Does anyone out there remember the "Dragnet" series on television starring Jack Webb as Sergeant Joe Friday? If you don't, I'd like to remind you that his most famous line was, "Just the facts, ma'am." A scenario of one episode may have gone something like this:
"Ma'am, you witnessed a crime yesterday at 4:30pm. Can you tell me exactly what you saw?"
"Well, I had gone downtown to find a pair of shoes to match the dress I was wearing to my niece's wedding. Stanton's didn't have what I wanted so I decided to try that new store-you know, the one next to the pharmacy on the corner that has the aspirin on sale which, of course, was next to the jewelry store that was robbed and sure enough, they had the exact color I needed."
"Ma'am-Ma'am. I just the need the facts about the crime you witnessed."
"Oh. You mean the proprietor of the jewelry store shot the redheaded robber whose abettor escaped in the silver pickup, license number SXT-294?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Just the facts."
I couldn't help but be reminded of "Dragnet" after I had given a copy of my first twenty-page synopsis to each of my three critique partners. I knew how Sergeant Friday must have felt.
"Too many details," they told me. "Just give us the facts, Glenda."
Determined to master this problem, I immediately condensed my synopsis to six pages and managed to put in a very important detail that I had left out in the longer version.
"Much better," they told me.
One of my critique partners explained to me that if someone pours a cup of coffee, that's all you need to say. The reader knows it came from a coffee pot and the brand of coffee doesn't matter any more than the color of the cup.
To make a long story short, remember Sergeant Friday's famous line, "Just the facts, Ma'am."
When we were young, our stories started with "Once upon a time" and usually finished with the words, "and they lived happily ever after. The end." What existed between those expressions was The Plot. Now, many of our stories start with a "cute meet" and, while they don't overtly end with the "happily" expression, they suggest that sentiment. And The Plot is still right smack in the middle. That's what we writers supply.
In a way, constructing a plot is quite similar to solving an algebra problem, such as 2x to the 2nd power-5x=3. While there are three ways to solve this equation (two of which always work with the third requiring a bit of numerical intuition) there are many ways to weave the threads of the plot. I've heard various chapter members and speakers, as well as articles in writers' maga-zines, address how writers carefully choose characters and the plot derives from how these characters interact. On the other hand, I start with the plot. Actually, I start with the last scene and work backwards.
By just looking at the above equation, I know there are two numbers which will satisfy the value of "x." I also know there are two smaller equations contained in the larger one, and the answer to both of those is "3." The same analysis applies to the final scene--I know the answer. Whether the scene involves the romantic rival getting devoured by the same sharks he'd planned to feed the hero to or having the heroine and her son accept a marriage proposal from the hero and his daughter while everyone stands in the middle of a thunderstorm, I know how the story ends before I ever turn on my computer.
Just as I have to decide whether I'll use the "complete the square" or "quadratic formula" method to solve the problem, I have to decide how these people ever got in the situation I just described. Why were these people standing on the edge of a cliff? Why was that proposal so urgent that the characters couldn't wait until they got inside the house where it was dry? Then I take another step backward.
Why sharks? Where's this cliff? The answers to those questions require other questions. Who knows about sharks? How, or where, did the character learn this? Why did he want to know? Why do both the heroine and hero have children? Where's each child's other parent? The proposal's urgency suggests that the char-acters have endured a separation. Why? How long? Did the separation involve only the adults, or were the children also separated?
By these repeated backward steps, I eventually learn what kind of characters my plot requires. If a plot involves a heroine who tries to discover the identity of a serial killer but ends up hiding from him on a skyscraper's roof, I don't choose a woman who's so self-absorbed that she expresses no curiosity about the blood running from beneath a closet door--actually, she might never see it. Nor do I choose a woman who's so afraid of life that after seeing that blood, she flees the city after making an anonymous 911 call to the police. Even if the killer were to see her, he'd know he was in no danger of discovery.
If, however, the woman opens the closet door, sees the body, then remains while the police perform their duties, observing their procedures closely and asking pertinent questions, the killer might fear for his continued freedom. In addition to endan-gering the killer, this woman is showing enough spirit to attract the attention of the handsome detective investigating the case. This situation begs the writer to get these two people together, and the plot takes off. The same for my algebra problem. Both the 2 before the first "x" and the 3 on the right-hand side of the equal mark are prime numbers and simply beg for the use of the "factoring" method. And the two values of "x" are three (3) and minus one-half (-1/2).
Smugglers, or Fair Traders as they preferred to be called, made a good living out of smuggling contra-band past the excisemen. Coastal Devon and Cornwall were perfect for such operations. Their poverty-stricken inhabitants knew every secret landing place for ships, every hidden cave or friendly inn where goods could be stashed. One of the more famous smugglers' hideouts was Jamaica Inn, located in Cornwall. (The same Jamaica Inn made famous by Daphne du Maurier.) Entire villages participated in smuggling, including children, widows, and ministers.
These villagers and sons of Neptune provided a necessary service to the community, making sure that even the poorest among them could afford life's little luxuries for a reasonable price. Smuggling improved the standard of living in many coastal towns. Much of the contraband made its way to London and into the homes of wealthy lords and ladies who had little knowledge of the methods employed to ensure its safe delivery. Upon learning of a planned raid by excisemen on their farmhouse, smugglers hid the contraband in the bedroom. The farmer's pregnant wife immediately took to bed and the local doctor (also a smuggler) was summoned. He declared the bedroom off-limits to the excisemen, due to the "critical" condition of his patient.
Another incident involved a farmer carrying a keg of brandy down a winding road. Spotted by an exciseman, he hurried around a bend and barely had time to pull a gatepost out of the ground, drop the cask in, and replace the post. The baffled officer found nothing and let the man go.
Ingenious smugglers used mules, which they shaved and covered with grease to prevent their capture by excisemen. They also used reverse commands to train the mules, so that if an officer tried to stop them by saying "Whoa!" the mules obediently took off running.
The dandified gents and perfumed ladies of England were well aware of the benefits they reaped from the services of these coastal smugglers. In fact, smugglers were so highly respected that many of the excisemen turned a blind eye to their activities, if not out of a sense of community, then from a sense of fear should the villagers catch them actually trying to arrest a smuggler!
First printed in Greater Seattle Chapter's HeartBeat, May 1998
