Elements of Storytelling—Symbolism and Iconography in Fiction

While a lot of what I mention is self-evident, I’m actually including source references with this article due to the, ahem, “touchiness,” of some of the symbolic aspects that I mention. So, yeah, you’ve been warned:

Symbols are everywhere, and we are only beginning to understand the full psychological effect on the human psyche. Why are people attracted to certain colors?¹ What’s up with the color black always being viewed as a sign of evil or masculine aggression? Why did the Cross (which exists in many forms, like the Egyptian Ankh) give people a sense of protection even before the Christian era?² And what does all this have to do with writing fiction?

Long before writing and language became the dominant form of communication, ancient humans used to paint symbols onto cave walls to communicate vital information to the rest of their tribes, like the best food to hunt and where to find it.³ So reaction to symbolic imagery was ingrained into the human psyche thousands of years before the first Sumerian cuneiform was created. The skill that ancient humans used to interpret the symbols is what we today call symbolism, better called symbol literacy⁴.

As writing and language became the dominant communication method our skill in symbol literacy diminished; although, it never completely died out, and much of it became incorporated into the great myths and fairy-tales–the forerunners of fantasy, science fiction, and horror. And it is in those three genres where you find the ancient symbolic iconography appear most often, whether it’s the color symbols used by Edgar Allen Poe or Tolkien representing Sauron as a fiery All-Seeing Eye. Often the image use is a subconscious act during the writing process, but sometimes the writer knows exactly what he’s putting in there and its intended effect.

Nowhere does it become more obvious than in big-budget films like Ultraviolet. You could possibly write an entire book about the symbolic iconography in this film alone, and there are hundreds of films filled with symbols to one extent or another. But let’s just break down one or two of the basics.

In Ultraviolet you have the headquarters of the main antagonist, Dax. The walled compound is in the shape of a cross (a symbol for Life and Resurrection²), and while some of the structures are pyramidal, the main building in the cross’s center possesses a domed roof comprised of triangular glass panes, representing the “dome” of the Sun. Why does the evil guy responsible for tyranny and death dwell here? Because he’s the corruption from within. It’s no accident that the final battle involves flame-covered swords and that the compound gets destroyed by fire, for fire is a two-edged sword that can both destroy and purify at the same time. Throughout the film, the hemophage protagonist, Violet (a color made by the mixing of red with blue, or war with peace) acts as a matronly protective Madonna figure to a child named Six who was engineered with a pathogen that could doom the entire world but also contains the key to possibly cure the hemophages. Six dies, thus saving the world from the pathogen, and Violet’s tears (representing the Water of Life) later “resurrects” Six as a hemophage. Whether the hemophages will one day be cured is left open, but the Twice-Born God² nature of Six combined with the Isis/Horus (or Mary/Christ) relationship between him and Violet intentionally leaves the viewer feeling hopeful.

In Lord of the Rings, Gandalf the Grey resurrects as Gandalf the White. The color white represents goodness, or the Light. But why does it represent this? Because in ancient times the rise of the Sun meant a new day dawned and they had survived one more night. Night was the most fearful time of all for ancient humans. Predators came out at night who could see at night far better than humans could. That is why night, or darkness (black), was personified as evil; and day, or light (white), was seen as good. This is why white was often viewed as a feminine aspect in matriarchal societies but as a masculine aspect in patriarchal societies. And it is also the reason why the Sun plays such a prominent role in ancient myths all over the world.

Sauron is described as “a great eye, lidless, wreathed in flame” that can pretty much see anything he wants. The All-Seeing Eye is an ancient symbol that represented the Eye of God which the ancients often viewed as being the Sun. So why is a being of evil (or night) pretending to be God? Just as Set seeks to stop Ra, and Satan seeks to stop Christ, because he wishes to be the ruler over all (God); so too does Sauron seek to stop Illuvatar by pretending to be Illuvatar, but he can only succeed at being a cheap imitation.

The above are only tiny examples of the richness and depth to be found in the meaning of symbols that appear in literature, film, music, or even the building you passed on your way to the grocery store. But how can you incorporate such richness to enhance your own fiction?

