Memo from the Story Department. Christopher Vogler
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—W. Somerset Maugham
This is a quote from one of the twentieth century's best storytellers, and I use it to keep myself humble as a teacher. I don't know how anyone creates art. It's a mystery that requires inspiration, hard work and something indefinable that can't be learned by following rules from a book (I can hear my publisher groaning).
Thankfully, craftsmanship (if not artistry) can be taught. It has hard rules that become malleable under an artist's touch. So a wise artist goes through “basic training” with those rules before toying with them.
However, it seems to be the way of the world that uninitiated would-be artists dive right in without submitting to this “basic training” in craftsmanship.
My drama school classmates and I were not particularly wise in the matter of training. We were acting students, filled with passionate impulses and skeptical about the need for wisdom. We would perform scenes for our teacher, filled with youthful brio and good intentions. Most of our work was pretty crappy.
Having suffered through our work, that teacher would begin each critique session with a simple question: “What does your character want?” Dozens of scenes would be performed throughout the semester, and the question was posed every single time. Without fail, the response was a lot of hemming and hawing from us students. We were pretty hilarious in our insistent ignorance.
It's a legacy that continues. I've taught my share of acting classes and have seen hundreds of acting scenes. As my teachers did before me, I almost always ask: “What do you want here?” As I and my classmates did decades ago, my students look at their shoes and mumble something along the lines of “I dunno.”
So, in the name of basic training in craftsmanship, I want you and I (mostly you) to make up a list of “wants.” Since we know that the question will be asked every single time, we will look like “A” students if we at least have some sort of answer.
So, what do people “want”? We can start with the basics: food, clothing, shelter. Can we make up a story about these basic desires? I don't see why not. Isn't the desire for all three the issue that drives the heroes of Blake Edwards' Victor/Victoria?
We can open things up from there. Alcoholics want booze; just ask Nicholas Cage from Leaving Las Vegas. Sinners want redemption. Almost all of us yearn for love and recognition. Braveheart's William Wallace laid it all on the line for freedom and, after all these years, Mick Jagger still can't get no satisfaction.
In case we've forgotten, Cyndi Lauper informs us that girls just want to have fun.
In fact, pop songs are a virtual textbook of “wants.” The kids from Fame “want to live forever.” Aretha wants R-E-S-P-E-C-T, and in Some Like It Hot, Marilyn Monroe wants to “be loved by you, just you and nobody else but you.” In Marilyn's case, it looks like a sweet yen. But give it to Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, and the simple “want” gets downright scary.
Michael Corleone wants family, and he's willing to kill to secure it. That's his tragedy, right? How many of us just yearn for a mate and kids? What dramatic action would we take to acquire such things?
It's probably not polite to say so, but most of us are willing to make damned fools of ourselves to fulfill our sexual “wants.” And how about the supporting character in Mary Chase's comedy Harvey who just wants to sit under a tree with some beer and a girl who pats his hand saying “there, there”? It doesn't seem like much, but it feeds an entire “B” plot.
Money drives most of us to some degree or other, and James Bond wouldn't have much to do unless an endless stream of bad guys wanted to dominate the world. James himself seems satisfied with a bottomless supply of exotic cigarettes, devastating femme fatales and martinis shaken, not stirred. Come to think of it, I want those things, too.
Sports teams want to win championships, and hundreds of films record what they sacrifice to accomplish it.
Almost every Broadway musical opens with an “I want” song. It's the anthem declaring the hero's desire that will be shaped and tested by the ensuing action. Belle from Beauty and the Beast musically yearns for a life of adventure like the ones in the books she reads. Eliza Doolittle from My Fair Lady wants a “loverly” room somewhere with one enormous chair. The song “Omigod You Guys” from Legally Blonde tells us that Elle Woods wants to marry Warner, and the rest of the story chases that desire.
Are there more “wants”? I have to think so. Career advancement, honor, recognition, victory, home, world peace, friendship, serenity, solitude, knowledge, wisdom, insight, answers, communion with God. The list goes on and on, and every item on it could be the foundation for a solid story.
For us as storytellers, the “want” list becomes a primary device to be continually sharpened and kept near at hand in our craftsman toolbox. A story doesn't even get started until somebody wants something and moves in a direction to get it. Your writing has an immediate advantage if you have a character “want” at your fingertips.
Just to be helpful, I asked a group of my recent students to build a “want” list with me. I'll attach it below. But get to work on your own personal list, too. Once you've got it, put it in your toolbox and put it to work.
| Love | Knowledge |
| Money | Wisdom |
| Pleasure | Drugs |
| Validation (Approval) | Escape |
| Security | Good Story |
| Revenge | Talent |
| Stability | Stability |
| Power | Certainty |
| Victory | Home |
| Freedom | Normalcy |
| Acceptance | Excitement |
| Fame | Inspiration |
| Redemption | Fun |
| Respect | Independence |
| Adventure | To Forget |
| God | To Remember |
| Truth | Legacy |
| Justice | Progress |
| American Way | Forgiveness |
| Change | Friendship |
| Attention | Death |
| Peace | Fashion/Beauty |
| Sex | Control |
| Happiness | Identity |
| Family | Company/Companionship |
| Immortality | Solitude |
| Communication | Adrenaline/Rush |
| Survival | Rock ‘n’ Roll (see Drugs, Sex) |
NOTE FROM VOGLER
I sat in on one of David's Columbia classes recently and joined him and his students in critiquing screenplay scenes they had written. Over and over we had the same question: What does this character want? Until that is determined, scripts and scenes seem wishy-washy, disorganized, and spineless.
I have my own version of the Want List, a hierarchy of things that drive us through life. We may not realize it but we are all running our lives according to certain prime directives, chosen from a standard list of wishes that exist in every person to some degree. Each person, and each character in a story, consciously or more often unconsciously, has chosen from the list one drive that commands his behavior above all others. Other drives are present in descending order of importance, but one drive usually dominates. For example, above all, I must have my way, I must be inconspicuous at all costs, I must always have the last word, I must be seen as having a lot of money, I must feel secure and in control at all times, I must be different from everyone else, etc.
Stories seem to be interested in these choices, and often set out to force a protagonist to consciously re-assess that habitual, unconscious hierarchy of drives. At the end of the story, someone who put the drive to win above all may come to edit the list, bringing another drive to the fore like the need for love or friendship. In my own life, my prime directive for many years was “Everyone must like me,” which meant that I must never do anything to upset anyone, and must please others even at the expense of harming myself. The story of my life has conspired to teach me a lesson—the desire to please others is a good quality in its proper place but it's a lousy way to run your entire life. I've learned to be happy with myself and let other people love me or hate me as they choose.
CHAPTER THREE