ANALYZING PLOT: CONFLICT-CRISIS-RESOLUTION (FREYTAG’S PYRAMID):
Two stories that illustrate the ways that conflict-crisis-resolution can work in the best fiction are Jack London’s “To Build A Fire” and James Joyce’s “Araby.” Each is available to read online, and each contains the essential elements of the short story. What are these elements?
At the beginning we want to be introduced to a Protagonist with a Desire (this necessary introductory information is called Exposition). We want a Conflict that impedes the attaining of that goal or desire (Inciting Incident or Antagonist); this conflict gets worse through what we term a Rising Action, which essentially contains Complications that further obstruct the goal or desire, and then we have a Crisis Moment (Climax), when something has to give. Usually at this moment the protagonist must make a Choice, and that choice changes everything, and brings about a Falling Action, which essentially contains the Consequences (Reversal) that flow from that choice, and which also brings about a Resolution (or Denouement, if there is a sudden revelation at the end).
1. Protagonist with Desire (Exposition)
2. Conflict Obstructing that Desire (Antagonist)
3. Rising Action (Complications)
4. Crisis Moment (Choice)
5. Falling Action (Consequences)
6. Resolution (Dénouement, or Ending)
If you examine any short story that you admire you will find it contains these elements in one form or another. It has been diagrammed in various ways, including the one below:
It is important to have a handle on this when putting together your story, and it can be as simple as a character who wants to be accepted by the ‘in’ crowd, who is conflicted because it means doing things that go against her beliefs and upbringing (smoking, drinking, etc.). There are complications when she falls in love with one of the guys in the ‘in’ crowd, and he further prods her to do these things, until finally she has to make a choice. Whatever she decides, she will be changed, and a reader wants to see a change in their heroes, whether for better or worse, because the character becomes human through this process, and we can relate to her.
Let’s have a closer at each of these:
1. Exposition (Character w. Desire):
We want a character with a desire. There are big desires and little desires, and in a short story we want the little one. Why? Let’s take an example: Morgan wants to build a hospital in her impoverished homeland; that’s a big desire. In a short story, the chances are that she’s not going to get that hospital built by the end of the story. That’s the Express Train desire, going all the way. Too big.
On the other hand, in order to begin the process, she needs a bank loan. That’s a much littler desire, and one that can certainly be resolved one way or the other by the end of the story. That’s the Local Train, making all the stops; first stop: loan approval.
It doesn’t matter how small the desire is, it only matters that your character wants it badly. You can have two characters in the middle of the Sahara Desert with only one canteen of water, and they both want it. They must want it equally, too; the more one wants it, the more he will do to attain it. It only works if the other character wants it equally as much, and is willing to do equally as much, or more, to attain it. That raises the cost, raises the stakes. In a story, in any story, from the moment the character with desire is introduced until the moment of decision (the climax – the point of no return), you want to keep the stakes as high as you can (more on that with Rising Action, below).
2. Conflict (Antagonist):
It’s no good if your hero’s Mom is the bank president and the loan approval is quickly procured by a phone call from the loan officer. Nothing is risked, nothing can be lost, it’s too easy. Moreover, it doesn’t involve trouble, or suspense. Print and hang this somewhere near your writing desk: good writing always requires trouble and suspense. Remember E.M. Forster’s admonition: ONLY trouble is interesting.
So your desire is the loan approval and your conflict is….what, exactly? Well, bank loans are not easy to get, ever, and especially in today’s economic climate (if your story is set in the present, but more on Setting later). So, the conflict is pretty much built into the desire in this case. And you can increase the conflict, raise the stakes, make it more suspenseful. How? Supposing that your protagonist wants to build her hospital on a plot of land that the government has set aside for just such a project, but the public land reform act expires at the end of the year, and the story begins on December 12th. If she doesn’t post a bond and break ground by December 31st, the land reform act expires and the land reverts to the adjoining wildlife preserve. She hasn’t even done anything and already the conflict is greater than when we began: time is running out. You will find that time and space are your allies in creating tension and suspense in a narrative. For example, if you have two siblings who ‘hate’ each other, but they are on a cross-country drive to see their dying father, you have built-in tension: there is no getting out of that car!
3. Rising Action:
A ‘Rising Action’ is just what it sounds like, something is being raised. What? We mentioned these before: stakes, tension, suspense. We need to keep raising these until the moment of truth, the point of no return, when something has to give (more on this in the Climax section below).
So, we’ve got a protagonist (let’s call her Morgan) with a Desire (loan approval) and a Conflict (loans are hard to get, plus time is running out). But how do we raise the stakes? Simple: we make it increasingly difficult for Morgan to achieve her desire. How do we do that? By placing obstacles in her way. There is a “C” word for these obstacles that comprise the Rising Action: Complications.
Suppose you open your story at the bank, with Morgan sitting across the desk from the loan officer, let’s call her Ms. Stanley. And she’s flipping through Morgan’s file, looking at the application papers and so forth, and she stops and looks up.
“Miss Morgan,” she says, “you’re Morgan Morgan?” (I guess our protagonist’s name is Morgan Morgan. Oh well.)
“Yes, that’s me.”
“I see here that you’re credit rating is very low. We would never grant a loan based on this rating.”
There, that’s a rising action, a complication, her credit rating is too low. But wait, for every complication there is a solution:
“Oh, wait,” Morgan said, and pulled a brown leather wallet from her bag. “That’s probably Morgan J.P. Morgan. His credit rating fell off a cliff. But I’m Morgan M. Morgan. Can you check again?”
“Oh, Morgan M. Morgan,” Ms. Stanley said. “All right, give me a sec.”
