The Secret Plot Device: Chekhov’s Gun and How to Fire It

*click*

Have you ever read a story or watched a movie/play where you noticed a certain item being used as an important plot device in a major scene, only to realize that the object in question had already made an appearance in a previous scene as some seemingly insignificant prop in the background?

Well, what you witnessed was the figurative (or in some cases, literal) firing of a Chekhov’s Gun.

The Loaded Rifle on the Wall

The Chekhov’s Gun is a literary technique that places significance on a certain story element that was introduced earlier on as an unimportant detail. The trope is based on a dramatic principle conceived by Russian playwright Anton Chekhov (1860-1904), which states that every detail presented in a story must either be necessary to the plot in some way or removed from the narrative altogether.

If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it’s not going to be fired, it shouldn’t be hanging there.

– Anton Chekhov (S. Shchukin, Memoirs. 1911)

(CC Image by tmib_seattle via Flickr)

Of course, sometimes it’s not just a metaphor…
(CC Image by tmib_seattle via Flickr)

It’s important to note here that a Chekhov’s Gun is not necessarily an actual gun; the playwright’s example was merely used in reference to live theater, where a loaded gun on stage would pose an unnecessary safety hazard if it wasn’t going to be used as anything more than a background prop. Rather, the device is a metaphor for any element of a story that can become important later on. It doesn’t even have to be an object; it can just as easily be a character, a skill, a line of dialogue, etc. A full list of possibilities and variants can be found at the TV Tropes Chekhov’s Gun Depot.

Handling a Chekhov’s Gun in Your Writing

There are two main concepts connected with this trope:

  1. Conservation of Detail – Every detail presented in a story has an important reason for being there
  2. Foreshadowing – A detail given early on is an indication of a plot point that will happen later in the narrative

While a Chekhov’s Gun should really be used with the former concept in mind, it’s most commonly associated with the latter. Writers will often use this trope as a tool to indicate upcoming events in the story, usually in a subtle manner that goes virtually unnoticed the first time around and becomes clear after the revelation of the foreshadowed plot point.

So how should you use this technique in your own stories? To properly execute a Chekhov’s Gun, the element in question must have some level of presence established in its introduction, not necessarily so much that it gives away a potential plot twist, but enough that the audience will realize it was there all along by the time it becomes significant. This will keep your readers from assuming you pulled some random solution out of thin air to hastily tie the plot together at the end, and thus prevent you from evoking their disappointment.

Also, bear in mind that there is such a thing as too many Chekhov’s Guns in one story. While you shouldn’t feel limited to just one per narrative (and many writers aren’t, myself included), you should still take care not to go overboard with the trope. Of course, these limits may vary depending on the type of work in which it’s used; for example, fantasy sagas or mystery thrillers may depend heavily on these devices to help drive the plot (as seen in the Harry Potter series, which even has its own Chekhov’s Gun page on TV Tropes), whereas simpler action stories could work just fine with only a couple at most. So if you’re planning to write long narratives full of twists, you might be able to make good use of this technique throughout the entire story arc. It’s worth noting, though, that if the plot becomes convoluted enough, your readers might eventually start looking for significance in the tiniest details to try to find Chekhov’s Guns that you may or may not have placed in your story. But then again, maybe that’s exactly what you want.

The Chekhov’s Gun can be a useful device in fiction, provided it’s used correctly and in proper tone with the story. Whether you choose to use this technique for major plot points or just to add some interesting twists, be sure to always keep in mind the importance of only including details with a given purpose, and you’ll be able to build a narrative that highlights the plot and tells a story that can be freely complex on the surface while remaining simple and straightforward at its core. And that, in my opinion, is the best type of story a writer can create. Happy writing!

*BANG!*

Composition of the Amethystine Variety and Why One Must Abstain From Its Application (or “Purple Prose and Why You Should Avoid It”)

I’m polymerized tree sap and you’re an inorganic adhesive, so whatever verbal projectile you launch in my direction is reflected off of me, returns on its original trajectory, and adheres to you.

– Dr. Sheldon Cooper, The Big Bang Theory (Season 1, Episode 13 – The Bat Jar Conjecture)

Fans of the comedy TV series The Big Bang Theory likely remember this quote from the Physics Bowl episode, when Sheldon reacts to an insult from fellow physicist Leslie Winkle by saying as condescendingly as possible that “he is rubber and she is glue”. However, the fact that he seems to go out of his way to use the most advanced vocabulary possible in his retort only adds to the hilarious running gag of Leslie always managing to beat her rival at a game of wits.

