exploration of his impact on the Main Character is the Obstacle Character Throughline.

The Main and Obstacle Characters engage in a skirmish. Main says, "Get out of my way!", and Obstacle says, "Change course!" In the end, the steadfast resolution of one will force the other to change. The growth of this interchange constitutes the Subjective Story Throughline.

Taken together, the four throughlines comprise the author's argument to the audience. They answer the questions: What does it feel like to have this kind of problem? What's the other side of the issue? Which perspective is the most appropriate for dealing with that problem? What do things look like in the "big picture?"

Only through the development of these four simultaneous throughlines can the Story Mind truly reflect our own minds, pitting reason against emotion and immediate advantage against experience in the hope of resolving a problem in the most beneficial manner.

Copyright 2001 Melanie Anne Phillips
http://storymind.com

Op Quads

Dramatica software's model of Mental Relativity psychology, for which we received a patent for its implementation in the Story Engine, is based on a series of operations - dynamics that are applied to the dramatica structural model to twist and turn it like a Rubik's Cube of psychology. Like the structure, the operations fall into Quads (groups of four). The following picture shows some example Op Quads that are applied to the StoryEngine, and what they do (in short-hand symbols).

What is Dramatica -- REALLY!!

An article I wrote on October 26, 1993 explaining our early work on Dramatica Theory

What is Dramatica -- REALLY!!

All self aware minds work in the same patterns. They have the same points of view and understandings available to them. Personal experiences put different input to those points of view creating different values to the understandings. So minds don't differ in their operating system, only in the software that is running on it.

Dramatica has mapped out this intrinsic operating system using fractal patterns, non-linear equations, chaos theory, as well as new means of appreciating systems that are unique to Dramatica. When views with these tools, the reason for Characters, Themes, Plots, Acts and Scenes becomes clear: they all represent nodal points in the spatial and temporal processing of the Story Mind. The specific story that is being told is the software that is loaded into the Story Mind's operating system.

Dramatica allows an author to set values in the Story MInd - values that create justification and inequities. The unfolding of a story is the path by which the Story Mind attempts to rid itself of inequities and shake itself free of justifications. Sometimes the Story Mind can accomplish this and sometimes not. All the specifics are interrelated so that a change in Character (representing a point of view of the Story Mind) will have an effect upon the plot (representing a methodology of the Story Mind).

When all is said and done, Dramatica allows an author to document a single problem or inequity completely and move an audience to understand the impact and outcome of such an imbalance.

Main Character by Class

From 1993, and article about our early concepts in Dramatica:

Understanding the intrinsic nature of Main Characters by Class is much different than understanding a storyline by class. In storylines, Universe Class represents a situation, Mind Class a fixed attitude, Physics Class and activity, Psychology Class a manner of thinking. These four views describe two major sources of difficulties that will be created in the story: Internal or External. Both of these categories can be further divided into a state and a process. Mind Class is an internal state. Psychology Class an internal process. Universe is an external state, Physics an external process.

However, when we are considering a Main Character's Class, rather than that of a storyline, the categories are a bit different. Mind and Psychology still refer to the character's internal state and process, but Universe and Physics refer to her body.

From this perspective, a Physics Class Main Character is physically active, such as in Rambo, Flashdance, or Robin Hood. A Universe Class Main Character is one with a steady body state. We see this kind of character in the Elephant Man, My Left Foot, Ghost, or Dumbo.

A Universe Main Character is bombarded by pressures to succumb to the limitations of their body's attributes. Body limitations does not mean they have less ability for, as we see in Dumbo, there is plenty of ability to fly. The real issue is one of physical self worth, and the change/steadfast issue revolves around the decision to accept one's bodily limitations and cease trying to achieve a thing of difficulty or to continue to strive to overcome them.

