100 Things You Should Know About Writing (Part 2)

46) Deus Ex Machina, Foreshadowing, and Prologues

I have to admit that when I was asked a question about foreshadowing, I learned something new when I had to write down my answer. 

See once upon a time, I did A-Level Literature. Which means that when I head the term "Foreshadowing", it almost invariably took the form of hinting at some future event. You know what I mean? "Little did I know that..." or some other symbolic thing in the description hinting at the future event—usually death or danger. 

I wasn't a fan of this. I'm still not. It spoils the ending for those who pick up on these things, it's unnatural (I mean who makes note of a deathly omen on the day they happen to die? Okay. Some people do. But who does so without noticing that the thing is in fact a deathly omen?), it's heavy handed, and it reveals the author in the writing. 

Needless to say, I had a bit of a knee-jerk reaction toward the term, but luckily for me, I don't trust knee-jerk reactions when it comes to writing. Especially not when it comes to giving advice. So I did some reading, and come to realize that 1) I actually love foreshadowing in stories and 2) I use it a lot more than I thought. 

Because foreshadowing can be such a natural part of a story that we don't even point it out when we read. 

We point out the heavy-handed things. The ones that make my eyes roll when I encounter them. But we completely miss the good ones because the good examples of foreshadowing are meant to be missed until they become relevant.

All told, this means that foreshadowing, when done right, is probably my favorite literary device in existence. It prevents my biggest pet peeve from happening... 

This peeve? Deus Ex Machina. 

A lot of people might know this term, but for those of you who don't, let me explain. Deus Ex Machina directly translated means god out of the machine. It refers to an old trend in Greek plays, where the story would build things up to make a solution impossible for the main character to solve, only to have a god character be lowered onto the stage with a crane or pulley system. This god would magically solve the whole story in seconds, even though they never featured anywhere in the story before. That character's only function would be to solve the ending because the main character couldn't do it on their own. 

In ancient times, this was the norm. 

In modern writing, it makes me gnash my teeth. More than pointless prologues. More than cop-out chapters. More than literally any bad piece of writing you can throw at me. Give me a book that ends with Deus Ex Machina, and I'll probably burn it in front of you. (Okay not in front of you, but suffice it to say there will be some harsh words.) 

Think I'm being extreme? Put on your reader hat for a second. You're reading a book. The main character is awesome. You're invested in seeing how the character goes about achieving their goal. The stakes are huge. The conflict is insurmountable. Which means that tension is as tight as a drum. The pages fly by and you put hours of your time into finding out what happens. 

And then, the end has nothing to do with anything you've read up to this point. You might as well have only read the last three chapters because the story's end made everything that happened earlier in the story completely irrelevant. 

In other words, your time was wasted. Time you can't get back. And worse, the writer betrayed your trust in the story. Possibly because they couldn't be bothered to give you a proper resolution to the story you got so invested in up to that point. 

See? Incredibly incredibly annoying. Don't do this to your readers. 

Deus Ex Machina can take many forms. A god unexpectedly swooping in and saving the day. A main character suddenly having just the tool needed to solve the plot problem. A twist that comes from nowhere. A good character suddenly being revealed as being the antagonist all along. Or what about a main character suddenly revealing their rare, highly specialized skills that just happened to be the exact thing that was needed to get something done. Annoying as nails scraping a black board. 

So how does foreshadowing prevent Deus Ex Machina? 

If you look at the forms Deus Ex Machina takes, you'll notice they all have something in common. They happen when something completely unexpected occurs in the story. But Misha, how am I supposed to make my story unpredictable without throwing in unexpected things? you might ask. 

A story is unpredictable because the reader doesn't know where you're going with what you've PUT INTO THE STORY. In other words: You share certain information and then do unpredictable and unexpected things with it. 

BUT THE INFORMATION MUST BE THERE. 

And this is where foreshadowing comes in. Foreshadowing is the sharing of advance information that becomes relevant as the story progresses. 

If you read my section on information release (Part 1 Section 10), you might think I'm contradicting myself now. Because with foreshadowing, you're revealing very important information waaaaaay before its relevance is clear. 

In my own fiction as an example: I'm working some MAJOR information into the first two books that only becomes important in book 4. I can't tell you what exactly this information might be, because the secret is too delicious, but the thing is that no one has picked up that this information is foreshadowing. 

This is the secret to making foreshadowing work. You need to camouflage it as something that's only relevant in a certain, small way, or else as something completely irrelevant to the story at large. In truth, the information is very important, but this fact only becomes clear once the relevance is revealed. 

A great example of this is in the movie Die Hard 2.  Throughout the movie, we see the main character McLane lighting up cigarettes with his trusty lighter. It never takes more than one try to spark, and boy does he smoke throughout the story. And why wouldn't he? He's stressed. People are trying to kill him, and his wife is stuck in an airplane that can't land because those people trying to kill McLane took over the airport her airplane is supposed to land at. So the smoking is nothing more than a character quirk. Right? 

Wrong. 

(Spoiler alert) 

In the final fight, McLane and the antagonists' thug end up fighting with (I think) a screwdriver on the airplane's wing. During the fight, the screwdriver punches a hole in the wing, which is where the fuel is kept. 

McLane loses the fight and the plane rolls on, leaving only a single line of fuel trailing after it. 

Failure. He loses. 

Or did he? 

As soon as he sees that trail, he bursts out laughing, sparks his lighter, and throws it into the fuel. Boom. He wins. 

It's simple. It's beautiful. It's elegant because throughout the whole movie, we saw him using that exact same lighter for something completely mundane, and only see the true potential at the end—right when he does. 

And this, ladies and gentlemen, brings me to the point of the other bane of my reading experience: Prologues. 

Basically, prologues serve a SINGLE FUNCTION: They make it possible for writers to insert foreshadowing when it can't be naturally done in any other point of the story. Without foreshadowing, the story's end would be Deus Ex Machina, but the story simply doesn't allow for the placement of the clues in the chapters themselves. 

Then and only then is it a good idea to insert a prologue. That's when the prologue becomes vital to the story's success. If the foreshadowing can conceivably be done in any other point of the story, the prologue is pointless. 

So in summery: Above all else, make sure all events/skills/tools vital to your story are accounted for in the story's natural progression. The reader must never be surprised by these. Remember to keep the clue subtle so the reader doesn't predict what happens later. 

Thanks for reading everyone! Your support of Part 1 and Part 2 has been awesome. Please do keep the visits, votes, and comments coming. 

Speaking of comments, please feel free to ask me anything about this section or even writing in general. I do respond (so remember to check back), and if your question inspires a whole new section, I'll dedicate it to you. 

Coming Up in 100 Things: 

Why It's Important to Stretch.

The Dangers of Comparison