A Question of Looking Back

by Tosh McIntosh

Backstory is one of the often troublesome structural elements of fiction that arises in vitrually every NIP roundtable. For the purposes of this post, I’m going to differentiate the term from background, because I believe that looking back is only one part of this important story element, and separating them is instructive both in theory and in practical application.

To begin, let me offer an explanation of the differences in the two terms as I see them so that we can avoid the propensity for semantics to complicate the clear communication of ideas. I’m not asking you to accept my definition forever, only for the moment.

Backstory is anything that happened to characters as individuals or as a group prior to page one of your story. Here’s an example:

The story is set in rural Oklahoma town wiped out by tornado 20 years prior. This single common event affects all residents. Maybe not the same, but it forms a defining moment in each character’s life, so that they refer to it as before and after. It also creates a common bond. A newcomer to town who didn’t lose a home, loved one, or livelihood in the tornado will never be completely accepted in the way the townspeople look at themselves.

The main character was seven years old when the tornado hit. His family perished, and he was sent to live with relatives in another state. The foster family never fully integrates him into their dynamic. He suffers physical and emotional abuse, and years later returns to his home town as an adult looking for reattachment to his past. My analysis:

The tornado is common backstory. The abuse is individual backstory. Both have a place in the novel, but with different objectives.

Background is information the writer determines to be essential to the reader’s understanding of, or appreciation for, some aspect of the story about which readers will not generally be versed. Example:

The story is set in 1920s America. A recent widow and her daughter are planning a road trip from the East coast to California to join her brother and his family. The widow has never driven a car. Everyone tells her to sell it and take the train, but for whatever reason the writer decides that she will ignore the advice. This is characterization enhanced by placing the woman in jeopardy, a situation requiring learning new skills and finding an ally, all classic storytelling elements in fiction based on concept of the inciting event.

This story cannot be written without extensive research into the automobiles available at the time, how much they cost (her dead husband would have to be able to afford it), how you start it, reliability issues, road conditions at the time, the route they would have taken, and all the myriad of details involved with driving that distance in the 20s.

Now let’s concentrate on backstory, because that’s the more common element that transcends genre boundaries. To reiterate: Anything of your characters’ common or individual pasts that occurred prior to page one is backstory. The following presents a suggested set of guidelines and techniques for how to decide what backstory is important, how to transition from current story time into the past and back again, and when.

What is important? That’s the toughest question, and only you can decide. Here’s a way to start:

Write down everything you can come up with about your main character. Include all of it in the first few pages of your novel . . . NOT! This is the dreaded “info-dump” that drives us all crazy.

As you write your story, keep this document handy for reference. Feel free to add to it as you progress. Characters will help define themselves if you let them. The process of creating the document will flow from your head through your fingers as you type and create a unique individual on the page. In this way, you are using backstory to enhance characterization, which is a major reason for including backstory. Let’s acknowledge, however, that your character’s thoughts, actions, and words can reflect this backstory without ever stepping back in time.

For most writers, a more visible reflection into the past is a valuable story element. There will be information in this character document that cries out for a more extensive treatment. How do we do that effectively?

First, the writer must know exactly why the reader needs to know it. It has to serve a specific and distinct purpose by contributing to one or more of the major story elements. Second, the reader needs to know the information right now, so that it fits into the story flow smoothly and effectively. So how do we transition into the past?

We can use the full-blown flashback. This is most commonly a scene, told moment by moment as it happened, with dialogue and action. It can be considered an acceptable info-dump under certain circumstances. For most purposes, writers should use flashbacks very sparingly. If you choose to use one, readers will expect (without verbalizing the thought) that what is included there is very important and worthy of their rapt attention. Make sure you can honestly say that is true.

Hopefully without causing anyone to gag, I’d like to use an example from Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code. In no way do I offer it as indicative of admirable writing, but I do believe it serves to illustrate how a crucial bit of backstory told in flashback can highlight the importance of a story element that readers must understand and appreciate early on to engage with the events. In this sense, it also combines essential background information.

Brown uses a flashback early in the novel when Langdon is transported back in time to the classroom. He is currently with the major supporting character, Sophie, making their way out of the Grand Gallery . . .

Excerpt begins:

They arrived at the emergency stairwell, and Sophie carefully pulled open the door. No alarm sounded. Only the doors to the outside were wired. Sophie led Langdon down a tight set of switchback stairs toward the ground level, picking up speed as they went.

