From the Dramatica Software Companion
Category Archives: Dramatica
The Query System f or Structural Writers
From the Dramatica Software Companion
Brainstorming for Structural Writers
From the Dramatica Software Companion
The Story Engine for Structural Writers
From the Dramatica Software Companion
Brainstorming Story Ideas in Dramatica Pro 4
From the Dramatica Software Companion
Dramatica Pro’s Story Reports
From the Dramatica Software Companion
Using Dramatica Pro 4 – The Query System
From the Dramatica Software Companion
Story Perspectives
Another excerpt from the new book I am writing on the Dramatica Theory:
It should be noted that there is a big difference between reading a map and actually traveling the road in person. While both have value, a map most clearly shows you the terrain; a journey gives you the most immediate experience.
If they are to fully captivate an audience, stories must be able to provide these contrasting perspectives. In fact, they do so through an Objective View, which is like a wide angle look at the story as a spectator, much as one might watch a football game, and a Personal View which is like that of a participant on the field.
We are all familiar with the Objective View. From it, we see a Protagonist and an Antagonist as if they are opposing soldiers in a battle. We watch them fight it out over the effort to achieve a goal. Sometimes they both want the goal, but only for themselves. Other times, one wants to attain the goal and the other wants to prevent that. Either way, though we may very well become all worked up in rooting for one side or the other, we are still sitting in the stands.
In contrast, the Personal View is provided by the Main Character. We, the readers or audience, walk in his or her shoes and look through his or her eyes. We experience the story as if it were happening to us.
Often, the Protagonist is chosen by an author to also provide the Main Character View as well, and though that is common, it isn’t the only choice. Any character can be the Main Character, just as we might attach a helmet-camera to any player on the field.
In addition to providing an avatar for the reader or audience, it is also the Main Character who grapples with some crucial inner problem or personal issue around which the passionate side of the story seems to revolve.
In the Story Mind, the Main Character represents our sense of self – that is, the awareness of our own identity as in “I think, therefore I am.” Since the Story Mind is modeled after the human mind, it is not surprising that story structure must include such an essential component of being human.
Up to this point, we have referred to the readers or audience as if they were passive recipients of the author’s argument, but they are much more involved than that. In fact, communication is a collaborative effort and the audience brings its own active participation to the process.
When a story presents an involving Main Character, the audience forgets itself and identifies with that character, heart and soul. Certainly most of us have had the experience of being sucked into a story to the extent that we laugh when that character is happy and cry when they are hurt, almost as if it were happening to us in real life.
(It is often interesting to watch how many movie-goers recklessly drive out of a parking lot after having enjoyed an action picture, and how many people have dreams that draw on elements of a truly “moving” picture they had seen earlier in the evening.)
When the Protagonist is also selected as the Main Character, you have the beginnings of a typical “Hero,” as in “the hero’s journey.” While there is nothing wrong with that arrangement, it is much overused, and in fact there are many other interesting stories to be told if those two types of character functions are not placed in the same person.
For example, in both the book and film version of To Kill a Mockingbird, those roles are not combined. Rather, the character of Atticus (the righteous 1930s Southern lawyer played by Gregory Peck in the movie) is the Protagonist, for it is he who is trying to acquit the black man wrongly accused of raping a white girl.
The Main Character, however, is Atticus’ young daughter, Scout, for the story is told through her eyes – from her point of view. As the reader/audience identifies with Scout, they are shown how the nature of prejudice appears to an innocent child – something that would not have been possible if the audience identified instead with Atticus.
In fact, there are far more reasons in Mockingbird why the Protagonist and Main Character attributes were split, and we’ll explore them all in the section of this book devoted to characters. For now, consider that if you have only been creating typical heroes, you may have been limiting yourself from exploring other options.
Now before we leave this brief overview of perspective behind, there are two more critical points of view that need to be included in a story for the readers/audience to become completely involved in the story’s argument.
The first of these is called the Influence (or Obstacle) Character View. To get a feel for this unfamiliar character, let us think (for a brief moment) of a story as if it were a battle between two great armies, one of them led by the author and the other commanded by the audience.
The author hopes to make a successful story argument in two ways: First, to make his case logically through the “headline” we spoke of at the very beginning of this book and second, through the “heartline” that is its compatriot argument.
