Pride and Prejudice - The STORY GRID edition - Annotated by SHAWN COYNE




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Writing Wednesdays

Writing Wednesdays

Blind Spots

By Steven Pressfield | Published: August 2, 2017


I’m gonna get this quote wrong, I’m sure. It’s from Kierkegaard, as cited somewhere (in The Moviegoer, I think) by Walker Percy:


Posted in Writing Wednesdays

Writing Wednesdays

Writing Wednesdays

Report from the Trenches, #4

By Steven Pressfield | Published: July 26, 2017


What exactly am I doing as I reconceive/reconstruct/rewrite a project that I’m already eighteen months into, based on some pretty stark “do it over” notes from Shawn?

Dante in a dark wood. "Didn't we pass that same tree half an hour ago?"

Dante in a dark wood. “Didn’t we pass that same tree half an hour ago?”

I mean, what specifically?

What’s the process?

What am I actually doing?

Answer: I’m doing what I should have done the first time.

I’m doing what I’ve told myself to do a hundred times but somehow didn’t do.

I failed to do these things because I was

  1. Lazy
  2. Scared
  3. Because I didn’t think hard enough and didn’t push myself deep enough.

Is this sort of thing new to me?


When I first gave Gates of Fire to my then-agent, Sterling Lord, it was 800 pages long. He said, “I can’t submit this unless you cut 300 pages.” That took me six months. It was hell.

On Tides of War, Shawn sent me back to the drawing board for nine months. That was hell times two.

Even The War of Art had to be chopped up, re-organized, and redone.

The writing biz is like being the mother of fifteen kids. You can’t let yourself get pregnant again until enough time has passed that you forget how painful labor was the last time.

So what exactly am I doing now as I work through the current tear-it-down-and-do-it-again scenario?

I’m going back to fundamentals.

To what I didn’t do well enough the first time.

I’m asking myself the questions all of us writers of fiction (and nonfiction) have to ask and answer:

  1. What genre am I working in?
  2. What are the conventions and obligatory scenes of that genre? Have I hit these in my story? And if not, why not?
  3. What’s the theme? What is this freakin’ thing about?
  4. Who’s the hero? What does the hero want?
  5. Who’s the villain? What does the villain want?
  6. How do the supporting characters represent aspects of the theme?
  7. Who tells the story and to whom? What is the narrative device?
  8. What’s Act One/Act Two/Act Three?
  9. What’s the climax? How does it pay off the theme?

Shawn’s notes have been a huge help because he has pointed out places where my original half-assed answers were wrong.

I wasn’t working in the genre I thought I was working in.

I really couldn’t define the theme.

My conception of the hero was incomplete.

Same, even more so, with the villain.

At least one big supporting character (Rachel, see last week’s post) was working at cross-purposes to the story.

Almost all of these mistakes and omissions and incompletions were the result of me not working hard enough, not pushing hard enough into the unknown.

So …

How am I trying to fix them?

(Again, each project presents different problems, lessons don’t necessarily carry over from one to another, and I may very well screw this one up again.)

Two ways.

First, the architectural decisions, as delineated above. In other words, what we as writers might call our Outline.

Our index cards that we pin to the wall.

The undergirding structural components of the story.

And second, the actual STORY.

Meaning HOW do we actually erect, dress up, and paint all those architectural girders and crossbeams?

What does the hero of this story (Manning, see last week) want? He wants to solve the case, to defeat the villain, to save the world. Okay, I have to ask myself, how does he express this? In what actual scenes? With what actual dialogue? In what actual order?

And, oh yeah I realize, what Manning really wants is to find meaning in his life. How is THAT expressed in the story? Is there a specific scene? The climax? Does someone address this overtly? Who? How? When? Does it come entirely through action without words? How? By whom? When?

The reason I titled my two story files for this re-working “Freewheelin'” and “Spitballin'” is I want to get at these answers by play, not by work.

