And how it relates to an ex-Pixar storyteller’s formula
Dear Storyteller,
It’s a rainy day in Copenhagen, a perfect day to cozy up with a fantasy story or fairy tale. So, why not do both?
To me, Frank R. Stockton’s 1887 story “The Bee-Man of Orn” feels like the evolutionary link between classic fairy tales and 20th century quest fantasy. The structure stays faithful to fairy tales, but the grouping of a sorcerer, an imp, and a dragon hints at the emerging fantasy genre.
As always, I encourage you to read the story and form your own opinions – and comment below about what writing craft techniques stood out to you.
When I first read Stockton’s story, I was reminded of the whimsical quality of Tolkien’s The Hobbit or the encounter with Tom Bombadil in Lord of the Rings (soon after which the fantasy genre mostly abandons the fairy-tale whimsy it grew up with). But what I want to look at today is how the story relies on fairy tale structure to guide us through the Bee-man’s quest – and how that structure can still serve us storytellers today.
The ordinary world and the inciting incident
The beginning of “The Bee-Man of Orn” quickly and concisely reveals that we are in a fantasy world.
The first line tells us this is a fairy tale. It could just as well have read, “Once upon a time, in the ancient country of Orm, there lived an old man.”
And the whole opening paragraph does several things:
- Introduce the setting: “the ancient country of Orm,” obviously a fantasy setting
- Introduce the protagonist: “there lived an old man who was called the Bee-man”
- Introduce his ordinary world: “He was poor, and the bees seemed to be his only friends. But, for all that, he was happy and contented…”
Since this is both a fairy tale and a short story (and the short story owes a lot to fairy tales, not least in terms of brevity), the second paragraph already kicks the story into gear:
One day, there stopped at the hut of the Bee-man a Junior Sorcerer.
This Junior Sorcerer is about to disrupt the Bee-man’s ordinary world (or status quo). He acts as the story’s inciting incident (or catalyst), creating an imbalance that will force the main character into action.
In this case, it’s the Junior Sorcerer’s idea that the Bee-man has been transformed and ought to discover what his true form is. Inconveniently, the Junior Sorcerer can’t help the Bee-man discover his true form:
“If you know, kind sir,” he said, “that I have been transformed, you surely are able to tell me what it is that I was.”
“No,” said the Junior Sorcerer, “my studies have not proceeded far enough for that. When I become a senior I can tell you all about it. But, in the meantime, it will be well for you to try to discover for yourself your original form, and when you have done that, I will get some of the learned masters of my art to restore you to it. It will be easy enough to do that, but you could not expect them to take the time and trouble to find out what it was.”
This is the first hint that the story functions as a social critique. The Junior Sorcerer is such a recognizable type: the young learned man in a position of authority who’s eager to disrupt someone’s life, but incapable – simply not wise enough – to see the bigger picture. Or see things through, for that matter. He’s already on his way to his next “project.”
In a way, the story helps us all – including the sorcerer, who returns at the end – see that bigger picture.
But let’s look at the structure again.
The fairy tale plot formula that still works today
In Austin Kleon’s wonderful book Show Your Work! he references Emma Coats, a former storyboard artist at Pixar, who created a fill-in-the-blanks formula for storytelling. Amazingly, this is the basic fairy tale structure that Stockton used for “The Bee-Man of Orn.” Check it out:
“Once upon a time, there was _____. Every day, _____. One day, _____. Because of that, _____. Because of that, _____. Until finally, _____.”
“The Bee-Man of Orn” begins by hinting at the immortal opener “once upon a time.” Then it gives us an “every day” in that first paragraph. Note how language like “all day” and “always” indicate a timelessness. The second paragraph’s “one day” interrupts this timelessness, zeroing in on a specific moment.
This is crucial for our storytelling craft. If we stay too long in the timeless “every day, all day, always” mode, the reader will lose interest. The story needs to move forward.
So, after the Junior Sorcerer arrives “one day,” disrupting the Bee-man’s “every day,” it spurs the Bee-man into action. He asks the sorcerer for help, and when that doesn’t work, he decides to leave home to seek his true form. He prepares for his journey. He sets off.
