Choosing a Head

[Choosing a perspective: source]

I've been blogging about literary writing. One of the first things a writer must choose when writing is what perspective to use when writing the book. There are many advantages and disadvantages to each kind of perspective. Third-person tends to be distant, though it doesn't have to be. Third-person omniscient, wherein the narrator knows everything about everyone and can show the thoughts of many parties, is an older approach and tends to be less common than it once was. Third-person limited is more personal, like first-person, but speaks from outside the main character's head with his/theirs/hers. This is one of the most common kinds of writing. First-person is a more intimate kind of writing, writing from the point of view of the main character(s). Everything is written in I/me/us/we. Second-person is somewhat rarer unless one is writing instructions. The writing speaks directly to the reader with you and your. This can work with fiction or poetry, but it takes a careful hand and isn't that common. Before one starts to write, one must choose one's approach because it doesn't work to hop between perspectives. 

[Third-person omniscient: the God's eye view; source] 

Third-person omniscient is one perspective, and this was once the most popular kind of storytelling. If one character's perspective isn't enough to share the full story, many heads can be used. Fairy tales and folktales as well as many classics were written in this form. The reader has the advantage of seeing all pertinent events from several perspectives. The reader can listen in on several people's heads in one scene, hopping back and forth to learn everyone's thoughts. When not handled with finesse, this method of writing holds no mysteries. If you're hopping back and forth between the main two leads in a romance, the reader knows all the time what everyone is thinking and feeling, so there's little tension. Hopping heads several times in a scene can get confusing for the reader, especially the young reader. It's often best to spend at least a scene with one character, so the writer can hold the reader in suspense for a short time. Spy thrillers, action stories, sci fi, horror, and similar books can work really well from this perspective. Timothy Zahn books often use this perspective successfully, including with his Star Wars books. 

[Seeing from a distance means seeing more and less; source]

There are benefits and drawbacks to the third-person omniscient perspective. There's a distance in this perspective that many modern readers don't love. Sometimes, in seeing all, the reader feels less. Yes, you hear a little about a lot of characters but less about just one. A perk of third-person omniscience is that the reader knows many things the characters don't, so the reader can use this to build dramatic irony, which is suspense based on the reader knowing something the reader doesn't. Dramatic irony can be used for horror, humor, or any number of other styles. Many classic works make this work; however, many writers have moved away from this omniscience of the narrator in favor of a more intimate kind of writing. 

[First Person: up close and personal; source]

First-person tends to stick to one head and explore the world and story from just one point of view. The writer dives deeply into that person's head and heart as in Twilight, Percy Jackson, and a large percentage of romance novels. Some successful stories tell a first-person story from two or more perspectives. Romance novels will often bounce back and forth between the two romantic leads, usually switching between heads every section or chapter. Rick Riordan's Heroes of Olympus series, for instance, spends chapters with each of five main characters. The more perspectives, the more chances the reader has to be confused. Each perspectival shift needs to be clearly labeled. It needs to be clear who the "I" in the text is for each chapter. 

[Head to head; source.]

There are challenges but also unique opportunities to writing in first-person perspective. For one thing, first person can be limiting because everything has to be told from one character's perspective. If the writer is describing what's in ANYONE else's head, it has to be a judgment based on appearances or insights. If you're in Mom's head, you can't suddenly jump to a view of how Dad views the world. It's okay to say, "I stared and dad as he shrugged, showing he had no idea." It doesn't work to say, "I stood there, looking at Dad. He didn't understand why." That's a head-hop and doesn't work in first-person perspective. Furthermore, it can be hard to describe the protagonist's appearance and the reality of the story if it's different from what the protagonist perceives. 

[Getting creative with perspective; the unreliable narrator; source]

Many writers use first-person to give the reader an honest view of the story, the characters, and the events. However, this is a great perspective for presenting an unreliable narrator, a narrator who cannot be trusted. It can be tricky to make the difference between the main character's perceptions and the reality of the story clear. If you want to try it, you'll want to research and read books with unreliable narrators. A lot of solid literary works have been based on that questionable gap between the truth and the questionable perspective of one character. In the doubt, a lot of meaning can be born. One way or another, first-person perspective can bring in an intimacy and personal touch other perspectives may lack. 