The first step is to understand that the symbols cannot become the story, they only serve to enhance the story you’re trying to tell or to provide a “hidden” story within the story (which Neil Gaiman does quite often).

Second, unless you plan to let your subconscious have all the fun, you have to know your symbols. A good book to get is Elisabeth Goldsmith’s Ancient Pagan Symbols. That book is the mother load of ancient symbols and their meanings. A good study of the psychological influence symbols and colors can have on the human mind can be found, of all places, on YouTube: Michael Tsarion–The Subversive Use of Sacred Symbolism in the Media. It’s in eleven parts and is an eye-opener to the amount of ancient symbols people get bombarded with on a daily basis and how corporations use them to sell their products. Tsarion is well-known among the alternative research field, and many of his views on other things fall in the category of conspiracy theory. However, I find his work on symbolism well-researched and much along the lines of what people like Elisabeth Goldsmith, J. R. R. Tolkien, and Joseph Campell has written or said on the subject. So, Dan Brown, eat your heart out.

And last but not least, read Poe. Poe knew symbolism, and more importantly he knew how to incorporate them into his stories without making it too obvious. Of course, if you try to bombard your readers like Poe did, you better know exactly what you’re doing; otherwise, it’ll fall flat.

But whether you decide to bombard the human psyche with “in-your-face” iconography, use it sparingly to enhance a scene or two, or just study it to learn what your subconscious had known all along, one thing is for certain. Once you become symbol literate, you’ll never again see the world through the same eyes.

And, with a little luck and some skill, neither will your readers.

References

¹. Color Theory–Color Lessons in Art and Design. http://www.artyfactory.com/color_theory/color_theory_2.htm

². Goldsmith, Elisabeth (2003, June 11). Ancient Pagan Symbols (Illustrated Edition). Red Wheel.

³. Cave Paintings. New World Encyclopedia. http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Cave_painting

⁴. Tsarion, Michael (2003). The Subversive Use of Sacred Symbolism in the Media. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cz0l94TUPRA

Further Reading

Campbell, Joseph (2008). The Hero with a Thousand Faces. (3^rd Edition). New World Library

Randall, Edith (1974). Sacred Symbols of the Ancients. DeVorss & Company.

Elements of Storytelling: Developing Character

Character is everything. You can have the greatest plot on Earth, but if the characters are boring cardboard cutouts that talk like machines (especially if they’re not machines) then everything else about the story isn’t going to matter. Nobody’s going to care what happens to your protagonist—or even your antagonist. There are four primary elements that are vital to creating a good character: appearance, personality, motivation, and weakness. Every major character should have all four elements well developed, and even minor characters should have at least two if not three.

Appearance:

Even in a screenplay for a film, it helps to give the film director some clue as to what to look for when he picks his actors. Describing a character’s appearance is also vital for the artist in your graphic novel to have an idea of what to draw. And those descriptions are all the novel and short story reader will have to visualize the character.

While technical specs are fine and dandy when creating a character, don’t put that crap into your manuscript. It’s boring (not to mention it violates that whole “show, don’t tell” rule). To show how boring, here’s a comparison (using my character, Yavar Thain):

Tech spec version: She stood 6’ tall with a slender build, had long black hair, and dark brown eyes. Her skin was a dark brown. She wore arm greaves over a silk shirt and leg greaves over black leggings and knee-high boots. Her armored cape was made of water dragon scales. On her belt were several weapons.

Show-Don’t-Tell Version: The woman with tightly braided coal-black hair walked with purposeful but quiet steps in soft leather knee-high boots, and her tall lean form moved with a deadly feline grace. Tight black leggings highlighted the movements of the supple muscles in her thighs and calves. The white of her silk shirt made her smooth mocha skin more noticeable where exposed. She could have been easily mistaken for a mere aristocrat were it not for her metal greaves on her shins and forearms, an armored cape fashioned from the silver-like scales of a water dragon, and her belt of throwing daggers and two curved knives. If that weren’t enough, the cold cruelty found within her dark eyes would chill even a battle-hardened warrior.

