The Price of Plot Twists

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Plot twists. Whether it be mystery novels, an M. Night Shyamalan movie, or the prolific father-son reunion in the Empire Strikes Back, plot twists pop up in every genre and medium of storytelling. With good reason, too. A plot twist surprises you, it makes you rethink everything you thought you knew, and it shatters whatever plot predictions you've racked up for the ride. A good plot twists enriches a story, it complicates it. A great one blows your freaking mind.

I think it's the "blows your freaking mind" variety that have really pumped us all up on the concept of twists. After all, when people talk about, say, The Sixth Sense, what do they always bring up? The heart-warming relationship between Bruce Willis and Haley Joel Osment? Of course not! It's that reality-shattering twist (which I will not name for the sake of those who haven't seen it yet). Or how about Shutter Island? That one had a bit of a doozy as well.

We've developed a bit of an addiction, I think. We want to be surprised, we want to have our minds blown; and in turn, we writers want to surprise and blow the minds of our readers. A fine goal if there ever was one. But there's a danger in such glorification of the twist itself: it can mislead you into thinking that plot twists, mind-blowing or not, are always the best choice.

That's what I'll be discussing in this journal entry: how an over-reliance on twists can end up weakening your story rather than empowering it. Because believe it or not, just because you have the option to include a twist doesn't mean you should.

The Price of Plot Twists

The thing about twists is that for all the energy they can inject into a plot, they do have a price, and that price is information. When you work a twist into your story, you're hiding the truth from the reader. You're keeping him in the dark, and if you're not careful, the dark can be a bad place. Why? Because sure, all this in-the-dark business will eventually result in a moment of bright, thrilling illumination; but what about the story up to that point? Was it still entertaining, despite the withheld information? Or rather, could it have been more entertaining if you'd included the info?

Information, you see, is capable of adding depth to your scenes. This new-found depth results in new character and situational tensions, and these tensions can make a scene infinitely more interesting to read.

To help you comprehend this a little better, I want you to look at these two scenes and tell me which sounds more interesting as a standalone.

1) Little Charlie sits on the park bench, beside William, a man he'd befriended in that very park a year before. They've gotten close over this year, and today Charlie opens up and talks about the father who abandoned him so long ago. William then talks about his own father who skipped town when he was a kid. His words comfort Charlie, and they say their goodbyes.

2) William sits on a park bench, and young Charlie sits next to him. They met a year ago, and ever since, they've been meeting at the same park bench once a week, every week, to talk. William has always looked forward to these meetings because little does the boy know, William is his father, who was forced to stay away for so long (by Charlie's mother) because of his drug addiction. Their first meeting in the park had been a coincidence, but since then William hasn't been able to stay away. Today they talk about the usual things: life at home, school, etc. Then Charlie brings up how his father abandoned him, and it breaks William's heart, as he remembers his own father's abandonment and the pain it caused him. He tells Charlie about his experience, does his best to comfort him, and then they say their goodbyes.

First, do note that examples 1 and 2 are in fact the same scene, though completely different. And what is the difference? In this case, yes, choice of narrators, but what ultimately separates these two examples is information. In the first, we only have Charlie's information, so it's a rather mundane experience. Just a kid finding solace in someone older and born into similar circumstances. Not a terrible story by any means, but it's far from unique.

Now let's look at this scene from William's POV, with William's information. Things get a little more complicated, don't they? Yes, we've still got the young-boy-finding-solace plot going, but it's suddenly more poignant, more tense. First, there's the new tension of William leading a sort of double-life with Charlie. The readers now know the truth, so they'll catch William every time he utters a lie or says something with a double meaning. Next, on top of understanding Charlie's one-dimensional pain, we learn the far more complex pain of William, who was forced to abandon his son because of his inability to put away the needle. He feels guilty, disgusted with himself; but he does what he can. He tries to comfort his son, and then parts with him, even though it kills him to say goodbye.

Remember, although these two scenes may be part of a larger story, I want you to consider them as individual scenes, as individual producers of entertainment. With that in mind, wouldn't you say the second was more enjoyable? I know the eventual "William-is-your father" twist (for Charlie's POV) would add interest, but that doesn't change the fact that you had to weaken an earlier scene to make it happen. As to whether that sacrifice is worth it or not here, I'm not going to argue (although I will say that if left too late, the twist would probably become a deus ex machina). That's not the point of this father-son example. Instead, it's meant to illustrate the idea of how new tensions and intrigue can arise out of providing information, and vice versa, how withholding information can keep a scene from its full potential. Before you choose to put a twist in your story, therefore, you need to determine the entertainment value of that twist and weigh it against what it may cost you to make it happen. Whichever way the scale tips should heavily influence your decision.

That being said, I'd like to give two more examples of times when a twist proved (or would have proven) detrimental. The first of them is for you short story writers out there, who are probably more at risk of abusing the twist than anyone else. My creative writing professor actually told my class this one; it was an experience he had with one of his past students' stories. I can't remember the exact situation, but I do recall the moral of the story well enough to provide a serviceable recreation.

More or less, this student wrote a short story in which a first-person narrator, who we'll call Alex, struggles with his budding, teenage emotions: he has a crush on a girl. He wants to ask her out. As the short story nears its climax and conclusion, Alex is turned down by the girl, and it is then revealed that Alex, who's thus far been implied as a guy, is actually a girl. A young lesbian struggling to act upon her sexuality.