“Your grandfather,” Langdon said, hurrying behind her, “when he told you about the pentacle, did he mention goddess worship or any resentment of the Catholic Church?”

Sophie shook her head. “I was more interested in the mathematics of it—the Divine Proportion, PHI, Fibonacci sequences, that sort of thing.”

Langdon was surprised. “Your grandfather taught you about the number PHI?”

“Of course. The Divine Proportion.” Her expression turned sheepish. “In fact, he used to joke that I was half divine . . . you know, because of the letters in my name.”

Langdon considered it a moment and then groaned.

s-o-PHI-e

Still descending, Langdon refocused on PHI. He was starting to realize that Saunier’s clues were even more consistent than he had first imagined.

Da Vinci . . . Fibonacci numbers . . . the pentacle.

Incredibly, all of these things were connected by a single concept so fundamental to art history that Langdon often spent several class periods on the topic.

PHI.

He felt himself suddenly reeling back to Harvard, standing in front of his “Symbolism in Art” class, writing his favorite number on the chalkboard: 1.618

*  *  *

Langdon turned to face his sea of eager students. “Who can tell me what this number is?”

End of excerpt

The above excerpt begins a flashback that lasts three and a half pages. Why did Brown take the time to explain PHI to the reader in flashback? Because the understanding of how the number 1.618 fits into history is absolutely crucial to the story. He uses scene breaks before and after the flashback to clearly telegraph a major shift in time and place.

We need to remember that current story time comes to a screeching halt while we digress. The longer we remain in the past, the more disinterested readers generally will become. If we choose a flashback, we’d better make it good and be certain of its importance to the story.

We can also us less than a full-blown flashback by inserting backstory into narrative with a subtle verb-tense shift that readers will interpret as transition into the past.

Past tense is by far the most common treatment in modern western literature. Readers interpret past tense as happening a split-second before they read it. The most common convention is to use one past-perfect verb, return to past tense for the flashback, then one more past perfect verb to signal return to current story time.

Excerpt begins:

Morgan stood motionless in the deep shadows of moonless night, gentle rain falling through the canopy of a large tree and pattering softly on his hooded parka. Low clouds scudded overhead, barely visible in reflected light from a distant streetlamp. Easing his weight from his left to right foot, he glanced at his watch and ticked off the minutes to showtime.

The dark house appeared unoccupied, but he learned long ago never to trust information from others. It had happened on a night like this.

The mark’s family was supposed to be on vacation while he remained behind to finish up an important business deal. Morgan prepared the ambush by opening the cellar door slightly, removing the bulb from the fixture on the upper landing, and leaving a light on in the cellar bathroom. He knew the mark would walk in the front door, close and lock it, then set the alarm. He would turn toward the stairs to the second floor and immediately notice the thin stream of light peaking around the cellar door. It would bug him. He’d be compelled to turn it off, and with typical impatience yank the door open without a second’s thought of what danger might be lurking beyond.

The mark’s wife died that night, punched to the gleaming wood floor in a spreading pool of blood by the impact of a .45 caliber hollowpoint. Morgan didn’t mind killing, made a nice living off of it, but he had never forgotten the shock of so long ago.

Ignoring a lingering shudder of guilt, he bent over to avoid a drooping limb, stepped from under the tree, and trotted forward to the next in an endless parade of lives gone cold.

End of excerpt

What do we know from these paragraphs?

Morgan is the POV character, an assassin, waiting at night in the rain. He’s been there for a while watching a house, being cautious. Why is he cautious? Does the narrative flashback answer that question? What is the writer’s purpose in taking the text time to present this step back into the past?

Its purpose is characterization. Morgan kills, but only for business reasons. When an innocent woman dies, it affects him, and still does. The backstory isn’t included to draw sympathy from readers, but to present Morgan as something other than an arch-villain with no compassion for anything. Characters need to be more than thin cardboard cutouts. Depth is best provided by characters’ motivations and goals as defined by their pasts and revealed by their thoughts, actions, and words.

We can also info-bit backstory into narrative and scene. Let’s look at my beginning story idea for Pilot Error:

The theme is family versus career and the struggle to balance being a father and husband with a deep-seated professional goal that is inseparable from the hero’s perception of self. The hero is a senior aviation accident investigator with the NTSB. When he was seven years old, his father died in the crash of his private plane, with the cause determined to be pilot error. The hero has never accepted that his father made the mistake that killed him.

