Don't Oversell Your Twist (No One Thinks You're Clever)

Generally speaking, I don't think it's a good policy to bad mouth other writers. We all work ridiculously hard, and just because one person's stories may not be to my taste, that doesn't make them a bad writer. However, I sometimes come across an example that is too perfect not to use to illustrate a point I want to make.

To that end, I'm going to talk about The Border Lords by T. Jefferson Parker.

Does this scream vampires to you?

The Setup and The Oversell

The general setup, in case you didn't pop over to check out the Amazon preview, is that there's a federal sting operation going on in California to try to stop the flow of gang enforcers and a new brand of machine pistol that are coming up from the cartels in Mexico. When an undercover agent goes rogue, and starts dishing out his own brand of high-caliber justice that leaves a wake of cartel bodies in his wake, it's up to his former comrades to track him down, and get to the bottom of what's happening.

Solid hook, I'm down.

Ah, but there's a twist!

Instead of any of that stuff I mentioned, though, the book opens with a priest outside of a cave full of bats in South America. He enters, and extracts a bat for some use that isn't made clear. We then get into the whole story of an agent going rogue and mowing down cartel gunman as he reaches progressively higher levels of insanity. It's revealed that he crossed paths with this unusual priest, and that the priest spent a great deal of time with him. Filled his head full of odd ideas, and even got him to drink a special blend of something that the priest made himself. Not long after this, our undercover operative starts feeling stronger, hearing strange noises, and growing more violent and aggressive. He is repulsed by water and bright light, as well, in case the bat cave was too subtle.

Rather than being treated like a subplot, the whole question of where this agent's enhanced strength, impossible perception, and bizarre sensory sensitivity is coming from becomes one of the main issues of the book; especially when his wife starts displaying similar tendencies and abilities. And the author kept randomly drawing our attention to copies of Dracula being left around the set dressing.

As gimmicks go, it wasn't necessarily a bad one. Was one of our protagonists turning into a vampire, or had he simply contracted rabies? You could get a couple of chapters out of that arc, or more if you played your cards close to the chest. The problem was that the twist was so oversold, and it took so long to resolve, that it became more annoying than intriguing.

Back to Chekov's Gun Again

As I said back in Make Sure Chekov's Gun is Actually Loaded (Trimming The Fat in Your Story), anytime you draw your audience's attention to something, that detail should come back around to be important later. Like how you don't spend a lingering shot on a rifle in act one if you aren't going to take it off the wall and shoot it in act three.

The first major issue with the twist in this book is that it played hard to get for so long that by the time it was revealed you simply didn't care. The back and forth over whether it was science or magic, a disease or a supernatural template, would have been cool if it was either more subtle (descriptions from witnesses who saw him in action claiming the agent was more than human, for instance, instead of constantly putting the audience in his POV), or if it was resolved quickly instead of hemming and hawing for most of the novel. I had it as an audio book, and there was barely a CD left to go by the time it was finally dropped that no, it's just rabies.

Shots fired.

The other issue was that the twist wasn't driven by the cast and their experiences; it was driven by the meta narrative. Chapter upon chapter describing how it was hard for the agent to shower, or to drink water, and the references to vampire novels, and so on and so forth. A mystery isn't really a mystery when you get to watch someone commit the crime in real time from a god's eye view. Rather than letting the reader try to put the pieces together by judging from the aftermath, working alongside the investigators as they watched security camera footage, showed up at hotel rooms, and tried to track down their operative's movements, the reader was just told what was happening, but not why it was happening.

In short, rather than letting the tension build, and slowly giving out information so the audience could follow along at a steady pace, the author just pulled back the curtain and asked us practically from chapter one, "Is this man a vampire, or simply mad? You decide!"

If it had been a minor subplot, or something that had been resolved quickly, that would have been a neat little twist. Drawn out for the length of the book, with what felt like at least a third of the total text dedicated to it, the whole science-or-magic thing eclipsed and spoiled the rest of the plot, which was supposed to be about gun runners and gang lords across the Mexico border.

The best way to describe this twist is to imagine it as garlic powder. A pinch of it would have added a nice little zing to the story I was otherwise enjoying. As it was, a third of the meal was just garlic seasoning. And that's enough to kill any vampire book quite dead.

Quick and Fast, or Long and Slow

Twists and subplots are the seasoning of your story. They add much needed flavor, and enhance the experience. However, seasonings cannot stand on their own. So make sure that your story is solid and meaty without them, and that you either add the spices slowly over a long period of time to draw out the flavor, or that you get a quick, sharp tang before you get back to the rest of your meal. Because people aren't here just to eat the spices; they're here for your actual plot, and the characters who are part of it.

It takes practice, but this is definitely something I would recommend all writers do. Because we so often get caught up in our own brilliant plot strings that we don't notice when things have turned into one, big, useless tangle.

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing! For more of my work, check out my Vocal archive, or at My Amazon Author Page where you can find books like my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife!

If you'd like to help support my work, then consider Buying Me A Ko-Fi, or heading over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page! Lastly, to keep up with my latest, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, and now on Pinterest as well!

How To Recognize (And Avoid) The "Why Didn't They Just" Clause in Your Writing

"At last, we have you Mr. Bond," said the menacing figure in black.

"Perhaps you do, but-"

A gunshot echoed through the room, and the top of Bond's head evaporated in a spurt of gore. Blood ran from a hole between his eyes, and his dying body fouled his tuxedo pants. The henchman dropped the twitching meat that had formerly been one of MI-6's finest agents, and their leader holstered his compact nine millimeter. They walked away as if nothing had happened, the agent's death already less than a memory.

Said no book ever.