[Harry Potter as an example of 3rd person limited; source]

A lot of writers and readers are drawn to third-person limited. It has the advantage of intimacy, zooming in on one character's perspective to an intensive degree, like first person. For instance, the Harry Potter uses this perspective. If the reader learns about things external to Harry Potter's immediate vicinity only through dreams and similar experiences. It also has the advantage of flexibility, meaning one can focus one more than one character but do a deep dive in each. There's a bit of a distance, but it should remain in the eyes of the character featured in that book, chapter, or section. Once again, head-hopping can get disorienting to the reader, especially the young reader. 

[Different perspectives; source]

There are other kinds of perspectives, but they're more rare. There are second-person perspective stories that walk the reader through what is happening, but that takes a very very careful hand to pull off and isn't common at all. Also rare is the kind of perspective featured in "A Rose for Emily" in which the main character is part of a chorus, a chorus of "we" and has nothing to do with the actual thoughts, feelings, or actions of one character. It's a more observatory approach. I've also read a book or two in which the third-person narrator slowly goes mad over the course of the story, Ever After High book 3 by Shannon Hale. The narrator went from reliable and omniscient to thoroughly unreliable. A character within the book took over at that point as the first-person narrator. In other words, it's possible to start with one perspective and switch, but it's not often done. 

[Exploring perspectives; source]

Perspective dictates the reader's experience with the events of your story. The very same events can feel very differently if you're observing through the eyes of a kid vs. the eyes of an adult vs. the eyes of a distant, third-person narrator. One can choose a perspectival approach and switch it, but it's easier to choose which perspective works for your story, start there, and stay there. It's helpful to read what you plan to write and figure out how it's done then go with it. Does the perspective you are using work for your story? If not, is there another that can work? 

The Real Step One to Writing

[Clarity and broken things; source]

I've been blogging about how to write in a more literary fashion. This week's point is a little more basic than that. I've been saying step one to good writing is to make the reader care. To do so, you need to make a character care about something or someone--fiercely, if possible--then, show they are broken in some way, often that their heart is broken. If the character isn't broken, the world needs to be, something that needs to be fixed. At the very least, there ought to be a compelling question to move the story along. Something needs to drive the narrative, or the reader will drop out. Else where is the story? But it turns out there's something even more urgent that needs to be established. And that is a clear center of gravity. Above all, the reader needs to understand what is going on and who the characters are, so they can begin to care. 

[Chaos and Clarity; source]

I have read a few novice manuscripts in which nothing is clear. Because it's not clear, I have a hard time caring and will often drop out. It may be because the writer is trying to keep mysteries from the reader or are trying something mindbending in their manuscript, like "Loki" season 2. It tries to bend the mind so hard that the audience can't tell what's going on much of the time. "Loki" season 1 works so well because we first understand what's going on and care. Mindbending can work if the audience/reader has something onto which they can hold. It may be a character, a situation, a relationship. Something to hold onto, something to care about. But if the reader doesn't have that, it's hard to keep rule number two, which is to make the reader care. 

[Work with not against your reader with mysteries; source]

Rule numbers one and two create a firm foundation for everything to come. Mysteries in the mind of a reader can keep the pages turning if the mysteries are useful and not just to confuse. The reader wants to know you're working with them to reveal the truths of the narrative rather than against them by confusing them. If you can make the reader both understand and care, then, you can do all sorts of things with the narrative to come. Establish a character. Build that character and their world to a convincing and believable degree. Show the character's normal world, the relationships that show why they should care. It helps to show loss and pain but only if they matter, if they affect the character on a deeper-than-surface level. Basically, start in a place that makes sense and helps the reader invest in the character(s) and their world. 

[Hamlet; source] 

Only after you invest the time in your character and their world, enough to get the reader invested, can you take them where you want them to go. Hamlet's mind games with he court and particularly his uncle/stepfather work only if you understand what's really going on in his mind first, the way his father died and why that matters to Hamlet. You need to understand what's really going on to understand what comes next. Movies like "Across the Spiderverse" or "Inception" can go wild with mind-blowing events simply because you first have something or someone to care about. 

[Read together; source]

You may have achieved both of these items in your mind, but does the clarity and feeling in your text extend beyond your mind? Sometimes, what we're writing seems to be clear and gutwrenching, but is it really? It's critical to have readers confirm that they both understand and care. It's helpful to read your writing aloud to and with others. It's also good to get others, including a writing group, to support your confidence in your fulfillment of both rule one and rule two. Take your piece to someone else, possibly several someones. Ask them if you achieved clarity and caring. If so, wonderful. Proceed. If not, ask your reader what you're missing and fix it. 

