Worried at Noon

On New Year's Day, my first short story of the year, "Slow Ride," published. What a great way to start a year. On that day, I felt like Joe DiMaggio. I had a streak. 

Alas, then January 2nd came along. 

Still, I had my day. I'm grateful to fellow SleuthSayer Michael Bracken. He created and edits the Chop Shop novellas. The series tells tales of car thieves and the chop shop that buys their stolen products. In "Slow Ride," Michael's series enabled me to spin the story of Woody and Tommy, a crime-committing duo. The pair work together to successfully boost cars and trucks from across North Texas--or do they? 

In "Slow Ride," tension and suspense lie at the story's heart. Before beginning, I had to think about the tools writers have available to create these driving forces. How do we raise the stakes when telling stories? 

Although I use the terms interchangeably, writing pros tell me that there is a difference between tension and suspense. I like LibreTexts example. Imagine you have a large stick. Tension are the forces bending the stick. Suspense is the unanswered question of whether the stick will break. 

Both tension and suspense start with conflict. In a story about a pair of car thieves trying to steal a vehicle that they will sell to a chop shop, there are four natural sources of conflict. 1. The owner of the car is at odds with the thieves who want to steal it. 2. The thieves may disagree with the chop shop owner. Their transaction is unregulated capitalism, after all, and there is conflict between the buyer and the seller. (Among the lawless, the disagreements might get rougher than between me and Target.) 3. The pair of criminals might also not agree as to means or ends. They may have different goals. 4. Law enforcement's efforts to apprehend criminals and to protect property rights offers another possible area of conflict. 

Having identified the sources of potential conflict, how do we as writers build to that unanswered question? Often, we employ foreshadowing. Hint at a future problem. The suggestion causes readers to begin to guess what will happen next. 

Frequently, we use a deadline. A ticking clock is the most direct method of creating suspense. Consider the movie High Noon. Gary Cooper plays Will Kane, the sheriff of Hadleyville, New Mexico. A train with Kane's nemesis will arrive in town at twelve o'clock. What will the sheriff do? Will Gary Cooper flee? Will the town support the sheriff if he stays? The camera cuts back to the clock ticking closer to noon. Suspense builds. 

Ticking clocks abound in stories. We all have seen them. There are time bombs to be defused, contagions to be isolated, airplanes boarding for departure. The race to resolve the problem before the clock reaches the appointed hour creates pressure on the protagonist. The challenges that must be overcome engage the reader. 

The ticking clock works if the stakes are sufficiently high. The author needs to make the reader care about the characters. Do the parties grab the reader's interest. The characters do not necessarily need to be likeable. To return to High Noon, I was never really fond of Will Kane. I wouldn't want to hang out with him. But he had a code that he needed to adhere to. His wife and friends encouraged him to abandon it. He had to make a hard choice. The story forced him to overcome both external and internal conflicts. The struggle engaged me even if I didn't love the character. Those recurring challenges created tension and suspense. 

We like to cheer for victims and root against bullies. Will Kane is doing his job. We got to know him. We want him to succeed. Viewers want him both to stay alive and remain true to his code. We get tension when it appears that we can't have both. With each failed attempt to rally support, we see the proverbial stick bending. 

The bullies remain relatively anonymous in High Noon. They outnumber Will and want revenge. A faceless, anonymous foe scares us. 

Will Kane had to make deeply personal choices. His wife, Amy, did too. The pending gunfight violates her personal religious beliefs. Will she abandon her code or her husband? The characters' opposing goals created tension within the story.  High Noon offers will they/won't they moments. If the town came together, the small band of outlaws could quickly be dealt with. Will anyone join the sheriff? Some agree, and then melt away away as the crucial moment approaches. False starts keep us as readers/watchers uneasy. Gary Cooper becomes increasingly isolated as the train's arrival looms. As writers, we can model the filmmaker and raise the stakes. Solving one problem begets another. 

High Noon presents Will Kane with internal conflicts. Conflicts also exist between him and his wife. Kane is also challenged by his community and the desperado arriving on the train. As with the car thieves, there are four readily available sources from which to build tension and suspense. 

To further raise the stakes, writers might taunt. Voices, internal or external, can forecast failure. The voices and the action can push the protagonist to feel anger, despair, desperation, or alternatively, confidence. They can highlight conflicts. 

Word choice and sentence length help with pacing. Clipped sentences at critical times force the reader to accelerate the pace, creating momentum. But after a sprint, readers also need time to breathe. Slower pacing allows for more suspense. 

The goal is to create curiosity. Who will win?  How will these conflicts be resolved? Will Gary Cooper escape from this insoluble dilemma? 

In "Slow Ride," I tried to use these tools to create a tension-filled story of suspense. I hope readers like it. Thanks again to Michael for the opportunity to participate in the Chop Shop series. 

How do you create tension in your stories? What techniques work best for you? I hope you'll tell us. Or just leave a hint. That will make us start to guess. 

Until next time.