New writing projects grow from many sources. Perhaps you have a character in mind and you wonder what type of story they might inhabit. Or you have a climactic ending in mind and you wonder how a story might build to that ending. Or, most commonly, you come up with a premise and it knocks about your brain whilst you’re brushing your teeth or pumping gas.
Perhaps your premise is:
- A starry-eyed dreamer from the sticks gets caught up in a big galactic rebellion; or
- An ordinary boy finds out he’s a wizard; or
- A teenaged girl has to fight for her life in gladiator-esque games; or
- “In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit.”
A premise is anything that starts getting the gears of your mind turning. What is a Hobbit? How does it fit into the wider world that Tolkien had been creating for decades? Why does the girl have to fight? What does the Wizarding World look like? What is the Rebellion rebelling against?
The premise is a kernel, a nugget, a wisp of a what-if. It’s like the piece of grit that irritates the clam’s flesh, stimulating the clam to make a pearl. But the premise isn’t the pearl.
The pearl is the plot. And while a premise can just pop into your mind, a plot takes time to develop. The plot grows out of the premise by grounding the premise in setting and character and then asking what happens next. The plot is a series of causes and effects, of choices and consequences, of intentions and obstacles. These events lead the characters through internal and external journeys that feature low points and climaxes, eventually coming to some sort of resolution, which hopefully sheds light on the thematic content of the story.
Let’s use our first premise example from above: a starry-eyed dreamer from the sticks gets caught up in a big galactic rebellion. That’s the premise, but here’s the plot:
- Luke Skywalker, a starry-eyed dreamer, has spent his whole life on his uncle’s and aunt’s moisture farm on an Outer Rim planet far from the center of the Empire that has taken over the galaxy.
- Two droids fleeing the Empire show up at the farm with a call for aid from a mysterious princess.
- When R2-D2 runs (rolls?) off carrying the message, Luke and C-3PO go after him and meet Obi-Wan Kenobi.
- Luke initially refuses the call to action when Obi-Wan invites him to reunite the droids with the princess.
- Luke then accepts the call after Imperial troops brutally murder his aunt and uncle.
- They escape Tatooine with the help of Han and Chewbacca.
- On the way to Alderaan, Obi-Wan begins Luke’s training in the Force. Luke is skeptical.
- The Death Star blows up Alderaan, and when the Millennium Falcon arrives at the planet’s former location, the Death Star captures it.
- Luke, Han, and Chewie rescue Princess Leia, who then takes charge and rescues them.
- They escape, but not before Darth Vader (seemingly) kills Obi-Wan.
- The Death Star tracks the Falcon to Yavin 4, where the rebels put a desperate plan into action.
- Luke blows up the Death Star, trusting in the Force to take the shot.
You can see how a plot is so much bigger than a premise.
When I’m beginning to think about a new story, I start with the premise and then test it to see if it has enough heft to grow into a full-fledged plot. Premises are a dime a dozen. They come and go like day dreams. But plotting takes time and creative energy. Some writers plot out their stories before writing (in writing lingo, this is a “plotter”). Others start with the premise and just go, hoping that the premise will spin out enough plot to make a satisfying narrative (a “pantser,” as in “flying by the seat of one’s pants.”). I’m more the former than the latter. I tend to plan out story beats within an act structure, but I never have absolutely everything figured out (that’s the fun part).
I keep a notebook in my workbag to write down premises when they come to me, but only a small percentage of those premises ever evolve into true plots. That’s the nature of storytelling, but the potential of every premise exists, urging the writer to imagine.
Adam Thomas, Author 