Emotional Appeal that Transcends Language

 

[Godzilla Minus One; source]

I've been blogging about making any piece more literary. Mostly, I've focused on writing, but I've been thinking a lot about a recent movie I watched, "Godzilla Minus One." It was a hit not because of big Hollywood names or even English but because it spoke in a way that transcends language: storytelling of the heart. Such storytelling makes the audience care in a way a lot of recent big-budget releases don't because they fail to make the audience feel. 

[Emotional impact of good storytelling; source]

Good storytelling, whether it be with a movie, a book, or any other medium, makes the audience care. Good writing can open the mind, but often, step one in opening the mind is to open the heart. That's why so many articles start with personal stories about tragedy or loss. It's also why humorous articles tend to stick in the mind. If a storyteller can make the audience feel, the audience is more likely to listen/watch the first time and come back for more. This is what works about "Godzilla minus One." 

[Pilot: Source]

"Godzilla Minus One" had a budget of about  $15 million, far less than the average Hollywood blockbuster. It tells the redemption story of a kamikaze pilot who fled the military during WWII. When people learn of his past, they look horrified because he was supposed to give his life for his country. The audience watches his heartbreak and pain as he becomes a member of a found family who helps reassemble their country in the wake of the war, even as he ends up in situation after situation that brings him face to face with the titular monster. Each time and throughout the story, we feel the main character's pain and understand his motives. We are in his head. This can be the most emotional and inspiring kind of storytelling. 

[The Villain/central symbol; source]

The monster doesn't remain just a thing on the screen causing problems. Like the best villains, it externalizes his internal drama. Godzilla clearly symbolizes grief, pain, death, and so much more. It is the fear and agony that he, alone, can face, which continues to grow and become more dangerous every time he fails to defeat it. We forget we're in a theater reading subtitles but get swept up in his story. So much of the story is told in visuals that the minor matter of having to read subtitles hardly interferes with the reader's experience. It's a sci-fi story, but it has the potential for such wide appeal because of its emotional depth. Its storytelling transcends language and genre-specific appeal. 

[When storytelling becomes a chaotic mess with the emotional appeal of a mud puddle; source]

A lot of big-budget stories that have been released recently lack this or any emotional impact. Their creators seem to think that as long as there are heroes doing things on the screen, people will pay. But if all one feels when one watches or reads a story is frustration and/or boredom rather than the emotions intended by the movie makers, it's hard to make people want to come back for more. 

[Emotional storytelling; source]

Ideal storytelling elevates the material because of the emotional connection with the audience as happens in this story. Look at a piece of writing you've done recently. Can the reader feel the characters' pain? Are there specific emotional appeals to the main character? If not, what can you do to change that?

Snakes, Cats, Dogs, and other Character Symbols

 

[Story symbolism; source.]

I've been blogging about how to write in a more literary fashion. Just getting the words down is the first step, and it's an important one. Keep in mind your first draft doesn't have to be literary. It's just for you, so it can all be one long sentence, a grammatical mess, more of a note to self, or whatever you want to do. If you're waiting for the perfect words to come to you the first time, you won't write anything. Building in the literary happens in subsequent drafts. That's when you carefully ponder your foreshadowing, symbolism, precise language, authentic dialogue, and other literary techniques. One of the most meaningful is symbolism. 

[Symbolism of a Fox; source]

I've been helping Evelyn Furbish, a friend, reshape her draft into something literary. Her draft is fine. It has clear characters and moves quickly. But adding in the literary turned her simple story of an abused child into something that means more on several levels, something truly special and powerful that could not just be published but also win awards. It won second place in a first-chapter contest for League of Utah writers. And a big part of that is symbolism. Symbolism makes your character into something more than just a person. It draws on the traits of the animal, or whatever is used as the symbol. It also draws on common cultural associations with that animal. If you use a fox, you can draw on the speed and agility of the fox as well as associations like "sly as a fox" or the associations with the word vixen, a female fox, a "shrewish or ill-tempered woman" (Mirriam-Webster), or a sexy seductress. You can draw on a lot with one well-chosen symbol. 