On the field of battle, the Protagonist is leading the charge of the logistic argument as he or she attempts to achieve a goal, while the antagonist is rallying the forces of opposition, which include all those other ways of logically solving the situation that the audience might consider as alternatives. By the end of the story, the author hopes to prove that the Protagonist’s approach is either the best of the worst of them all, depending upon the intended message.
Similarly, the Main Character heads up the passionate argument as he or she attempts to resolve a personal issue, while another character (soon to be introduced) opposes that approach philosophically, and marshals all the passionate arguments contrary to the Main Character’s attitude or approach. Again, by the end of the story, the author hopes to sway the audience’s feelings to match his or her proposed message.
If successful, by the time the audience leaves the theater or the reader closes the book, the author will have swayed both their hearts and minds.
So who is this unnamed character who stands in philosophic opposition to the Main Character? To answer that question, let me tell you a tale.
In this war for hearts and minds, the Audience is like a general on the hill, watching the maneuvers below. (The author sits on a hill on the other side of the valley, pushing forth his argument). The view from atop the audience’s perch is the Objective View with which we are already familiar – that of the spectator.
Now, imagine that the reader/audience could zoom down onto the field to stand in the shoes of and experience the battle through the eyes of a single soldier in the heart of the clash. That soldier would provide the Main Character View with which we have also already become acquainted..
And so, to recap, the readers or audience can concurrently see what forces are awaiting the Protagonist and all his forces on the other side of the forest, while through the Main Character they can only see what is right in front of them.
In a nutshell, the General’s Objective View illustrates all the grand strategies and the overall flow of the battle, but the Soldier’s Main Character View gives the first-hand impression of what it is like to try and defend oneself while avoiding the bullets whizzing overhead.
The Main Character,then, is trying to accomplish his mission and save his skin at the same time as he marches forward into the fray when suddenly, through the smoke of dramatic explosions, he spies a murky figure standing right in his path. In this fog of war, the Main Character cannot tell if this other soldier is a friend or foe. Either way, he is blocking the road.
As the Main Character approaches, this other soldier starts waving his arms and shouts, “Change course – get off this road!” Convinced he is on the best path, the Main Character yells back, “Get out of my way!” Again the figure shouts, “Change course!” Again the Main Character replies, “Let me pass!”
The Main Character has no way of knowing if his opposite is a comrade trying to prevent him from walking into a mine field or an enemy combatant trying to lure him into an ambush. And so, he continues on, following the plan that still seems best to him.
Eventually, the two soldiers meet, and when they do it becomes a moment of truth in which only one will win out. Either the Main Character will alter course or his steadfastness will cause the other soldier to step aside.
This other soldier is called the Obstacle (and sometimes Influence or Impact) character. He represents that “devil’s advocate” voice we all have in ourselves that makes us consider changing our ways.
In our own minds we are often confronted by issues that question our approach, attitude, or the value of our hard-gained experience. But we don’t simply adopt a new point of view when our old methods have served us so well for so long. Rather, we consider how things might go if we adopted this new system of thinking.
We look at it, examine it from all sides and ask ourselves, how would my life, my self-image, my identity be if I were to become that kind of person by giving up my old views in favor of this new, unproven one that is only potentially better?
It is a long hard thing within us to reach a point of change, and so too is it a difficult feat in a Story Mind. In fact, it takes the whole story to reach a climax in which all the research has been done that can be done. And even then, both sides of the argument are so well balanced that the Main Character cannot see a definite edge to either.
Since logic cannot help the Main Character decide, he or she must ultimately rely on his or her heart – the culmination of the passionate argument of the heartlien. This crucial moment leads to those weighty decisions where Main Characters step off the cliff into the darkness, hoping they’ve made the right choice – the classic “Leap of Faith.”
Of course, not all decisions are that cataclysmic. And as we shall later see, there are many other ways the differences between Main Character and Obstacle Character points of view can resolve in a gradual shift of opinion.
But for now, it suffices to acknowledge that a Story Mind that did not include an Objective view, a Main Character view, and an Obstacle Character view could not possibly feel like our own minds in real life as we seek to make the best choices based on our best information and guided by our feelings.
