The nature of inspiration, part 3
Forms of inspiration within story structure: Acts 1-Opening and Act 2-The Middle Cycle
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Part 2 introduced the use of inspiration in story structure as an extension of rhetoric and persuasive writing. Here, then, we jump into Act 1—The Opening and Act 2—The Middle Cycle after a short comment on another form of inspiration, the creative.
A note about “creative inspiration”
To add to the discussions in the previous two posts, I wanted to note another flavor of inspiration: creative inspiration, or that which gives rise to new ideas that then take expression in writing, art, music, poetry, dance, landscaping, philosophy, spirituality, business, technology, and any number of other creative mediums.
Creative inspiration is somewhat orthogonal to what we’re discussing in this series of posts, which is how experiences, like reading a story, can give rise to different kinds of inspiration, all of which extends from the question of what it means for a story to “inspire people to seek God.”
That said, creative expression can certainly be a means through which a person engages in that search for God—it’s the very reason that I’m writing Deus in Fabula. As such, creative inspiration is a form of motivational inspiration: it brings a greater inner clarity about purpose and a greater awareness about how to act on that clarity. To choose to put that inspiration into action, like engaging in an art, is to make a change in one’s life.
We could also say that motivational inspiration as we’ve been talking about is itself a form of creative inspiration, wherein the medium is life itself. Fresh motivation gives rise to creativity, and creativity often gives rise to fresh motivation. In the end, perhaps the two terms are really just different dimensions of the same experience. Your thoughts?
Inspiration in Act 1—the Opening
To return now to our discussion of story, in the time-tested three-act structure, Act 1 gets the story going by introducing the protagonist, placing them in a world, outlining the story goal, and launching the protagonist on the quest for that goal. These aspects map to the exordium, narratio, and partitio stages of rhetoric and thus use the same types of inspiration.
At the opening, the story must hook a reader’s interest with an engaging opening (exordium), often using emotional inspiration. A number of writing coaches claim that the make-or-break moment of engagement comes in the first paragraph of the story, if not the very first line, but I think it’s more in the first few pages. After all, by the time readers get to page 1, they’ve already invested the time and energy to examine a book’s title, cover, blurb, back matter, and perhaps a couple of testimonials. So, they’ll probably invest similar time reading the first page or two.1
Within a short time, too, the author must introduce a sympathetic protagonist, that is, one to which readers can relate, and introduce a believable setting (both are narratio). Confirmational inspiration here helps to ground the story, along with any other characters that are introduced in Act 1, in both relatability and believability because such inspiration connects with what readers already understand, believe, and perhaps even take for granted. Act 1 is not necessarily the place to ask readers to stretch too far beyond the familiar; speculative fiction must do some of this, of course, but even then you don’t dump all the details of the world’s “otherness” upon the reader at once.
Confirmational inspiration also applies across all acts (but primarily in Acts 1 and 2) whenever new characters, settings, and situations appear, as these also need to be believable and relatable. Many stories involving everyday people in contemporary settings often place characters into situations with which authors expect readers to identify. If you’ve ever read and story and found yourself saying, “Oh, my life/house/relationship/etc. is just like that!” then confirmational inspiration is at work.
Introduction of the premise or story goal, which occurs during Act 1, is like the stage of partitio. Often, it seems, this comes as a moment of inpletional inspiration, a moment of certainty, amidst a storm of emotional inspiration (otherwise known as tension). The emotional inspiration keeps readers invested in the protagonist so that they can really feel that inpletional moment when the protagonist realizes, deep inside, that he or she must make the fateful choice that launches the story into Act 2. I think readers often identify with that inpletional moment by saying to themselves, “I think I might do the same thing in that situation.” That’s inpletional inspiration at work.
In Book 1 of Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring (which is split into two Books), Frodo realizes, after “a long silence” that follows the revelation that the Ring of Power has come to him, that he has to get it out of the Shire. Notice the certainty in these words:
“I am a danger, a danger to all who live near me. I cannot keep the Ring and stay here. I ought to leave Bag End, leave the Shire, leave everything and go away.” He sighed.
…
“I feel that as long as the Shire lies behind, safe and comfortable, I shall find wandering more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold, even if my feet cannot stand there again.”2
This inpletional moment is beautifully depicted in the movie version when Frodo, at 1:35 into the clip below, essentially accepts his fate and says, calmly, “What must I do?” Notice the emotional intensity both before and after that moment of stillness and certainty.
A similar moment occurs in at the end of Act 1 in Book 2 of The Fellowship of the Ring, when Frodo once again volunteers, after a prolonged silence in the Council of Elrond, to take the Ring of Power to Mount Doom to destroy it. “I will take the Ring,” he says, simply.3
Act 2—the Middle Cycle
In Act 2, the Middle Cycle, the protagonist pursues the story goal to prove the premise (confirmatio) in the face of opposition (refutatio). This fundamental conflict, which results in a stream of disasters and dilemmas for the protagonist, increases tension as the story goes along, which is to say, increases emotional energy or inspiration as much as any championship sporting event. Protagonists are essentially searching for the confirmational inspiration that would allow them to rest, but never get it until the very end. Frodo, in many ways, goes through this in The Lord of the Rings as does Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit and Rebecca in Martine Leavitt’s Buffalo Flats (see Mystical character arcs in fiction, part 1), to name a few. In fact, we can say that every romance story is searching for the same thing, the happily ever after that comes when the relationship quest is fulfilled.
Emotional inspiration keeps readers engaged throughout the story. Writing coaches correctly point out that if a story bogs down in what’s sometimes called the “muddy middle,” it’s probably due to a lack of tension and conflict, which is to say, the emotional inspiration.