Not only does the second description sound more enticing to the reader, a bit of the character’s personality also gets revealed in the description of her appearance. And this leads to:

Personality:

A well-developed personality is paramount to creating a great character. But just as with appearance the personality should be shown, not told. It isn’t enough just to tell your audience that so-and-so is a likeable outgoing person who happens to be a bit of an airhead. Show his outgoing nature with his body language (“He flashed a smile at anyone who took his fancy”). Prove his likeability with his dialogue and by showing how other characters react to him. And as for his airheadedness, well, that shouldn’t be too hard to show….

Body language, action, and dialogue are your friends when it comes to showing your character’s personality.

Motivation:

Hero or villain, everybody has an agenda. Everybody.

Nobody does things “just because” (unless it’s Korgash, and even he only pretends it’s “just because”). And the more personal the motivation, the more depth your character will have. Ask yourself: why is your villain determined to rule the world? Is he addicted to the power? Does he think he can do a better job than the last ruler? Does he have a utopian dream that unfortunately requires a few eggs to be broken?

And why is your hero thwarting him? Is he idealistic (“no one should have that much power. Nothing good can come of it.”)? Does he think he can do a better job than the villain? Or was his family one of the “eggs” that got broken? Of those three motivations, which one makes him more sympathetic to the reader?

Or perhaps it’s the villain who is seeking revenge for his family?

What motivates the characters in your story will have a big effect on the choices your characters will make, and thus will effect the plot in many and unforeseen ways.

Weakness:

Every great protagonist (and antagonist) usually has a weakness or character flaw. Superman might be able to juggle asteroids with his pinky fingers, but toss a little Kryptonite his way and suddenly he’s a whiny little wuss. Dr. Doom has a bad habit of gloating at the worst possible moment. And the Hulk reverts back to Bruce Banner when his anger gets spent.

Every Achilles has his heel to deal with, even if it’s just a personality quirk that gets in the way of him accomplishing his goal. What are your character’s weaknesses and flaws? Is he highly intelligent but too arrogant to know when he’s wrong? Is she terrified of trusting others because of past betrayals? Perhaps he’s a hopeless romantic with an ugly face and a hunched back.

Never make it too easy for your characters to accomplish their goals. And the best way to insure they have a hard time is to give them a weakness.

And now that you’ve got the basics, go make some awesome characters.

Elements of Storytelling—Theme, or “What Does it Mean?”

Ever been in a conversation where the person you were talking to looks at you with his eyelids all aflutter and his eyeballs rolling in his head, followed by the question, “What’s your point?”

Well, just like in that conversation, if your audience has the same reaction about your masterpiece then it’s usually an indication that something is wrong. And what is wrong is quite simple:

It didn’t mean jack.

That’s what theme is: what the story means. Not what it’s about (that’s the plot and other fun stuff), but what the whole overall purpose of why you just killed all those trees (or fried all those poor little electrons). And you better have a damn good reason for that mass murder; otherwise, Greenpeace and Save the Trees will be all over your ass.

Zap all the electrons you want, though. Nobody gives a crap about them.

Theme is arguably the most important element to a story. Yet, ironically, the more you sweat it the more likely you are to screw it up by getting too preachy. After all, fans only like a dash of sugar and cream in their otherwise pitch-black muck called life, er, uh, coffee. They tend to get testy when you add too much of the good stuff. It’s like supplying a crackhead with the crack he needs, except he’ll complain if you give him too much in addition to overdosing. The best way to handle theme is to simply not worry about what the story means until after your first draft. Let your subconscious guide that part, after all your Evil Twin knows best. It’ll be in the second draft and later edits that, to steal a line from the coolest character in Babylon 5, “The truth points to itself.” Try it; you might even surprise yourself during those rare moments when you discover that your subconscious disagrees with you.

Fortunately, for me, I’ve already delved into the whole concept of themes in a previous column titled Give it Meaning, thus saving my arthritic fingers from having to write half a dozen articles on that element alone (don’t you just love the Internet?). And no, I’m not giving you a link. Use your Google-Fu and look it up, ya’ lazy bum.

Sigh. Okay, here’s the link

Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.

