As I walked in the room Brandon Sanderson said, “Have her sit by me. I’m going to help her a little bit.”

He spent approximately fifteen minutes with me, and he helped me a lot. Fourteen minutes of that was reminding me how to play Magic the Gathering and whipping me in a match. The other minute stretched me to my next writing plateau.

I knew I needed to improve my writing, but I also knew that the resources available to me weren’t going to cut it anymore. I needed something to yank me upwards or my pace would be so slow that I wouldn’t see anything published for years to come. I knew this, but I didn’t know where to turn next. I’d been listening to Writing Excuses (a podcast for writers done by Brandon Sanderson, Dan Wells, and Howard Taylor–Mary Robinette Kowal came later) for quite a while, so when they talked about Conduit, I decided to make the trip, stay with family nearby so I could afford it, and see what I could learn. I didn’t expect to end up in a MTG game (Magic the Gathering) with Brandon Sanderson, but when my son pointed out the sign-up to me, I blew the dust off my cards and showed up.  In my efforts to observe a game between Brandon and his fans, he noticed me enough and talked with me enough to recognize my nervousness about the upcoming tournament.

So, he sat by me, coached me in what types of cards to pick and how to put my deck together. When my turn to play against him came, I worked up my courage to talk about writing.

“I’ve been listening to Writing Excuses,” I said. “And it has helped me a lot.”

As his creatures attacked mine and I tried to block, I told him a short version of the story about how I started writing. (If you haven’t read the story, you can go to my webpage, www.coletteblack.net, and visit the About Me page.)

Then I asked. “I’ve been writing for a while, I’m getting better, but I can tell I still need to improve a lot, but I don’t know what else to do. Can you give me any suggestions?”

He looked at me a moment, perhaps gauging my sincerity, and then said. “David Farland still does workshops. He’s a good writing teacher and I suggest you attend one.”

And then he killed me, or my cards I should say, and I went to the next match and got royally scobbed again. I should point out, if it hadn’t been for his help I would have never lasted three rounds in any of the matches that night. I didn’t do great, but I held my own.

I signed up for the next David Farland workshop I could fit into my schedule–the Professional Writers Workshop.  I thought it would be beyond my amateur skills, but he made the class work for everyone, regardless of our skill level. And my writing ability jumped dramatically. It wasn’t only the teaching. It was also having a group of serious writers, the kind who are willing to spend money to get better, surrounding me and giving me critiques. Between David’s well-done workshop, and my fellow writers amazing skills, each time I’ve attended a workshop my writing ability has improved not by the gradual climb of Butt in Chair Fingers on Keyboard–though that is important–but by a step or two upward.

So, in my opinion, if you find yourself on a writing plateau, then find yourself a good workshop with personal instruction and serious writers who will take the time to critique 10-20 pages of your work and really give it a serious once-over. If you’re willing to learn, you’ll jump to the next level. Eventually you’ll reach a point where you might need something more, but so far, it’s worked well for me. I’ve attended three workshops so far, and if I could scrape together the money right now, I’d be attending his next one. I’ll probably try Dean Wesley Smith’s online workshop next. When will I be so good I won’t need them? Probably never. I can’t imagine ever reaching a plateau that is so high that I can’t stretch and reach another one.

I also recommend conventions, conferences, good critique groups,  seminars, and books, but nothing beats the type of instruction you can get in a workshop. Butt in chair is vital, but listening to the men and women who already know what they’re doing can make the time in the chair really count.

You may have liked or disliked The Hunger Games, but nobody can dispute that the movie did well in the theaters. Why does it matter? Because we want our stories to sell well, to a wide audience.

Now, you can study the book, look at the plot points, try to understand what made it compelling to readers, but a well-received movie can do almost the same thing in a much shorter amount of time. I didn’t actually watch movies all that much until I went to a David Farland workshop where he sat with us and pointed out the story elements of Hunger Games and why they work for an audience.

Now, before I get into some of those details, a caveat: I am very good at turning off my internal editor when I watch a movie, and as such, I may be the worst person for this post. But because learning to analyze movies in this way has helped me, I felt the need to pass the information along. Some of what you’ll read came from David Farland’s workshop, and some of it is my own opinion. Doesn’t matter. You’ll get the idea.