So what lesson should novice writers be learning from Sheldon’s backfired comment? That trying too hard to sound smart often has the opposite effect than what you might expect, that is, it hurts more than it helps.

What is this amethystine composition of which you speak?

Writing that is overly decorated with fancy words and elaborate details is known as “purple prose”. It’s an especially common practice among inexperienced writers, who often believe that to write a really good story (or improve upon an existing dull one), one needs to dress up the prose with as many big words as possible to make their work look sophisticated. Basically, beginners seem to have this grand illusion that great literature is that which stands above the level of everyday speech.

Purple Rose

Purple prose: Contemplate this exquisite aubergine blossom of the Rosaceae family
Everyday speech: Look at this beautiful purple rose

But here’s the problem with that logic: everyday speech is the level where most readers are, and more importantly, where they want to stay. Readers today don’t want to bore their way through long descriptions or have to pause at every other page to look up half the words they just read in the dictionary. They want writing that’s simple, that they can understand and find relatable, similar to the language they use themselves in the real world.

So I’ve been writing erroneously… I mean, wrong all this time?

Calm down, and take a second to note that I said “similar to”, not “the same as”. It’s OK to use some higher-level vocabulary and detailed narration in your stories, for when done in moderation and in tone with the style of the work, these can actually add to the quality of your writing. The danger is using these tools in excess, because after you’ve passed a certain point in flowering up your prose, these details will begin to draw attention to themselves and away from the flow of your story. To sum up, a little is fine, but too much is bad. Write with caution.

Now before anyone accuses me of hypocrisy, allow me the chance to admit to this embarrassing fact: I am guilty of writing purple prose. Even if I don’t always choose the fanciest synonyms I can find to replace everyday words, I love decorating my writing with adjectives and adverbs, and I tend to use intermediate-level words where common ones would work just fine. That being said, I used to be much worse. When I first started writing, I had this idea that nobody would want to read stories written in the plain language of a ten-year-old, so even though I was already well-read for my age, I went out of my way to find “bigger and better” words for my fiction. It wasn’t until I started learning about common writing mistakes as a young adult that I realized how flowery my early writing was, and I’ve since been gradually cutting the bad habits of my childhood. So take it from a writer who’s still breaking out of the novice phase: tone down the purple and focus on writing simple prose. Your readers will appreciate it.

Purple Prose CatIt’s worth noting at this point that as strongly as most experienced writers will argue against this practice, prose style is and always will be subjective. It’s entirely possible for a writer to not only be aware they write such elaborate prose, but actually do it on purpose. So if you’re a beginning writer guilty of this trope, don’t feel bad right off the bat. Maybe your goal is to imitate the exact styles of writers like William Shakespeare, Charles Dickens and Jane Austen, and that’s fine. Just know that unless you’re going for satire, most of the audience who would take your work seriously has probably been dead for a few hundred years.

But I want to be taken seriously today! What should I do?

Don’t worry, the “purple prose bug” is treatable! For those of you aspiring writers who wish to establish yourselves before you try to follow the great authors who bend the rules, here’s a quick list of common purple prose mistakes and how you can avoid them:

1) Excessive detail. Yes, describing the setting of a scene before the action starts is often essential to telling a good story, but please don’t go on for a dozen pages about the hundred different colors in the sky or the history hidden in every brick of every building. Just because authors like J.R.R. Tolkien and Victor Hugo could get away with it doesn’t mean you can. One paragraph should be enough to set your scene, but no more than two.

2) Overly decorated nouns and verbs. If you’re one of the millions of readers who have read all of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books, you may have learned that nouns and verbs should almost always include a “modifying friend”. But Rowling is an exception, a world-famous author of one of the best-selling book series in history, which you are (probably) not. That means she can do whatever she wants with her writing, whereas you should practice creating basic prose before you work too hard to copy her style. Try not to use too many adjectives and adverbs in your writing. Though this may seem counterintuitive, many famous writers would agree that less is more. If you don’t believe so, read a story by Ernest Hemingway or Mark Twain, and you’ll see how writing can be great without the need for too many “attachments”. To quote Twain, “When you catch an adjective, kill it.”