Confirmational inspiration also occurs during Act 2, as mentioned before, to help keep characters relatable and situations believable.
There will likely be moments of inpletional inspiration, also, whenever there’s a need to pause or take a breath in the action or to keep hope alive. Having the protagonist discover a critical clue, for example, would carry such a feeling, as do those moments in a romance when the two leads catch each other’s eyes for a moment and just know. In the clean romance Hello Love by Karen McQuestion (which involves a sweet dog), the two leads, Dan and Andrea, have several encounters in which readers are likely to hold their breaths and ask, “Will this be the special moment?” Even though readers probably know already that the leads won’t come together until the end (that’s the romance trope, after all), those moments of hope yet deliver that inpletional inspiration.
The ongoing tension of Act 2, which surrounds all the inpletional and confirmational inspiration, generally drives to the “The Black Moment” of seeming hopelessness for the protagonist. The Black Moment is, to me, where inpletional inspiration really shines, if I may state such an irony. The moment is called “black” because the story goal seems impossible. At the same time, it’s a moment when the turmoil, all the swirling emotions that have surrounded all the action to this point, settles down and even comes to a halt. As Emotion, “inpletion,” and devotion, part 2 illustrates, this quiet, still center is exactly where feeling transcends the emotional plane, thus shining the spotlight on inpletion.
And that transcendence is what allows the protagonist (and the reader) to focus all the energy that’s been built up to see the one pathway that’s been overlooked.
In the draft I wrote for One Year Adventure Novel, A Gift for King Felix, my protagonist, the young shepherdess Ba, has her Black Moment when she’s been captured, bound, and hauled to a forest far away from her town where assassins await the midday arrival of King Felix. Let me offer an extended excerpt here as an illustration of its inpletional quality:
My whole body ached—arms, legs, face, chest, and not the least of which also my left shoulder, still stinging from its trauma. My stomach and lower abdomen, too, contorted as if tightening a knot, sending surges of pain up my spine. But nothing ached so acutely as my heart.
It is over, it said in the language of despair. Over. I was too late to do anything. Too feeble, too young, too brash, too indecisive, too trusting, too faithless, too…my vocabulary proved itself unequal to the extent of my faults.
I rolled partly onto my back and rested against a large stone, giving myself to sorrow even as I watched the sunrise paint beauty in the clouds. Such a lovely day to witness such tragedy, I thought. Images of what would come again haunted my mind.
Death.
Death all around.
Inevitable death.
Dear Lord, I prayed, maybe it’s better to just die now. Indeed, I realized that even if I lived, I would die in a manner. My childhood ebbed away as womanhood approached, as unavoidable as the winter rains, nay, as the new shoots of spring or the fruits of summer. The turning of a season, of many seasons, within me and all around.
A strange sensation washed over me, like a fainting, but I remained awake. My vision blurred then refocused. I swooned, or at least would have had I been standing. And then a sense of freedom overwhelmed me. The pain withdrew from my abdomen and my body flushed with cold, then a warmth that banished every other ache and soreness into a lightness, like I was floating on a warm lake in the summertime.
Is this what death is like? I wondered? Oh, the beautiful sky! To be released into the sky, to join Ma, to join Pa. Yes, easier to die now than live with a broken heart in the times to come.
The liberating warmth and lightness continued to expand within me, and…I was happy. Happy as when I cuddled a newborn lamb. Happy as in my many years of simple contentment among the meadows with my flock. I could hear their soft bleating, the clink of the bellwether. Perhaps, for me, I would continue to be a shepherd in Heaven. Our Savior would accept me, surely, as I would accept death, or…even accept a new life if God chose to keep me here.
The sun continued to rise in its inexorable march to its zenith, a zenith that would give silent witness to King Felix's death. He would die, our peace would die, as I would die. Dear God, I give myself to you. Take me now, let me be there in Heaven to greet King Felix when he arrives, so he knows that I loved him in life. I can tell him I'm sorry I couldn't save him, though I tried my best, and he will smile his gratitude and we can continue in the afterlife together.
I looked again to the sky, beyond the clouds, beyond the light, into the Beyond. I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, slowly…perhaps it was my last. I closed my eyes and with a deep inner knowing of the peace I so longed for without, and surrendered to the inevitable.
Then I took another gentle breath.
And another.
And another.
I’m still breathing, an insistent voice said to me.
I blinked at the bright sky. My nostrils absorbed the scent of new blossoms of wildflowers opening to the sun’s love. I swallowed as my chest expanded to draw a sharp inhalation. I was very much alive.
It’s here that she realizes she yet has hope of escape and thus the ability to act.
My intent with a passage like this is to evoke inpletional inspiration in the reader—especially the kind of inspiration that might help readers also accept and surrender to inevitable changes in their own lives. (Am I successful? Leave a comment if you felt that way, or not.)
Such a moment launches a story into Act 3. All the confirmational, emotional, and inpletional inspiration becomes a springboard to drive to the climax wherein the story point proves true.
Act 3 coming up
Part 4 of this series concludes by discussing inspiration in Act 3—The Climax and Conclusion.
Until then, your feedback is welcome.
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And if they’ve already made a bigger commitment by purchasing the book, I think they’re likely to read at least several chapters before giving up. For myself, I’ll read the entirety of any book I bought at full price unless it’s just abysmally bad (like, self-published and not really edited bad), and even then I might finish it anyway to see just how dreadful it can be. Such writing is at least educational.
This passage comes near the end of the chapter, “The Shadow of the Past,” page 68 of my paperback edition.
This moment is also the end of Act 1 of the whole Lord of the Rings trilogy, because the quest to destroy the Ring is the story goal of the overall trilogy.