Many novice authors fashion only the first two points of view (Objective and Main Character), believing that providing an epic panorama and also a personal view is enough. But more experienced authors recognize the need to show an alternative philosophy to that of the Main Character, and they therefore include the Obstacle Character as well. But a surprisingly small percentage of authors ever realize that a fourth perspective is necessary or a story will feel incomplete.
What is that final view point? It is the actual passionate argument between the Main Character and the Obstacle Character that runs the length of the story, right up to the climax. You would think that if an Obstacle Character is included, that duel over philosophic ideals would almost unavoidably occur in the course of the story. In fact, this is not the case.
As an example, the movie The Nightmare Before Christmas has an overall Objective story, a Main Character with a problem, and an Obstacle Character. Yet for all that, it is lacking any real interaction between Main and regarding their opposing views. They simple take positions, describe them, and let it stand at that.
Specifically, in “Nightmare,” Jack Skellington is not happy with his true nature. This is the Main Character View. His girlfriend states that he should be content with who he actually is, and not to try and be something that really isn’t him. (This is the Obstacle Character View).
Jack will have none of it, and sets a plan in motion (kidnapping Santa Claus) that causes all the problems of the story. (This is the Objective View). In the end, he realizes she was right and resolves from now on to be the best of what he truly is. (This is the message.)
But the problem is that they never discuss these differing philosophies. They simply state their opposite beliefs and in the end, Jack changes course and she remains on the road where she started.
Though there is a message, without the give and take between the Main and Obstacle we are given no information on how to achieve that change of heart within ourselves. The author makes no passionate argument as to the pros and cons of either position. So the message is simply acknowledged as being noble, but it isn’t personalized or taken to heart by the readers or audience. As it is, the movie is strong. If this other perspective has been included, it would have been even stronger.
This fourth perspective is called the Subjective View. It is the story of the battle over philosophies, the war of ideals, that explores the value of each belief system fully and completely, testing one against the other and pitting them against each other in all contexts. Only if this is seen in the Story Mind does it satisfy the part of the minds of the readers or audience that do the same thing when they consider changing their feelings in regard to an issue. Only through the Subjective View will the audience become convinced that the message is of real value to them.
So, these four perspectives – Objective, Main, Obstacle, and Subjective are all required for a story structure to both make sense and feel complete. They likely seem pretty strange and unfamiliar in contrast to your usual way of approaching stories. Fortunately, there is a much simpler way to get in touch with them.
The Main Character View comes across to us as the “first person” perspective: “I” (This is what I believe). The Obstacle Character’s philosophy appears to us as “You” (That is what you believe). We consider the personal skirmish between himself and the Obstacle character as defining “We” (This is where we are coming from). And finally, we see what all the other characters are doing in the overall story as “They” (That is what they are doing).
I, You, We, and They – the simpler, familiar equivalents of Main Character View, Obstacle Character View, Subjective View, and Objective View. They are the four perspectives we have in real life, in our own minds, and they must all be represented in stories through the Story Mind if an author is to successfully press home both the logistic and passionate arguments to the readers or audience.
The Dramatica Dictionary
From the Dramatica Software Companion
Structure and Dynamics
When we pull away the curtain of storytelling we finally get a good look at the dramatic mechanism behind it. And one of the first things we notice is that it actually has two parts: dramatic components (such as the goal) and dramatic processes (such as character growth). For clarity, Dramatica refers to the components as Structure and the processes as Dynamics.
Structure by itself delineates the building blocks of dramatics and how they can be assembled together, as if we were constructing a machine, while dynamics put that machine in motion and describe how it works and what it does. Taken together, structure and dynamics outline the psychology of the Story Mind.
As described earlier, the Story Mind is a projection of the workings of the human mind, materialized in an author’s argument. In our own minds, for example, we all have goals. And so, we would expect stories have goals as well, and they do.
Having goals is a quality of all people, but we don’t always have the same kind of goal – that is part of what makes us different. And so it is with stories – while they all have goals, the particular kind of goal is part of what makes one story structure different from another.
Similarly, in terms of mental processes, we all grow but we grow in different areas. So again, we would expect stories to also illustrate growth, yet the particular area in which growth takes place would partially delineate one structure from another. And it is so.
Guided by these concepts, we looked to both the human mind and the subject matter of stories and set about creating a list of different kinds of goals and areas of growth (among other dramatic concepts which we shall explore later).