The legacy of abandonment as a youngster fuels conflicting goals: 1) be a good father, and 2) do all he can to prevent other fathers from abandoning their sons by dying in pilot-error accidents. The best pulpit from which to preach his safety sermon is to be chief of the Aviation Safety Division. But the hero’s sensitivity to blaming pilots has caused friction with other investigators and the hero’s boss, and stagnated his career because he’s not viewed as a team player.

The inciting event, death of a controversial political figure in the crash of a private jet, is seen by the hero as an opportunity to rejuvenate his career by heading up a high-profile investigation, and more important, to investigate the possibility that sabotage might have caused the crash. The hero challenges his boss’s decision to replace him as Investigator-In-Charge, and unknowingly steps into the middle of a conspiracy to murder with a Presidential connection.

My problem was how to present relevant backstory so that it ties in with the hero’s ghost (death of his father), psychological need (learn to deal with his father’s death), and his moral need (learn to recognize how obsessive dedication to career can hurt his family, and make the higher moral choice to put them first).

An effective solution is to insert backstory with a combination of flashback, narrative, hero thought and dialogue without slowing the story down by choosing what to tell, how to tell it, and when.

The hero has learned of the accident and successfully resisted his boss’s attempt to take him off the investigation team. His daughter’s homecoming and his son’s birthday loom in the near future, with plans for taking a vacation so that he can avoid being called out on an investigation. He has already told his wife, and the conversation didn’t go well. We begin with the first of two examples:

Excerpt begins:

Nick finished packing. The time had come to tell his children. While he hoped they would take the news better than their mother, he also wanted them to care that he might not make it home for the special days ahead.

He carried his bags to the head of the stairs. As he considered whether to talk to Brad or Stephanie first, his son’s voice called out from down the hall. “Hey, Dad? Can I speak to you for a second?”

The decision made for him, Nick set his bags down, walked into Brad’s room, and leaned against the door sill. “What’s on your mind?”

Brad was reading on his bed, propped up on a pillow. He closed the book and laid it on his lap. “I was wondering if you and Mom had thought any more about me getting a car.”

Nick hated being deceitful, but enjoyed the excitement of planning the surprise and working on the Mustang in secret. He fought the urge to smile and said, “We’ve told you how we feel about that. You’ll get one soon enough.”

“Soon enough for you, maybe, but not for me.”

“Just give it some time. You’ll understand why we’re asking you to wait.”

“What’s there to understand? I want a car and can’t have one.”

“Brad, trust me on this, will you? It’ll be okay.” Nick looked at his watch. “I need to tell you something. There’s . . . I have to . . . ” His voice faltered at the painful memory of what might have been.

Nick’s father had wanted to share the experience of a first car by helping him rebuild a classic. Early death had robbed them both of the time together. Nick struggled to contain the sadness he felt and picked up a sports bottle on Brad’s desk. After gulping most of the contents, he noticed the bright blue liquid. “What on earth did I just drink?”

“Industrial-strength energy. Like it?”

Nick stared at the bottle. “I don’t know yet. The color may make me sick before I find out.”

“At your age you might want to be careful. It’ll give you dangerous power.”

“That’s just what your old man needs at the moment.”

Brad placed the book beside him on the bed. “Why’s that?”

“There’s been an accident. I have to leave for a week or so. But I’m taking the airplane and I’ll try to get back for your birthday.” Nick watched Brad carefully for his reaction. There was none. “Did you hear what I said, Brad?”

“I heard you.”

“I wasn’t sure. You seem . . . I don’t know—”

“Unaffected?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

Brad uncrossed his legs and put his feet on the floor. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared at his shoes. “It’s not that your leaving doesn’t affect me. It does, but I expected it.”

“Brad, I—”

“Look, Dad, do me a favor. Don’t give me that shit about how you’ll try to be back in time. I’ve heard it all before. I’m not blaming you, but sometimes I wish you sold insurance or something.” Brad got up and walked to the bedroom door. “Have a nice trip, and fly safe.” Then he stepped into the hall and disappeared.

Nick stared at the empty doorway. The latent regret of years on the road filled him with doubt and mingled with his own memories of loss. Death had permanently robbed him of his father. Had allowing his own career to steal him from Brad done any less damage?