So there you have a reversal of fortune. If you have studied Greek tragedy (which you should, if you want to learn about the craft of writing) then you have heard this term, and the Greek word that describes it, peripeteia, a sudden reversal of fortune or change in circumstances, especially in reference to fictional narrative.
Whew! Our hero is off the hook, a narrow escape. But wait, there’s more, because that’s not enough, it’s too easy. Let’s return to the scene (yes, this is what we call a ‘scene,’ it has characters and dialog, but more on scenes later):
Ms. Stanley flipped more pages and she stopped once more.
“Morgan M. Morgan?” she asked.
“Yes,” Morgan said. “That’s me.”
“But I see here that you were arrested for assault, and it does say ‘Morgan M. Morgan.”
Uh-oh, another complication.
“Yes, that is me,” Morgan said. “But I can explain.”
“I’m sure that you can, Miss Morgan, but our bank has a strict policy. This says you assaulted a man and caused serious injuries, including broken ribs.”
“Well, that’s true,” Morgan said. “But the man was having a heart attack in the Guggenheim. I’m trained, of course, and I started C.P.R., but his heart wouldn’t start. I had to give him a pulmonary thump. You know, when you punch down on the ribcage to shock the heart? But it didn’t work. I tried it twice, and then the third time I had to really lean on him with both hands, and it worked. Yes, I broke his rib, but he lived. And then he files charges against me!”
“You’re kidding,” Ms. Stanley said.
“I kid you not, Ma’am.”
“Please,” Ms. Sanley said, “Call me Morgan.”
“Another Morgan! Of course, the charges were dropped. But, some people!” Morgan Morgan said.
“I know,” Morgan.Stanley said. “Tell me about it.”
So, there’s another rising action (complication) and another periepeteia (reversal of fortune). And this can go on for as long as you decide the story requires.
I’ll give you another example, this one with more activity (notice I did not use the term ‘action.’ There is a difference between ‘action’ and ‘activity,’ a very big difference, it turns out, but more on that in the CHARACTER section).
Supposing Buster K.’s wife is expecting her baby, and Buster is a nervous wreck. He’s not very well organized to begin with, and he’s especially inept under pressure. Worse, a storm arrived overnight, and dumped more than a foot of snow on the ground. He was expecting the delivery in a week or two, but his wife tells him it’s happening today, right now, and he needs to get her to the hospital:
“Now?” he says. “But the storm?”
“There’s a storm going on in my belly,” she says quietly. “We have to move, Buster.”
He loads her into the car and lifts the garage door and pulls the car into the road, hearing the tires crushing through the snow and ice, and turns at the crossroads to take the bridge into town. But, the bridge is out, there are electrical wires down and police barricades blocking the entrance. First obstacle/complication.
So, you have a character with a desire (get honey to the hospital), a built-in raising of the stakes (premature labor plus the storm), and now a complication (the bridge is out). This is your rising action. But we’re not done, that’s too easy, because certainly there’s another route to the hospital.
Yes, there is, but only one, and it’s up the mountain through the switchbacks, the most treacherous landscape for miles. Still, what choice does he have? So, he turns the car and drives toward the mountain. And by now you can fill in the rest: half-way up he starts backsliding on the ice, goes off the road and hits a tree and blows a tire. There’s no spare in the trunk, he forgot to get it fixed the last time around, and he’s also out of gas.
The obstacles keep piling up, as do the stakes, the tension, the suspense, and I’m afraid that what you’ve got here is a page-turner. The stories at the end of this chapter (Jack London’s “To Build a Fire” and James Joyce’s “Araby”) are exemplary stories for the rising action (and everything else concerning conflict-crisis-resolution).
4. Climax:
When you have raised the stakes, tension, and suspense sufficiently for your means, it is time to present the Climax or Crisis Moment, the moment of truth, the point of no return. How to describe this? Well, let’s say you’re blowing up a balloon, and you’ve got it pretty well pumped up, and you know that with either the next breath (or the one after) it will pop, so you’d better tie a knot in the thing and put it aside for the birthday party. Or, you’ve put a tea kettle on the stove, the whistling kind, and the water begins to boil, you can hear it bubbling in there, and you know at any moment it will begin that irritating high-pitched whistle that drives you nuts. That’s it, that’s the Crisis Moment, the moment of truth, the point of no return. Why do we call it a ‘moment of truth’ or ‘point of no return?’ Because this is the moment when your protagonist is backed against the wall and has to make a Choice.
Let me repeat that:
SHE HAS TO MAKE A CHOICE.
I’m sorry, forgive me, but there is no way to short-sell this point:
AT THE CRISIS MOMENT IN THE STORY YOUR PROTAGONIST MUST MAKE A CHOICE.
Okay, sorry, I’m glad I got that off my chest. You see, because if your protagonist doesn’t make a choice, then she is a passive character, and we’re back to what we did over the weekend. Your reader wants, needs, nay demands a protagonist who is strong enough to take an active role in her life and when push comes to shove, strong enough to MAKE A CHOICE. Whether it turns out well or badly, it doesn’t matter, we will have seen her in difficult straits, responding as best she can, and making a difficult choice that will change things forever. (Come on, now, if the choice is vanilla or chocolate at the ice cream parlor, then it’s not going to change much in her life.) This choice must be a SIGNIFICANT choice, something that will change your protagonist in one way or another. Forever.
5. Falling Action:
As there was with the Rising Action, there is another “C” word that accompanies the Falling Action, and that is Consequences. When your protagonist is backed to the wall, she has to make a choice, and that choice carried consequences. We expect our heroes to be strong enough to make these difficult choices, and brave enough to live with the consequences, be they happy (comedy) or sad (tragedy).
6. Resolution (Dénouement):
What happens? In literature, as in life, the characters go on living. But although the characters go on living, for the reader the story has to end.