How does cause and effect — or action and reaction — create page-turning fiction?
The excerpt below is from Green Rider by Kristen Britain, the first novel in a fantasy series. This inciting incident or catalyst happens in chapter two, the first chapter with our protagonist. All you need to know is that Karigan, who’s run away from boarding school, has vowed to travel to her distant home before her father can learn that she’s been expelled. She’s walking along a road in the forest when she hears an ominous crashing sound.
From “Dead Rider”:
She drew a ragged breath. Whatever the nameless beast was, it charged her way, and fast.
It burst from the woods in an explosion of branches. Karigan’s breath hissed in her throat like a broken whistle.
The creature loomed huge and dark in the tree shadows.
It huffed with great wheezings through flared nostrils like some infernal demon. Karigan closed her eyes and stepped back. When she looked again, a horse and rider, not some evil dragon of legend, staggered onto the road. Twigs and leaves fell from them to the ground.
The horse, a long-legged chestnut, was lathered with sweat and huffed as if from a hard run. The rider slumped over the chestnut’s neck. He was clad in a green uniform. Branches had lashed trails of blood across his white face. His broad-shouldered frame twitched with fatigue.
He half dismounted, half fell from the horse. Karigan cried out when she saw two black-shafted arrows impaled in his back.
‘Please …’ He beckoned her with a crimson glove. She took one hesitant step forward.
The rider was only a few years older than she. Black hair was plastered across his pain-creased brow.
Blue eyes blazed bright with fever. With the two arrows buried in his back, he looked as if he had fought off death longer than any mortal should have.
He was of Sacoridia, Karigan was certain, though the green uniforms were far rarer than the black and silver of the regular militia.
‘Help …’
Each step she took was shaky as if her legs could no longer support her. She knelt beside him, not sure how she could aid a dying man.
Before we dive into how this scene works, let me point out that before the incident above begins, Karigan, via the third person narrative, has stated a clear goal: She wants to get home.
This is crucial.
You should start your scene by stating the viewpoint character’s goal. Then introduce opposition to that goal to create conflict. And finally ending the scene in disaster (i.e. denying the viewpoint character her goal).
Put the goal on the page:
- State the viewpoint character’s goal clearly.
- Don’t try to be subtle, certainly not in your first draft.
- The goal sets up the conflict — and conflict is the heart of storytelling.
Every action must have a reaction
Back to Karigan. Her simple goal — to get home — is about to be disrupted.
First, we get her emotional reaction to whatever horror is coming her way:
She drew a ragged breath.
Followed by her thought:
Whatever the nameless beast was, it charged her way, and fast.
This order is important. When something happens to a character (action), there must be a response (reaction), and that response will usually follow this order: body, mind, choice.
Every action (or string of quick actions) must have a corresponding reaction, usually in this order:
- Body: an instinctual, physical response or an emotion.
- Mind: observation, analysis, and anticipation, or some other aspect of thought.
- Choice: the character chooses their next action, which may reflect an entirely new goal.
You don’t always need all three. In a moment of action, like the one we’re reading here, the main character may not have time to think or make a choice. It’s implied that the action is too fast or else she’s frozen, and that adds to the reader’s fear of what will happen next. We, like Karigan, are watching the horror draw nearer, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.
What happens next is more action:
It burst from the woods in an explosion of branches.
Again, we get her immediate reaction followed by her observation:
Karigan’s breath hissed in her throat like a broken whistle.
The creature loomed huge and dark in the tree shadows.
It huffed with great wheezings through flared nostrils like some infernal demon.
Karigan first reacts physically (body); we can infer that she’s afraid, judging by her breathing.
After her “body” reaction comes her “mind.” She observes. This fits with someone in a state of fear. If her mind could coldly analyze the situation, it would be unrealistic or else we’d have a very different character (e.g. a cold-blooded warrior accustomed to monsters crashing through the woods).
Notice the nightmarish quality to her observation, achieved through the words used (“huge and dark”; “huffed with great wheezings”; “infernal demon”), but also through the words not used. What is this thing? Karigan still doesn’t know what this beast is, nor do we readers. It remains unnamed, and therefore more frightening.
Karigan opens her eyes
In the next passage, Karigan forces herself to look and see what the beast really is:
Karigan closed her eyes and stepped back. When she looked again, a horse and rider, not some evil dragon of legend, staggered onto the road. Twigs and leaves fell from them to the ground.
Karigan has made a choice. We get two immediate actions that reveal that choice. The first action, we can guess, comes from fear: She closes her eyes and steps back. But then she looks again.
Juxtaposing the two actions like this shows us who Karigan is: She’s afraid, but she’s also brave enough to look again. A nice bit of characterization.
