Writing the thriller…a discussion…part one…
[Tom Pope is a writing teacher—see the interview with him in a post from a few days ago—and yours truly writes thrillers. We put our emails together to produce this Socratic discussion about several elements associated with writing thrillers. This is the first part of that discussion. Enjoy.]
Tom: What are your impressions on the role of the clock with the threat? I think that a threat should be a major one and the protagonist should face some time limit before all havoc breaks out. Example: The protagonist has to stop a nanite infection of fifty cases in a major hospital within twelve hours or the infection spreads to the entire country.
However, the role of the clock does not end there. I think the clock can work with segmenting the conflict into mini conflicts. Example: Your protagonist has one hour to find the exact nature of the nanite, but doctors block every step. He solves the nature of the nanite, but then faces a two hour window to find how the nanites are being activated by outside EM frequencies.
Of course, those are just the beginnings of the major problem, but the use of the clock and threat seem to work hand in hand.
Steve: The first movie I ever saw was High Noon, the quintessential “clock movie” and a thriller in its own right (my father let me tag along—he was a Gary Cooper fan). Of course, there was that famous Fox series too. In my thriller, The Midas Bomb, Detectives Chen and Castilblanco are working against the clock to stop a terrorist strike. In the last tale of my short story anthology, Pop Two Antacids and Have Some Java, Castilblanco is waiting for a drug-crazed killer to return home. The clock is almost a protagonist in this yarn.
A thriller without any time crunch lacks suspense. It’s a critical element. It also provides a key distinction between mystery and thriller. In the former, something bad has already happened and the protagonist has to figure out the how’s, why’s, and who’s. In the latter, something bad is going to happen and the protagonist has to try to stop it, usually with a time constraint. Of course, there are other differences between the two genres, but these are key. In brief, the time crunch makes a thriller differ from a mystery.
Tom: I think you home in on the key factor of when the threat occurs. The mystery does offer a threat that happened already, while the thriller poses an incoming threat. But some aspect of a coming threat still exists in a mystery. The presence of a killer in a mystery could be considered a subtle new threat. The classics of Inspector Morse or Holmes make readers feel a new threat looms over their shoulders because the killer still lurks. And what’s happening to those family members who are either guilty or innocent?
Yet, I think the role of the clock can be even more dominant than that in High Noon. The clock becomes an aid to segment the mini conflict. Cooper’s character faced one vital threat that revolved around the clock. The protagonist also had to deal with some psychological issues and ethical ones. But those were all linked to the overriding threat.
In contrast, the clock struck many mini conflicts for Jack Bauer in the final year of 24. The clock threatened solving intel on a Senate staff member’s betrayal, the way the White House had to be protected, the way Jack viewed his relationship with Tony, and then the way he had to deal with a contractor.
I think thrillers demand writers to think beyond the initial conflict to break it down and delve into the many parts of the threat. Then each one can become a subject for a mini conflict.
Steve: I agree that, even in the mystery genre, the potential that the murderer plans to kill again, for example, can add a time constraint—the protagonist must stop him before that happens. That’s when the mystery genre crosses over to the thriller genre, though, if the clock is really key.
I wouldn’t get hung up on mini-conflicts. 24 created them to match the soap-opera nature of the TV series. Books don’t need that. Many good thrillers have only one, albeit a major one, if the story is a novel. Of course, sustaining that conflict, whether through mini conflicts or not, is key to creating a fast-paced thriller that holds the reader’s interest. That’s why extensive backstory in a thriller is so dangerous—an author wants to move forward in his thriller writing. Occasional flashbacks (a brief backstory) is OK if it helps explain characters’ actions and/or motives. Again, mysteries are different—extensive backstory is often included, maybe in bits and pieces, as the sleuth unravels the mystery.
Tom: I suggest the mini conflict adds to the suspense. The past featured antagonists who set up a threat and the major threat was the conflict the protagonist sought to end. Yet that format could lead in a straight path to the climax. I think today’s antagonists hide their endgame so the initial threat is a cover for the larger major threat, which becomes unfurled later. Those twists could add to the suspense.
Yes, I agree that flashbacks have to be brief so that the author moves forward. Yet, two or three sentences could add to the understanding of the character. For example, the protagonist churns with trusting his partner as he goes dark. He recalls the death of the partner in a quick flashback. Then his image morphs to the face of the present partner as he says, “Be back later. Can’t explain.”
Actually, that leads to another question about the thriller. Do you see a different style of dialogue needed with thrillers compared to other genres?
Steve: I suppose it depends on how important dialogue is to the story. I can certainly imagine a tale where the protagonist is all wrapped up in his own internal conflict—the reader is privy to his thoughts. This can be done in third person POV of the protagonist, possibly using italics to indicate personal thoughts, but it’s easiest in first person.
On the other hand, snappy dialogue between characters can move a story along in a way that descriptive prose can’t. In that sense, it’s not necessarily like a real conversation between people, and shouldn’t be. We walk into our workplace and greet people, for example, as part of our normal day’s activities, but the reader will be bored if all the author accomplishes is basically a “Hello, how is everyone?”
Dialogue has other perils for the inexperienced writer. I once reviewed a book where the characters never used contractions—people don’t talk that way, even if your word processor doesn’t like contractions. On the other hand, too much slang and jive and tidbits from other languages can be annoying. The author can use them sparingly to add color, but no more.
Moreover, I find it annoying when an author writes something like: “My goodness, aren’t you perky today?” she winked. Or: “Are you hit?” asked the detective with concern. In the first, winked is no substitute for said or asked. In the second, the question already implies the detective is concerned. Mistakes like these can bring the forward motion of your thriller to a screeching halt—at least, they do for me.
Tom: First, I think the idea of internal can be used without it distracting from the desire to keep the movement forward in a thriller. The use of the third person internal hits readers almost like the impact of the first person. The language doesn’t need italics if the internal conversation is so obvious that it’s an internal struggle. And that can heighten a thriller because the conflict is brought right into the psyche of the protagonist.
Yet your point about writing snappy and avoiding trite dialogue is a good one. Those items halt the forward motion. The snappy quality also adds to the needed speed that shapes a thriller. Instead of the trite examples you posed that annoy you, writers could change the dynamics with this example:
Jake’s eyes scanned the squad room as he entered. No sign of Bill. He blinked, worried about that. What was that partner doing?
“Jake. In my office.”
Jake twisted his head to the voice. That grating micro-manager had to go. As his feet moved to the Captain’s office, he spotted the shield and badge on the desk.
Bill’s.
Jake saw that scene from two years ago when Bill saved his bacon. Now he had failed to save Bill.
“Jake. You’ve been dark for two days.”
Jake leaned over the desk to peer right into the Captain. “You collecting badges now? Easier than tracking down our lead?”
In the previous scene, you might imagine a trite comment made by an office worker as Jake enters the office. However, Jake does not have to respond to that. He is lost in his concern for his partner, and the dialogue tends to move the action forward.
One suggestion about the use of some language sparingly. You’re right on with the idea that the same type of language from each character is boring. Readers lose sense of a character that way. However, a person with a patois does not use the language sparingly. To display that character with only one or two words would come off as unrealistic. The ethnic and cultural writers like Toni Morrison wrap the reader around the dialogue and that brings the reader into the world of the character.
Of course the amount can be controlled by having short spurts of dialogue. Most conversations happen with only a sentence or two. People don’t usually speak in two to three paragraphs of content.
[Next week this discussion about writing the thriller will continue. Look for it!]
In libris libertas…