Elements of Storytelling—The Plot Twist

The unsuspecting surprise, the destiny-changing revelation, the true villain’s arrival: the ways a plot can be twisted into a pretzel of surprises are many and varied. Yet they contain a few similar requirements in order to be successful.

First off, the twist has to be something that isn’t easy to predict if you want it to be a surprise. But, at the same time, it can’t be something just randomly tossed in (at least not in the final draft of your story). It has to be a logical part of the story’s progression. The audience has to think, after the initial surprise, Ah hah! I see!

A good way to insure this is to toss in a couple foreshadowing hints along the way. If the main antagonist is someone other than who the protagonist had originally thought, the protagonist (and audience) should still have at least heard about this “new” antagonist’s name at least once earlier in the story. If the big threat the protagonist must thwart turns out to be nothing more than a trap, or a red herring, or both, then before the trap gets sprung, there should at least be a couple hints in the story to at least make the audience (and preferably the protagonist as well) suspect that it might be. If the hero’s sidekick is actually a spy working for the villain, then toss in one or two clues to cause some suspicion (but in a “Nah! It can’t be” way).

Another thing to be careful with is to not throw so many plot twists in that you lose your audience. There is no magic number on that. No “five is good but six is bad” because six might be too few, or three too many. It all depends on the story and how well prepared you are when throwing in the twist(s)—preferably prepared ahead of time, but at minimum before you’ve finished your final edits.

Oh, and uh, like with dating don’t be predictable with any of it. Yeah, I know, goes without saying….

Elements of Storytelling—And Action!

Action: when you hear that word, I bet the first thing you think is Kung-fu fighting, blazing guns firing off far more than their magazines can hold, and cars that blow up in total disregard to the laws of physics. While the Action genre is rife with such things, even Romance requires that characters move around and do things—usually things that you wish you had the courage and/or physical health to do with your significant other… oh wait, that would be the Erotica genre, my bad.

But whether doing something cool or just picking up a coffee cup, characters have to do things. While not every action must be done with dramatic flair, sometimes a scene just requires something a little bit more than just “he walked down the hall.” Action can be used to describe character far better than just telling, and it can also enhance dialogue. Indeed, without action, you have no story. Nobody would be going anywhere or doing anything—kinda like The Great Gatsby.

Action is such an important part of a story that it’s almost impossible to move a story along without it. Don’t believe me? Try writing an all-dialogue story once and see for yourself how hard it is to avoid action. Now write a story with no dialogue and only action. Much easier to do, now isn’t it? The importance of action can especially be seen in film. Watch an anime short (like an Aeon Flux episode) that’s all action and no dialogue or read the famous Superman issue where Superman got killed. It can be done. It works. Now just try to find a film where there’s no action at all, and only dialogue. Good luck finding that, and if you do then try not to fall asleep through it.

Action can also be used as a means to hook the reader into the story. Opening a story with “he dove off the cliff, head first toward the onrushing river, with a smile on his face” can leave a reader asking, “Why did he do that?” And thus the reader will read further in order to find out.

And who can ever forget the old Western cliché of walking off into the sunset?

So make sure you put some action into that story, especially if it’s a long story. Otherwise, Cthulu will come and eat you.

~Scott

Elements of Storytelling—Dialogue

Dialogue can arguably be one of the most, if not the most, important part of characterization. And it’s not about what the character says, but how he says it. While the formatting of the dialogue in a screenplay or comic book is different than from a novel (and for you novel and short story writers, I have something extra for you about dialogue), the character still needs to sound real, and his personality needs to show in the words he uses and how those words are arranged. “I challenge you!” is a completely different personality than “Come at me, bro!” and can also be used as a means to show the overall culture the character has grown up in. Another thing to remember is that people who know each other are not going to say each other’s name at the end of every other sentence:

“Did you take a look at this, Bart?”

“No, Bob, I didn’t.”

“What do you think of it, Bart?”

“I think you need to stop saying my damn name all the time, Bob.”

“Look who’s talking, Bart.”

Unless they’re having hot steamy sex with each other, and even then it’s done passionately:

“Yes, John, yes!”

