by Tosh McIntosh

Introduction:

I created this document in January 2005 at the request of a previous member of NIP. At the time, we occasionally included a tutorial feature in our meetings, in which a member would give a short presentation on a writing topic of common interest. He liked the one I did on backstory, and I used this as a handout for a presentation to the smaller writers’ group he moderated at a BookPeople store in North Austin.

I made the caveat then and I’ll repeat it here, that I’m not trying to lecture, present myself as an expert, or talk down to anyone. I offer this only in the spirit of NIP, dedicated to a collaborative effort with a single objective, to explore the fascinating craft of writing and improve as each of us best can.

With that said, let’s begin:

Communication:

Requires a transmitter, a receiver, a transmission medium, a common language and vocabulary. For our purposes here, let’s define three terms:

1. Text time: The concept of considering text on a page in terms of the number of lines used, the time it takes for a reader to read it, and the writer’s purpose for including it.
2. Backstory (see below)
3. Background (see below)

Why use two words to describe today’s subject? Because “looking back” is only one part of this story element.

Backstory:

Defined as anything that happened to characters as individuals or as a group prior to page one of your story. Example:

1. Story set in rural Oklahoma town wiped out by tornado 20 years prior.
2. This single common event affects all residents. Maybe not the same, but it forms a defining moment in each character’s life, so they refer to it as before and after.
3. 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.
4. Main character was seven years old when the tornado hit. His family perishes, he is sent to live with relatives in another state. He is never integrated into the foster family dynamic, suffers physical and emotional abuse, and returns to his hometown as an adult looking for reattachment to his past.
5. The tornado is common backstory.
6. The abuse is individual backstory.
7. Both have a place in your novel, but with different objectives.

Background:

Defined as 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:

1. Story set in 1920s America. 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.
2. Everyone tells her to sell it and take the train, but the writer decides the character will ignore the advice. This story strategy relates directly to characterization, woman in jeopardy, placed in a situation requiring learning new skills and finding an ally, all of which are classic storytelling elements in fiction based on the concept of the inciting event.
3. 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, the route they would have taken, and all the myriad of details involved with driving that distance in the ’20s.

For purposes of this tutorial, let’s concentrate on backstory.

To reiterate: backstory is anything in your characters’ common or individual pasts that occurred prior to page one. The following presents 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?

Tough question, only the writer can decide. Here’s a way to start:

1. Write down on a piece of paper/document in your computer everything you can come up with about your main character’s past. One technique is to envision yourself as a reporter who asks the character, “Tell me about yourself.”
2. Then include all of it in the first few pages of your novel . . . NOT! This is the dreaded “info-dump” that we’re cautioned to avoid.
3. As you write your story, keep this document handy for reference. Feel free to add to it as you progress through your story. Characters will help define themselves if you let them.
4. The process of creating the document in advance will flow from your imagination 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 in the first place.
5. But notice that your character’s thoughts, actions, and words can reflect this backstory without ever looking back in time.
6. For most writers and stories, a more visible, extensive reflection into the past is a valuable story element. How do we do that effectively?
   1. 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.
   2. The reader needs to know the information right now, so it fits into the story flow smoothly and effectively.
   3. The writer must decide which of the various techniques for inserting backstory is the best choice for each specific instance and moment in current story time.

How do we transition into the past?

The “full-blown” flashback:

This is most commonly a scene, told moment by moment as it happens, 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.

In Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code, the author uses a flashback early in the novel when the main character Langdon’s thoughts rewind into his past to the classroom and one of his lectures. At that moment in current story time, Langdon and Sophie, the major supporting character, are hurrying out of the Grand Gallery in the Louvre to avoid being detained by the French police as suspects in a murder. Example:

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?” Example ends.

This 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. If you have this book, find chapter 20 (on page 91 in hardcover) and study how he does this, then see if you agree with what I’m saying about how to use flashbacks effectively. In the novel, note the use of the extra-space scene breaks before and after the flashback. This is done to telegraph to readers a major shift in setting (time and place).

Remember that current story time comes to a screeching halt while you digress. The longer you remain in the past, the more disinterested readers generally will become. If you choose a flashback, you’d better make it good, and important to the story.

Less than “full-blown” flashback:

Backstory inserted with narrative can best be achieved by a subtle verb-tense shift that readers will interpret as transition into the past.

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

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 street lamp. Easing his weight from his left to right foot, he glanced at his watch and ticked off the minutes to show time.

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 just a bit, 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 hollow point.

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. Example ends.

What do we know from these three paragraphs?

