Making Use of Storystarter Scenes in Fiction
The protagonist of my new thriller, The Mailman, couldn’t be more different than the main character of my long-running private eye series. But both share in common adventures that grew almost entirely from an introductory scene popping into my head. I call these “storystarter scenes,” with a nod to those firestarter sticks so useful in coaxing campfires to life. The fortuitous arrival of such scenes doesn’t bless all my creative content. But when these inspirational situations favor me, I make the best possible use of them following a few basic rules.
(25 Plot Twist Ideas and Prompts for Writers.)
My new character, Mercury Carter, is a slight, reticent guy who works as a freelance courier, delivering items—always legal—that people want to keep out of regular mail channels. Happily married, unassuming with his cargo shorts, utility vest, and Rochester Red Wings ball cap, Carter nevertheless unleashes deadly force against anyone who happens to get in his way. He’s never missed a delivery and isn’t about to start now.
Columbus private eye Andy Hayes, by contrast, is a former Ohio State and Cleveland Browns quarterback whose past misdeeds make, as he likes to say, the Titanic sinking look like a leisurely cruise down the Danube. His head finally on straight, he takes on clients and solves mysteries in sometimes blundering fashion as he juggles custody of two sons by two different ex-wives, burns through girlfriends, and wonders week-to-week if he’ll have enough money for kibble for his aging Labrador, Hopalong.
In my first novel, Fourth Down and Out, Hayes meets a client at a coffee shop in German Village, a historic, brick-lined neighborhood south of downtown. The client, by all appearances a respectable suburban businessman, fell prey to a high school student’s extortion scheme by putting himself in a compromising position with the barely legal girl, whose conspirator videotaped the encounter. Together, they want $1,000 or the video goes public.
That scene arrived out of the blue one day when I was out for a walk and before I began the novel. A confirmed pantser at the time, I had little idea where things would go next. As a result, I went with what I had, and to my surprise that scene ended up directing the action of the entire book. Despite a heavy editing process throughout, that coffee shop exchange is essentially unchanged from the first draft to the final version.
Unlike Hayes, Carter started life as a short-story character. By the time I began his first book-length outing, The Mailman, I’d transitioned to what I call an “Eighty-percent Plotter.” Meaning, I now outline extensively, as much as 80% of the action, but always leave room for surprises that pop up as I write, from new characters to plot twists. Nevertheless, just as with my first Hayes novel, a single revelatory scene came to me one day and drove the entire planning process for The Mailman.
In that scene, married couple Rachel Stanfield and Glenn Vaughn—both lawyers—have been taken hostage in their suburban Indianapolis home by thugs about to torture them for information about a woman in litigation with Stanfield’s firm.
Outside, with no knowledge of what’s going on, Carter pulls up in his Chevy Suburban with a package for Rachel, walks up to the house, and rings the doorbell.
Without giving too much away, I’ll simply remind you of Carter’s aforementioned credo: He’ll do pretty much anything to avoid missing a delivery. As with Fourth Down and Out, although much changed from the first draft of The Mailman to the finished product, that opening sequence is essentially the same.
I’ve benefitted from such instigating scenes in other tales. My 2023 thriller, The End of The Road, exists primarily because of a scenario that came to me unbidden in the summer of 2015, in which an Ohio sheriff’s deputy and a young woman, strangers until an hour before, hold hands as they walk toward a deadly confrontation inside a bank. I wrote the first draft in just over three months, mainly because I had to get to that scene—near the end, in this case—to find out what happened next.
Or take my 2022 Derringer Award-nominated Black Cat Weekly short story, “Digging In,” which came to life through the simple act of my wife asking me to reach into the backseat of the car for her coat. That action inspired an idea, and a minute or so later I had the entire tale, about a married couple’s unorthodox values, outlined in my head and ready to put down on paper.
If only crafting an entire work in progress was as easy as receiving lightning bolts of inspiration. As I’ve learned, storystarter scenes—like those combustible sticks—are the beginning, not the end-all, and come with their own rules.
- Brace for letdown. The fun thing about a storystarter scene is the freshness it brings to the creative process; so much more invigorating than staring at a blank page yearning for inspiration. The challenge is following up on that novelty. For a pantser, that means the deliberative process of imagining what comes next by plunging ahead. For the plotter, it requires hunkering down and outlining the rest of the book, a laborious task even when leaving 20% up for grabs. Neither approach can be taken for granted regardless of how easy the opening scene was to write.
- Stay objective. Keeping with the campfire analogy, if your blaze continues to sputter despite using a firestarter stick, it might be time to look for new kindling. Similarly, the downside of a storystarter scene is the reality that it’s too good to be true. A few years back, while editing Columbus Noir, I was convinced that a scene involving a corrupt state senator and ill-gotten Hamilton tickets was all I needed to launch my contribution. Bogged down after several misstarts, I finally tossed the scene in exchange for a different one in which an Ohio governor greets well-wishers at a reception. Perfect—I was off and running with “Going Places.”
- Feed the fire. As any camper knows, a fire is only as good as the fuel you provide it. That’s why, especially as I tackle the dreaded mushy middle of a novel, I’m always on the lookout for storysparking scenes—the cousin of our storystarters—which I define as events, from fistfights to love affairs to unexpected road trips, that inject energy into the central part of a narrative in the same way a storystarter scene provided the excitement to get started. Storysparking scenes may not fall from heaven as easily, but they’re just as important to the creative process.
The existence of storystarter scenes doesn’t make the overall process of writing and rewriting easier—if only. But as I discovered with both Fourth Down and Out and now The Mailman, seizing the opportunity they provide can go a long way toward jump-starting one’s imagination.
Check out Andrew Welsh-Huggins’ The Mailman here:
(WD uses affiliate links)
