By Amanda Dykes, @ajdykes

We are storytellers, yes? So, let’s begin with a story:

Once, there was a splendid and colorful arch of balloons. Each one inflated with helium and care, each one secured to the one before it, on and on, to form a chain. The chain was anchored at the beginning and at the end to the ground, with the middle balloons tied together in a long chain of balloons, arching upward in the middle to form a bright and cheerful  and welcoming sight to behold. 

Suddenly, a wind tumbled through the land, snatching bits of grasses, churning up swirls of dust, and setting the balloons to bobbing in their line. They tried to hold on– they really did! But the moment one of them came loose, that was it for the rest of them, too, tied end to end as they were. One in the middle popped, another one flew off, and the rest, as a result, were left in a frantic, loose-ended dance and eventually carried away to the land of lost things. 

The balloon arch builders watched in dismay, for it had truly been a work of art. When the wind had settled back down, they returned to the site of the arch to rebuild. Only this time, instead of just tying the balloons one-to-the-next in one long chain and securing the ends to the ground, they did so again but also ran a weighty metal bar along the ground, and tied each balloon to its own string, with each string the correct length to maintain the shape of the arch, and with each string anchoring at the bottom to that weighty bar. 

The wind returned, as the wind is wont to do, and it snatched grasses and churned dust and tried its very hardest to wreak havoc upon the plucky balloon arch, setting them to bobbing in their line. It blew all the harder when it met with resistance. When one in the middle popped, the others held their shape– because not only were they attached to one another, but also to the anchor bar at the ground.When that one popped, the others were not re-formed to two or three free-flailing, flying strings, but maintained their arch shape, holding up the sadly deflated one, holding fast together. 

There is a metaphor here, as you likely suspect. 

When we write a novel, we know there is a classic story structure– introduction, rising action, climbing action, falling action, denouement, that most stories follow and most readers expect and are happy to experience. Drawn out on paper, this structure resembles an arch. Much like a balloon arch. 

When each scene or plot point is tied one-to-the-next, like the balloons in the first arch in our fable, it lends the story a certain amount of flow and cohesiveness.

But. . . it doesn’t necessarily lend it strength, or at least not as much strength as it could have. 
This is where our anchor bar comes in. Imagine that classic story structure diagram, but with a line running straight across the bottom of the diagram, too. This, I would propose, represents theme.

It could also represent story question, moral premise, or any number of predominant features in the craft of story. Whatever it is, it is an underlying, between-the-lines element that runs in currents throughout the whole story– sometimes visibly, sometimes very subtly.

When each and every plot point or scene has an invisible line running from its place up on the story structure arc, down to the anchor bar of theme, story question, or moral premise, suddenly, the story is infused with something more. An ability to stand up to winds, an ability for the stronger scenes to help support the weaker scenes, rather than to be pulled into the wind along with them. . . and a certain “je nesces quois” that causes the story to linger in the heart of the reader after the last page has been closed. 

Does this mean every single scene has to carry the same degree of tie-in to that underlying element? No. . . in fact, I think a variety of degrees is desirable, lending the story texture, depth, authenticity. Giving readers reprieve from heavy scenes with humorous scenes, giving them space to breathe and digest (for more on this, research “scene and sequel”). 

Picture it as using different types of strings to tie those balloons (scenes) to the anchor bar (theme/moral premise/story question). Some scenes may be tied on with strong rope, some with dental floss, some with curly-cue gift wrap ribbon. But whatever its weight or mood or tone is, it holds some degree of relevance, spoken or unspoken, to the underlying scene. If its connection is a very light one, fear not! The stronger ones keep it firmly secured, and its lightness might help buoy those stronger ones up, too. 

How to accomplish this on a practical level? It varies from writer to writer and process to process. For me, I find that themes I never anticipated often emerge during the drafting phase, and so it’s in the revisions stages that I can go back and gauge how each scene ties in, playing its part in the grand arch of the story. For others, they might prefer to identify the themes entirely beforehand, and plot out how each scene will tie in, before they’re written. 

Whatever the case, consider giving this a try on your work in progress. Picture your scenes as those cheery balloons, and when they are firmly in their place on the plot arch, ask– what are they being anchored to? 

Happy writing! I look forward to spotting your balloon arch in story form!

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Yours is the Night

A mysterious song in the forest . . .

A discovery in war-torn France . . .

A journey toward hope.

The trenches of the Great War are a shadowed place. Though Platoon Sergeant Matthew Petticrew arrived there with a past long marked by shadow, the realities of battle bring new wounds–carving within him a longing for light, and a resolve to fight for it.

One night, Matthew and his comrades are enraptured by a sound so pure, a voice so ethereal, it offers reprieve–even if only for a moment. Soon, rumors sweep the trenches from others who have heard the lullaby too. “The Angel of Argonne,” they call the voice: a mysterious presence who leaves behind wreaths on unmarked graves.

Raised in the wild depths of the Forest of Argonne, Mireilles finds her reclusive world rocked when war crashes into her idyllic home, taking much from her. When Matthew and his two unlikely companions discover Mireilles, they must embark on a journey that will change each of them forever . . . and perhaps, at long last, spark light into the dark.

On the 100th anniversary of the dedication of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier comes an emotive tale inspired by the courageous soldiers of World War I.

Amanda Dykes’s debut novel, Whose Waves These Are, is the winner of the 2020 Christy Award Book of the Year, a Booklist 2019 Top Ten Romance debut, and the winner of an INSPY award. She’s also the author of Set the Stars Alight, which received a Booklist starred review and was a Historical Novels Review Editors’ Choice. She is a wife and mom, who believes G.K. Chesterton said it best when he said, “I had always felt life first as a story: and if there is a story there is a story-teller.” She is grateful to be a part of this life’s redemption story, and openly confesses to taking in copious amounts of tea along the way and loving a good downpour of rain.