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fix plotholes with reasons

You’ve been merrily writing along, building your story day by day, and yet something about it nags at you. Some doubt.

Did you overlook a plot hole?

This fear is reasonable. After all, even if you’ve carefully outlined your book, it’s entirely possible that you’ve missed something.

Writers do get too close to their novels, such that they cannot easily see the larger picture.

My answer to this worry is simple:

Yes. There are plot holes in your novel.

There. Now you don’t have to worry about whether or not they are there.

When you go through your revision process, you’ll uncover a couple. Then you’ll fix them. Sometimes this requires major reconstruction, other times little patches. It’s part of the process.

The most troublesome plot hole is when your readers notice an alternate, lower resistance path your hero could have taken. A path that would have avoided all the drama and conflict.

Remember our discussion about what to do when you get stuck at the 1/3 point in your novel? Have your POV character make a tough decision.

Writers sometimes leave holes in the plot when they are too tentative in forcing a hard choice on the main character. Choices that, when taken, cut off all other options.

Sometimes all you need is this:

Freedom was through that door. She could charge through and escape. The killer would never find her, never root her out of the alleyways and lanes she knew so well. This whole ordeal would be over. Except for the lifelong hangover of self-loathing she would suffer, for being a coward, for being weak. She wiped the blood from her lip with one hand and gripped the crowbar with the other. And then she crept deeper into the warehouse, more afraid than she’d ever been. But the only true freedom lay ahead, in there, beyond the shadows.

In this case above, I’ve filled a potential plot hole (“why didn’t she just run away”) by making her decision to go into danger very clear. She knows safety lies in the other way, but she’s given a reason for going forward.

Here’s another. “Why didn’t the hero use his sword to cut the rope bridge behind him? Then the ogre-skeleton could never have crossed. The whole fight that followed could have been avoided.”

Kerek staggered off the rope bridge just as the ogre-skeleton was lumbering onto it. Kerek unlimbered his sword. There were four ropes, two for handholds, and two massive ones supporting the wood planks. He raised his sword. Then lowered it. If the ogre fell, it would not be destroyed. And Kerek knew what lay at the end of the gorge below. The village. To cut the rope would subject everyone who lived there to the skeleton’s wrath.

OR

Kerek drew his sword. There were four ropes, two for handholds, and two massive ones supporting the wood planks. He quickly severed the top lines. The bridge twisted under the ogre’s weight. It fell and clung the gyrating bridge. But the support ropes were secured to tie-offs well below the ledge. Kerek couldn’t reach them. The ogre skeleton was clambering toward him like a weresloth, hanging from beneath the bridge. And it was coming fast. He ran.

Very often all you need is a sentence or two to let the reader know your POV character had a reason for their decision. It doesn’t have to be a good reason, or even particularly rational. As long as it is in keeping with who they are, the reader accepts it and goes along for the ride.

Whenever you discover a plot hole, look for a spot where you can have a character think about the alternative path and dismiss it for a reason. Better yet, have them try it and fail.

Another common problem is the continuity error. Readers sometimes call these “plot holes” when they are simply mistakes. If your main character has blue eyes in one scene, and then later has green ones, that’s a continuity error. You’ll catch most of these during revisions.

Or maybe you’ve put the same character in two places at once. I’ve done that! That takes a bit more creativity to fix, but in every case remind yourself of this: You are creative. You can fix it.

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One of the biggest challenges of writing a novel is dealing with descriptions.

Most people get bored reading long descriptions of rooms, or castles, or women’s ball gowns. Probably because writers are bored writing such descriptions.

This is why many modern writers skip over descriptions entirely. But this can result in a bland world, or a sense that the action is happening in a white room with no furniture.

Our job as writers is to “invoke” the world. So here is my guidance:

When the events of your novel move to any new setting, whether it’s a bedroom, a concert hall, or battlefield, use the idea of an establishing shot.

This is from film and TV. It’s that wide shot that shows the apartment building on Friends, or the wide panning shot of the Shire in LoTR, taking in the green grass, the little road, and the hills with doors in them.

Simply start your scene with an establishing shot.

So how many words does it take? It can be a sentence, a paragraph, or a page, depending on how you handle it.

And this gets to my second tip:

When you’re writing, get yourself mentally in your character’s point of view. For descriptions of all types, tell the reader what your POV character notices about the environment. Tell us what the character’s opinion is.

And this is key: setting is opinion.

Example of standard description:

Grandma’s bedroom was square, ten by ten, with a window overlooking a back yard. Jen saw a tree back there, an oak. The walls were red and the bedspread with garish, neon floral embroidery. Grandma had been colorblind, and her stitching had been uneven, and that was before her stroke. The closet door was one of those sliding, folding things, but it was off its track and now hung open on one side. Jen saw clothes on the floor inside. And it stank as if a cat had died in there. Jen left.

Example of setting as opinion.

Jen felt claustrophobic the second she went into the boxy little bedroom. A sinister oak crowded too close to the window, blocking out what little light oozed through the autumn clouds. The crimson walls clashed with the weird floral bedspread—tulips and daffodils, but stitched in garish neon green and orange. She knew grandma was color-blind, but now she saw madness in those embroidered flowers. Her eyes went to the closet where the folding door hung askew on one side, as if it too had suffered a stroke. Inside, on the floor, lay a wadded nest of old clothes. And from that shadowed maw came the stench of cat urine and decay. Covering her mouth, Jen retreated.

The second is more compelling and invocative because it reveals the room through Jen’s opinions. It also reveals more about her grandma. There is mood and tone and atmosphere. And the primary technique is reporting setting through the opinion of the viewpoint character.

Practice this skill and you’ll soon discover that establishing your setting helps you understand your character better and helps generate plot ideas.

“Write. Don’t think. Relax.” —Ray Bradbury

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