Tag Archives: scene framing

March 17, 2025 · 6:00 am

Idea to story part 7 – Building the world #writing

We have just finished the first six parts in our story creation series. We talked about developing characters and allowing them to help us plot our story, and the links to those posts are down below. Now, we’re going to let our characters show us the environment and landscape of their world.

First, even though the sample plot we’ve been working with is for a pseudo-medieval fantasy, you don’t have to write in that genre to benefit from listening to your characters. Our characters will tell us what their world looks like, no matter what genre we set it in.

The plot of our sample story as it evolved over the last six weeks tells us it will be set in several places: a castle fortress, a manor house, a cottage in an as-yet-nameless village, and a hut in a forest.

One problem I have noticed as an avid reader is the tendency to build contradictions into the geography of our world. It happens as we lay the story down on paper, expanding scenes and interactions. One of my favorite authors is consistently guilty of this despite having published more than eighty novels.

We don’t want to build flaws into our narrative, but we all want to speed up the process of finishing the first draft.

I find a small, hand-scribbled map is the best way to do this. I begin with the opening location, and each time the group goes somewhere, I add it to my map. That way, I have them going in the right direction consistently, and it takes the same length of time to get there each time they must make the journey.

All we need is some idea of directions and distances, an idea of how long it takes to travel using the standard mode of transportation.

In my own writing, I keep the visuals simple, basing the plants and topography on the Pacific Northwest, where I live. It’s a lot less work to write what we are familiar with when it comes to flora and fauna, as well as mountains and seas.

When Val looks out the window, she sees a hilly country covered in a forest of firs and cedar trees interspersed with clearings. Wherever a giant tree has fallen, sunlight creates places where ash, maples, and cottonwoods find fertile soil. In turn, those trees offer shelter to the young seedlings of the fir and cedars, ensuring that the forest continues its cycle of life.

When Val and Kai move their troops for the final battle, they must travel over hills and valleys and cross rivers. They must know where the villages that are sympathetic to them are and avoid those controlled by the enemy.

As the rough draft evolves, sometimes towns must be renamed or may have to be moved to more logical places.
Whole mountain ranges may have to be moved or reshaped so our characters encounter forests and savannas where they are supposed to be in the story.

The topography isn’t the only thing Guard Captain Val must contend with from day one. It’s a fantasy so there may be rare beasts to deal with.

Also, when we decided she was captain of the royal guard and co-regent for young King Edward, we implied a Renaissance level of technology. This means they are pre-industrial, relying on horses, mules, and oxen for personal transportation and transporting goods. Thus, wagons, carts, and carriages will provide transportation when one doesn’t want to ride horseback or must transport large quantities of goods.

We will go into how available technology affects what our characters can do later in this series.

Any story set in prehistorical times is a fantasy, as the author must imagine social interactions and environments based on the information available in the archeological record.

Historical eras are those where written records have been archived and passed down to us.
Any story set in a society without written records is a fantasy–no matter what genre you label it with. Although mythology, conjecture, and theorizing abound, few scientific facts exist until an archeological expedition can investigate any artifacts and ruins they left behind. And even then, there will be a certain literary license to the archaeologist’s conclusions.

If you are setting your novel in a real-world city as it currently exists, make good use of Google Earth. Bookmark it now, even if you live in that town, as the maps you will generate will help you stay on track.

Our characters will reveal the sights, sounds, and scents of their world to us. They will tell us if they feel at home in the forest, as Val does. Or they will indicate unease and fear, as Kai does when he is thrown into an environment he has never experienced.

The metallic aftertaste of terror overrode the musty scents of damp earth and rotting leaves. The rank odor of startled skunk lingered, but the occasional calls of small forest creatures went on around him as if everything were normal. It wasn’t, but hell would freeze before he admitted it. As cold as it was, it probably had.

When it comes to geography, the “three S’s” of world-building are critical: sights, sounds, and smells. Those sensory elements create what we know of the world. What does your character see, hear, and smell? Taste rarely comes into it except when showing an odor or emotion.

Scene framing is an aspect of world-building. It is the order in which we stage our characters and the visual objects they interact with. It shapes the overall mood and atmosphere of a scene.

The atmosphere of a narrative is a long-term feature of the story, winding through and evolving over the length of the piece. Atmosphere is conveyed by the setting as well as the general emotional state of the characters.

The mood of a story is also long-term, but it is a feeling residing in the background, going almost unnoticed—subliminal. Mood shapes (and is shaped by) the emotions evoked within the story.

Once we have our characters in place, they will show us the furnishings, sounds, and odors that are the visual necessities for that scene. All we have to do is let them do their jobs.