[Mouse; source]

In my friend's draft, that boy is becoming a symbolic mouse.  As we rewrite and reshape her prose, we carefully ponder the language to show him as a mousy, skittery little boy who hides in corners and is targeted by everyone. He's still a human child, but the book builds him up as easy prey for any number of emotional predators. 

[Rabid dog; source]

Meanwhile, his mother has been reshaped as a rabid dog. She's a druggie who leaves her son every day to get high and drunk with her dealer boyfriend, but he doesn't know. He sees her through rose-colored glasses, comparing everything he sees in the world with his narrow view of the world seen in comparison to the unpleasant mess he knows from his mouse hole. She is his comfort, his home base. When he sees fancy houses or food, he treats them with disgust because they can't measure up to the processed and cheap food he's been given at home. He doesn't see his mother's symbolic slavering teeth. She doesn't use claws because that's not a dog thing, but in the next chapter the author has planned, this mother will bark and threaten like that dog, showing him unmistakably his true colors. 

[Mean cat; source]

The CPS worker who takes him away from his familiar mouse hole is the one with the claws. She's the cat who hisses and growls when pushed. She's the one who chases the little boy verbally and corners him with her words. She's the one who snatches him with her claw-like nails from home and exposes him in his miserable nest to take him away. She snaps  him up, metaphorically, like a furry little snack. 

[The snake; source]

The little boy's foster dad is the snake, sly and cold and ready to swallow him whole and turn that little boy into part of himself. He knows just how to make eye contact with his acid-green eyes and freeze him in his tracks, so his prey can't even ponder escape. He uses manipulation instead of violence to reshape the little boy into her own image. 

[Teddy bears; source]

Meanwhile, the boy's allies, whose symbolism has yet to be determined, will be something warm, fuzzy, and comforting. There will be hope, and it will be built through the language and metaphors of the text. They could be the warmer side of dog or puppy, a teddy bear, a kitten, a hamster, or anything else that gives the friends appropriate meaning on every level. 

[Animal Farm and symbolism; source]

 For a reversal of this pattern, you could read Orwell's Animal Farm, which uses animals to symbolize types of humans. There is a wealth of information out there on the characters and what they mean. Now, ponder your characters. Would it be helpful to do an exercise like this, where you use overall symbolism to shape the characters into something greater than the individual parts? 

Writing for Kids

 

[Making kids' books come alive: source]

I've been blogging about how to write in a literary fashion. This entry is not necessarily about literary writing so much as writing chapter books or middle school fiction. Many of these tips can help with any age level. However, there are many methods of writing that work just fine for writing for older groups. However, if you're going to write for older elementary or middle school readers, there are certain things one must keep in mind.  These are tidbits I've picked up over the course of my research on how it's done. Many writers have written exhaustively on these topics. If there's something you want to find more about, you can look it up. 

[Write for your reader: source]

1. Choose and research your age group. Step one when you're going to write for kids is to choose a target age group. The rule of thumb is that the characters in a book should be just older than the target reader. Therefore, if you're writing for young teens, your character can be about 16. If you're writing for the middle school or slightly younger age bracket, think in terms of 12- or 13-year-olds. If you're looking to write chapter books for those just out of picture books, think in terms of something like a ten-year-old protagonist. Whatever your age group, read what you want to write, so you get a sense of how to do it based on successful writers' work. 

[Keep it brief and fun: source]

2. Keep it moving. Everything should be kept shorter: shorter paragraphs, shorter sentences, and shorter chapters to keep the reader moving forward. If you can end each chapter on a cliffhanger, that would be better still. Action needs to start right away. You should show some indication of where the story is headed by the end of chapter one. It is helpful if you can even introduce an antagonist by the end of that first chapter. You can still think in terms of the hero's journey, but the time spent establishing the normal world should end as quickly as possible. 

 

[Keep it exciting: source]

3. Keep it exciting. Plan to keep most events and actions external for the most part. Kids often get bored with long internal monologues or flashbacks, which a mainstay of writing for adults and even teens. I've read a lot of romance novels that hinge on what is going on inside the character's mind, as in Pride and Prejudice. So much of what happens to Lizzy, Bella, Katniss, and just about any protagonist for older audiences occurs inside. That often does not work for kids. There may be the occasional very brief flashback and some thoughts, but the vast majority of action should be represented outside the characters' heads. Show don't tell is particularly critical in kids' books. Say your character is angry. Show him clenching his fists and turning red. External action is often more fun than internal, and show is almost always better than tell. 