1. 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.
2. Why is he cautious?
3. Does the narrative flashback answer that question?
4. What is the writer’s purpose in taking the text time to present this step back into the past?
5. The purpose is characterization. Morgan kills, but only for business reasons. When an innocent woman dies, it affects him, and still does.
6. The backstory isn’t included to draw sympathy from readers, but to present Morgan as something other than an arch-villain with no compassion. We know our characters need to be more than thin cardboard cutouts, and this is true for villains as well as heroes. In his Anatomy of Story, John Truby emphasizes the importance of a strong, well-defined opponent as critical in presenting an effective main character. Depth is best provided by the character’s motivations and goals as defined by the past and revealed by thoughts, actions, and words.

Backstory info-bits:

This technique involves inserting shorter rewind snippets into narrative and scene. Example:

1. The theme of this story 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.
2. The hero is a senior aviation accident investigator with the NTSB.
3. When he was seven years old, his father died at the controls of his private airplane, with the cause determined to be pilot error. The hero has never accepted that his father made the mistake that killed him.
4. The legacy of abandonment as a youngster fuels conflicting goals, to be a good father and do all he can to prevent other fathers from abandoning their sons by dying in pilot-error accidents.
5. The best pulpit from which to preach his safety sermon is to be chief of the Aviation Safety Division.
6. But the hero’s sensitivity to blaming pilots has caused friction with other investigators and the hero’s boss, and his obstinate attitude has stagnated his career because he’s not viewed as a team player.
7. 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.
8. The hero challenges his boss’s decision to replace him as the Investigator-In-Charge, and thereby unknowingly steps into the middle of a conspiracy to murder with a Presidential connection.
9. The writer’s problem: how to present relevant backstory so it ties in with the hero’s ghost from the past (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).
10. Solution: “info-bit” backstory with a combination of flashback, narrative, hero thought and dialogue without slowing the story down by carefully choosing what to tell, how to tell it, and when.

Example One:

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 he can avoid being called out on an investigation. He has told his wife that he’s leaving on a trip, and the conversation didn’t go well. Example 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. Wanting it both ways didn’t sit well, but this investigation was worth being selfish now and making up for it later. It had to be, or his career was toast.

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

Nick set his bags down, walked into Brad’s room, and leaned against the doorsill. “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 fought the urge to smile. He hated being deceitful, but enjoyed the excitement of planning the surprise and working on the Mustang in secret. “We’ve told you how we feel about that. You’ll get one soon enough.”

“For you, maybe.”

“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.”

“Trust me on this, will you? It’ll be okay.” Nick looked at his watch. He had to get moving. “I need to tell you something. There’s . . . I have to—”

The painful memory of what might have been punched Nick in the stomach. His 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. He struggled to contain the sadness that lingered just under the surface 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.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “That’s just what your old man needs at the moment.”

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

Nick’s throat had dried up. He shut his eyes to deflect the thought of drinking industrial-strength cleaning solution and chugged the bottle dry. “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?”

“Yeah.”

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

“Unaffected?”

“Well . . . yes.”

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. But I expected it.”

Nick felt another punch to his gut. “Brad, I—”

“Do me a favor, please. 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 robbed Nick of his father permanently. Had allowing his career to steal him from Brad done any less damage?

The question remained unanswered as Nick glanced at the watch strapped to his left wrist, an automatic reaction to thoughts of his father. He’d been wearing it when he died. The second hand seemed to be ticking in time with the beats of Nick’s heart.

Do I have enough beats left to make it up to Brad? I could start this instant if I wanted to. Let Dickson have the investigation. Why not? Example ends.

What has the reader learned?

1. Characterization of Nick Phillips as a caring father but willing to take chances with fulfilling family promises.
2. He’s still deeply affected by the death of his father. Concern over his absences being another form of abandonment. Attachment to his father’s watch (which plays a continuing role in the story).
3. The Mustang project means a lot to him. It’s the promise of his father to him being fulfilled a generation later.
4. Although resigned to the reality, Brad has been affected by Nick’s dedication to career.
5. This information is presented with a combination of the hero’s internal thought, two quick past-perfect transitions into backstory, and a supporting character’s dialogue.
6. Note that most of the example is scene, with dialogue and action. We do not pause for lengthy periods in current story time for digressions into the past.

Backstory through dialogue:

Using one character’s words to another character for presenting backstory is an effective tool under the following conditions:

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

Example Two:

The hero has arrived at the crash site. We begin with the morning of his first full day on scene as he gets out of his rental car. Example 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 as the spitting image of a young Dan Quayle with a buzz cut 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 for you. 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?”

Nick stared at Sweet. His clean-cut appearance, slender build, erect posture, and courteous manner seemed incompatible with the deviousness reporters usually displayed. This one might be different. “Come on.”

Sweet fell in step and they walked toward the hangar and Nick explained that on-scene Board members handled press briefings, usually one a day, but that varied depending on whether they had any new information. “Anything discussed in those briefings can be considered on the record and fit to print.”

“Do you 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. “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, their 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?”

Nick paused. “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.” Example ends.

What has the reader learned?