To Anticipate or Not to Anticipate?
In the early days of Disney animation, the illustrators developed twelve principles that they discerned were necessary to produce quality animation. One of these principles was called Anticipation.
Disney and his cartoonists discovered that if a character threw a ball or put his hand in his pocket to pull out a sandwich, it often happened too quickly for the viewer’s eyes to see. The viewer then did not understand where the ball had gone or where the sandwich had come from.
So the illustrators learned that they had to allow the viewer to anticipate the action. If a character was going to throw a ball, he could be shown drawing his arm back first. If he was going to pull a sandwich from his pocket, he could be shown slowly reaching out and down toward his pocket.
This way, the viewer could anticipate what was to come. When the ball finally launched or the sandwich appeared, the viewer understood what was happening. Watching the ball sail forth into the air after a big wind-up was satisfying.
It also meant that the animators could now surprise the viewers, often for comedic purposes. If the man with the ball drew his arm waaaaay back, wound up, and then dropped the ball behind him rather than carrying through with the throw, it was funny and, more importantly, surprising (at least at first).
Both satisfaction and surprise require anticipation.
If the reader does not know enough to anticipate—in particular, to anticipate what kind of outcome the character wants—they can find the events of the story neither satisfying nor surprising.
Anticipation is Everything
When I edit, one of my jobs is to figure out why a scene does not work. I read a scene. It loses my interest. It’s my job, so I have to read it anyway. Maybe it’s in a book I am really enjoying reading.
My job is to tell the author how to fix it.
So I sit and think very carefully about the scene. Why is it lagging? What is missing?
Nine out of ten times, what is missing is: anticipation
What does this mean? It means that the reader has nothing to look forward to. No goal has been presented that the reader cares about.
So what makes the reader care?
Diamonds Are Forever, Chickens and Pianos, too:
If the reader does not know what a character wants, the reader can’t want it either. The reader has to be aware of what the character wants to achieve to be able to anticipate the character’s success or failure.
Otherwise, the reader is not capable of caring about whether he gets it.
Even if he really, really wants to care.
To get the reader to stick around to find out what happens, you have to get him to want to know what will happen…and that always means that readers must have some idea in their imagination of what they are hoping for.
Imagine the following scenario: A damaged pirate ship captures a freighter. The freighter contains as cargo: a piano, a chicken, and a thousand diamonds.
Scenario 1) – The pirates arrive. They look around. They see the diamonds. They chuckle and hi-five each other. They go on to their next event.
Was that satisfying?
Hmm.
Not really.
Let’s try:
Scenario 2) – The pirates arrive.
“Look sharp,” said Jake. “Look for anything we can salvage. A chair. An old wine bottle. With our base gone and our ship damaged, if we can’t find enough for a little repair work...” He trails off.
“What’s it matter, Captain?” said Tuck, rubbing his stubble. “Even if we scrape together enough for a few repairs. We’ve lost the diamond mine. Without weapon-grade diamonds, we have no weapons. Without weapons, we’ll never break through the barricade.” The old pirate pulls his pocket watch from his tattered coat and rubs the initials on the tarnished silver cover. “Sorry, Ma.”
Swishing beside him, as beautiful as she was deadly, Shari threw the trail of her pink and yellow sari over one shoulder. In her thick accent, she murmured sweetly, “I am so sorry, Tuck. We worked so hard, for so many months, to gain the antidote…and now we will never be able to deliver it in time.”
Tuck glared at Ricky, who was dawdling in the rear. “If the kid hadn’t burned out our final crystals on his infernal invention…”
Ricky hung his head sheepishly, “How was I to know that we would lose the mine? The worse thing is….it actually works. I fixed it. We could be using it. Selling it…making millions. But now…when will we ever even have a chance to demonstrate it to somebody?”
“Lotta good it’ll do us now,” growled Tuck. His face fell, glum. “Lotta good it will do my mom.”
The group moved forward dejectedly, shoulders slumped. They rounded the corner, Shari in the lead.
“Boys…” Shari’s jaw dropped. She jumped up and down rubbing her palms together, her face shining with joy, “Look…”
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Art and Craft of Writing to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.