“Oh, Betty, oh—wait! My name isn’t John!”

Also, wasting precious time (and pages) on idle chitchat that does nothing to progress the story along or helps reveal character depth is, well, a waist. Cut it out, preferably with scissors dabbed in gasoline and set on fire. And for God’s sake, stop having humans talk like robots! Robots talk like robots! Humans talk like humans—except when it’s Mitt the Rombot, but he could be a Cylon, so….

Now that you have a good idea of what not to do, I’ll leave you with a tip on a “to do” that often gets missed: body language. Over 75% of communication is body language, more than the words out of your mouth, more than even how you say those words, your body language is what gets picked up on the most. The characters in your story should be no different. Even the makers of video games understand how important body language can be. With movies and plays, it’s the actors who get that responsibility. With graphic novels, it’s usually the artist with some minor input from the writer on occasion (unless both writer and artist is the same person). But for novels and short stories, well, it’s all you, baby. So stop forgetting about body language.

Now go start crafting some good dialogue!

“And so it Begins…”: Hook and Reel

Hooking the audience’s attention as early as possible is Paramount, er uh, important. It’s best when done within the first minute, the first page—the first word if possible. As much as I loved the Transformers live action film (Psst! Transformers: The Movie animated film from 1986 is way cooler), there was one major problem: If it hadn’t been Transformers, and Megan Fox wasn’t so hot, I would never have remained in my seat long enough to wait for it to get interesting were it not for the exposition at the start of the film (in Optimus Prime’s voice no less) promising some really cool stuff to come. But, alas, such “prologues” are often used so much they might as well be considered crutches.

And face it: most of us don’t have the advantage of a brand name to keep our audience/readers interested. Therefore, you have to peak the interest of your audience from the beginning, or else you’re screwed (and not in a good way). From a novel or short story perspective, the first sentence should be sufficient to throw out that hook.

There’s a lot to be said about L. Ron Hubbard and Battlefield Earth (and no, I’m not even going to bother talking about that damn movie with the same title)—and very little of it good—but one thing he knew was how to hook in his readers with a single sentence:

“Man,” said Terl, “is an endangered species.”

He peaks your interest, leaving you wondering what was meant, and provides you a foreshadowing of what the story is mainly about: humanity as an endangered species. Later you learn why humanity is about to go extinct, but the important part is that you know they’re endangered at the very beginning of the story.

In film, it’s often the introduction of the main character (often after the panoramic view shot)—usually found in an awkward or compromising situation (which I like to refer to as the “Huh!?” moment)—that tends to be used as the hook.

There’s many ways you can throw that bait and hook into the pond, and it’s fun to practice different ways of doing it—even if only to figure out what baits work best on that hook. But that hook needs to go ker-plop! Otherwise, why bother?

Er, um, where was I?

Elements of Storytelling:  Anatomy of a Plot—Basics

It’s always good to start with the basics. For plot, it’s beginning, middle, and end.

Scratch that. It isn’t. It’s actually beginning, middle, climax, and resolution. Ending a story at the climax isn’t always a good idea, especially if there’s dangling plot threads. Also, the reader will want to know how the characters have changed since the beginning of the story.

The beginning sets the story in motion. This is where you have to hook the reader, introduce the protagonist(s) and antagonist(s), set the pace, and let the reader know what the protagonist must accomplish before the end (the goal might change later in the story, but that’s for another article)—and all preferably within the first couple pages (or first 10-15 minutes). You should never devote more than 5-10% of the whole story to setting it up. Because of this, the beginning is often the most difficult part of the story to get right, and if you don’t get it right the whole story will end in epic fail. So it’s always best to devote more time to figuring out how a story begins than with any other part of the story.

Yes, yes, I know that J.R.R. Tolkien never followed that rule. But you and I are not Tolkien. Don’t try to be. There was only one Tolkien. And there’ll likely never be another.

