All stories are arguments.
I know what you’re thinking. That’s a bold claim, and what’s a fiction writer doing talking about argumentation anyway? Well, I’ll have you know I taught it at the university level, thank you very much, but that’s beside the point (actually, no, it isn’t; it speaks to ethos, which is a fancy word I’ll get to momentarily). If you disagree stories are arguments, that’s okay. How about we let that particular statement stand for the time being? If nothing else, we can use argumentation as a framework to look at storytelling through a new lens.
Aristotle, the great Greek philosopher (maybe you’ve heard of him), conceived of the rhetorical appeals (ugh, I know, booooooooring, but stick with me as I crash you through a rhetoric lesson). Those appeals are logos, ethos, and pathos. Aristotle envisioned three different modes any speaker or writer uses to appeal to an audience. He also conceived of a fourth, kairos, or the moment in which the speech or writing takes place, which can affect the speaker or writer as well as the audience. We also often refer to this concept as context, and especially in writing, we consider the context in which the writer is or was writing as well as the context in which the audience receives that writing, which can sometimes be extremely different. Aristotle also considered logos, ethos, and pathos as wisdom, virtue, and goodwill, respectively.
Got all that? Good. Now how does it apply to storytelling?
What is your story?
No, that’s what I’m asking you.
Rather, when thinking about your story at a high level, ask the obvious question: what is this story fundamentally? What is its logic? What are its parts? How does the story work? Does each development point follow the previous and lead to the next? Does it make logical sense?
The point here is to have a simple, concise understanding of the logical ideas your story contains as well as ensuring your story expresses those ideas in a way that is simple and concise.
Anyone who’s ever tried to write anything knows this is perhaps the greatest challenge of writing. Since writing is thinking and the writing process is one of learning and reflection, it can be difficult to understand the story you’re telling even after telling it.
In very simple terms, this is the logic of your ideas. Stories can crumble for many reasons, but chief among them is whether they make sense. Is your audience able to follow the logical patterns of your ideas? Are you? Where are the gaps or holes? How can you close them up? Sometimes you may find identifying gaps or holes requires reconstruction of core ideas, and that’s okay. In the writing process, have you learned something new about your own story? Great! Revise and rewrite. Fix your story’s vulnerabilities, because nothing turns audiences away faster than logic that doesn’t compute.
Logic is the first element in generating trust between you and your audience, and trust is absolutely vital. In other words…
Why should I believe you?
In literature, audiences have to wilfully suspend their disbelief, and audience belief is about trust. In rhetoric, we often talk about this concept in terms of reliability, credibility, or authority, but in storytelling, how can your audience trust that the story you’re telling is going somewhere and they should stick with you? I’m going to get to why audiences should stick with a story, but this is about why audiences should stick with you.
In rhetoric, the primary way we teach trust is through research and source citation. We teach students to evaluate the credibility of information sources because, when citing information sources to make an argument, their reputation becomes the trust you establish with your audience. On this point, however, a storyteller establishes trust with their audience in a similar way: by demonstrating they’ve done their research. Every science fiction writer knows the story they’re telling rests on a foundation of science, and to whatever extent the writer chooses to incorporate science in their fiction, it better be sound and accurate. Andy Weir knew this, so as he wrote The Martian, he consulted with actual NASA scientists, and look at him now!
Trust isn’t exclusively about world building, but too many writers—especially literary realist writers—make the mistake of neglecting world building. It doesn’t matter if a story’s setting is the contemporary world we live in, everyone’s experience of the world differs, so even those stories have to consider world building. In any case, if someone picks up your story 20 or 50 or 100 years after you wrote it and you neglected to build the world the story takes place in, how will those readers get those elements?
Ethos is often a topic of discussion in literature these days, especially with regard to issues of appropriation and author identity. These are serious matters with regard to equity and equality, but they also bear out on author credibility. You’ve likely heard the idiom that writers should write what they know, and if a writer writes about an identity they aren’t a member of or don’t know, that’s a fundamental violation, isn’t it? While there are absolutely reasonable hard stops for certain writers and certain stories, I don’t think writers should be limited to writing only about their intimately lived experiences. Instead, writers should know what they write, which returns us to the importance of research.