What we see here is possibly the most important thing to master in storytelling: cause and effect. It’s what Emma Coats calls “because of that.”
When I look back at my early stories, they fell apart or felt lopsided because they failed to observe cause and effect in a believable way. Or else they had an exciting “once upon a time” and then “one day” sequence, but ran out of steam by the second “because of that.”
The bulk of a story consists of a chain of “because of that” links, forged together. It’s worthwhile for us storytellers to spend time thinking about the series of “because of that” incidents, and how they will build to a climax. If our “great story idea” only consists of the setup (“once upon a time” + “every day” + “one day”), we risk getting stuck in the middle.
But, you may wonder, how many links in the chain should there be?
The power of three
Fairy and folk tales began as oral storytelling. To help the storyteller remember stories – and, no doubt, to give the listener milestones along the way – a basic formula was devised: let there be three encounters or ordeals.
That’s not always the case, but the pattern does occur again and again in folk and fairy tales.
The wicked stepmother makes three attempts on Snow White’s life; Goldilocks tries out three chairs, three bowls of porridge, and three beds; and there are three goats who must cross the troll bridge in “Three Billy Goats Gruff.”
And so in “The Bee-Man of Orn,” the Bee-man visits three locations and has three primary encounters on his quest:
- The Lord’s fair domain – where he is kicked by the Lord of the Domain
- The Black Mountain – where he rescues the baby from the dragon
- The village – where he returns the baby to its mother and realizes he once was a baby
Each encounter takes place in a new location and involves a different person. Note the contrasting encounters – we begin with an ungracious man in a park, transition into a deep cave in a mountain to face a dragon, and end with a grateful mother in a village.
Provide a counterpoint to the three
You’ve probably noticed that the Bee-man encounters another important individual on his journey: the Languid Youth. We even get a passage in which the Languid Youth argues with the Very Imp. This disrupts the straightforward pattern of three, creating a distinct contrast with the very orderly progression of the Bee-man’s quest.
The Languid Youth contrasts strongly with the Bee-man. This is where the story feels most like a morality tale, because the Languid Youth highlights the opposite of the Bee-man: he’s young (not old), he’s unenergetic (not action-oriented, like the Bee-man), and he prefers to watch a static monster – the Ghastly Griffin – as if he were in a museum (compared with the Bee-man, who engages with a very alive and active dragon).
So, here is a writing trick for structuring short stories: begin by laying out your series of three encounters, ensuring they are connected by a logical “because of that” cause and effect. Then consider how you can interrupt the sequence with another passage or encounter.
The pattern of three will still work well as a structural device, while the interlude will create variety that makes the story feel less rigid than a traditional fairy tale.
End at the beginning
The whole “point” to Stockton’s story is, of course, that we end up at the beginning, and there’s a lesson for us – and for the sorcerer – about staying connected to nature (the state we’re born into as babies). So, the structural device of the ending reflecting the beginning is particularly strong here.
But it’s a format you’ll see in many stories, including ones that don’t use it to deliver such a strong message, and it’s worth considering for your own stories – whether they’re short stories or novels.
Some examples:
- In Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, Scrooge revisits people he met at the beginning, and the contrast in his behavior toward them is big.
- In Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, we begin with Marlow telling his friends the story on a boat, and we return to that scene after the story about Kurtz in the Congo is done.
- In Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, we get Nellie Dean’s story nestled within Lockwood’s narrative, beginning with Lockwood’s first encounter with Heathcliff (when he’s alive) and ending with his visit to the graves of Catherine, Edgar, and Heathcliff (when he’s dead).
By taking the reader back to the beginning, the story offers a strong contrast to where it began, providing an opportunity to highlight how much change has happened. That could be a literal transformation in the story (the Bee-man seeks his true form, starts over as a baby, and becomes the Bee-man again) or a change in perspective in the reader’s mind (which evolves into the literary epiphany in the 20th century), or both.