The middle is where the largest bulk of the story will be, 75% at minimum. It’s in the middle where you start complicating the plot with twists and (if you want a big story) divergent plot threads (not too many, mind you. You risk losing the reader if you do that). It’s also in the middle where minor characters can be introduced, and resolutions of minor threads can be resolved as you head toward the climax. Whether you strive for a slow but building pace, or a roller-coaster ride of highs and lows, the pace should be faster than at the beginning by the time you reach the climax. In short, it’s a lot like sex.

It is important to keep the action going and to avoid bogging everything down with too much exposition. The reader doesn’t need to know every single teeny tiny detail of your world, characters, setting, what they look like and/or wearing, how they’re feeling (unless you showhow they’re feeling), etc., etc., ad infinitum. All the reader (or viewing audience) needs is enough to grasp the big picture and not get lost. The bulk of the trivia is best left for later guidebooks, sequels, or spinoffs (hint, hint).

The climax is where everything comes to a head—often with lots and lots of explosions if it’s an action story. But even in a romance story, the climax still needs to be “explosive” emotionally. And that is the key word to describe the best climaxes—emotional. See? I told you it’s a lot like sex.

This is the point where it’s do-or-die. The protagonist either succeeds in his/her goal(s) or doesn’t. And the more difficult you made the journey/task/war campaign/whatever, the better. And the climax must be where the protagonist faces his/her most difficult challenge, preferably something two to three times more difficult than anything the protagonist faced during the middle. And if it’s a war story, this is where you want the death count to skyrocket. If it’s a porno, well, you know what needs done.

It’s also important to never let the climax be longer than 5-10% of the story. Any longer and you drag it out to where you exhaust the reader. Any shorter and it becomes anti-climactic. And we all know how embarrassing pre-e…uh…you get the picture.

And last but not least, the resolution. Any dangling plot threads that weren’t resolved during the middle or climax must be resolved here. Whatever changes the character(s) underwent can be reflected on at this point. And if you planned your story to be more than one book/film/etc, this is the best place to let the audience know that it’s not over yet. And your wiggle room is 5-15%. And since we’re on the topic of characters undergoing changes, it shouldn’t only be the protagonist who underwent change (whether emotional, mental, physical or all three). If the antagonist didn’t change a little also, then you’re doing it wrong.

It can’t be emphasized enough that all of the above are not hard and fast rules, but guidelines only. If you want to, for example, start the story at the climax or middle then weave the beginning and/or middle into it with flashbacks, then go for it. But you better damn well know what you’re doing before even attempting something like that.

Still with me? I haven’t scared you away yet?

What are you, a masochist?

Good. You need to be to make it in this biz.

The Elements of StoryTelling

So There I Was…

I know what you’re thinking. “What? Yet another ‘how to write’ column on the Internet?”

Well first off, there’s no such thing as too many “how to write” articles. While the basic mechanics are the same, each writer tends to have a unique approach or perspective to it. But aside from that, while writing is certainly involved in the process of storytelling (even if all you need to do is jot down notes), if you think this column was titled “The Elements of Writing” then you need to go get an eye checkup.

This column will not be specifically about writing, nor will it be specifically about podcasting, or film making, or illustrations, or plays, or even campfire tales. It will involve the basics behind all of these, for regardless of the medium you choose, you still have to first know how to tell a good story. And that is something much easier said than done.

Sharing stories has been a part of human culture since the days when we lived in caves and we were covered in a lot more body hair. Indeed, it could possibly be one of the first things we ever did, right after sex. Whether the stories were true accounts, completely made up, or a slick combination of the two, we were sharing them.

Sharing them a lot.

At first inside the caves and around camp fires, then in the fields. We spoke them, acted them out, sang them. And when writing was finally invented, we wrote them down. Over those centuries and millennia, it became apparent to the earliest storytellers that certain elements worked to captivate and entertain an audience and certain elements didn’t. And from that observation, the techniques evolved.

And many of those techniques are still used to this day. The mediums might have changed and expanded, became more advanced as technology progressed. But outside an occasional (and necessary) tweak or two, the basics of how to tell a good story has never changed.

And knowing the basics can mean the difference between having no audience at all or creating the story that later spawns the next “new” religion (How’s that “Force” thing working, fellas?).

That’s a lot of weight to have on your shoulders, Grasshopper. Carry it well.