No Unearned Lightbulb Moments (Bite Sized Method)

I spent a large chunk of time re-writing the synopsis for my novel yesterday and had a lightbulb moment about structure.

If your plot changes direction a lightbulb moment, you’ve done something wrong.

Let me refine that.

If your plot changes direction on an unearned lightbulb moment, you’ve done something wrong.

Obviously if that moment of revelation is well set up, there are exceptions to the rule. i.e. The Truman Show—Truman has a lightbulb moment when he realizes he’s living in a film set.

But in this case, while Truman’s moment is undoubtedly one of revelation, this plot’s use of dramatic irony means he’s not the one delivering this plot point to the audience. We are all in on the trick well before Truman finds out. The lightbulb moment is for him, not for the audience.

The type of lightbulb moment I’m describing is one that’s attached to no direct cause and effect. Your story needs a turning point, and that turning point comes in the form of an idea or realisation.

The thought just “pops” into the character’s head — almost as if some unseen person placed it there….ha hem—and the story shifts in a new direction as a result.

Yes, this probably sounds like very obvious stuff, but when you’re deep in the weeds of a complex plot you’d be surprised how instances of this type of thing can slip in. It was only during the artificial process of summarising for a synopsis that I was able to fish a few of these instances out in my own work.

Here I uncovered certain dots that were joined from A to B by “ideas” rather than “events.” This can seem like a passable choice while you’re writing, but when you commit it to the sterile ink of a synopsis, it stands out as a cheap trick. You didn’t earn it.

In the case of my novel, I use an embedded narrator who makes occasional observations of the main plot that is unfolding. While this “observing eye” device is technically interacting with the plot at all times, in certain places my writing had not “earned,” the revelations this observer was coming up with. Rather than leaning on the momentum of events to uncover the hidden truth in a manner that was self evident and felt inevitable, my version read more like an annoying BA student engaging in a “close reading” of the text and finding things in it that you’d only pick out if you’re seeking academic credits.

The revelations felt like they were drawing from a body of knowledge that didn’t belong in this story. Each of these lightbulb moments feeling artificial, like I’d introduced some foreign body into an organic network.

Does that make sense?

These lightbulb moments are a tempting trick to use—I think most often when you’re proud of a “clever” detail you’ve included—but you’re insecure about whether your readers will pick it up.

It’s a “Mum did you see that?” moment.

But the reality is, if you’ve truly earned the revelation there will be no need to point it out. It will all be there in the momentum of the story. If it can’t stand without the character making note of it, then it probably doesn’t belong in your story.

This is a another version of show don’t tell I suppose.

But the distinction is subtle.