He looked down at the watch strapped to his left wrist. His father had been wearing it when he died, and the second hand seemed to be ticking in time with the beats of Nick’s heart.

End of excerpt

What has the reader learned?

Characterization of Nick Phillips as a caring father but willing to take chances with fulfilling family promises. He’s still deeply affected by the death of his father, and concerned that his own absences are just another form of abandonment. His father’s watch is symbolic (and it plays a continuing role in the story). The Mustang project means a lot to him. It is the promise of his father to him being fulfilled a generation late. Although resigned to the reality, Brad has been affected by Nick’s dedication to career.

This information is presented with a combination of the hero’s internal thought, past-perfect transitions into backstory, and a supporting character’s dialogue. Note that most of the example is scene, with dialogue and action. We do not pause for lengthy periods in current story time and digress into the past.

We can also insert backstory into dialogue. This technique uses one character’s words to another character for presenting backstory and is an effective tool under the following conditions:

  • The character talking would logically know the information.
  • The character listening would not logically know it.
  • Both the character listening and the reader need to know it.
  • And they need to know it right now.

Another example from Pilot Error: The hero has arrived at the crash site. For the second example, we begin with the morning of his first full day on scene as the hero gets out of his rental car.

Excerpt begins:

A man appeared around a corner of the hangar and trotted toward Nick as he locked the Jeep. He prepared to give his standard “no comment at this time” reply to questions when the spitting image of a Marine on a recruiting poster approached and extended his hand.

“You’re Nick Phillips, right? The investigator-in-charge on this crash?”

Nick shook hands and read the man’s media pass: Harvey Sweet, Cedar Valley Gazette. “That’s right, Mr. Sweet. And I can’t comment—”

“I’m not looking for comments, Mr. Phillips. I only want to introduce myself. I’ll be covering the story for the local paper.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“You headed toward the hangar?”

Nick turned away and began walking. “Yes.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

Nick stopped and faced the reporter. “Mr. Sweet, you’ve introduced yourself. I thought that’s all you wanted.”

Sweet grinned. “Well, I lied. But only a little bit.” He shuffled his feet and glanced down at the asphalt, then looked Nick straight in the eyes. “This is a small town. Mr. Phillips. Nothing much ever happens. That makes this crash big news, and I’ve never covered anything like it. Could you help me out? You know, how it works at press briefings?”

Sweet’s clean-cut appearance, slender build, erect posture, and courteous manner seemed incompatible with the devious intentions reporters usually displayed. “Sure thing. Come on.” Sweet fell in step and they walked toward the hangar.

“On-scene Board members handle press briefings,” said Nick. “We usually schedule one a day, but that varies depending on whether we have any new information. Anything discussed there can be considered on the record and fit to print.”

“Do you usually open it up for questions?”

“Yes. And I’ll tell you straight up, if I have releasable information, you’ll get it. But I can’t speculate about what the facts mean. Theorizing is not my job.”

They stopped outside the open hangar door. Sweet flipped his notepad closed and glanced at his watch. “I’ll try to keep that in mind. Will you schedule a briefing for this afternoon?”

“Don’t know yet. I need to get caught up, see where we are.”

Sweet did another foot shuffle. “Do you mind a personal question?”

Nick frowned. “It depends.”

“I was wondering how you got into the business of accident investigation. My editor wants me to concentrate on how the NTSB does its job. I figure the process starts with people, and from a human interest standpoint, professional motivations become all important.”

Nick was proud of his profession and didn’t mind sharing his dedication to the job. “My father was an aviator. I’ve been fascinated with airplanes ever since I can remember. He died in a plane crash when I was a youngster, and that had a lot to do with my choice to attend the Aviation Safety program at the University of Southern California.”

“Did you start with the NTSB right away?”

“Almost. The year I graduated, I took time off to study the report on my father’s accident, visit the site, and interview eyewitnesses. Although I never found anything to challenge the findings, my career goals developed as a natural continuation of that struggle.”

Sweet nodded. “Would you care to explain that?”

“No child should have to grow up without a father. Saving lives is the goal of the NTSB, and I can contribute best by serving as Director of Aviation Safety.”

“Are you on track to do that?”

Nick shrugged. “You’ll have to ask someone else that question.”

Excerpt ends

What has the reader learned?


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