{"id":7320,"date":"2024-02-27T06:30:00","date_gmt":"2024-02-27T13:30:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.dresan.com\/blog\/?p=7320"},"modified":"2024-02-25T11:02:30","modified_gmt":"2024-02-25T18:02:30","slug":"twenty-twenty-four-day-fifty-eight-the-seven-part-story-test","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dresan.com\/blog\/2024\/02\/27\/twenty-twenty-four-day-fifty-eight-the-seven-part-story-test\/","title":{"rendered":"[twenty twenty-four day fifty-eight]: the seven-part story test"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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So I\u2019ve developed a new tool for story analysis that my co-editor on The Neurodiversiverse<\/em>, Liza Olmsted, called \u201cyour seven-part story test,\u201d and it fits in one long sentence: \u201cWho wants what, why can\u2019t they get it, what do they do about it, how does it turn out, why does that matter to them, and what does that mean for the reader?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

This six-part test is an adaptation of Dwight Swain\u2019s story question \u201cWho wants what and why can\u2019t they get it?\u201d as well as Vorwald and Wolff\u2019s pithier but less useful \u201cWhat happens?\u201d,<\/sub> called the Major Dramatic Question (MDQ) in their book \u201cHow to Tell a Story.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, V&Q unpack their MDQ into the broader questions \u201cWhat does my character want? What action do they take to get it? What keeps them from getting it? Who succeeds or fails?\u201d. Like many writing coaches who have their own language for similar ideas, I think both Swain and V&W are tackling the \u201cMajor Dramatic Question\u201d, just from different angles – but \u201chow it turns out\u201d is a key question not encapsulated in Swain\u2019s version, and I think it helps us understand what is going on – or should be going on – in a story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ultimately, I think a story is an engaging and surprising case<\/em>, in the case-based reasoning (CBR) sense. For those not familiar with CBR, it\u2019s a reasoning technique back from the days of symbolic artificial intelligence (AI), pioneered by Janet Kolodner, the leader of the AI lab where I was trained (and my original thesis advisor). A case, in the traditional sense, is a labeled experience, which is marked by what problem is being solved, what solution was applied, how it turned out, what lesson it taught, and how we might remember it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, in the age of content-addressable memories and vector databases, we worry less about labeling cases so we can remember them, as the content itself can help us find relevant cases. However, it remains important to analyze our experiences so we can better understand what happened, what we did, how it turned out, and what lessons that taught (or should have taught) us. And the last two are related, but different: what happened are the bare facts, but the same bare facts can have different meanings to different people that experience them – or to different observers, watching from the outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Think of a woman in an abusive marriage. What she wants is a peaceful life; why she can\u2019t get it is a husband who\u2019s a Navy SEAL with PTSD. Let\u2019s say what she does about it is try to kill him, and how it turns out is that she gets away with it. But what does that matter to her, and what does that mean for us (the writer, the editor, the publisher, and the author)?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Well, that same outcome could matter in different ways. Perhaps our heroine gets to build a new happy life away from a man who abused her – or perhaps our heroine is now living a life of regret, with a child that resents her and feelings of guilt about killing a man who couldn\u2019t cope with his wartime trauma and needed her help. Because the truth of it is, no-one should have to put up with domestic violence – but a small percentage of people who struggle with PTSD end up acting out, and need help to deal with their trauma.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There\u2019s no right answer here – a skilled author could present a spectrum of situations in which most of us would say either \u201cget them help\u201d or \u201cgirl, get out\u201d. But if the author shows our heroine murdering their husband and getting away with it, the story is implicitly endorsing murder as a solution for domestic problems. Conversely, if the author shows the heroine forgiving violence in an attempt to get the husband help, the story is implicitly endorsing women enduring domestic abuse. Not only is there no right answer here, there\u2019s no good<\/em> answer here – which might lead you as an author to question the whole setup.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s why it\u2019s really important to step back and think about what you as an author are endorsing in your story – and whether you\u2019re comfortable with that message. Despite what some writing teachers will tell you, you\u2019re not the god of your story: you\u2019re playing in a playground of your own making, but the materials from which that playground is fashioned – people, places, events, actions, reactions, and emotions – are all drawn from the very real world in which we live, and stories by their nature communicate messages about that real world to those who read them, even if the events in the story are purely fictional.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

(This principle of authorial endorsement extends to the editor, publisher, and even the reader as well. There were many good stories submitted to The Neurodiversiverse<\/em> that we chose to reject because of their implicit message – for example, we wanted our anthology to be empowering, so we didn\u2019t select some powerful stories in which the character\u2019s neurodiversity helped them communicate with aliens, but didn\u2019t help the horrible situation that they were in; these stories might be a great choice for a horror anthology, however). <\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the point can get lost if you start asking a lot of unconnected questions about your story. That\u2019s why I like the idea of the unified MDQ, and I like the expression of that in Dwight Swain\u2019s three-part question \u201cWho wants what, and why can\u2019t they get it?\u201d But that three-part version is not enough, and expanding that question into a single phrase that incorporates the important elements of action, outcome, impact and meaning turns it into my seven-part test: \u201cWho wants what, why can\u2019t they get it, what do they do about it, how does it turn out, why does that matter to them, and what does that mean for the reader?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The rewards for thinking through these questions are great. Thinking about how the story turns out matters to the protagonist creates options for tweaking the ending (or the material leading up to it) for greater resonance; and thinking about what meaning the story delivers for the reader creates opportunities to weave that message through the whole story. The seven-part story test can help us create stronger, more impactful, and more meaningful stories that make more sense and feel more satisfying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, to unpack the seven-part test further:<\/p>\n\n\n\n