In the first draft, our primary task is to get the bare bones of the settings down. We must write the story as it falls from our imaginations first. For example, I won’t worry about the details of that gorgeous tapestry hanging in King Edward’s bedroom. I’ll just write the scene where Donovan kidnaps him. If the tapestry becomes important later, we’ll have a closer look at it.

World-building gets expanded on or trimmed back during the revision process. It is an aspect of writing that continues through every draft of the manuscript. Beta readers will mention aspects of the world that need attention, and even in the editing process some adjustments will be made.

Next week, we’ll look at the different levels of society that shaped our two main characters. We will see how their most cherished biases were formed, and with that understanding, we will understand how and why the whole debacle that is our story began.

PREVIOUS IN THIS SERIES:

Idea to story, part 1: novel, poetry, memoir, or short story? #writing | Life in the Realm of Fantasy

Idea to story part 2: thinking out loud #writing | Life in the Realm of Fantasy

Idea to story part 3: plotting out loud #writing | Life in the Realm of Fantasy

Idea to story part 4 – the roles of side characters #writing | Life in the Realm of Fantasy

Idea to story part 5 – plotting treason #writing | Life in the Realm of Fantasy

Idea to story part 6 – Plotting the End #writing | Life in the Realm of Fantasy

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December 16, 2024 · 7:13 am

#DecemberWriter – Scene Composition and Transitions #writing

When I sit down to write a scene, my mind sees it as if through a camera, as if my narrative were a movie. The character and their actions are framed by the setting and environment. In so many ways, a writer’s imagination is like a camera, and as they write that first draft, the narrative unfolds like a movie.

writing craft functions of the scene Directors will tell you they focus the scenery (set dressing) so it frames the action. The composition of props in that scene is finely focused world-building, and it draws the viewer’s attention to the subtext the director wants to convey.

Subtext is what lies below the surface. It is the hidden story, the secret reasoning that shapes the narrative. It’s conveyed by the composition of the images we place in the environment and how they affect our perception of the mood and atmosphere.

Book- onstruction-sign copy As I work my way through revisions, I struggle to find the right set dressing to underscore the drama. Each item mentioned in the scene must emphasize the characters’ moods and the overall atmosphere of that part of the story.

Subtext supports the dialogue and gives purpose to the personal events. What furnishings, sounds, and odors are the visual necessities to support that scene? How can I best frame the interactions so that the most information is conveyed with the fewest words? And how do we chain our scenes together to create a smooth flow to our narrative?

We all struggle with transitions, and one helpful tool is this: we can bookend our scenes. But how does bookending work?

Last week, we talked about transitions and how they affect pacing, but we didn’t have time to expand on the mechanics. We want the events to unfold naturally so the plot flows logically.

Perhaps we have the plot all laid out in the right order. We know what must happen in this event so that the next event makes sense. But how do we move from this event to the next in such a way that the reader doesn’t notice the transitions?

bookend We can bookend the event with “doorway” scenes. These scenes determine the narrative’s pacing, which is created by the rise and fall of action.

Pacing consists of doing and showing linked together with a little telling. An example of an opening paragraph (from a short story) that conveys visual information is this:

Olin Erikson gazed at the remains of his barn. He turned back to Aeril, his nine-year-old son. “I know you didn’t shake our barn down intentionally, but it happened. I sense that you have a strong earth-gift, and you’ve been trying to hide it.”

In that particular short story, the opening paragraph consists of 44 words. It introduces the characters and tells you they have the ability to use magic. It also introduces the inciting incident. But bookends come in pairs, so what does a final paragraph do?

Another example is one I have used before. This next scene is the last paragraph of an opening chapter. Page one of the narrative opens with a short paragraph introducing the character—the hook. This is followed by a confrontation scene that introduces the inciting incident. Finally, we need to keep the reader hooked. The paragraph that follows here is the final paragraph of that introductory chapter:

I picked up my kit and looked around. No wife to kiss goodbye, no real home to leave behind, nothing of value to pack. Only the need to bid Aeoven and my failures goodbye. The quiet snick of the door closing behind me sounded like deliverance. I’d hit bottom, so things could only get better. Right?

While that particular narrative is told from the first-person point of view, any POV would work.

Orange_Door_with_Hydrangeas_©_Connie_Jasperson_2019 The opening paragraph of a chapter and the ending paragraph are miniature scenes that bookend the central action scene. They are doors that lead us into the event and guide us on to the next hurdle the character must overcome.

The objects my protagonists observe in each mini-scene allow the reader to infer a great deal of information about them and their actions. This is world-building and is crucial to how the reader visualizes the events.