[Don't fog up the action: source]

4. Keep it clear: 

            a. Skip the fancy language. Adverbs will often make the action wordy and long. Stephen King's biggest complaint about the Harry Potter books when they first came out was that they, like many outings by novice writers, were choked with adverbs. Dialogue tags, especially, should stick to said, asked, shouted, or whispered simplicity and not include adverbs. Actions can be used instead of dialogue tags, as long as it's clear who said what. Keep adjective lists brief. Avoid passive language. 

            b. Don't use filtering language. Filtering language, language describing what characters experience rather than just showing the actions, can also bog down the story. Don't have the kid watch a fight. Just show the fight. Don't have the actor in a sentence see, hear, watch, feel, etc something. Just make the thing happen. Make the main actor in the sentence the person doing the thing. Don't: John watched a parade march by. Do: John stood at the door while a parade marched by. 

            c. Scene and sequel. Reactions should occur only after the action. This is called scene and sequel. Don't: She jumped to the side because a rat ran by. Do: A rat ran by. She jumped out of the way. This makes action clearer and crisper. The reader is reacting even as the character is. 

            d. Avoid head hopping. If you must switch back and forth between perspectives, do it between chapters. Hopping from head to head to head in the middle of a chapter, especially in kids' books, can get confusing. 

            

[Get help as you review: source]

5. Get help as you review. Writing groups can help you with your dialogue to make sure that it actually sounds like the way kids speak. You don't want a regular kid to talk like an adult. Programs like Autocrit can help you make sure your writing is appropriate for the target audience and can help you eliminate items above that get overwhelming. 

If you have a piece for younger audiences, make sure to review the tips above with it. The most important part is to read what you want to write. If you haven't read kids' books, it's really hard to write them. If I missed anything, please post it in your reactions. Also, tell me how things are going with your kids' books. 

            

Balanced Themes vs the Firehose of Preaching

[Avoid firehose preaching; source]

I've been blogging about how to write literary and meaningful pieces. One of the most critical aspects of meaningful writing is the theme, an overarching idea that can help the reader think more deeply about a given topic. Themes are the very backbone of literary and meaningful writing. Storytelling is good, but without themes, it's all just entertainment. Deeper themes have been woven into literature from the earliest days. But beating a reader over the head with themes can turn a reader off faster than anything. It can come off as condescending. It's, therefore, critical to balance those themes without coming off as preachy except where preachiness is expected. 

[Pinocchio: Hanging Character on Themes.  

We've all seen those movies or read those books wherein the themes become more important than the story. Disney's original "Pinocchio" feels like this for me. The characters don't feel as important as the theme of "be a good boy or else." A lot of people may disagree with that particular example, but we can all think of at least one story like this. In a story more about themes than character, the characters and plot feel like an afterthought. 

[Lots of Words for a Specific Audience; source]

Unless the reader specifically picked up a how-to for something or bought the book just to seek those themes, theme-over-character is rarely a compelling story choice. Stories can be used to back up themes in an instructional piece. If a Christian sits down to watch a movie billed as Christian with Christian-heavy themes in order to teach a lesson, it can work for certain audiences. If someone with a political leaning sits down to watch a movie written with that perspective, they may be absorbed. But everyone else may be turned off by those very themes. Even someone within the audience may walk away.

[Helping People See; source]

More often, weaving themes and meanings into solid storytelling with compelling characters will open the reader's eyes far more than turning to the audience with a list of thou shalt nots. If the reader/audience sees the main character making choices, some with negative consequences, some with positive, but all of which make the reader think, the story is likely to be more successful. 

[Hamlet; source.]

So, how does one weave meaningful themes into storytelling without turning off readers with preachiness? Think of "Hamlet." The play dwells on themes (young students would say ad nauseam), but he doesn't turn to the audience and tell them what to do and how to do it. He contemplates what HE should do. His philosophizing, pondering, and speechifying are all turned inward. His status as an unreliable narrator, one who makes clearly harmful choices in spite of or possibly because of his deep contemplation, makes the reader think rather than feel preached at. 