Despite the fact that no book will ever have a scene like this (unless George R. R. Martin starts writing spy thrillers), we've all wondered why this scenario has never happened. The hero is placed in a weak position before a ruthless villain or an unstoppable situation, and instead of letting the story follow the logical flow, the author chose to use a hackneyed trope, a bizarre coincidence, or what can only be described as meta knowledge (something the author or the reader knows, but which the character cannot possibly know) to make the story go a different way.

This is referred to as the "Why Didn't They Just" Clause, because when you finish reading the scene the first thing you're going to ask is, "Why didn't they just," followed by the obvious course of action.

Why Does This Happen?

More often than not the "Why Didn't They Just" Clause crops up when an author wants to achieve tension, but does so in a way that introduces obvious logical problems. For example, the reason none of James Bond's villains put a gun to his head and blow his brains out is because, if that happened, there would be no more story to tell. Your lead is dead, the bad guys won, finito. So to ratchet up the tension villains put James in supposedly inescapable death traps, and then walk away with the understanding that the job is as good as done.

And now they can steal his sweet, sweet car.

There's cognitive dissonance there, though. On the one hand the author has told us this villain is ruthless, intelligent, and efficient in order to give our hero something dangerous to oppose. That's why the inescapable death trap trope makes no sense; a canny, successful villain wouldn't believe James was dead until he saw the body. So, to avoid the logic problem you simply need to create another, easier-to-swallow scenario where James can't just be executed. For example, the villain might need to know certain pieces of information that only the secret agent can provide (as we see in Daniel Craig's Casino Royale). Bond may be a valuable bargaining chip, which could be used to procure freedom for other enemy agents. There are all sorts of ways to keep the lead alive, and give him a chance to escape, without violating the "Why Didn't They Just" Clause.

I'll give you another example; one from a book series that is less trope-prone than 007's world.

It is still British, though.

The Harry Potter series is about a secret world of magic existing in the modern day. Harry goes to school, and gets embroiled in adventures which culminate in him fighting Grand Dragon Hitler the undying lich-lord of evil. We are repeatedly shown in the later books that the forces of evil and tyranny are smashing the agents of justice, and soon it will come down to a single fight, mano a mano, between Harry and Lord Voldemort.

There's a big hitch, though, and it's one that we're made deliberately aware of in prologue. In a passage which has nothing to do with Harry, and which he can't possibly know about, we see the Minister of Magic speaking with England's Prime Minister. The scene is essentially a summation of how an army of giants, werewolves, witches, and dark wizards are coming out of hiding in the British Isles, and they're fighting a war of conquest that's breaching the traditionally held secret boundary. They're winning, and he makes no bones about how many good guys are dead or dying. The M.o.M. then turns around and buggers off.

Now, the point of this scene is to increase tension, and to show the reader what's really at stake. The non-magical characters, who are arguably far more numerous than the magical ones, are left in the dark, sitting around and waiting for their fates. The first words that went through my head after hearing that was, why didn't the prime minister activate the S.A.S., put MI-6 on the job, and go to war to defend his country?

I see a wand. Permission to engage, sir?

The reason that didn't happen is that this book series is not about a bunch of hard cases in black kit going toe-to-toe with giants, werewolves, and a magical hate group for the fate of their nation (more's the pity). The books are about Harry, and he has to be the hero for the book's formula to work. The problem is that by using the tool of "inform the mortal leader how bad things are getting," Rowling left a great, big logic gap in the center of her story. If you cut that prologue out it doesn't change the book in any significant way, and it eliminates the cognitive dissonance that will drag across the reader's mind like nails on a chalkboard.

Common Clause Violations

It's easy to lose your head when your story starts to run away with you. With that said, there are some scenarios that can snap suspension of disbelief if you aren't careful.

1. Calling The Cops: When something bad happens to you, you call the cops and report it. Your wife was murdered? Your house burned down? Someone made a threat against you? The boys in blue are your first port of call. Unless your lead is someone who has compelling reasons not to go to the police (they didn't catch the killer before, lead is a criminal and has to handle it himself, situation came with a "don't call the cops" sticky note that's being followed), that's the logical first step.

2. Being Arrested: The other end of the spectrum is characters whose epilogue should include communal showers and pumping iron in an orange jumpsuit. A one-man vengeance-fueled crusade is pulpy fun at its best, but if you don't explain how your lead got away at the end then there will be a lot of readers scratching their heads and Googling just how many laws he broke by the end of the book. This is doubly important for characters who aren't secret agents or career criminals who have no experience evading the law or covering up crimes.

3. Relationships: No one is good at relationships, contrary to what the gurus might tell you. However, how many times have you watched a series of truly improbable coincidences unfold and just wondered why he didn't call her up and ask for an explanation, or why she didn't come over to his apartment, sit him down, and tell him what was happening and how she feels? If readers start wondering that, the next thing they'll wonder is why they're reading this book.

4. Deus ex Machina: If you've established that a particular plot device (or just a regular old device) exists, and that it can solve certain problems, there is no reason for those problems to go unsolved as long as the device works. For example, if you're being stalked by a crazed killer, and you have a cell phone, 911 is your best friend (see #1). In older books where cordless phones were the hot new thing this choice isn't an option, but if your story is set in a world with security cameras, streaming video, and phones smarter than their users, you have to take that into account.

There are other situations where this clause comes into effect, of course. The key is to look at every decision your characters make, and every twist your plot takes, and ask yourself why. For example, if your by-the-book police inspector has a hunch, and it's one he could very easily confirm through a little bit of investigative legwork, why would he start kicking in doors and pulling his gun without confirming the facts?

The reason is because it's exciting, but that excitement comes at the cost of the suspension of disbelief.

If you'd like to make sure you catch all my updates then follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter! If you want to toss some bread in my jar, visit The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a patron today!