Diversity, show-don't-tell, and a query tip.

Oh wow, okay. It's been a very long time since I posted anything, but that doesn't mean I haven't been up to a lot. I've just passed the 50k mark on my current book titled Only Gingers Can Be Witches. I'm coming up on the official start of editing The Sometimes Sword version 2.0 (which some of you will remember I finished about two months ago). I'm now sitting on 4 novel-length works in my (admittedly short) writing career, which is a little mind-boggling to me. Hopefully I will be ready to begin querying The Sometimes Sword by the end of this Fall.

Partial review of THE MUPPETS, focused on one specific area.

The Muppets seemed to be the perfect candidate with which to study narrative structure. After all, a beloved children’s franchise famous for also entertaining adults was more than likely to contain a Hollywood-style composition. It didn’t fail to deliver. It has most of what makes a good screenplay: conflict, clarity of plot, and a storybook climax. However, it lacks one very important thing, split into three subcategories: resolution against a believable, scary antagonist with clear motivations. This missing piece was its undoing, destroying the rest of the film and trivializing the conflict.

The story of The Muppets begins with a lighthearted montage highlighting the relationship between two brothers: one a puppet character named Walter who dreams of becoming a Muppet someday, the other a human named Gary played by Jason Segel. It establishes their appreciation of each other, and sets up one of the main conflicts: Walter’s growing dissatisfaction with his differences. Over the next few chunks of movie, we learn that they are setting out on a trip to visit Los Angeles for Gary and his girlfriend Mary’s ten-year anniversary, Walter in tow. The young puppet is thrilled to have the chance to visit the Muppet Studios where all the episodes of The Muppet Show were recorded decades ago.

Unfortunately, when they arrive they find the studio shut down, derelict, covered in dust, and strung with spiderwebs. Only a single, disgruntled tour guide remains, who takes them unenthusiastically to Kermit the Frog’s former office. We learn that the Muppets have been out of style for years, and after drifting apart, they were forgotten.

Walter wanders off and happens to overhear a convenient conversation between three suited figures, one of which is Tex Richman. He and his cronies discuss a plan to take over the Muppet Studios due to a small article within the “standard Rich and Famous” contract Kermit signed years ago. It states that Tex Richman has the rights to the property by a certain date, if the Muppets are unable to come up with ten million dollars. This is the point where we learn that Tex is the “bad guy”. Walter learns of the dastardly villain’s plot to level the studios and drill for oil (which is strange, considering the studios are located in the middle of the city…). Walter, of course, then sets out on a journey to reunite the Muppets so they can put on one last show, raise the money, and buy their studio back.

This seems like a relatively reasonable set up for the film that follows, seeing as most audiences would be accepting of such a simple plot. However, Tex Richman fails to live up to the image the film makers want him to have. He is never scary, seldom intimidating, and last of all, he has no reason to be doing what he is doing.

For a short time after the character is first introduced, Tex appears to be nice, pretending to be converting the Muppet Studios into a Muppet museum. Walter soon finds the real reason for the takeover by listening in secretly, at which point Tex tells his henchmen to perform a “maniacal laugh”. They do so, to the audience’s confusion. Much later in the movie, we discover that the reason for this is because of Tex Richman’s own inability to laugh, maniacally or otherwise. It’s an interesting quirk to give a villain, but the late reveal defeats the effectiveness, essentially robbing the audience of something to identify the antagonist with for the majority of the movie.

The only real encounter the Muppets have face to face with Tex is well before the climax, in the billionaire’s office, where a ridiculously embarrassing hip hop number takes place featuring the villain himself, rapping about how he does anything and everything he wants, because he is rich. Kermit sits bemused, while the audience covers their faces in shame. Any smidgen of intimidation previously present is very suddenly gone.

Even the climax of the film is lackluster (though it does have one of the only instances of much appreciated nostalgia). Tex attempts to shut down the power to the studio while the Muppets are filming a telethon meant to save them and raise ten million dollars. He rams his car into a power pole, severs a main power line, and eventually tries to cut live wires on top of the building with nothing but bolt cutters (never mind how deadly it would be if he succeeded). Through all of this, there is no contact with the heroes of the story. Eventually one of his own “turned-leaf” henchmen takes the bolt cutters from him, and essentially knocks him out by accident. The entire sequence only serves to make Tex look childish, incompetent, and utterly un-threatening.

One of the main downfalls of the entire plot was the lack of motivation Tex Richman had for doing what he does. By openly acknowledging the fact that even the film makers don’t know why he is such a bad guy, the audience is given nothing with which to reconcile the events taking place. We are told that Tex is bad because that is his nature, which only works for faceless Evil Overlords in their towers, not men in business suits. To essentially tell the audience, “Laugh with us, ‘cause Tex being a bad dude just ‘because’ is a joke,” doesn’t work. Mainly because it has been done before (and better) in The Great Muppet Caper, when Kermit asks Steve Martin’s character, “Why are you doing this?” to which the villain replies charmingly, “Because I’m a villain!”.

Also, the city of Los Angeles would definitely not allow oil drilling efforts to take place directly on top of the oil deposit. The red tape, zoning issues, and most of all, the local public’s involvement in the inevitable protests would be impossible to surmount. At very least, Tex would have to introduce an angled system to allow a long drill and line to access the oil from outside city limits, thus leaving the Muppet Studio untouched. This would be his only option, and hardly feasible. Thus the entire conflict of the story is fundamentally flawed in a large, very noticeable way.

