A bit of perspective
Sometimes, you just need a new look at an old story.
Rewriting old stuff can be challenging. The junk drawer is a formidable place, full of scary first drafts and stories that didn't quite make the cut.
Maybe some perspective would help. Some stories have the right backbone - a good plot, decent character construction - but they just don't start the right way. Falling into a new world takes grace, and choosing the right landing zone can be a challenge. You can't just land people in a single moment and expect them to understand everything. As a writer, it's your responsibility to tell the story the right way.
You have one shot to get it right. No pressure.
In my junk drawer, I have a failed sci-fi serial about a guy called Mark. He was destined for greatness, going to take down the evil empire, yada yada yada, and if you read the original post, you'll also remember that he's boring as hell.
Not what you want for a main character.
So I have to change it up. If Mark's not my main character, who is it? How do they work together? Do they complement each other's skills? Are they frenemies? How do they meet, and where does the story even begin?
Now, Mark can be rebalanced. Right now, he's boring. He goes to work and comes home. Instead of a glorious hero, he's a grumpy, two-dimensional asshole with no future, no dreams, and no interest in doing anything other than drinking. But he could be someone amazing. With faults, yes, but he needs aspirations. Reasons to drag himself out of the pits and actually do something with his life. With some adjustments, I think he'll make a fine character. But he still won't tell the whole story by himself.
That's where the perspective comes in.
In the beginning of this serial, I only focused on Mark. His day-to-day life, his cushy job inside the organization, his loyalty to their cause. Important things, but readers don't care about that. It's boring backstory stuff, not center-stage action. If I want to hook the reader, I'm going to need to be a little bit more dramatic.
Like, for example, talking about what's going on outside the organization. Creating a feeling of unrest, struggle, and pain. Does the organization hurt other people? Is it causing death or chaos? Mayhem and regret? Once the reader understands that something is wrong here, Mark's position as a cheerfully-ignore-everything worker bee will be annoying. He doesn't see what's happening? Why doesn't he care? What's with this guy?
With that, the redemption story begins. Mark has a long way to go, but the shift in perspective allows the reader to understand more of what's happening outside Mark's little bubble. By seeing the emotion and trauma first, they understand that he's ignoring things that don't support his worldview. And given the level of insanity in this particular world, that's bad.
In that instance - the serial - it makes sense to rework it that way. I'm having a problem, and that's a possible solution. It applies to other things, too, not just flat characters. What if your story isn't so dramatic? What if you don't even have characters, only a premise or situation and you haven't met anybody else yet?!
That's easy. You write it out!
Here's a prompt from
earlier today:
And here are a few paragraphs about it. Same prompt, same circumstances, two different perspectives.
Story #1:
The mixer stood on a counter littered with bell pepper seeds, onion scraps, and a handful of tortilla crumbs. Taco day. It hated taco day. Instead of being clean and shiny, sitting proudly on the shelf, it was over here, on somebody's table, getting down and dirty with the ground beef. It was always the same with these competitions. Desserts, seafood, appetizers, breakfast - everybody always had to make something. The mixer didn't mind the desserts so much; even stirring up whipped cream ended up beautiful, and people oohed and aahed over the stiff peaks. But tacos? The judges never liked those. No perfect o-shaped mouth, no eyes closing in bliss, no applause or shaking hands. Contestants always messed them up. Nobody cleaned up the mixers after their toil making the hand-stuffed filling, but someone always loved them after desserts.
Story #2:
It's fast. So much faster than I thought. Chopping onions, bell peppers, throwing them into the mixer, oh shit, forgot the ground beef, roasting tortillas over an open flame on the stove, oh shit they're burned! Not what I thought I'd signed up for. Yeah, of course, it's stressful. But I wasn't gonna be one of those flighty oh-my-god-gonna-die contestants. I was going to be strong. Capable. Show those judges who I really am. Now look at me: running around with my head cut off trying to find the lettuce. Definitely not my best day. Whose idea was this, anyway?
Same scene. Taco day during a cooking competition. Story #1: the mixer, complaining about having to work on something other than whipped cream. Story #2: the contestant, stressing about time running out and finding ingredients.
You could imagine both, right? Same scene, two completely different perspectives. The mixer doesn't care about time. It's pouty that its chrome doesn't shine and the judges always hate what it makes on taco day. And the contestant doesn't think about cleaning the mixer. They're focused on the judges and making something delicious.
Perspective changes the story. What bothers one character might not occur to another. One likes it, one hates it. When beginning a story, hate tends to be a stronger emotion than love. That's why there are so many romantic comedies that start out with two people hating each other's guts. We all love a good love story, and we all know how it ends. But if you start out with two characters who will be hopelessly in love the entire book, the conflict is already over. Readers want drama. If the action already happened, what's the point in reading it?
In my serial, I started off on the wrong foot. I wanted to paint Mark as being this head-over-heels loyal-to-the-company type of dude, but it wasn't enough drama. It shouldn't start with telling the reader what's right. I need to explain that there's something wrong first.
Mark's perfect little world only exists because there's something else going on. His eyes are closed to anything else because of his unshakable loyalty to the company. In order to pop his bubble of happiness, we need to know that there are other people out there. They’re working against the company, and thus, working against him. Their interference - breaking into the organization, hacking it, whatever they choose to do - will force Mark to recognize that his reality isn't as perfect as it seems. Hopefully, it will push him into action, force him to make some unhappy decisions, and ultimately send him down the path of redemption.
All because of a change in perspective.
If you're curious how this would look in fully-fledged published novels, you might want to check out Scarlett St. Clair’s A Touch of Darkness and A Game of Fate. In the first books in two separate series, she retells the ancient story of Hades and Persephone from different sides: his and hers. A small difference, but it's amazing how the tale changes.
What about you? How have you experimented with perspective in your stories?
(Photo by Jeremy Perkins, Pexels)