The Keystone of a Good Scene
I love playing with emotion.
From big, wide, sweeping emotions that encompass the theme of an entire novel, down to microscopic emotions within a single scene - they are the key to good storytelling.
Today, we’re going to move our focus to the smaller end of the spectrum.
I’d like to examine how to use a single emotion as a keystone to a good scene. To look at how zeroing in on one focused emotion can lock something important in place, allowing the story to tumble out exactly the way it’s supposed to for maximum impact, momentum, and resonance.
The scene I’ll be looking at is in one of my favorite author’s most recent books: Malibu Rising by Taylor Jenkins Reid.
Warning, there are minor spoilers ahead, but in my opinion, they certainly do not spoil the story as a whole (and it is still definitely worth the read).
This scene falls about 40% of the way into the book. It’s a flashback dinner scene (the book takes place on two different timelines), when the protagonist, Nina, was young and still living at home with her mother, two brothers, and younger sister.
Interestingly, the emotional keystone of this scene comes from her younger sister, Kit. First, I’ll have you read the scene, and then I’ll point out several important and successful techniques it employs.
The next week, June burned dinner.
There was smoke in the house, a flame in the oven, the smell of burnt cheese settling into the tablecloth and their clothes.
“Mom!” Nina yelled, running through the house as soon as she noticed the smoke. June sprang to attention as her children invaded the kitchen.
“Sorry! Sorry!” She said, pulling her head off the table, where she’d fallen asleep. Her movements were stiff, her processing slow.
Kit clocked the bottle of Smirnoff on the counter. She wasn’t sure if it was the same bottle that had been almost full yesterday, but now there was barely any left.
Nina ran to the oven, put on a glove, and pulled the casserole dish out. Jay ran in and got up on the counter, immediately disabling the smoke detector. Hud opened all the windows.
The macaroni and cheese was nearly black on the bottom, scorched on the sides and top. You had to cut it open with a knife to find the familiar pale orange it was supposed to be. June served it anyway.
“All right, kids, eat up. It’s not so bad.”
Nina, Jay, and Hud all sat down as they were told, prepared to act as if everything was fine. They passed around plates, put their napkins on their laps, as if it were any other meal.
Kit stood, incredulous.
“Do you want milk with dinner, Kit?” Nina said, getting up to serve her younger sister.
“Are you kidding me?” Kit said.
Nina looked at her.
“I’m not eating this,” Kit said.
“It’s fine, Kit, really,” Hud said. Kit looked at Hud and watched his face tense, his eyes focus in on her. He was trying to tell her to drop it. But Kit just couldn’t do it.
“If she doesn’t want to eat it, she doesn’t have to eat it,” Jay said.
“I’ll go make us all something else,” Nina said.
“No, Nina, this is fine. Katherine Elizabeth, sit down and eat your food,” June said.
Kit looked at her mother, searched her for some embarrassment or confusion. But June’s face showed nothing out of the ordinary.
Kit finally snapped. “We’re not going to pretend you didn’t just burn dinner like we pretend you’re not a drunk!”
The whole house went quiet. Jay’s jaw dropped. Hud’s eyes went wide in shock. Nina looked down at her hands in her lap. June stared at Kit as if Kit had just slapped her across the face.
“Kit, go to your room,” June said, tears forming in her eyes.
Kit stood there, silent and unmoving. She was awash in a tumbling cycle of guilt and indignation, indignation and guilt. Was she terribly wrong or had she been exactly right? She couldn’t tell.
“C’mon, Kit,” Nina said, getting up and putting her napkin on the table. Nina grabbed her hand gently and led her away. “It’s OK,” Nina whispered to her as they walked.
Kit was quiet, trying to figure out if she regretted what she’d said. After all, regret would imply she felt like she’d made a choice. And she hadn’t. She felt she’d had no other option but to say out loud what was hurting so much within her.
This scene is rife with emotion. How? It’s only a little more than 500 words, and it features 5 different characters. And yet, we get their emotions.
It all starts with Kit and her keystone emotion: incredulous.
“Kit stood, incredulous.”
The first half of the scene builds up to this point. It is laying the foundation, building the world, introducing us to the characters and what they are doing. They’re simply taking actions. Putting out a fire, opening the windows to let out smoke, preparing the burnt dinner.
And then, we’re smacked with an emotion. Kit is the youngest, and she is incredulous.
This emotion breaks something inside her (which circles back in the last line featured here). It causes her to spill out, bringing the rest of her family inside her feelings. It’s a back and forth, give and take.
Even more, it unravels something within not only Kit, but every other character in the scene.
Suddenly, we get a glimpse into them. We understand that they have feelings of love for their mother, of confusion at the best way to handle things, of fragility, vulnerability, trust, and more. Each of the character’s reactions to Kit’s incredulity (and her acting on it) reveals something about who they are.
But most importantly, Kit’s keystone emotion unravels something about who she is. It causes her to reflect on her thoughts, feelings, and actions. Did she do the right thing? How should she feel? How does she feel?
(Remember, good writing causes the reader and the characters alike to reflect on themselves - their thoughts, emotions, and beliefs about the world.)
Emotions are not singular. It’s impossible to feel just one. And the more you explore the rainbow of emotions each of your character feels in any given moment, the deeper your writing will go.
And the good news is it can take just one single emotion to get the ball rolling.
If you’re doing this in your own novel, I encourage you to start with a scene and ask yourself who the protagonist of that given scene is (like with this example, it might not be the protagonist of the overall story).
What are they feeling? How do they react to the events in the first few paragraphs/first half of the scene? How does that reaction/emotion lock something into place, tumbling out a whole host of emotions from that character, as well as the others featured in the scene?
How does it give the reader a deeper glimpse into who they are?
I have found this to be an incredibly useful exercise to help me understand my characters and my stories more deeply. And it all begins with just one simple emotion.
The fastest way to write a strong story is with an effective outline that plots your novel’s beating heart.
In Outline Your Novel, you’ll learn exactly what these beats are, why they matter, and how to outline them effectively to make your story sing.
