Time After Time

Exercise Your InkTank
Time Management

When we talk about back-story in storytelling, we’re often talking about the revelation of information and it’s sometimes a tricky chemistry. The introduction of other stories to the larger story can create an evocative sense of depth or even a sense of verisimilitude. And when you think about it, it’s hard to imagine a story that only moves directly forward in time. Even if a story does not invest a substantial formal movement to back-story, it may often recall moments (here and there) in a character’s life that work to explain things like motivation. When we understand why a character behaves the way he or she behaves, we’re more likely to believe and to invest; we’re more likely to allow ourselves to be moved. Back-story is a tool with great power, but if we’re not careful how we reveal information, we risk disrupting our readers. They can feel manipulated, or betrayed, or they might just sense the machinery behind the story and lose faith in it.

There is (of course) no one right way to reveal information, but there are some less than respectful ways that tend to irritate the hell out of readers. Token irritating revelation: “And then she realized she’d been dreaming.” Token infuriating revelation: “And then she realized she was dead.”

Here’s a smattering of good advice I’ve heard over the years: By revealing necessary information too late, we up-end the reader’s investment in the story. A good reveal is one that feels earned and organic, not theatrical. Real suspense is not created by withholding. Always connect. A good narrator is one who wants to tell you everything. A good hint is undetectable. It falls out like any other bit of information. The pleasure the reader derives from piecing things together will be greater if the piecing isn’t the focus of the narrative’s energy, but a consequence of it. The reader must always know where the story is. Always set the scene first – don’t ask your readers to re-imagine it later. Don’t make the story explain the difficulties away – break the bone to re-set it if you have to. If the story hinges on a central revelation, reveal without a hint of smarminess. Nobody really likes to know the writer is there behind the writing. There are unreliable narrators and there are unreliable narrators.

Many stories devote large formal movements to shifts in time. Here’s some advice I’ve heard about that: Set and maintain a pattern. Hang the back-story on a strong enough line. Reliance on juxtaposition alone for the activity of meaning-making between segments or sections creates exhaustion rather than interest. Again, always connect. Formal shifts can be denoted in many fashions ( * * * or white space or italics or chapter breaks, for example). Size is often an issue when deciding between them, but also taste.

Here’s my big craft-shop idea for the night. I’m going to give you some back-story on a character. You find a savvy way of revealing it in your own little story:

Once, when George was a child, he confused his father’s lessons. During a fire he was to evacuate with everyone else to the yard. During a storm he was to take cover beneath the large wooden table in the basement. But while everyone else stood in the yard and watched the house burn, he sat beneath the table and wondered at the smell. He was unharmed, but shamed greatly. His father trusted him to do nothing alone thereafter.