[Feeling judged; source]

I recently read a piece wherein characters preached long paragraphs to teach young audiences what to do about anxiety and bullying. Even the character turned to the audience and said, in essence, "Yeah, that." I wasn't the target audience but felt ganged up on, preached at, like a firehose of condescension had been turned on me. The author spoke from the outside, telling me what I should do as if judging me and finding me wanting. I felt talked down to. I would have walked away if not for the fact that I had agreed to critique it. 

[Along for the Ride; Source]

Meanwhile, for most of that story, I felt like I was that narrator, feeling the feels, riding with the main character as she suffered and made choices, some for the better and some for the worse. When she made a choice that was harmful for herself or someone else, I understood way because I was inside her head. When the meaning was shared with a light touch and a spirit of internalized contemplation inside the narrator preaching from the outside, I was absorbed. I would have loved these parts of this book because it would have helped me understand myself and find ways to cope. 

[Voyage of Healing; source]

I wrote a master's thesis about the power of fiction to heal. Fiction and nonfiction alike can help a reader heal because writing shows people suffering and finding healing. Reading others' voyages of healing can give the reader hope and some guidance for their own healing. There were certain parts of that story I mentioned with long speeches and preachiness, but the rest of it, with a lighter touch, worked really well as a voyage of healing. Where the meaning was woven in with a light touch instead of a firehose, it helped me think and hope. And that's the point of these themes. 

[Editing; source]

Go through your most recent project. Highlight long or even short parts that touch on major themes. If you can't find any, you may want to give some thought to working on weaving meaning in with a light touch. This blog has been about that since almost the beginning, so you can always go back and peruse topics. If you find long spans of preaching, you may want to tone that down a bit, unless that's your stated purpose. Feel free to leave a comment and tell me how you weave in themes. 

Building Tension through Planning

[Making a Plan: source]

 I've been blogging about how to write in a more literary fashion. Before I launch into that, I have to make a quick plug. The first installment in my kids' chapter book series, Doomimals, is now available on Amazon. This is just the beginning of a major saga we have planned. I have the first ten books drafted and many beyond that planned. It's about three kids and their animal protectors saving the world from the minions of the evil Bird and the Dog of War. If you're interested, you can pick up a copy here. Today's topic is planning and is not specific about literary writing but about writing in general. There are conventions are a character in a story making plans. They're simple but must be remembered as a way to build tension in the reader.

[When the Plan Goes Wrong: Source]

Most people have read a book or seen a show in which a character gives very specific details of a plan for something they're about to do. Now, predict what happens. Of course, the plan goes wrong. I've read books in which the plan goes RIGHT. When that's the case, the reader is bored because they see the plan, they see the plan executed, then they see characters chat over what just happened. With teaching, with real life, this is the idea. But in storytelling, it's a great way to bore (read: lose) the reader. SOMETHING in the plan has to go wrong, or your reader will be unimpressed. I'm sure you can think of several examples of plans falling apart right now. The plan sets the template of how it's supposed to work and foreshadows that something will go wrong.  The reader is on the watch for that something. It actually amps up tension anticipating this. 

["I love it when a plan comes together." Source]

If, however, your characters are actually going to complete their plan, the narration should get vague about what's about to happen. "Joan and Simon made a quick plan about how to break their father out of jail." Something like that works fine. When I read that in a narration, I know it will likely work. However, you can twist the reader's sense of what's coming by getting vague and then have things fall apart anyway. It may be a bit frustrating because the reader doesn't know how things should work in the first place, but if the plan isn't central, it can still work. Not sharing the plan builds tension because the reader will follow along with the characters and see them execute the plan as it happens. 

[Planning toward Tension: Source]

Either way, a plan is a useful technique for building tension. Think of shows like "Mission Impossible" or "Oceans 11." The parts of the plan that will go wrong are laid out in detail, so the reader can view them as a template for what should happen vs what does happen. Particularly in the Oceans series, the audience is not party to the plan until it's executed. There are parts of it we don't learn until after it's executed to provide plot twists and unexpected events. We, the audience, find out what the full plan was along with the antagonist, who only finds out how badly he lost after he did so. This step beyond creates both tension and excitement. 

[Your turn: Source]

Read or watch shows in which the plan is discussed and doesn't work or glossed over when it does. Is there a point in your story in which you can use this pattern? Is there a place where it's useful to only show parts of the plan after the fact? Can you amp up your reader's tension by showing how it should work? Give me examples of either in the comments.