The Moral Premise – Part 1

In his groundbreaking work, The Moral Premise: Harnessing Virtue and Vice for Box Office Success, Dr Stan Williams makes a bold claim that we storytellers would do well to heed.

The claim is this: that EVERY commercially successful story (be it a movie or novel) has at its heart a true and consistent Moral Premise.

Without this crucial element, Williams argues, your story is destined to fail.

Dunno about you, but this tickles my curiosity. I don’t want my story to fail. We pour so much time and energy into our books. We want them to do well.

Furthermore, Williams says, knowing the Moral Premise of your story will give you focus and energy as you write, and significantly decrease the amount of time you need to spend rewriting.   

Let’s take a poll. Hands up who dreams of being told you have to scratch 60% of your work and start again, because you really only “found” the heart of the story in the last third of your book? Not me. The thought makes me shudder. You got a theory that helps me avoid massive, soul-destroying rewrites? I’m sold.

With all this in mind, I’ve recently begun to read through The Moral Premise. My novel is in need of structural help. I couldn’t go past the bold claims made by Dr Williams’ book. So far, I’ve found myself nodding and taking notes at ferocious speed.

So… what IS the “Moral Premise”?

Most of us would be familiar with the concept of a “theme” – the underlying truth of our story. The thing that sums up what our story is REALLY about.

But according to Williams, the theme is only half of a true Moral Premise. A theme such as “Love conquers all” tells us where our characters will end up (love will conquer), but not where they’ve come from or what obstacles they’ve had to overcome to get there. As such, a traditional understanding of theme fails to describe the CONFLICT of the story.

And what is a story without conflict?

Williams structures his Moral Premise this way:

(Vice) leads to (defeat), but

(Virtue) leads to (success).

Let’s look at an example together. To make things easy, I’ll choose a movie most of us have probably seen – Finding Nemo. In this animated film, Marlin is a clownfish living in the Great Barrier Reef. When tragedy leaves him a widower, with only one remaining son – Nemo – his protective instincts kick into overdrive. He’d do anything to keep Nemo from harm, but in the process he’s smothering his son. Then Nemo is taken by divers, and Marlin has to navigate an entire ocean to find his son and bring him home.

Throughout the movie, the quest to find Nemo is the external story, but the “real” story is about Marlin overcoming his fears for his son. This is seen clearly at the climax, when Nemo and Marlin are finally reunited against all odds. Within moments, however, a school of nearby fish are caught in a net, and Nemo insists he knows how to save them. Marlin has to face his worst fear – the possibility of losing his son yet again – and choose to release Nemo to swim back into danger.

The Moral Premise of the story could be expressed like this:

Overprotective anxiety leads to losing those we love, but

Releasing those we love leads to finding them again.

Do you think, just maybe, some parents might be able to identify with this?

In this way, a simple cartoon about fish transcends its genre with a universal message. And in the process – no coincidences here – becomes a runaway blockbuster success.

Unity of Purpose

Once you understand the Moral Premise of your story, you can write with “unity of purpose”. In other words, the book should clearly be about ONE thing. Note how even the title of Finding Nemo serves to reinforce its Moral Premise.

Here’s where things get really interesting for me. Williams argues that every main character, not just the protagonist, should struggle with the same Moral Premise in different ways – even, if need be, from opposing ends of the scale. Contrast Marlin’s obsessive anxiety with the character of Dory – a fish so laid-back she can’t remember anything for more than five seconds.

Not only that, but every scene should serve to reinforce the Moral Premise. Page by page, each scene gives psychological “evidence” that points toward the author’s final verdict, proving the Moral Premise to be true. Failure to CONSISTENTLY apply the Moral Premise across all characters and scenes, Williams contends, is a set-up for commercial failure as well. And he has the research to prove it.

The Moment of Grace

Williams describes this point – halfway through the story – as the fulcrum on which the tale turns. Before this midpoint, the protagonist lives out the negative side of the Moral Premise. At the Moment of Grace, the Moral Premise is made very clear, and perhaps for the first time, we see what the movie is “really” about. The character is given a choice to continue on the path they’ve begun – the path of vice, leading to defeat – or to begin pursuing virtue.

Unless you’re writing a tragedy, the protagonist should choose the latter path. This doesn’t mean things are all smooth sailing from then on. Oh, no. The obstacles continue to mount, leading to the climax, but ultimately (if the character has learned his/ her lesson) the final pay-off is success.

In Finding Nemo, the Moment of Grace is when Marlin and Dory are swallowed by a whale. Marlin hangs on desperately to avoid being washed deeper into the whale’s stomach. Meanwhile, Dory is “communicating” with their host, and informs Marlin of the whale’s message – “You just have to let go!” This, of course, confounds Marlin.