In the files I’m basically talking to myself. “What would happen if Manning didn’t know X in Chapter Seven, instead of the way I have it now where he does know? What would he do under these new circumstances?”

Then I’m writing scenes.

I’m spitballing sequences.

Ooh, a car chase! That might work. Manning chases Bad Guy X into New Environment Y and, in a twist at the end, the Bad Guy tells him “Q didn’t kill Z, H did.”

I like that.

That’s good.

Let’s keep going.

(In other words, I’m basically writing the whole damn thing over, twisting it this way and that in the hope that it’ll contort itself into what it really wants to be.)

When Shawn applies his Story Grid analysis to a completed manuscript that a writer has submitted to him, he goes scene-by-scene, like a movie or stage director. He asks of each scene, “What is the inciting incident? What are the progressive complications? What’s the climax?” He asks, like an actor, “What does Character X want in this scene? What obstacles stand in her way? What does Character Y want in this scene? Do X and Y clash? Do the scene’s stakes escalate? How has the story advanced, or twisted, from the beginning of this scene to the end?”

I was lazy the first time through this story.

I winged it too much.

I didn’t think hard enough.

I didn’t ask and answer all the questions I had to.

I settled for scenes and sequences that I felt in my bones weren’t working, or weren’t working well enough.

It’s hard to go back and do what you didn’t do the first time. It’s like you’re in a dark forest and you’ve just walked past the same tree for the third time.

Are we getting anywhere?

Or are we just getting more lost?

Nobody said this shit was easy.


Posted in Writing Wednesdays

Writing Wednesdays

Writing Wednesdays

Report from the Trenches, #3

By Steven Pressfield | Published: July 19, 2017


The last two weeks’ posts have gotten a lot of positive response, so apparently they have struck a nerve. I confess though, as I sit down to write today’s Report #3, that I’m not really sure exactly WHAT is proving so helpful. Obviously I want to stay in that vein. So, spitballing a bit, here goes …

There are rules for working with this dude ...

There are rules for working with this dude …

The specific question readers might be asking right about now is, What exactly did Shawn’s notes say? And, How exactly did you, Steve, respond?

  1. The bulk of Shawn’s problem with the manuscript I gave him was that I had violated conventions of the genre I was working in.

The genre, as Shawn identified it, is Redemptive Horror Thriller. The parallel works he cited were The Exorcist and Rosemary’s Baby.

In other words, a story where the villain is the devil.

How had I violated the conventions of this genre? A lot of ways, but here’s one, verbatim from Shawn’s notes:


The trick of this sort of story, though, is to ride out the uncertainty about the true nature of the evil until “all Hell breaks loose.”

So the reader gets off on the “could this really be the devil?” element long enough for them to start to believe and then…you hit them with the irrational and green goo spew like that pivotal scene in THE EXORCIST.

This is what drives the suspense in supernatural horror stories like THE EXORCIST and ROSEMARY’S BABY. The protagonists in both of those stories were victims (Father Karras in THE EXORCIST and Rosemary in ROSEMARY’S BABY) and the promise from the positioning of the stories was:

“Yes…this is a supernatural Devil! Story!”


The reader and the viewer of both of those stories needed evidence, a progressive narrative build to the revelation that the devil/supernatural is real and on stage.

Remember that in THE EXORCIST, the girl was taken to all kinds of doctors and had all kinds of tests and all possible explanations were eliminated before they brought in Max Van Sydow as the last resort to save her? That’s when the devil makes himself truly known…when the Exorcist arrives with Karras as his assistant.


Any of us as writers would KILL to get such incisive and helpful feedback, wouldn’t we?

It is GREAT to have a really smart editor.


How did I respond? What did I take from this?

I could see that Shawn was right. So I read the manuscript over, re-outlining it scene-by-scene, with this objective in mind: How can I spool out the revelation of the villain’s identity, i.e. that he’s the devil, more slowly?

The protagonist of the story is a homicide detective.