Either decision can be correct, depending upon the author's point of view. For example, in Johnny Got His Gun, a young soldier wakes up to find he has lost his arms and legs and cannot move. He is utterly helpless. He ponders giving in to this terrible fate and drifting off into non-awareness. Ultimately he determines to hold on so that he might be able to help prevent future wars by showing the horror of what was done to him. He finds a way to communicate by blinking his eyes. After months of struggling to get through, he remains steadfast until a nurse catches on. He is then able to talk to the generals and express his wishes. They hob nob and decided that their positions would be threatened by his public appearance so the put his room off limits and leave him there to be cared for, but denied public visitation for the remainder of his life. This is a Universe Class Main Character, Steadfast, Success, Bad story.

Sub Plots

An early Dramatica article from October 23, 1993

How do Subplots work?

Subplots are miniature stories in their own right with one important difference: the Main Character of each subplot is also a character in the Main Plot, but is never the Main Character. There reasons for this are simple. Stories provide an audience with a subjective view of the problem through the eyes of a Main Character. They also provide an objective view through the eyes of the author. If a Main Character of a story had a subplot attached to them they would have two subjective views: one for each plot. As a result the two views would overlap each other obscuring the message of the story.

The uses of subplots are many, but all revolve around one consideration: the author wants to explore some aspect of the main story in more detail that would prove interesting. To overcome this constraint, an author can create a mini-story revolving around a character in the main story that resides in the area of interest. In this manner, new dramatic tensions can be created that will sustain interest while the author explore.

Subplots can also be used to maneuver a character into a new understanding so a necessary function they must fill in the main plot will not appear to come out of left field.

WORDSMITH

One of our earliest attempts to share what we had learned about story theory. This was before we ever considered turning our theories into story development software. When Wordsmith was written, we intended simply to publish a book on the subject. Unlike the eventual book, "Dramatica - A New Theory of Story", Worsmith is a much more conversational work, rather than an academic textbook approach used in Dramatica.

WORDSMITH

(A tool for writing)

He wanted to write a story. But he was confused. Sure, he had ideas: settings, characters, even entire scenes that had just sprung up in moments of inspiration. But he also had big blank areas between the ideas, and no idea how to fill them in.

Where should he begin? How should he organize his story. For that matter, should he organize at all or just jump right in? Being the sort who looks before he leaps, and not wanting to waste time stumbling in the dark, he decided to do some research.

His name was John.

Now, John checked the libraries and bookstores; he subscribed to magazines and periodicals. He took seminars and watched movies and TV. He came away more confused than ever. THIS authority said to do THIS. And THAT authority said to do THAT. But THIS and THAT often disagreed. What was worse, the both seemed to work some of the time. And even worse: most of the time they didn't (at least not completely).

So John, being the sort who doesn't give up, decided to visit other successful writers and see how THEY did it.

His first visit was with a very prolific author who never outlined anything in advance. This fellow just hammered away at the keyboard letting one thought create the next in a never ending chain of thought until THE END. But when John went home to try it himself, he found that his work came out directionless. And although the words were pretty and the scenes grand, his characters wandered about aimlessly, or at best just went along for the ride.

So he visited another successful writer. And this author spent a full year researching and outlining until he knew what every paragraph would be before he wrote a word. But when John tried it, his work lost spontineity and came out dry and lifeless.

He gave the "visit" scheme one more try. This author used a formula for everything he wrote. He simply plugged in his ideas until he had a complete story, then merely expanded them into a finished work. "Wow!", thought John. But, alas, when John tried it, everything came out looking the same, time after time.

He had nearly given up and gone to work for the phone company when a flyer appeared in his mail. It read: "Story problems? Learn the Science of Story Structure from Professor Wordsmith." Included were an address and business hours.

John knocked on the Professor's door. A kindly old man with the firey eyes of a sage greeted John, identifying himself as the Professor in question and invited him in. Unlike the working space of the authors he had visited before, Wordsmith's facility was a modern scientific laboratory, and although devoid of clutter, was filled with a plethora of odd objects in endless variety. "Inspiration!", smiled the Professor, anticipating John's question. Along the back wall were three doorways labelled, "Motivation Room", "Supply Room", and "Play Room". But before John could comment, the Professor rambled on.