Did you enjoy that twist? It's certainly surprising, and it does make you rethink the piece as a whole. But what was the price of this twist? Well, it neutered the rest of the story's potential. Had Alex's gender and sexuality been known from the start, then every conversation would have inevitably held new tensions, from those with her parents (has she told them she's a lesbian yet? If so, has it altered their relationship?) to the actual interactions with her crush (not only do we have to worry about this girl liking Alex back, we also have to wonder if she's even capable of doing so). Further, on top of those conversational tensions I've been preaching about, this story misses out on the reflective possibilities. It could have told us something meaningful. Like what it feels like to be in Alex's place. I sure don't know, and as a reader, I'd love for a writer to show me.

With the twist, this story is a series of dull scenes punctuated by a single, surprising punch at the close. Without it, every scene is capable of being entertaining, and although the ending may not surprise us, it can still leave us breathless. Remember that you're trying to write a good story, not a good twist. A good twist alone won't get you anywhere.

Next up is an example for you novel-length writers out there. It's a low-scale plot twist, one of many that could populate your epic, and it comes from (so reads the cover) "Science Fiction's Supreme Masterpiece," Dune, by Frank Herbert.

Dune is about the son of Duke Leto Atreides, Paul, who will one day become the prophetic Muad-Dib. Before he fulfills that destiny, however, he and his family are forced to move to and rule the desert planet of Arrakis, where a political plot is set in motion to assassinate them all. What's more, the enemy has a man on the inside to ensure their success: Yueh, the family's trusted physician

Now, when you have a traitorous character in your story, what's the obvious thing to do? Keep it a secret, of course. Not only will you get a twist out of it, but if the readers know there's a traitor, then you sow discord in the their trust of numerous characters. And if the readers don't know there's a traitor, then all the more surprising the betrayal when it happens.

In Dune, however, the main characters do in fact learn of a traitor in their midst. But rather than keep us, the readers, in the dark about his identity and pocket a twist for later, Frank Herbert reveals that it's Yueh early on. This is partly, I'll admit, because the story is told in an omniscient POV, shifting from narrator to narrator on a whim. Don't let that fool you, though. If Herbert had wanted to make the twist, he could have simply avoided Yueh's mind. Yet he didn't. He returned to Yueh's perspective time and again, and he made it clear time and again that Yueh was the soon-to-be-traitor. The questions are "why did he do it?" and "was it worth it?"

First, let's look at what was gained by avoiding the twist. Remember, information is capable of enriching scenes, providing new layers of depth, and revealing hidden tensions. In this case, every conversation with Yueh, where we slip into his mind, is laced with the tension of his inevitable betrayal, of his possible discovery, and of his pressing guilt (he's being blackmailed into doing this; he actually likes the Atreides family). One scene in particular caught my eye, in which Yueh has a conversation with Paul's mother, Lady Jessica, a woman trained in the Bene Gesserit ways. For those of you who haven't read Dune, being a Bene Gesserit means that among other things, you are capable of analyzing a person's emotional state to startling degrees. Lady Jessica, in other words, is more than capable of interpreting Yueh's current demeanor and then arriving at the conclusion that he's the traitor they're looking for. Sounds a little far fetched, but trust me, in context it works.

Anyway, Yueh rides a thin line in that scene, with Jessica leaning towards suspicion and Yueh just barely escaping by attributing his emotional state to missing his lost wife (she's the leverage being used against him by the bad guys, actually). This and other scenes like it really get their bite because we know Yueh is a traitor and his tensions are exploited by Herbert in the prose. If we didn't know, if we were left in the dark, all those scenes would have been rather bland. Heck, Herbert probably would have scrapped a handful of them altogether.

Now let's talk about what was "lost" because the twist was avoided. First, the punch of the twist is gone itself. We don't get that thrilling jolt of energy at being surprised. But really, Yueh's betrayal wouldn't have been a major twist in the story, so the punch would have been minor. Further, if you took out all that time we spent in Yueh's POV contemplating the betrayal, then Yueh's part in the story before the revelation would have shrunk considerably. He would have been just a tad more prevalent than the average background character, so finding out he is the traitor wouldn't have done much with our emotions. At best, I'd say we lose a light titillation there.

Next, by not making the twist, Herbert also removes the uncertainty in the reader's mind of who the traitor might be. There's a part in the story, for example, in which the trusted Thufir Hawat (if I remember right) is framed as a possible traitor. Lady Jessica, too, gets her share of suspicion (but considering how reliant the story is on her POV, no one would have fallen for that one anyway). We lose this mystery, and therefore we lose a bit of the fear. However, in its place we get to enjoy some dramatic irony. We see them blaming Hawat and Jessica or whoever, and we can only sit there, screaming, "No, no, no! You've got the wrong guy! It's Yueh! Yueh!" And that supplies its own brand of suspense and panic.

Looking at it this way, there was very little for Herbert to gain by hiding the traitor's identity; it only made sense to capitalize on this information. And now that I've given you all these examples, I hope you'll be able to capitalize on such opportunities yourselves.


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I don't know if you looked at the publish date of this guide, but I wrote it 7 years ago in college. Since then, I've earned an MFA in Fiction, spent a year teaching writing, and now work as a copywriter in New England. I also no longer post on DeviantArt.

But if you'd like more writing advice like you read above, just with an extra 7 years of experience, stop on by my Tumblr, MichaelBjorkWrites, where I post weekly writing advice.

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TheWhiteJewel's avatar
Fascinating. I think I'll have to go away and ponder on this before I come to a satisfying conclusion (i.e a better comment).