“How do you know something bad’s not going to happen?” he shouts at Dory.

Her breezy and honest answer? “I don’t!”

Marlin finally lets go, and the whale shoots the two out of his blowhole and into the air. The whale has transported them safely into Sydney Harbour. Marlin’s moment of literally “letting go” is a metaphor for the deeper meaning of the story – the moment he realizes his need to let go of his fears for his son.

What’s next?

Well, that’s where I’m up to so far in the book. I’ve finished Part I. In Part II, Dr Williams promises to explain step-by-step how to apply the Moral Premise to our own story structure. That’s what I plan to unpack here at the Alley in my next blog post. Stay tuned! And meanwhile, why not pick up your own copy from Amazon? Find it here.

Are you familiar with the Moral Premise? Who’s read the book? Let’s make this hands-on – it’s always the best way to learn. I’d like us to have a go at developing a Moral Premise together for a book most of us will have read – Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers. Have at it! I don’t have a “right” answer, so don’t be afraid to weigh in with your ideas! I’m with you – learning as I go. J

Karen Schravemade lives in Australia. When she's not chasing after two small boys or gazing at her brand-new baby girl, she spends her spare minutes daydreaming about the intricate lives of characters who don't actually exist. Find her on her website, on Twitter or getting creative over at her mummy blog.

Tangled: The Boxed-In Effect

Earlier this year, our very own Pepper dissected the plot of the movie Tangled. If you missed it, you can rewind here.

I just now got around to watching the movie last weekend. I know, I know, I'm way behind the times. But wow, what a movie! I can see why Pepper was inspired to post about it, because it inspired a post from me too.

As I watched this movie, one particular theme shouted at me from the screen--the concept of being boxed in. This theme came out in three primary ways.

The Initial Condition of Rapunzel

The whole premise of the movie is that Rapunzel is a lost princess who was stolen from the castle as a baby. She's being raised by the woman who stole her and she now lives in a tall tower, which she's ordered to never leave. Her life revolves around being boxed in--both physically and emotionally.

Relationships and the Can't-Trust-Anyone Dilemma

As the plot unfolds, she and handsome thief Flynn Rider join forces. But they face opposition from not only one direction, but ALL directions:

Rapunzel's "mother". Flynn's old cronies whom he cheated and who now have it out for him. The king's men who are chasing Flynn for his thievery. The crazy horse who later becomes an ally.

The viewer has all these opponents scrolling through the back of their minds as they watch. At any given moment, we wonder when one of these adversaries will make things interesting.

Flynn and Rapunzel truly are on their own. No one can be trusted. They're boxed in relationally.

Physical Danger--A Literal Representation of Their Internal Struggle

The boxed-in concept is well established in the viewer's mind. So to hone it even further, the writers of the movie provide physical action that represents the internal struggles of our beloved characters.

Flynn running from a crazed horse and getting stuck in Rapunzel's tower. Rapunzel and Flynn being trapped in a cave as it fills with water. Flynn escaping prison with the king's horses trapping him from both sides. These are just a few of the many examples of being boxed-in physically.

Bravo to the writers of Tangled for creating this boxed-in effect throughout the movie...on all levels. I was swept away in it and when the movie ended, I wondered how it could be done so fast.

So what does this mean for our novels?

The power of theme can't be underestimated. Think about the internal struggle your main characters face. Then build conflict and challenges that grow organically from it. Provide physical representations of the internal struggle, and you'll have a breathtaking combo.

How much does the theme of a book or movie stay with you afterwards? Can you think of other examples that use this type of effect?

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Sarah Forgrave is a stay-at-home writer-mom who feels blessed to pursue her calling and passion. She writes contemporary romance for the inspirational market and is a regular contributor to the webzine Ungrind.

To learn more about Sarah, visit her personal blog at:
http://www.sarahforgrave.com/blog

A Vein of Hope

From the time we are little girls, twirling in our princess dresses, hope fills us that someday we will meet Prince Charming.
And it continues into the tumultuous teen years when our hearts seem too big for our bodies, and we crush on that ONE guy whose every look in our direction, every brush of the arm in a crowded high school hallway, every word spoken (even if it is “excuse me, I need to get to my locker”) sends us into a dreamy state of wonder. What did he mean by that? It must have meant something to make my insides flutter so. Surely he felt the same, right?

And we hope. 

We feel deep things, sitting for hours at a journal, or filling the back of notebooks with poetry that opens doorways into a bleeding heart—a young, ripening heart that clings to the hope of finding the love we read in English class, between Romeo and Juliet, Heathcliff and Catherine, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy.
When I think back on my sweet innocence of falling madly in love with THAT guy in high school...the one who probably didn't think of me unless I tripped up on my untied Keds right in front of his cool self...I see one huge constant of that era:

A vein of hope.