Inciting Incident: On the Scribe Meets World blog, this is described as, “the event which sparks the fuse of your plot.” I argue that the fuse is lit in the very first scene, when Prim wakes up screaming because she dreamed she was chosen in the Reaping lottery for the Hunger Games. This is where Katniss makes her promise to Prim. “Your name’s only in there once. They’re not going to pick you.” Up until this point, Katniss has cared for her family, but the change, the initial incident, is the fact that Prim is in the lottery for the first year ever.

Takeaway: What good storytellers know, you don’t want to wait too long for this inciting incident to take place, within the first ten minutes for a movie. I’ve heard different numbers for books, but as in The Hunger Games, as soon as possible works best for most audiences.

Turning Point (s)/Try-Fail Cycles: We often think only of the main turning points and  climax, but one of the aspects of Hunger Games that I thought was done exceptionally well, was  weaving the multiple story lines: Katniss’  need of being there for Prim, her desire to be left alone by the government, Gale’s wish that he could lash out at government control, Peeta wanting Katniss to live, for her to care for him, and that he can come away from the whole ordeal unchanged. (You’ll notice we never see him kill anybody, though eventually Katniss does.) Even Cato’s story, as he goes from confident contestant, to charismatic leader, to a broken, bitter boy, is given to us in poignant flashes. “One more kill. It’s the only thing I know how to do…to bring pride to my district. Not that it matters.” (Cato’s last scene)

Much of what kept the audience engaged was the almost continual spike of these multiple stories hitting their own turning points, even to the relationship between the President and the game-maker, shown to us in brief, increasingly-threatening, scenes.

Takeaway: As in movies, writers need to make every scene count; consider every character, their goals, and how those goals fit in with the main story and then weave those elements into alternating peaks of tension so the reader is continually engaged.

Escalate: This brings us to the next point. To fully engage an audience, the conflicts have to escalate throughout the story. As if Katniss’ situation isn’t bad enough, we discover the game controllers are willing to interfere–through mechanical observation, acts of nature, and then manufactured beasts. As they arrive in the city, it seems that Peeta is at an advantage.

Haymitch: “You really want to know how to stay alive? You get people to like you….And right now, sweetheart, you’re not off to a real good start.”

But the paradigm shifts and Katniss becomes the favorite even as we realize Peeta is in love with her. Shortly after she receives the high score from the judges, Peeta reveals his feelings to the world and she accuses him of making her appear weak.

Haymitch: “He made you look desirable, which in your case, can’t hurt, sweetheart.”

Throughout the movie, every success brings another problem, escalating the conflicts. Katniss gets a backpack of supplies, only to get targeted by her  personal nemesis–Clove, the knife-thrower. Winning a bow requires her first act of violence and leaves her hallucinating and vulnerable. The list goes on, and every moment of the movie is turning points and escalations of conflict.

Takeaway: As Brandon Sanderson says, “Escalate, escalate, escalate.”

Resonance: I don’t think I would have caught on to the following examples without David Farland’s workshop. I understood genre resonance, but didn’t get visual resonance until then. He pointed out things like the heart shape on Effie’s lips and visual similarities between her and the Queen of Hearts, giving us an automatic dislike of the woman. The enforcers visual similarity to Star Wars storm troopers gives us that automatic sense of oppression and the presence of a domineering empire. District 12 is Depression-era bordertown, lending the feel of starvation and desperation. Even Katniss’ clean-up in the city increases the Oz feel already rendered by the citizens’ outlandish dress. I have too many of these to list, and we’ve already had a post on resonance, but I never realized before how Hollywood uses visual references between iconic films to influence our perceptions.

Takeaway: As was said by Nancy in her Star Trek post, resonance matters. Finding ways we can make small details,  genre language, and even outside references, familiar and yet new and interesting gives flavor to our stories as much as it lends flavor to a film.

Hunger Games takeaway: Taking the time to dissect popular movies and finding the elements of plot structure and resonance that make it work for the audience is a valuable tool in improving our own work.