The best prompt

My favorite piece of craft advice for the writers out there

Let’s say you’re working on a piece of fiction and you start to get the dread feeling that the scene you’re working on is a bit soft. Or worse, that the entire piece (book or story) is quieter, more predictable than you want it to be. Oh dear! What do you do?

The prompt I’m about to reveal is something I talk about in my workshop “Upping the Ante”, which is about increasing conflict and tension in fiction. I developed it in 2011 when I was starting out and wanted a workshop I could teach at writers conferences to get my name in front of people. I’ve taught it at least 30 times over the last 13 years. I’ve taught it at writers conferences, for writers’ groups, on Zoom and live. I’ve done one-hour versions, three-day versions, workshops where students bring in their own writing to be critiqued live. If I can brag a little, it’s always gotten high marks—including one national conference where it was named the top-rated workshop by attendees—because, I think, I try to make it practical. To show how to analyze a piece of writing and see the opportunities.

Okay, back to the task at hand. You’re writing a scene and you’re not feeling it. Here’s the prompt: ask yourself, “what’s the worst thing that could happen?” and then write that scene.

Let’s break down that question. First, every scene should have a point: it either furthers the plot or reveals character. That is, it either advances the story or it shows readers something new (and germane) about a character. If it doesn’t do one of those two things, then you probably haven’t come to grips with what the scene is really about.

Just like with the book/story itself, the point-of-view character in a scene should want something. Whether it’s furthering the plot (for instance, the POV characters wants to dig up a clue he/she just found out about) or revealing character (talks to another character whom the POV character thinks can provide cathartic release), the POV character wants something.

If you let the POV character get what they want with no obstacles, no fuss or muss, it will be unsatisfying to the reader. It will read as unrealistic, too easy. Your job as the writer is to come up with impediments to the POV getting what they want.

The reason I like the “what’s the worst thing that could happen” prompt is because it usually pushes me out of whatever complacent fog I have put myself. It makes me see new possibilities for the story, the character, the central problem/question. It can, potentially, take your book/story in an entirely different direction—if we let it.

My advice is to ask yourself the question. Don’t settle for the first thing that pops into your mind, really push for the WORST possible scenario… and then write that scene. The entire scene. You may not use it—then again, you might; I often end up using the new idea—but it will definitely get you thinking about your story in ways you hadn’t.

The example I usually give at this point in my presentation is from a workshop I was in years ago. A classmate was writing a book with a protagonist who was a renegade private investigator, one of these anti-heroes who was his own worst enemy. He had dropped out of law school. His girlfriend was a successful lawyer and she’d had enough of his self-defeating ways. The scene in question was a knock-down-drag-out fight. The fight itself was well written but at the end, as the girlfriend is at the door with the doorknob in hand, furious and sweating, ready to leave him, she says, “And when you get your act together, you know where you can find me.”

Groan. Doesn’t that take out all the oomph in the scene? The writer undercut the tension by removing the stakes for the protagonist: she’s not gone, buddy. She’ll be there waiting for you. In this case, the worst thing that could happen is that the girlfriend walks out on him, confirming his nagging doubt that he’s a loser. It forces the protagonist to change—which is what 99 percent of all novels are about.

Getting back to the general concept, asking “what’s the worst that could happen” will make your idea seem new to you again, which is quite a gift. We’re talking about a project that you’ve been living with for a chunk of time. It’s often hard to see something familiar with new eyes.

The other thing is DO NOT tell yourself in advance that you’re going to pitch the old section and use whatever you come up with. The pressure might end up paralyzing you. Tell yourself it’s just an exercise. It’s less threatening.

I realize this may sound a bit frightening to some writers. For pantsers, it’s no biggie. Pantsers do it all the time! But plotters might look at it with suspicion. If you have any doubts at all, you really must make yourself try it. It’s an exercise, and it’s just for you. You don’t have to share it with anyone.

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Thanks for reading. For those of you who subscribe for writing news, I’m happy to report that we’re in negotiations for a TV/film option for The Spy Who Vanished. Considering the horrible state of affairs in Hollywood right now, I’m especially grateful. Don’t forget: it’s an Amazon monthly deal for the whole month of September.

Secondly, I was reminded that I’d committed to provide a story for a new anthology and an essay for a friend’s forthcoming book. It’s disconcerting how easy it is to lose track of these kinds of commitments. The “asks” come in a variety of ways—emails, DMs in a variety of social platforms, texts—contributing to the problem. If anyone has a good way, please share in the comments. Keeping a simple paper list ain’t doing it for me any longer.