3) Said bookisms. This is one of the most common mistakes made by beginning writers: the constant use of alternative verbs for the word “said”. There’s a general belief that when it comes to writing dialogue, “said” is too plain and overused, so writers should go out of their way to replace it with words like “asked”, “muttered”, “hissed”, etc. As a teenager, I used a lot of these in my writing; I wouldn’t be surprised if I read back a dialogue-heavy scene from one of my old stories and found at least three pages between consecutive uses of “said”. But even famous authors seem to be guilty of this sometimes (I’m given to understand there’s an entire blog devoted to poking fun at the purpleness of Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series), so don’t feel too bad if you find your own writing full of these bookisms. The important thing is that you know you should fix them. Dialogue should convey tone by itself, no extra tags required.

4) Too much “fancy vocabulary”. Continuing from the example of “said”, some writers tend to try and find as many advanced-sounding synonyms as possible to substitute the common words in their stories. While this may be fine once in a while, you shouldn’t run to the thesaurus for every other word you want to write. Otherwise, you’ll end up sending your readers to the dictionary just as frequently. It’s great to learn new words, but think about it for a second: the more time you put into driving your audience to read another book, the less time they’ll spend reading yours. Try to stick to vocabulary that your readers will understand, and if you must throw in a higher-level word now and then, at least have the courtesy to make its definition clear in context.

5) Exaggerated sentiment. There isn’t a lot I can say here except that this is pretty much a writer’s attempt to manipulate the reader into reacting a certain way to their writing. Going back to the first item on the list, if you throw too much rhetorical writing into your stories, it comes across as you trying too hard to evoke specific emotions from your readers, which more often than not will have the opposite effect. Trust your audience to understand what you’re trying to tell them. If you write it plainly enough, they will feel it.

Purple prose is a dangerous habit of many writers, and while it may be OK for some, most should make a point of avoiding or overcoming it, no matter how difficult this seems. If nothing else, choosing to create simple and clean prose is a sign of respect to your work and your readers, so take care with your style of writing. I’m certainly still trying.

So what are your experiences with purple prose? Have you read stories that you found too flowery for your taste? Were you (or are you) ever guilty of making these mistakes yourself?

Looking in the Literary Mirror: Seeing Yourself in Your Characters

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who lived in a dark castle guarded by a fire-breathing dragon, always dreaming of the day a young man would come and rescue her from the evil sorcerer who had kidnapped her and trapped her there. One day, a brave knight stormed the castle on his trusty steed, slew the dragon and killed the sorcerer. He rescued the princess from her lonely tower and took her back home to her kingdom. The king and queen were so grateful to the knight that they offered him their daughter’s hand in marriage, to which he and the princess gladly agreed. The knight and the princess were married, and they lived happily ever after. The End.

This is a classic fairy tale formula: villain has damsel, hero goes after damsel, hero defeats villain, hero and damsel fall in love and live happily ever after. The exact course of events may vary from story to story, but the basic idea is usually the same. Also universal in romantic fairy tales, if you’ll notice, are the character archetypes present in the plot. So pervasive are they in fiction that we’ve been trained from childhood to recognize them on sight: the handsome prince or the knight in shining armor; the beautiful princess or the young lady in need of rescue; the evil villain who stands in the way of true love, etc. And while these characters clearly serve their purpose when it comes to telling a well-rounded story, we as writers must ask ourselves why they don’t (or at least shouldn’t) appeal to us as satisfactory vehicles for the tales we wish to tell.

Typewriter - Once Upon a TImeThe main problem with the fairy tale characters is that they’re “plug-in” types. They’re like mass-produced instant ramen noodles: conveniently cheap and easy to prepare, but not exactly a healthy choice. When basic character profiles are used excessively over the years, they inevitably become clichéd and uninteresting. And intelligent readers don’t want clichéd and uninteresting; they want to see through the action on the pages to glimpse another level of the characters. They want depth.

As writers, we are obligated to act as intelligent readers of our own works, even super-intelligent. We need to have a complete understanding of our characters that transcends our readers’ perceptions. To achieve this, we have to provide our characters with personal details that make up a life outside of the main action in the story, a life that will save them from being labeled as “ordinary” and keep our readers intrigued. So how exactly do we manage this?