Transition scenes are your opportunity to convey a lot of information with only a few words.

The character in the above transition scene performs an action and moves on to the next event. It reveals his mood and some of his history in 56 words of free indirect speech and propels him into the next chapter.

He does something: I picked up my kit and looked around. He performs an action in only 8 words, and that action gives us a great deal of information. It tells us that he is preparing to leave on an extended journey.

He shows us something: No wife to kiss goodbye, no real home to leave behind, nothing of value to pack. Only the need to bid Aeoven and my failures goodbye. In 26 words, he shows us a barren existence and offers us his self-evaluation as a failure.

He tells us something: The quiet snick of the door closing behind me sounded like deliverance. I’d hit bottom, so things could only get better. Right? 22 words show us his state of mind. The door has closed on an episode in his life, and he has no intention of going back.

This paragraph ends the chapter.

APPROACHING HELL When the next chapter opens, he steps into an opening paragraph that leads into the next action sequence. We find out who and what new misery is waiting for him on the other side of that door.

Small bookend scenes should reveal something and push us toward something unknown. They don’t take up a lot of space, and they lay the groundwork for what comes next, subtly moving us forward.

One way to ensure the events of your story occur in a plausible way is to open a new document and list the sequence of events in the order in which they have to happen. That way, you can view the story as a whole and move events forward or back along the timeline to ensure a logical sequence.

The brief transition scene does the heavy lifting when it comes to conveying information. It is the best opportunity for clues about the characters and their history to emerge without an info dump.

A “thinking scene” opens a window for the reader to see how the characters see themselves.

The road to hell Phillip Roth Quote When you begin making revisions, take a look at the opening paragraph of each chapter. Ask yourself how it could be rewritten to convey information and lead the reader into the action. Then, look at the final paragraph and ask yourself the same question.

Finding the right words to hook a reader, land them, and keep them hooked is a lot of work, but it will be worth it.

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Tagged as scene composition, scene framing, transition scenes, writing

March 11, 2024 · 6:00 am

Scene Framing, or how worldbuilding helps tell the story #writing

When I am reading, I become invested in the characters and their problems. The authors I like best use the environment to highlight the characters’ moods and darken or lighten the atmosphere. Their worldbuilding conveys a perception of drama with minimal exposition.

Scenes In a novel or story, each scene occurs within the framework of the environment.

I think of the written narrative as a camera and visualize my narrative as a movie. The challenge of writing for me is discovering how to best use the set dressing to underscore the drama.

Scene framing is a necessary skill for writers of all stripes. Directors will tell you they focus the scenery so it frames the action. Their intent is that viewer’s attention is drawn to the subtext the director wants to convey.

An example of how this works in literature is one I’ve used before, a pivotal scene from Anne McCaffrey’s 1988 novel Dragonsdawn.

AnneMcCaffrey_Dragonflight The Dragonriders of Pern series is considered science fiction because McCaffrey made clear at the outset that the star (Rukbat) and its planetary system had been colonized two millennia before, and the protagonists were their descendants.

Some elements of the narrative are considered fantasy because they feature dragons and telepathy.

The early novels detail the gradual rediscovery of lost technology and the revelation of their forgotten history. The stand-alone novel I’m discussing today, Dragonsdawn, is a how-it-all-began novel, and it reinforces the science fiction nature of the series.

It explains the science behind McCaffrey’s dragons and why they were genetically engineered to be what they are.

The story follows several POV characters, giving us a comprehensive view of the colony’s successes and failures. For the first ten years, the planet Pern seemed a paradise to its new colonists, who were seeking to return to a less technologically centered, agrarian-based way of life. They believe Pern is the place where they can leave their recent wars and troubles behind.

A decade after arriving on the planet, however, a new threat appears. It is a deadly, unstoppable spore that periodically rains from the skies in the form of a silvery Thread that mindlessly devours every carbon-based thing it touches.

The scenes we are looking at today have two distinct environments to frame them. In both settings, the surroundings do the dramatic heavy lifting. This chapter is filled with emotion, high stakes, and rising dread for the sure and inevitable tragedy that we hope will be averted.

While there is high drama in Sallah Telgar‘s direct interaction with Avril Bitra, the visuals and sensory elements of each environment reinforce the perception of impending doom.

The story at this point: We are at the halfway point of the book. Before the advent of Thread, Avril disappeared, gathering resources and intending to leave the planet with as much treasure as she can carry. She has been pretty much forgotten by the others but has an agenda and refuses to be thwarted.