Eventually, we had compiled quite a set of topics. It quickly became apparent that many of them shared certain general qualities, so we created a table that grouped and organized them in families.
The Dramatica Table of Story Elements
Flat Projection
3D Projection
The Dramatica Table of Story Elements is not unlike the Periodic Table of Elements in chemistry. With it, you can create the chemistry of your characters, plot, theme, and genre.
One of the first things you might notice is that the flat projection on the left really does look a lot like the familiar Periodic Table. The 3D projection on the right, however, is likely a bit more unfamiliar.
The reason there are two versions is that the flat projection makes it easier to see how the elements of story fall into families in the structure while the 3D projection will help us when we explore how story dynamics twist and turn the Table like a Rubik’s Cube to wind up the dramatic potentials that drive story.
So, as you can see already, the Dramatica Table incorporates both the structure that comprises the story’s topics and the dynamics that move them around to make the author’s argument. This is important to note in order to dispel any erroneous first impressions the Table might give that Dramatica is a fixed mechanical system, when in fact (as we shall see in chapters to come) it is completely fluid and organic.
Structure
No doubt you’ve noticed the prominent words Universe, Physics, Mind and Psychology on the Dramatica Table. These represent the four fundamental families of topic areas that might exist in a story’s argument. For this overview we’ll introduce each of them briefly, and fully explore them in chapters to come.
First, a word about the terminology itself: You may think that the terms Universe, Physics, Mind, and Psychology, are a little antiseptic, perhaps a bit too scientific to be applying them to something as intuitive as the writing of stories. We think so too.
But back when we were naming the concepts in the structure of the Story Mind, we were faced with a choice – to either use extremely accurate words that might be a bit off-putting or to use easily accessible words that weren’t quite on the mark.
Ultimately we decided that the whole point of the Dramatica theory was to provide an accurate way of predicting the necessary components of a sound story structure. Therefore, we elected to use the terms that were more accurate, even if they required a little study, rather than to employ a less accurate terminology that could be grasped right away. Sorry about that.
Since we’re both stuck with all these names, let’s see if we can illuminate what those first four terms really mean (and what they can do for us) so as to provide an initial feel for the nature and usefulness of the Dramatic Table, before we move on to other things.
Each of the four terms describes one of the basic families of topics that might be explored in a story’s argument.
Universe is an external state (any fixed situation)
Physics is an external process (any kind of activity)
Mind is an internal state (any fixed attitude)
Psychology is an internal process (any manner of thinking)
So, what the Table is telling is that whatever story argument you might want to make can be classed as being about an external or internal state or an external or internal process.
To get a feel for this, try it in real life. Think about any issue or kind or growth you have encountered. No matter what it is, it can best be classified as an external or internal state or process. (Whenever you want to better understand a story concept, it often helps to try it in the real world.)
Right off the bat this four-family approach is a very useful concept. It allows us to take the whole world of arguments we might wish to make in a story and pare it down into one of four broad categories. In one stroke, we are able to eliminate three fourths of the issues we might have had to explore in our story’s argument and can focus all our efforts on the real case we wish to make.
Universe stories are about the unchanging elements of our external environment. Anything that is a fixed situation falls into this category. For example, being stuck in a well, being held captive, or having only one eye are all situational “Universe Class” arguments.
Physics stories, on the other hand, are all about activities. Honey bees dying off across the country, the growth of a militant organization, and the progress of a cancer are all “Physics Class” arguments.
Mind stories are the internal equivalent of Universe – a fixed internal state. So, any prejudice, bias, fixation, or fixed attitude would be the kinds of issues explored in “Mind Class” story arguments.
Psychology is the Physics of the mind – an internal process. A “Psychology Class” story would be about someone who makes a series of assumptions leading to difficulties, or someone whose self-image and confidence are eroding, for example.
Going into a bit more detail, inside each of those four major families are sub-families into which topics are further sub-divided and then sub-divided again. Eventually, we get down to the smallest topics or, put another way, the tiniest details in the underlying story argument in a feature length movie or stage play, or in the average book.
(Later, we shall see that the Story Mind actually has a maximum size and learn why, but for now, simply think of the size of the Table as being sufficient for the typical full-length story.)
Naturally, a full explanation of how to apply the Table to story development will be the subject of a great number of the chapters to follow, but to continue this brief introduction to what lies behind the curtain of storytelling let us now turn our attention to the 3D projection of the chart.