Amelia stared out of the window of her room for what the scratched-up wall behind her claimed was the thirty-second day in a row. Yet again, she found herself longing to visit the rolling hills in the distance. It was so boring in her room: all the walls had already been painted twice in a dozen different colors, and she was out of embroidery supplies for the third time that week. She wanted to go outside, where there was fresh air and animals to chase and adventures to be had every day. She wanted her freedom back.

Good fictional characters are like real people: unique. They have backstory, flaws, fears and dreams. The best ones also have personal goals that often serve the important purpose of driving their stories forward. Can you think of anyone else who might fit that description?

Petrus, the lonely philosopher that she liked to visit on occasion, had foolishly thought it would be a good idea to get a small pet dragon to keep him company in his otherwise abandoned castle at the far edge of the forest. The second Amelia had stepped through the gate, the darn beast had chased her across the courtyard straight into the building, where her friend had told her that until he could find a way to subdue the dragon, she would have to stay inside where it was safe. That was a month ago.

Something I’ve noticed that I tend to do a lot when writing fiction is insert elements of my own personality and ideals into my stories. Although its usually done subconsciously, I feel this has helped me tremendously when trying to create believable characters. It isn’t just me, of course; many of the stories I’ve read seem to reflect characteristics of the writer behind them, as much the favorable as the less-than-flattering. Speaking from my experience, not only is this a practice that’s probably very common among knowledgeable writers, but that should really be encouraged among beginners, especially those who are prone to following the flat “Once upon a time” formula.

Jack couldn’t remember how he had ended up here. One minute, he was standing atop a tree beside a stone wall, trying to figure out where he was after being lost for an hour; the next, he was waking up in the courtyard on the other side of the wall next to an unconscious dragon and a huge broken branch. Before he knew it, an old man in a dark robe and a young girl his own age had run out of the nearby castle and were thanking him for his heroic deed. What heroic deed? Jack insisted he was no hero; he was just a squire who’d gotten lost after being separated from the knight with whom he was traveling to the kingdom. Nonetheless, the philosopher was grateful for this stroke of good luck, and requested that Jack accompany Amelia back home. She knew the way, he assured the boy, and her father was sure to reward him handsomely for his deed. The man was, after all, an advisor to the king himself…

Writing yourself into your stories has a few major advantages:

  1. It makes it easier to write in a way that readers will find relatable;
  2. It helps you develop a better familiarity with the characters you’re creating (after all, who knows you better than you, right?); and
  3. It allows your readers a subtle means of getting to know the writer behind the words.
Alice Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll (Image via Scientific American)

Alice Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carroll
(Image via Scientific American)

The story shared here is just a silly fairy tale twist that I improvised, but which still serves to demonstrate how I tend to base elements of my writing on myself. Amelia’s painted walls and embroideries reflect an artistic side, though the adventurous dreamer in her is also a comment on my idealistic views about women who are independent thinkers. Petrus, being a philosopher, is a type of character who’s expected to be intelligent, but who still isn’t immune to bad decisions brought on by negative emotions like loneliness (why else would anyone get a pet dragon if they had no clue how to handle it?). Even Jack is a quirky character of humble status who would hardly consider himself a hero had he not been in the right place at the right time.

The traits I’ve taken from myself give all these characters a certain depth that separates them from their two-dimensional parallels in the first story and (hopefully) makes the second story a more interesting read. In this way, by writing yourself into your own stories, you can add color to your characters’ profiles and create tales that not only appeal to your intelligent readers, but also give them a chance to catch glimpses of the unique person that is you.

Amelia bid Petrus farewell as he fettered the unconscious dragon, thanking him for taking such good care of her for the past month. She then led the way to the nearby kingdom that was her home, and after reuniting with her worried parents, she introduced Jack as her new friend. The boy was awarded knighthood for taking down a dragon and saving the advisor’s daughter, and he and the girl quickly became best friends. For several years, Jack and Amelia continued to visit Petrus together and pursued many adventures throughout their adolescence, until at last they reached adulthood and realized they had fallen in love. The two friends were eventually married, knowing they’d be very happy together for the rest of their lives. Their greatest adventure had only just begun.

What about you fellow fiction writers? How do you draw inspiration for creating your characters? Do you recognize traces of yourself in any of your stories?

Pin It on Pinterest