It may have been delusional on my end, but it kept the dream alive and helped me put up with all the junk of life.
If ever a book was written to elaborate this vein with a deeper God-driven intensity, to thrust it into the hearts of women, not just girls, it is my favorite historical romance, Thorn In My Heart by Liz Curtis Higgs, the first in her Lowlands of Scotland series.

I read it as a married woman, past all the stuff of love-sickness (I got my man :) ), but my soul was so rattled by the familiar hope of a woman in love in the story, it resonated to my very core.
Set in 18th century Scotland, Higgs creatively weaves the Rachel, Jacob, and Leah story through the lives of her characters, Rose, Jamie, and Leana. Rose is vibrant, beautiful, and young, catching the eye and heart of Jamie. Leana is plain, sensible, calm, but with a beautiful heart, a God-fearing spirit. Through Leana, the vein of hope is established, urging the reader to ache for her, and hope alongside her as she yearns for Jamie's affection and courtship, and then love, once a proxy marriage set up by her scheming father, binds her to him for at least 7 months to produce a baby or end in divorce, and then Jamie can marry her sister Rose, who he is in love with.
It is just after this proxy marriage that I would love to illustrate to you this theme of hope, even though it is ever present throughout the story.

From the very beginning, Leana doesn't stop clinging to hope, even with Jamie's harsh words and constant rebuke from the first moments of their honeymoon:

"My heart is spoken for. You may have the rest of me for seven days, but no longer."

How heart wrenching to know that the man you've married doesn't love you back, and is only fulfilling his duty on the honeymoon because of your father's request? The only practical hope Leana has is for an heir to be produced to lock their marriage in permanency, and according to Jamie, only in the short 7 day honeymoon.

We see Leana's heart's intentions when Jamie asks,

"What's all that rubbage?" 

as she brings a basket filled with 

herbs, her favorite scented soap, her best gown, and one good dress 

on their honeymoon, and Leana responds,

"Hope," she said simply, settling into her seat as he shook the reigns and their journey began. "'Tis a basket full of hope."

And from that first day of their honeymoon, the vein of hope woven through Leana's character tugs at the reader's heart, pulsating in and out of reach, as we catch glimpses of Jamie's teetering thoughts.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Jamie contributes to the vein of hope in the eye of the reader, as well as in Leana's presence, thus growing it to a substantial hook for the reader to cling to for the rest of the book.

In Jamie's POV:  

She was not a beauty. Her face was too long, her eyebrows thickly drawn...But in the dark of the night, when she'd smoothed her hands across his chest and whispered his name, all those unappealing details had flown out of his head. Leana. He'd spoken her name once, not meaning to. She'd wept without making a sound even as he cursed himself for being careless, for giving her false hope. Heaven knew she'd brought enough of that in her cone-lined basket.

Ah, but was it false hope to Leana? She had a mighty God and a pure heart, and the hope becomes more and more real during their honeymoon week:

Without hesitating, Jamie slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him to keep her from falling onto the muddy street. He held her only for a moment until she righted herself but long enough to flood his mind with vivid images. His resolution to make her bridal week a miserable one was crumbling like Neda's shortbread.

And beyond the honeymoon we catch glimpses of Jamie's inner turmoil when Rose mentions,  

"But you've looked at her." 

More than you know. More than I should. 

He kept his voice even. "No more than necessary, for politeness' sake. She is my wife, if only by law--"

There are moments of Jamie tripping up on the bounds of marriage in flirtatious bouts with Rose, even calling out her name in his marriage bed with Leana, but through the devastation this brings not only to the character, but the invested reader as well, Leana is steadfast in her grip on hope as she remains firmly rooted in God's love.

And isn't that the stuff of life, the thing you wish you knew as a teenager, striving at hopeful hints of love--that beyond all else, God is there for you, and in Him, your hope will be fulfilled someday, even if it doesn't look like what you expect it too? In her darkest moments, Leana turns to God:

Curled up in her bed, in a lonely corner of the house that creaked in the stiff breeze and groaned from the cold, Leana warmed herself with her prayers. "Almighty God, do you see me? Do you see my emptiness?" The wind moaned but did not speak. "Fill me with his child, Lord." She whispered into the dimly lit closet that was her refuge, her eye on the window that looked toward the heavens. "Let a son be growing beneath my heart. Maybe then Jamie will love me."

I don't want to spoil the ending to this amazing book by Higgs, it is just too good. ;) But as I think back on the romance of the book, why it intrigued me so, what it taught me about writing a successful and long-lasting story in the eye of the reader, I find that my heart was hooked along the long, swelling vein of hope internalized in the characters and eventually blooming into their journey.