"So you want to know about story structure, right? And you want to know why I think I have discovered the end-all system, right? And you want me to prove it to you, right? And then you want to know how to use it yourself, RIGHT?" John could only nod.

"Then let's begin.", he began. "In the past, most systems for understanding stories used INDUCTIVE logic. That is, they analyzed existing works looking for patterns. Then they "boiled down" what they found into rules or laws. Problem is: if you start with "4", how can you tell if it was created by 2 + 2, 2 x 2, 1 + 3, 20/5 or what? You can't! That's why inductive analysis has failed to offer complete explanations of all story situations. Further, it is almost impossible to create a story from scratch using techniques that are geared toward breaking complete works into their component parts."

The professor smiled wryly. HIS system, he explained, relyed on DEDUCTIVE logic. That is, he started from an understanding of where a story "grows" from and combines the elements to arrive at a finished product. The Science of Story Structure, therefore, is a most useful tool in not only analysing existing works, but in creating new ones as well.

But where does a story grow from, wondered John. But before he could pose the question, the professor answered it: Story grows from the mind. The mind trying to solve a problem. We can "reason" our way to a solution, or act solely on our "feelings" about it. We can "accept" pondering the problem, or "ignore" it. That's ALL we can do. No matter what the problem is, there are ONLY THESE FOUR APPROACHES to solving it.

But we are faced with two types of problems in life. Those of the mind, and those of the body. One is posed in the inner world, the other in the physical world around us. But ONLY THESE FOUR APPROACHES exist for us to solve either.

Now the problem of the inner plane is a "moral dilemma". Not to be mistaken as a religious issue, but rather question of basic right or wrong. And the problem of the phyical plane is a question of expediency. Meaning, "What is the best way to accomplish my goal(s)?"
Primary characters represent these four approaches. In the most simple stories each of the primary characters represents one of these four approaches and uses it for both the moral dilemma and the physical quest. In complex stories, as we shall later see, characters may represent more than one of these approaches, or a different one for the moral choice than on the pysical question, or only one for the moral choice, and none for the physical, ad nauseum.
The point being, that once you understand the FOUR APPROACHES, you can mix and match in almost limitless variety to create virtually any story you desire. Hence, we have the "Motivation Room" that contains the "Character Generator", where you make these decisions of combination.

But characters alone have nothing to due, much as pure energy cannot act without something physical to be applied to. So the second room, is the "Supply Room". This is the "plot" room where we pull from an infinite inventory the materials we wish our characters to employ. These materials may be vocations, interpersonal relationships, setting, time, talent, knowledge, posessions... In short, any ability, knowledge, situation, or object that a character can move, manipulate or employ.

But where do they do this? In the "Play Room". This is the "Story" room where it is all put into motion. You see, just as energy cannot accomplish anything without materials to act upon; materials without energy remain motionless. But when you apply characters to plot, story happens.

Of course, play must occur on a playing field. And the exact dimensions and nature of that field are wholly up to the author. Further, the materials from the supply room may be added or removed from the "Play Room" at any time during the story. This room may have objects bolted to the floor that serve as obstacles, or pitfalls, that may or may not be hidden to the characters. And both obstacles and pitfalls may be moved, removed, or changed in nature throughout the play at the whim of the author.

The essential point to remember is: Once you have established a playing field, filled with materials, manipulated by characters, the success of your story depends upon your ability to "call the game".

"But that is just the surface explanation!", the Professor continued. "To learn how to use this system to create your own stories you must examine each concept at it's most elemental level, then combine these basics into the next level of complexity... You wanna learn?", he demanded. John nodded the afirmative, and the Professor threw open the door to the "Motivation Room", motioning John inside...