She’s rewarded with the objective truth (“a horse and rider, not some evil dragon of legend”), and her observations shift from the nightmarish to the real (“Twigs and leaves fell from them to the ground”).
Now that she knows the beast is an ordinary a rider on a horse, Karigan is less fearful. How do we sense that she’s not as afraid? Look at the long observation she makes. It suggests her mind is less distracted by her fear. In fact, she can see clearly now:
The horse, a long-legged chestnut, was lathered with sweat and huffed as if from a hard run. The rider slumped over the chestnut’s neck. He was clad in a green uniform. Branches had lashed trails of blood across his white face. His broad-shouldered frame twitched with fatigue.
It’s a clear image, and although the language is vivid, there’s no action. It’s as static as a portrait. We readers would soon be bored if we got paragraph after paragraph of this stuff. Plus, Karigan made a choice, and got rewarded for it. If a story rewards the protagonist’s choices again and again, there’s no tension or forward momentum.
Which is why the story breaks the stasis already in the next sentence.
Reversed cause and effect — or is it?
He half dismounted, half fell from the horse.
Karigan cried out when she saw two black-shafted arrows impaled in his back.
Again, we get a reaction (“Karigan cried out”). But notice the order: She doesn’t react to the rider falling off his horse — she reacts to the two arrows in his back. Why isn’t it “She saw two black-shafted arrows impaled in his back, and she cried out”? Didn’t she see the arrows first and then cry out? Have cause and effect been reversed?
Yes and no.
With “Karigan cried out,” we get her immediate, instinctual reaction, and it’s physical. She cries out. That alerts us readers to danger or horror — which raises the tension — before Karigan observes what made her react. See? Once again, body reaction first, then mind.
Let’s try reversing the order.
Karigan saw two black-shafted arrows impaled in his back, and she cried out.
Dull. All the tension is gone. We get the shocking reveal an instant before Karigan, so her reaction has no effect.
But — and this is important — the technique only works because the payoff is so close to the setup. The withholding of information happens in an instant. It’s no accident that it’s contained within a single, relatively short sentence. Karigan’s reaction is unconscious and immediate. But if Karigan cried out, and then it took another two sentences for us readers to learn why she reacted, we’d feel manipulated.
Let’s get back to the story…
Karigan chooses a new goal…
After the exciting discovery of the arrows, we get another moment of action. The rider speaks and Karigan reacts:
‘Please …’ He beckoned her with a crimson glove. She took one hesitant step forward.
The rider was only a few years older than she. Black hair was plastered across his pain-creased brow.
Blue eyes blazed bright with fever. With the two arrows buried in his back, he looked as if he had fought off death longer than any mortal should have.
He was of Sacoridia, Karigan was certain, though the green uniforms were far rarer than the black and silver of the regular militia.
Her immediate reaction is to step forward. That suggests she’s brave, curious, and perhaps also compassionate, but it’s a hesitant step: She’s not foolish. She gets a better look at the rider. This time we get more from her mind than just observation. She tries to make sense of what she sees — she guesses his age, the state of his health, and his origins, including the implications of his uniform (military-like, yet not the regular militia).
‘Help …’
Each step she took was shaky as if her legs could no longer support her. She knelt beside him, not sure how she could aid a dying man.
There’s no need to add an attribution to that dialogue (e.g. “‘Help,’ he said”). He’s already said “please” earlier on, and so we know this “help” is related. Karigan’s reaction is to move closer, but it’s not without fear. Then she kneels and the final words suggest she has made a choice: “…not sure how she could aid a dying man.”
That choice is important. This inciting incident has already pushed her opening goal from “get home” to “help the rider.” She’ll be pushed a lot more before the novel is over.
Each scene should create a change in your viewpoint character. That change usually affects the character’s goal:
- Goal denied — character must form an entirely new goal.
- Goal delayed — character must pursue other goal, while putting the first goal on hold.
- Goal achieved, but it’s a false victory — character gets what she wants, but it causes a greater disaster or complication, forcing her to form a new goal.
Final thoughts
In the excerpted passage, Karigan experiences significant change. (In fact, that can be one way to define an inciting incident or catalyst: the first significant change in the protagonist’s character arc.) She goes from one goal to another, and along the way, we learn a great deal about her through her reactions.
What pushes her toward a new goal? The zig-zag of action-reaction. Without the action, Karigan wouldn’t need to adapt and change direction. Without her reaction, the action would be meaningless and her character lifeless. There would be no story.
Throughout, the story throws trouble at Karigan and she actively responds. That’s how a story comes alive.
Hope that’s helpful, and thanks for reading this far. 😊
