[Learn more about “ghosts” here: https://www.septembercfawkes.com/2021/01/giving-your-protagonist-ghost.html]

When writing a story, selecting strong symbolism, motifs, and image systems can empower any narrative and bring themes home to the audience in a more tangible, even archetypal way. Yet for many authors, symbolism can be an afterthought (if it’s even a thought at all). And some instructors in the writing community actually caution against putting it in a story intentionally. But like with most writing elements, that’s usually only dangerous if you don’t know what you are doing.

As a “young” writer, I admit I was easily impressed when authors used symbols and motifs–that they put in that degree of thought into the concrete world of their stories. But a few years into my own journey, I realized as a writer, I had to pick content for the concrete world regardless, so rather than pick something random, why not take a second and pick something meaningful? Something symbolic? Next time you go to grab something random, consider if choosing something symbolic would be more impactful instead. (But always use good judgement—anything taken too far can become annoying.)

What Symbolism Actually is

Many people associate “symbolism” with decoding, as if there is a secret message you can only get if you can interpret special icons accurately.

But mostly, at its heart, symbolism means communicating something abstract in a more concrete way.

Take the U.S. flag for example. Literally, it’s just a piece of fabric with some stars and stripes. But notice the ideas the U.S.A. is founded on are abstract: liberty and equality. How do you show respect to abstract concepts? You can’t very easily. So you have to give it concrete form. It’s not the fabric that actually matters. It’s the abstracts the flag represents.

Symbolism can also communicate multiple things at once, more quickly. For example, we could open a rodeo with a long speech about liberty and equality. Or we could just raise the American flag, which communicates that.

Boiled down, symbolism is simply another form of communication, of conveying something that isn’t a literal, present, or concrete thing. In some sense, it’s another way to show rather than tell. It takes abstract and subjective experiences of the human existence, and puts them into something more familiar and tangible, which makes it, on some level, archetypal (and easier to digest).

Symbolism is Strongest When it’s Thematic or Subtextual

So, you want to implement symbolism into your scene… . You sit down to write the scene. But how do you know what should be symbolized? And in what way?

Remember: Symbolism communicates the abstract in more concrete ways. And the most important abstract element of your story, is the theme. Becausetheme comes out of the story, it can be tricky to get on paper accurately. It’s something we have to show the audience through the story. This is exactly the sort of thing symbolism is made for.

If it’s too difficult or too early to wrap your head around your story’s theme, focus on the protagonist’s character arc. How does he change or remain the same throughout the story? What worldviews or belief systems does that embody? One of those will usually be your story’s theme–because character arc is one of the secret ingredients that make up theme.

For example, in Suzanne Collins’ Hunger Games prequel, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, Coriolanus is exposed to two belief systems, which make up the thematic argument: Does humankind thrive when they are free from authority? Or does humankind become dangerous without authority? (Collins directly takes these arguments from John Locke and Thomas Hobbes.) Coriolanus comes to believe in the latter and eventually becomes President Snow.

To make such an abstract, weighty argument more accessible, Collins chooses songbirds–which thrive when left alone–to represent Locke’s argument, and snakes–which can be dangerous and poisonous when uncontrolled–to represent Hobbes’ argument. Throughout the novel, birds and snakes are handled and observed in various scenes to drive home the powerful themes. This allows the audience to witness how the arguments play out in a more tangible way.

Consider how your character arcs and where she is in that arc in a given scene. What might you put in that represents or taps into that concretely? Choosing to symbolize the theme or character arc regularly through a story, will often be more effective than choosing a different or even random concept. Symbolism works best when it resonates through a piece, and if you are choosing to symbolize something different in every chapter, it makes it harder to discern what’s symbolic, if anything. Just be careful that whatever you choose, you don’t render it too heavy-handedly. (Anything done poorly can be annoying, so use good judgment.)