Research: It’s not just for sci-fi writers.
As a writer, it’s important to anticipate your audience asking why they should trust you as a reliable, credible authority on the story you’re telling, because skepticism and doubt are natural, especially when ideas conflict with an audience’s preconceived notions. If an audience experiences that conflict and doesn’t trust you, you will lose them.
Of course, none of this matters if the audience doesn’t care…
Why should I care?
I walk away from stories for this reason more than any other. I just don’t care. As I get older, I find my patience with other storytellers grows shorter, and if it seems to me a writer is taking my interest for granted or neglecting to cultivate it, I move on. There are too many good stories out there for me to spend my time on the ones that don’t move me. I encourage you to seek out that which moves you as a reader, and if what you’re reading isn’t moving you, it’s okay to move yourself on.
Storytelling excels at appealing to emotions, and when stories capture audiences’ interest and move them emotionally, that’s when the magic happens. The story becomes something they’ll take with them, think about, and grow from. That’s when the story matters.
As a writer, how do you address the question of why readers should care? If getting the reader to trust your story is going somewhere is important to Aristotle’s ethos, demonstrating or executing that progression is Aristotle’s pathos. Both character and plot are important here. Reveal your characters to be complex and authentic (but don’t go overboard with irrelevant detail; nobody cares if your character wet the bed until they were a tween, unless that is relevant to the story you’re telling). Ensure characters are making decisions and wrestling with the consequences of those decisions. Build depth into the world and the external factors that affect characters. Ensure these elements are continually evolving. Importantly, ensure the story’s stakes are clear. What happens if a character makes a bad decision? What happens if a particular challenge is too much to contend with and a character fails? What if they succeed? Remember this is about awareness. When the reader understands stakes, it builds tension around the conflict. Not every decision has to be the wrong one. Not everything has to go bad. Audiences just need to understand what the worst is and that it can happen. And maybe sometimes it does.
One of my teachers once told me the most important rule in writing is to not be boring. That’s the bottom line. Generate interest in dimensions. Deepen characters. Twist plots. Build worlds. Do it with an interesting form. Wield language like a wand. Don’t just create. Don’t merely convey information. Play. What do you find interesting? Pull on those threads and leave them on the page for a reader to find and tie into knots.
What should I do?
Let’s return to the idea that stories are arguments. If you make an argument, you ultimately want to compel your audience to take action. Isn’t storytelling the same thing? When you tell a story, aren’t you trying to compel your audience to consider an idea(s) or feel a certain way? Aren’t you trying to create an experience that leaves a lasting impression the audience takes with them? Haven’t you experienced someone or even yourself reaching to stories to make sense of living in this world?
I recall a recent conversation I had with my dad. I was struggling with something, and in his effort to reach me, he referenced a movie that holds meaning for him. It’s a movie about perseverance, dedication, discipline, hope, and faith in oneself. It’s a fictional story, but it conveys truth, and in that moment, my dad used a story to communicate a message of inspiration, and you know what? It helped. It made a difference in both of our lives.
That’s the magic of storytelling! Stories serve as anchors for values we hold dear, and they open our eyes to new perspectives. They help us learn more about ourselves, the cosmos, and everything in between. They help us communicate and connect with each other. They help us find our way when we’re lost.
When a story moves you, you already know what to do: share it. You share it because it helped you in some way, and you want it to help others you care about.
All stories are arguments. They ask you to follow the logic of their narrative, and they require your trust and belief. Moreover, they seek to move you emotionally, whether it’s to evoke thrills or tears, and at the end of it all, they hope you will take them with you to a friendly gathering where you relay the joy and inspiration they provided to you, or that you’ll take them into the dark, isolating night where you reflect on life’s most difficult challenges and seek to make sense of it all.
Stories are arguments. Stories communicate and form bonds. Stories move us, and stories change the world, because stories change us.