All of the above aside, the conflict fails to resolve properly. Tex is not defeated or even shown up by the Muppets and friends (they fail to get the ten million dollars by the time limit). There are several resolutions across the board, from Walter’s inclusion into the ranks of the Muppets, Kermit’s reconcile with Miss Piggy, Gary’s proposal to Mary, to the resurgence of the Muppet’s relevance in modern media. However, they do nothing to overcome Tex’s “evil”, there is no comeuppance, and there is no resolution to his involvement. Almost as an afterthought, the film maker’s have Gonzo hit the (somehow) defeated villain with a bowling ball on accident, loosening a laugh from him for the first time, after which Tex decides to give the Muppets back their studio. It’s shoddy writing, and a huge let down, trivializing the efforts of all the characters involved.

Many people might say that all of these facts are pointless when applied to a kid’s movie. That a movie like The Muppets isn’t intended to wrap one’s mind in layers of mystery and plot. It’s meant to enjoyed, simply and quickly. Well, it came close to accomplishing that goal. But since the Muppets are famous for entertaining all age groups with different levels of humor and quality writing, it’s an excuse that doesn’t hold up. With just a little tweaking of the antagonist in three key areas, it could have ended as a much better film. Hopefully future Muppet movies take a cue from their older predecessors and focus on a good story first, and gimmicky characters last.

Save the Cat. A book I've never read, but I'll discuss it anyway.

This semester, I took a class called Intro to Film. It was basically just a filler credit to get my Fine Arts requirement, but I'm happy to say that it has become more than that. It seems that I fell into a wildly beneficial learning experience without even realizing it. How's that for good luck? I'm only three weeks in, but so far we've discussed a variety of subjects, each one either directly, or at least feasibly, relating to novel writing. The format of the class runs like this: we have an hour lecture, a two hour movie, and an hour discussion. I've already gone into this in a previous post, so I'll be brief. In the hour lecture, the professor teaches us something about narrative structure, themes and motifs, character development, set dressing, lighting, or music, etc. Some of it is amazingly helpful in my own writing, and even the other stuff, such as set dressing and lighting can still be taken for what its worth.

Let me explain. There is a term in the film business, mise en scene, which basically means the style of what you see. The Director and Production Designer of a movie try their best to keep this consistent, and it's what gives the film its "feel". It can include furniture, set design, color palette, lighting, makeup, costuming etc. Think of films like Moulin Rouge, 300, or any Tim Burton production. These have a very strong mise en scene. The same goes for an author writing a book. While reading a book isn't a strictly visual medium, the visuals are still important, if you know what I mean. The author acts as the Production Designer, creating a world through description, not images. A good, or shall we say, successful writer, can plant a literary mise en scene right in the reader's mind. By keeping descriptions of objects, clothing, and buildings consistent, a writer can maintain a distinct style that persists in the reader's mind throughout the story. Not only that, but the way in which a writer forms their sentences or uses pronouns and adverbs can give the actual words a recognizable style. Harry Potter, The Wheel of Time, and the Codex Alera books all accomplished this in my opinion.

So I guess what I'm saying is that I've come to appreciate movies as a learning experience for my own writing. This leads me to the subject of this post. In class last week, we discussed narrative structure. I've done a lot of my own self-learning about this, listening to podcasts, attending panels, etc., but I've always been a little hazy on how to properly structure my stories. My professor told us about an old Hollywood staple, taken from a book called Save the Cat! The Last Book on Screenwriting You'll Ever Need by Blake Snyder. It's intended to be a help for screenwriters, but it applies just as well to novelists. In it, the author outlines a series of "beats" that every successful story should touch on. It's not a formula per se, simply an outline of what will keep an audience/reader interested in the story. Since you can find it on the web in a million places or in any film class, I'll outline it really quick here:


Opening Image (where we see the character, and get a basic idea of who they are):
Theme Stated (the viewer/reader gets to see what the movie/story will eventually tell them):
Setup (Characters living life):
Catalyst (the big "thing" that happens):
Debate (where we see the characters trying to sort out their options, figure out what to do):
Break Into Act Two (this is where they take their first step toward and attempt to resolve the problem):
"B" Story (a different, but associated character's story, many times this is a romance):
Fun and Games (think training montages, newly dating couple having shenanigans, etc.):
Midpoint (disaster that commits character to their path, halfway through the story):
Bad Guys Close In (this is where stuff begins to escalate, become more serious):
All Is Lost (low point, everything bottoms out and the worst has happened):
Dark Night of the Soul (kinda self-explanatory, characters question everything, superhero hangs up his cape in despair, oh crap):
Break Into Act Three (Where things begin to turn around, characters begin to fight back in earnest):
Finale (the big finish, sword fight, dog fight, Luke cuts off Vader's hand, and the Emperor is thrown down the ventilation shaft):
Final Image (new life, we see the aftermath, people are reunited, usually a happy ending, but not always):


I may have misconstrued some of those points, and if I did, let me know. But the general idea is there. A successful screenplay hits all of these beats at some point, and so does a novel (in my opinion). Today I went through, and applied my own book to these beats. I was surprised to find that most everything was represented, though the order was a little out of whack. I'm not saying this will work for every novelist, or even every genre. As for me, it's been a big help. Take a look at it, try to assign your favorite movie or book to these beats. I guarantee you'll be able to. Then maybe try your own book. Story and character are the most important thing in any novel, so take some time and give them some love.