Dynamics
Imagine that you printed out the flat projection of the Dramatica Table onto a piece of paper, then crumpled that paper into a ball in a random fashion. If you could look inside that ball, you’d see that some of the items in the Table come into close contact, while others may be separated by many layers of crunched paper.
This is a rough analogy to how a human mind, starting out all nice and balanced, is rearranged by the experiences and inequities of life. It also illustrates how a perfectly happy and contented Story Mind manages to get all bent out of shape and full of dramatic potential.
If you were to print out five copies of the Table (or five hundred) and crumple them one at a time, you’d find that while some of them may share a few dramatic conjunctions, no two are exactly alike. In fact, you could arrange them almost like a spectrum of all the different kinds dramatic potential that can be created from that original potential-free Table.
Now rather than crumpling a new chart each time you wanted a new story structure (and a random one at that), what if you made a master list of all the possible ways that the items in the chart might come together and then simply plotted them on a nice flat uncrumpled Table?
That’s pretty much the purpose and function of the 3D projection of the Dramatica Table of Story Elements. As you see in the illustration at the head of this section, the 3D projection appears orderly and stable. But looks can be deceiving….
When we first created the Table, we tried plotting on it these different dramatic items (like goal) and progressions (like character growth). Sure enough, there were patterns. Some patterns looked like circles. Others looked like the letter “N” or “Z” as we followed how one topic gave way to the next over scenes, sequences, and acts. And still others resembled a hairpin. And there were scores of such patterns scattered all over the Table even for just one story structure.
Though we could clearly see we were on the right track, it soon became evident that there were no obvious “rules” that dictated where and when which pattern would best describe the dramatic relationships in a particular story: at least, due to the complexity of the patterns, none that we could readily see.
And then we had a breakthrough. It occurred to us that rather than plotting complicated dramatic patterns on a fixed and static Table, what if we continually rearranged the table itself so that the patterns became simple?
You see, the flat table we had created was just a visualization of what was going on in the story’s psychology. For structural purposes, the flat projection works best because it makes it easiest to see such things as how goals and the requirements needed to meet them are related to a character’s motivations, for example. In other words, the flat projection works best for plotting the relationships among the components of structure.
But to understand story dynamics, you need to stop thinking of the families just as groups and see them more like spokes on a wheel. Then, you can much more easily observe dramatic progressions, such as character growth, by the turning of the wheels in each specific area of growth.
And so, the 3D projection of the chart was born to show how all the families and sub-families of dramatic topics functioned like wheels within wheels. This new view enabled us to show how an obstinate character who refuses to change perhaps causes the wheels to rotate in one direction while a character who embraces change rotates them in another.
(Now keep in mind nothing is really rotating here – it is just a handy way to visualize how dramatic items come in and out of conjunction based on the kinds of pressures that are applied to the Story Mind’s psychology.)
In addition, we discovered that the items in each family could also flip or exchange positions. As an example, think about a character or a real person who tries everything he or she can to solve a problem with logic, only to ultimately realize they must follow their heart. In that case, they have essentially substituted feelings for logic or, in a sense, those two qualities have exchanged positions with feeling now becoming their motivation or drive instead of logic.
On the Dramatica Table, this can be represented by actually flipping the relative positions of logic and feeling (both of which terms appear in one of the families, by the way).
And so, each family can flip and/or rotate like a wheel as well. And in this way, the Dramatica Table is able to not only plot but also to analyze the effect of dramatic pressures on the story mind. And even more usefully, the Table can also predict such things as whether a character should change or remain obstinate in order to create a particular kind of dramatic effect.
This, then, is the real power of the Table. It can be used both for analysis of structures to find holes and inconsistencies, but can also be used for the creation of structures to ensure consistent completeness.
Of course, that is all pretty sophisticated stuff that is enough to make your head spin (and flip). And that is why we programmed it all into a Story Engine that became the heart of the Dramatica story development software.
But this book isn’t about the software – just the story theory behind it. So, suffice it to say in this introductory chapter that, in the end, the Dramatica Table is very detailed and very powerful, yet when all is said and done, the Table is just a map of dramatic topics and the story’s dynamics are what drive the reader or audience on a journey across that territory.