In the first scene of this chapter, we are focused on Sallah, one of our protagonists. We see her leaving her children at the daycare. Such a common, ordinary thing, dropping off your children on your way to work.

The focus zooms out, and we see Kenjo, the pilot, putting the last of the precious fuel into the only working shuttle, the Mariposa. This shuttle has been refitted for one last science expedition: to discover the source of the deadly Threads. He is to retrieve a sample, knowing that if this mission fails, there will be no other.

The focus returns to Sallah, who observes a woman she recognizes as Avril Bitra slipping through the abandoned shuttles on the landing grid.

Sallah wonders what Avril is up to. The view widens again as we see Avril following the pilot, Kenjo, who vanishes. We then see her entering the Mariposa alone.

Sallah makes a spur-of-the-moment decision to follow Avril to see what she’s up to. This plot point is an example of a point of no return, which we discussed last week,

Here is where the sparse visual mentions of the environment become crucial as they emphasize the stark reality of Sallah’s situation.

compositionANDsceneFramingLIRF03092024 Sallah enters the shuttle just as the airlock door closes, catching and crushing her heel. She manages to pull it out so that she isn’t trapped, but she is severely injured.

Later, the dark, abandoned interior of the Yokohama reinforces Sallah’s gut-wrenching realization that her five children will grow up without a mother.

Something we haven’t talked about is subtext.

Subtext is what lies below the surface. It is the hidden story, the hints and allegations, the secret reasoning we infer from the narrative. It’s conveyed by the images we place in the environment and how the setting influences our perception of the mood and atmosphere.

Subtext supports the dialogue and gives purpose to the personal events.

Scene framing is the way we stage the people and visual objects. What furnishings, sounds, and odors are the visual necessities for that scene?

Whatever you mention of the environment focuses the reader’s attention when the characters enter the frame.

In this chapter of Dragonsdawn, we see the junk and scrap on the grid and the decaying shuttles.
Two shuttles have been dismantled and parted out. Their components are crucial in keeping the few cargo sleds that have been converted to Thread-fighting gunships in working order.
Only one shuttle remains in usable condition.
On the Yokohama, it is dark and frigid, and the interior has been partially gutted. Anything that could be carried away has been taken to the ground and repurposed.

Sensory details are vital, showing how the environment affects or is affected by the characters.

Conversely, not mentioning the scenery during a conversation brings the camera in for a close-up, focusing solely on the speaker or thinker.

A balance must be struck in how your characters are framed in each scene. We flow from wide-angle, seeing Salla floating in freefall, blood pooling in her boot. The camera moves in, a close-up showing Avril’s rage at the fact that she can’t control the course of the Mariposa, which is programmed to dock at the Yokohama.

We are there when Avril taunts Sallah for her matronly body. A feeling of helplessness comes over us as Avril ties a cord to Sallah’s crushed foot and forces her to make the navigational calculations for Avril’s escape. The camera moves in, and we hear the interaction.

Sallah pretends to do as Avril asks. But really, she sets her enemy’s doom in action. The camera moves to the wider view again, seeing her at the controls in the dark, using the last of her energy. Worst of all, we know she is dying, and she understands there is no rescue for her.

We hear the interaction with her frantic husband on the ground.

Dragonsdawn_cover This is an incredibly emotional scene: we are caught up in her determination to seize this only chance, using her last breaths to get the information about the thread spores to the scientists on the ground.

We learn how to write from reading the masters. We learn by observing how others use the setting to support and reinforce the subtext of the conversations and events.

Scene framing is a cornerstone of worldbuilding, and when it is done right, it can make a scene feel powerful.

Next up: Transitions

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Tagged as Dragon Riders of Pern, Dramatic scenes, scene framing, worldbuilding, writing

January 24, 2022 · 6:00 am

Composition and Scene Framing #amwriting

Composition is defined as the way the elements inside a frame are exhibited to the viewer – the layout of a picture. In the second draft of a novel or story, you must consider what to show and how to arrange the visuals to achieve the best effect. The environment (world) against which the events and actions are shown is the frame that enhances the scene.

scene framing Each chapter is comprised of one or more scenes. These scenes have an arc to them: action and reaction. These arcs of action and reaction begin at point A and end at point B. Each launching point will land on a slightly higher point of the story arc.

Each scene occurs within the framework of the environment, which must be shaped to emphasize the emotion of the narrative. This is called scene framing.

Our written narrative is the camera through which the scene is viewed.

We want the characters’ interactions to convey the most emotional impact. Also, we want to keep the wordiness to a minimum. We supplement our descriptions by using the environment to highlight the characters’ moods and darken or lighten the atmosphere.