A bright glow radiated from the beaconing door, but the professor was prepared, handing John a pair of darkened safety glasses and donning a pair himself. "Put these on.", he explained. "This room contains the energy that runs the story machine, much as a nuclear reactor creates the electricty to do physical work."

As his eyes adjusted, John could see that the walls were featureless except for a set of shelves containing four brilliant crystaline cylinders from which burst the intense light. One glowed blue, one red, another yellow, and the last a pure white. John turned to see that the center of the room was dominated by a large machine possessed of four slots, obviously designed to hold the cylinders, and a single fiber-optics line running from the machine through a hole in the wall to the Play Room.

"These", the Professor exlpained, "are the FOUR APPROACHES to solving problems in the "Moral Plane". The blue one is "Reason". A Character driven by reason will approach the moral dilemma with logic and attempt to "figure out" a solution. Similarly, the red cylinder is "Emotion". Obviously, this character lets his feelings soley determine his conclusion on the Moral Plane, even if he flies in the face of logic. Yellow is the color of the Character called "Denial", who won't even consider the moral issue, pretending to be unaware of it, or simply denying it is an issue at all."

"What about the White one?", John inquired. "Ah!", the Professor's voice took on a reverential quality. "The White resepticle contains "Acceptance". This is the Character who accepts the burden of considering the moral question and acts as moderator to the debate. He is colorless in purity, not only because he must consider the other three moral approaches and therefore their primary colors combine into white, but also because he is neutral in his approach until he finally makes the moral decision. It is only this "pure" Character who can make the final, decisive choice."

"Give me a minute!", John stammered, his head reeling.

"Read the One Minute Manager!", retorted the Professor, not unkindly.

"Now, if the only decisions to be made in a story were "moral" ones, this would be enough. But the "real" world intrudes on this simplicity. In story as in life, physical existence demands its due, as neither mind nor meat can survie without the other. So, "plot" decisions occur at every turn, and each must be handled before the story can continue.

"These Four Approaches each have a plot equivalent. Although not identical, these Plot Approaches act in similar manners to their moral kin.

Can / Need

Some notes from our early development of the Dramatica theory of story. Probably written around 1991:

CAN/NEED

GOAL -- WANTS TO BE HAPPY

* Begins in a negative state of being. "I am not happy. I don't know how to become happy, but I want to BE happy".

* Tries to resolve "unhappiness". Looks inside of self for answer but cannot find it. "What can I DO to become happy? I don't know what to do to become happy".

* Looks outside of self for answer. "Let me look at others who are happy. If I become what they ARE, I too will BE happy".

(NOTE: This is the first level of Justification. They are looking at what they DO, not what they ARE. To BE is a state of being, not reachable by DOing. However, the PROOF is preceived as the reactions of others to ones deeds and since a can/need person is unable to measure BEing in any other terms, it is as good a place to start as any.)

* Decides on a course of action. "If I DO what they are doing, I will BE what they ARE". Specifically, "What do I NEED to do to do what they are doing", or, "I NEED to do what they did to BECOME what they ARE".

* Something occurs (or is) that threatens to worsen their situation and/or condition if they proceed on the course of action.

POTENTIAL DILEMMA

* If risk to situation and/or condition is perceived to be minimal they may decide to go for it and actual dilemma is averted.

* If risk to situation and/or condition is perceived to be greater than the potential of achieving the goal, they will find a way to try and have both by trying to NEGOTIATE their situation. "I'll give you fifty cents on Tuesday for a hamburger today".

"I will DO something that will eventually let me DO what I NEED TO DO so that I CAN BECOME what I NEED TO BECOME to BE HAPPY without worsening my current situation and/or condition".

* The "I will DO something" is a limited term OBLIGATION. The first justification is their belief in the NEED to do it before proceeding with their own goal. It can be argued that they subconsciously know that it is actually buying them time to better understand their own goal. The second justification is their perception that they are UNIQUELY ABLE to fulfill the OBLIGATION.