Another powerful way symbolism can be used is to convey subtext. Like theme, subtext isn’t on the page directly. It comes out of the story. So symbolism can be an effective way to communicate it more clearly to the audience. Remember, the point is to make the abstract more concrete, not more complicated. An example of this comes from The Office when the characters find a dead bird after Michael discovers his old boss, Ed Truck, died. The treatment of the bird, including its funeral, becomes subtext for Michael’s fear he’ll die alone and unremembered, like Ed Truck. Something abstract becomes clearer and more accessible through the bird.

Making the Most of Motifs

A motif is a recurring element, and often that element is a symbol. In the example of Songbirds and Snakes, birds and snakes are not only symbols, but motifs, as they reappear throughout the story, in different contexts. Again, the strongest motifs tap into theme, and often have slight variations that relate to the protagonist’s arc.

For example, in Frozen, doors are a motif. They appear regularly throughout the film, but in slightly different ways. At the beginning, Anna is constantly opening doors, which conveys she’s very open to others and to love. On the other hand, Elsa is constantly closing doors, which conveys her yearning for isolation. As the characters follow their journeys, their interactions with doors reveal their personal state.

Just as a theme should be explored through the story, so will the motif, as it shows up in different contexts. At the end, it will be used to convey the final thematic statement (i.e. Elsa says the kingdom’s doors will stay open because she’s now open to love).

Find ways to evolve the motifs, if only by changing the context. Repeating the exact same thing over and over to the audience can get annoying. We don’t simply want to see the songbirds always flying free, we also want to see what happens to them when they are caged. We don’t want to always see doors in a positive light, we also want to see how they can invite in danger.

You can learn more about motifs in my article, “Mastering Motifs for Thematic Power.”

Broadening Symbolism with Image Systems

While motifs can be used repeatedly with variations, you can also broaden the scope of your story’s symbolism through image systems. In his book Story, award-winning screenwriting teacher, Robert McKee talks about creating an image system for your narrative. Rather than selecting one specific symbol (such as birds and doors), select a category of imagery. For example, I may choose the category of water to represent repentance, and by extension, the protagonist’s relationship with that. For one scene, I may choose to show rain cleansing a gutter. In another scene, I may choose to emphasize chlorine floating in a swimming pool. In yet another, I may describe the relief that a glass of water brings to the dehydrated. And elsewhere, I may simply show an ice cube melting.

It’s worth mentioning that within our culture, water is associated with cleanliness, so I’m using an element that already has symbolism associated with it–this is sometimes referred to as “external” or “universal” symbolism. Alternatively, I could pick something with no associations, and use the text to create the symbolism–this is sometimes referred to as “internal” or “personal” symbolism.

For example, instead of choosing water, I may choose jewelry. What does that have to do with repentance? The same thing a thimble has to with a kiss in Peter Pan–the text creates the association. Or perhaps I want to choose something that the audience can infer a little more easily with a nudge, but something not quite so obvious as water, like perhaps plants–a seed sprouting, a rose blooming, a tree healing, which relate to new beginnings and growing into something different.

In the end, symbolism is about making the abstract more concrete, and it is stronger when used in relation to theme or subtext. Motifs empower symbolism by creating resonance through repetition and variation. And image systems broaden your ability to select meaningful symbols.

I read *a lot* of scenes that happen around food ‍ As much as I love food, I think a lot of times the writer doesn’t think about what to use as a backdrop to dialogue, and so just picks eating. And eating. And eating. I’m not opposed to meals, but make sure to change it up

… unless of course the story is ABOUT food.

Many of us are familiar with the “Show, don’t Tell” writing rule, but few of us realize how vital it is to writing our stories’ themes. In fact, one of the most common problems that come up with theme, happens because the writer tells the theme more than shows it. So, when you learn how to show your theme, you are well on your way to writing a stronger one–which means writing a stronger story. Let’s briefly review the “Show, don’t Tell” writing rule and go over why telling theme alone is rarely effective. Then we’ll follow up with why and how to show your theme.