Another of Shawn’s notes was that our detective wasn’t doing enough detecting. Clues were falling into his lap. It was too easy for him.

This was another issue I had to address.

I wrote two more fast outline-style passes of the story. One file I called Freewheelin’. The other I named Spitballin’. I wanted to keep loose. I wanted to throw a lot of stuff against the wall and see if anything stuck.

The allied character in the story (allied with the detective) is a female rabbi named Rachel. In the manuscript I sent to Shawn, Rachel knows all the occult backstory and she knows it from the start. She knows all about the devil and what nefarious scheme he is up to. Throughout Act One and Act Two she is trying to convince the detective of this, and he is resisting, refusing to believe.

I decided that that was 100% wrong.

I could respond to Shawn’s notes, I thought, by having the character of Rachel resist the detective. (The detective’s name is Manning.) That would force Manning to do more detective work. It would make him a stronger character, and it would involve the reader more because she could track along with Manning as he worked to unravel the mystery.

Pretty basic stuff, right? But I’ve only been doing this for fifty years, so I’ll give myself a pass on blowing this completely.

Anyway, here is part of the file I sent back to Shawn after having thrashed this stuff out for about four weeks:


Rethinking the character of Rachel. I’m going to change her character completely. This will be a HUGE CHANGE because its effects ripple through the whole story.

I’m gonna take your thought re┬áRachel’s attitude and actions and turn them on their head. Instead of being the person who already knows what’s happening and is trying in every scene to compel Manning to believe in it, we’ll have her FLEEING from Manning, clamming up (she still knows everything but in this new version refuses to tell it), doing everything in her power NOT to tell Manning anything. So he’ll have to do more detective work to find out. We’ll cut the scene where Rachel appears at DivSix and delivers all the goodies about “lamed vav” and “the victims are all Jews.” Manning will find these out on his own.

I spitballed a scene for Shawn. (“The Rebbe” is one of the murder victims. The devil’s human-form name is “Instancer.” “36RM” is short for Thirty-Six Righteous Men, a Jewish legend whose connotations include the End of Days, i.e. extinction of the human race.)

SCENE: Immediately after the murder of the Rebbe and the fleeing of Instancer (we’ll keep Manning conscious and still full of fight, even though he has tussled with Instancer), he spots Rachel, outside, lurking. As soon as she sees him, she bolts. A wild French Connection-type chase ensues across Brooklyn at night that takes Manning to an encampment of the dispossessed, into which Rachel flees deeper and deeper, finally diving into a derelict “van down by the river” (obviously hers) that she flees in further, before crashing into an abutment, where Manning and Dewey overtake her, guns drawn. Manning bursts into the van’s living compartment and finds it’s an Obsession Chamber, packed with Rachel’s computer, 36RM files, and, big as life on the wall, a blow-up photo of Instancer.

In other words, “Who the f**k are you? Who is Instancer? And how do you come to have all this shit?”


I realize that these notes and these scenes are project-specific and thus may be hard to make sense of, for the reader coming in cold. I’m featuring them in this post, however, in the hope that getting really specific will be the most helpful way to go, even if it’s a bit confusing.

To recap, Shawn’s notes to me made eight major points.

Today’s post touches on just one of them.

But it depicts clearly, I hope, the way an editor thinks, what he’s looking for when evaluating whether a story works or doesn’t (in this case, the writer—me—is guilty of violating the conventions of the genre he’s working in), and how he, the editor, articulates this to his writer.

Of course, you and I, if we don’t have a really good editor, have to do this evaluation on our own. Very hard to do.

The specifics in this post also, I hope, show how a writer responds to his editor’s notes. The big thing to keep in mind, I think, is HOW LONG it took me in this case—a full month.

This is the process.

I’ve gone through it, and so has Shawn, on just about every book we’ve worked on, with each other and with others.

It ain’t easy, and it ain’t pretty.

Next week: more specifics as we continue slogging through the jungle.


Posted in Writing Wednesdays
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