When you target the focus of the scenery to frame the action, you draw attention to the subtext you want to convey, beneath and around the ruminations and conversations.

Today’s example is taken from Anne McCaffrey’s 1988 novel, Dragonsdawn. The Dragonriders of Pern series is recognized as science fiction because of its knowledge of the nature of the star Rukbat and its planetary system. Many elements in the earlier books are primarily fantasy in origin as they deal with dragons and telepathy.

However, the early novels also detail the gradual rediscovery of lost technology, the revelation of their forgotten history. Dragonsdawn reinforces the science fiction nature of the series by explaining the science behind McCaffrey’s dragons and why they were genetically engineered to be what they are.

The story follows several POV characters, giving us a comprehensive view of the colony’s successes and failures. For the first ten years, the planet Pern seems a paradise to its new colonists, who are seeking to return to a less technologically centered, agrarian-based way of life. They believe Pern is the place where they can leave their recent wars and troubles behind.

T Dragonsdawn_cover he scenes we are looking at today have two distinct environments to frame them: first the planet and then the abandoned colony ship, Yokohama. These scenes are filled with emotion, high stakes, and rising dread for the sure and inevitable tragedy that we hope will be averted. Not all the drama is in Sallah Telgar’s direct interaction with Avril Bitra. The environment heightens the drama, the sense of impending doom.

Before the advent of Thread, Avril disappeared, gathering resources and intending to leave the planet with as much treasure as she can carry. She has been pretty much forgotten by the others but has an agenda and refuses to be thwarted.

In the first scene of this chapter, we see Sallah on her way to work, leaving her children at the daycare. We zoom out and see Kenjo, the pilot, putting the last of the precious fuel into the only working shuttle, the Mariposa. This shuttle has been refitted for one last science expedition: to discover the source of the Deadly threads that rain down upon the planet periodically and to retrieve a sample. If this mission fails, there will be no other.

The camera moves out, and we see Sallah as she observes a woman she recognizes as Avril Bitra slipping through the abandoned shuttles on the landing grid. The view widens again as we see Avril following the pilot, Kenjo, who vanishes. We then see her entering the Mariposa alone.

Sallah makes a spur-of-the-moment decision to follow her, to see what Avril is up to.

Here is where the sparse visual mentions of the environment become crucial as they emphasize the stark reality of Sallah’s situation. Sallah enters the shuttle just as the airlock door closes, catching and crushing her heel. She manages to pull it out so that she isn’t trapped, but she is severely injured. Later, the dark, abandoned interior of the Yokohama reinforces Sallah’s gut-wrenching realization that her five children will grow up without a mother.

Subtext is the hidden story, the hints and allegations, the secret reasoning. It’s the images we see of the environment and how it affects the atmosphere. Subtext is the content that supports the dialogue and gives purpose to the personal events.

Scene framing is the way we stage the people and visual objects. What furnishings, sounds, and odors are the visual necessities for that scene?

Whatever you mention of the environment focuses the reader’s attention when the characters enter the frame and affects the reader’s interpretation of a scene. In this chapter of Dragonsdawn, we see the junk and scrap on the grid and the decaying shuttles. Two shuttles have been dismantled and parted out and used to keep the few cargo sleds they have converted to Thread-fighting gunships in working order. One shuttle remains in usable condition.

Sensory details are important, showing how the environment affects or is affected by the characters. Conversely, not mentioning the scenery during a conversation brings the camera in for a closeup, focusing solely on the speaker or thinker.

A balance must be struck in how your characters are framed in each scene. We flow from wide-angle, seeing Salla floating in freefall, blood pooling in her boot. The camera moves in to closer up, showing Avril’s rage at the fact that she can’t control the course of the Mariposa, which is programmed to dock at the Yokohama.

Plot-exists-to-reveal-character We see Avril taunting Sallah for her matronly body and move out again to see Avril tying a cord to Sallah’s crushed foot and forcing her to make the navigational calculations for Avril’s escape. We move close up and hear the interaction, Sallah pretending to do as Avril asks but really setting her enemy’s doom in action. The camera moves to the wide view again, and we hear the interaction with her frantic husband on the ground. We are caught up in her determination to seize this only chance, using her dying breaths to get the information about the thread spores to the scientists on the ground.

Atmospheric Mood: Ask yourself why you have placed those things in that scene. Why are they important, and what are you conveying to the reader with that visual composition? What subliminal elements does the environment contain that clue the reader into the deeper emotions in that scene? What subtext will carry over from this scene to the next?

Scene framing is the way you compose the scene. How you use the setting to place your characters supports and reinforces the subtext of the conversations and events and is what makes a scene feel powerful.