The Meaning of “Show, don’t Tell”

The “Show, don’t Tell” rule usually relates to the actual prose of a story. In short, it means to dramatize what is happening in a scene, in a way that allows the reader to experience the story, instead of just reading as a spectator. This is often done by imagery (aka, appealing to the senses). When a writer simply labels and explains what happens (tells the story), it’s almost always less effective.

For example, read this telling sentence:

Emily was tired.

It simply labels Emily’s state. And we don’t really understand what kind of tired she is. Is she physically tired from running a marathon? Is she tired in the sense she needs sleep? Or is she tired because she’s bored? We don’t know. It’s vague and general.

But when we show that Emily is tired, it becomes more concrete and specific.

For example, read this showing passage:

Yawning, Emily dragged her backpack on the way to her bedroom. Her eyes drooped shut with each step. She fell into her bed, and her shoes blackened the covers. She rubbed her eyes–mascara gritted against her skin–then flung her arm over her face to block out the light.

Now the audience has a specific image and experience of Emily being tired. Now they feel more tired, like Emily.

And that’s more impactful.

Of course, telling isn’t always bad, and there is a time and place for it. 

To learn more about the “Show, don’t Tell” rule, including when to break it, check out “Breaking Writing Rules Write: ‘Show, don’t Tell.’”

But showing extends beyond the prose itself, and sometimes when we extend it beyond that, it can make the definitions a little more blurry. 

Luckily, when we apply it to theme, it need not get too blurry.

Telling Your Story’s Theme

The theme is an argument about how we should be living our lives, and just like with prose, the theme is most effective when you show it more than tell it. Yet, perhaps the most common problem with theme happens when the writer tries to consciously superimpose one by putting in monologues, sermons, or long passages that teach preach how we should be living our lives and what the meaning of the story is.

When a writer tells their theme more than shows it, it’s exactly the sort of behavior that leads professionals to share the erroneous idea that you can’t write with a theme in mind. You can. But just like with any writing element, if you don’t know what you are doing, you’re more likely to handle it poorly. In this case, it shows up as what people call “preachiness.”

Preachiness happens because the writer is telling the theme way more than showing it.

Or worse, they are only telling it and never showing it.

Or worse, they are telling a theme that actually doesn’t coincide with what the story showed.

Almost always, a story’s theme is determined by these elements … 

The Critical Pieces:

1. Your protagonist’s dominating qualities, worldview, and/or lifestyle
2. Your protagonist’s arc
3. The antagonistic force
4. How the conflict between the antagonist and protagonist is resolved.

The Supporting Pieces:

1. The Influence Character
2. The supporting cast
3. Secondary plotlines (conflicts)

(For more of an explanation on these and how they work, check out “How Theme is Your Story’s Shadow.”)

This means that if you try to pick a theme and overlay it on a story, it will ring false. It will sound fake. And it will sound like a lecture. Because the critical and supporting pieces don't prove that theme true, you’ll likely succumb to simply putting in sermons and preachy passages. 

On some level, it feels like a lie. 

Because it’s not what the story shows.

The theme comes out of the story, you don’t slap it on top at the end. You can’t put makeup on a pig and tell the audience it’s a human. They can see through the makeup. And it’s annoying if you go on long trying to convince them it’s something it’s not.

(As a side note, another way preachiness can slip in is if the author doesn’t fairly consider or represent the opposing argument (the anti-theme). If a theme is an argument about life, then it needs to have someone or something arguing against it, and if you want a strong theme, that argument needs to appear fair and convincing.)

In truth, we’ve probably all encountered stories where the theme was told more than shown. I’ve seen it show up in stories where the writer tried to shoehorn a theme about “strong women” with dialogue or a monologue, when the character arc, plot, and antagonist actually had little to do with gender roles. I’ve seen it show up in passages about how humankind is bad because we are destroying the planet, in an arc, plot, and antagonist that had little to nothing to do with the environment. It usually comes off as very on-the-nose.

Why?

Because it doesn’t come naturally out of the story itself, the author can only shoehorn it with a lecture or the like.

If you want to write about how women can be strong, you need to write a story that demonstrates that. You need to pick a character, arc, opposing forces, and secondary plots that explore gender roles and prove it to be true at the end. And to do it effectively, you need to show a convincing counterargument, (even if you don’t personally agree with the counterargument).

If you don’t start there, it will always feel to the audience like makeup on a pig (even if they can’t pinpoint exactly what’s wrong), no matter how beautiful the makeup is. If you can change the “theme” by deleting a few passages or monologues from your story, it probably isn’t the true theme.

In order to change and manipulate theme, you need to do it by changing and manipulating the critical and supporting pieces.

Showing Your Story’s Theme

Instead of listening to someone tell us what we should or should not be doing (which often naturally leads the human mind to search for exceptions or even inspires rebellious spirits), it’s more resonating and effective to facilitate an experience that helps the audience draw their own conclusions of the truth(theme) you are arguing.

We do this by making sure the critical pieces and supporting pieces of the theme explore the theme’s topic and then prove the argument true. We show the theme through the story.

We don’t want to start the story sounding like a stuffy know-it-all, i.e. “Well of course women can be strong! Duh! What kind of terrible person would think otherwise?!”

In order to prove an argument true, it needs to be tested. We can’t just say it’s true. Again, we need to show it.

How might we do this?

For the topic of strong women or gender roles (which I feel like I see get shoehorned more than others in modern films), Mulan is a great example. (The animated version. I haven’t seen the live-action one.)

There is no long sermon or lecture about how women can be just as significant in society as men. Or about how both masculine and feminine roles are important in a culture. There is no lecture, because we need no lecture.

We start out with a girl who struggles to live up to her gender role, and then runs away to pretend to be a man in an army. This is already, naturally, a story about gender. But as she faces opposition, the idea of a strong woman comes into question. Can a woman actually make it as a male soldier? It looks like the men are doing better than her (counterargument). Through the middle, the story fairly explores each side of the argument (and some arguments in between). The relationships she has with the men around her (Influence Character(s)) explore the theme topic of gender roles as well.

In the end, the film proves the argument true by showing how a woman saves all of China by defeating the antagonist. It also simultaneously proves true that both masculine and feminine gender roles are important, by having the male soldiers dress up as women (after Mulan has spent most of the film doing the reverse) to get into the palace.

Neither the Emporer, Shang, Mulan, nor Mushu needed to give a big monologue about how these things are true and correct–they didn’t need to because the story “proved” (i.e. “showed”) it was true, and because the audience experienced it vicariously, they feel that it is true.

Any powerful theme is shown more than told.

In Les Miserables? We are ultimately shown that mercy can do more to change hearts than justice. It’s shown through Jean Valjean’s qualities and worldview and his character arc. It’s shown through Javert’s loyalty to justice. It’s shown in the relationships and secondary plotlines and supporting cast. It’s shown when Javert takes his own life because–due to his loyalty to justice–he cannot live with having been shown mercy by his adversary. The story doesn’t just tell us mercy is more powerful than justice. It shows us.

One more example (because they say three proves the point). The Hunger Games argues that sacrificing yourself to benefit others (which is what Katniss–despite temptations–ultimately does on multiple occasions) is better than sacrificing others for personal gain (which is what the Capitol, Games themselves, and President Snow do on multiple occasions). Is this ever said point-blank? Not obviously enough to easily pick out. Instead, it’s again shown through the protagonist, antagonist, climax, relationships, supporting characters, and secondary plots.

Showing is stronger than telling. Especially when it concerns theme.

And just like the rule in relation to prose, this doesn’t mean it's never okay to tell your theme. There is a time and place for everything. 

Just make sure that if you do, you are showing it much more than telling it.

Otherwise you may inspire eye rolls more than a change of heart.

[Learn more: https://www.septembercfawkes.com/2021/01/scene-vs-summary-when-to-use-which.html]

Scene vs. Summary & When to Use Which

new mood: sitting in the back of the lecture, writing smut