Writer's Workshop: The Con and the Gimmick · 6:23am Jan 23rd, 2016

This time, we're talking about something a little more esoteric. Though, at the same time, I suppose it's also fundamental to the storywriting process. We're gonna talk about what happens when you put two people in a scene and have them talk to each other. To do this, I'm gonna steal two theoretical models from two very different sources: first, from the RPG system called DramaSystem; the second, from a psychological process called "Transactional Analysis."

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First, DramaSystem. It's a very simple RPG, really just the core of a bigger system, but it's so perfect in the way it sets up its scenes. You see, in DramaSystem, every scene has two characters: the petitioner and the granter. The character you play has some central drive that they want fulfilled, and the granter has the power to give it to you. If they do, they get a "drama token" from you, which is the currency of the game. If they refuse, they have to pay you a drama token instead. And... that's basically the game! You pay drama tokens back and forth in literal bids for power.

If you're creative enough, you can model any scene like this, with one character petitioning the other to get something they need. We can look at the obvious, like Twilight asking Fluttershy to use her Stare in "Bats!" But this also works for scenes like when Twilight and Fluttershy are talking to each other at the start of "The Hayfields and the McColts." There, Twilight is anxiously planning for the situation, and Fluttershy is easing her. Here, Twilight is the petitioner: she wants to feel peace of mind, which she can only get from Fluttershy's patience and calm. And in listening and soothing Twilight's worries, she's fulfilling Twilight's petition.

So when you write your own scenes, think about that a little. What are the characters trying to get out of their conversation? If the answer is "nothing," you've probably fallen into a trap of too much exposition or not high enough stakes. Know what drives your characters, then make it hard for them to get that. Make the granter sorely tempted not to give the petitioner what they want. Oh, and it's more than possible for both characters to want something from each other. Then things really get complicated!

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Actually, that leads really well into transactional analysis. In this psychological model, interactions between two people are posed as "games." Not... fun games, though. Not fun games at all. Here's a really good example of a game, called "Why Don't You-Yes, But." Player 1 (whom we're going to call the Con) complains that they're having trouble with a paper, and they don't know how to start. Player 2 (the Gimmick) decides they want to be helpful, so they offer a solution. "Why don't you try making an outline?" Gimmick says. "Well, yes, but outlines don't really help me," the Con replies. "Why don't you go the library?" "Yes, but it's too far away, and by the time I got there, I'd just have to come right back." This continues back and forth for a while, until the Gimmick finally says, "I'm out of ideas." Then the Con scoffs and says, "Ugh. Thanks anyway. Thought you were gonna help me."

Ooh! Did you feel that? It's like a dagger straight in the gut. Now we can see why the Con is called the Con, and the Gimmick the Gimmick. The Con had absolutely no intention of working on their paper; they used that to trick the Gimmick into being nice to them. The Gimmick had a flaw in their psychology, some trick the Con could exploit--a gimmick. And then, right there at the end, the twist that throws the Gimmick completely off. How do you respond to that except powerless struggling? That's what makes TA games so powerful. There's no way to come out of it except with egg on your face.

So when we talk about TA, there are two primary structures. The first is the Parent-Adult-Child model. When we interact with others, we expect to get the complimentary stance: if we take a stern, authoritative stance, we expect the weak, submissive childlike stance; when we take an innocent, confused child stance, we expect a nurturing, guiding parent stance; and when we talk like a rational adult, we expect rational adult talk back. If something gets mixed up, then you get arguments and butting heads. For example, suppose you're in a bad mood, and one of your employees drops a file of papers. Not really a big deal, but because you're upset, you decide to go Parent and vent your spleen. "Look at you, you idiot! I should fire you right now! Get those papers picked up!" You expect the Child response--"Yes, sir/ma'am, right away, sir/ma'am"-- but what if you get a Parent right back? "Don't you talk to me like that! I'm not an idiot, and I don't deserve this kind of treatment!" Now you're in a power struggle. Either one of the two of you will back down and take the Child stance, or someone's getting a stapler in the face.

That's not to say that a complimentary relationship is healthy. "Why Don't You-Yes But" is a Child-Parent relationship, but it's that very relationship that leads the Gimmick to offer all the advice and for the Child to sneakily reject it all. The only true way to avoid games, TA argues, is for the two speakers to interact in an Adult-Adult parallel.

The other formula you'll see in transactional analysis is the Persecutor-Rescuer-Victim triangle. In this one, each player in the game takes one of the three positions, and the twist at the end occurs when the positions suddenly change without warning. So in "Why Don't You-Yes But," the Con is the Victim and the Gimmick is the Rescuer, then at the end, the Con suddenly shifts to Persecutor, throwing the Gimmick into Victim mode.

So can you set this up in stories? Sure! Just like how in DramaSystem, we look at the power balance between the petitioner and the granter, here we can see the power balance between the Con and the Gimmick. Like, take this for example: "Feeling Pinkie Keen." Pinkie does a bunch of silly things, and Twilight puts herself in danger to record them. I'd say Twilight is a Parent here--controlling, certain of her moral superiority--and Pinkie's just a Child--whimsical, thoughtless, acting on instinct. Then, after Twilight's battered and beaten, what does Pinkie say? "Oh, I knew you were watching me the whole time!" Boom, twist. Pinkie's been Conning Twilight all along, leading her by her Gimmick of "I've got to prove I'm right." This is a classic game in fiction, right up there with, "Well, you didn't ask."

So as you write your dialogue scenes, perhaps you can see where the characters are playing each other like this. Give one character a secret amount of power, and let the other character fall right into the other's trap. For example, here's a great one that... I don't think pony has done yet: "Wooden Leg." In this one, the Con has some disability or weakness, which they rely on for pity. Whenever they make mistakes, they fall back on the line, "What do you expect from someone like me?" The Gimmick comes in, trying to help them overcome their weakness, but as I just showed, that's the very last thing they want! So they'll make a show of trying to improve, but "accidentally" slip up and say, "Guess this is all someone like me can do." (See: Spongebob's "Can You Spare a Dime?")

How could you write a story with that? Hmm... I'm thinking like a story where Pinkie becomes Acting Mayor of Ponyville, perhaps. She freaks out, saying she can't possibly do it, since she's "just a baker!" Of course, her friends step in and decide to help her, taking on some of her responsibilities for her temporarily to help her settle in. 'Course, Pinkie figures this out and starts slacking off at work. By Act 2, she's not doing anything at all! Whenever one of the characters (let's say Applejack) notices this and tries to hand some of the responsibility back, Pinkie says, "Oh, I can't do that! I'm just a baker!" See how the game works? Pinkie's hooked all of her friends in, and now they can't escape. After all, she's just a baker. The solution of the story would be, of course, to make Pinkie take the reins back. (Hah! Horse humor.) She'd struggle to do it properly at first, but maybe she'd realize that she does have it in her. Maybe her baker skills are helping her, not holding her back. But she'll never know until she stops pitying herself and actually gets in the saddle. (More horse humor. )

All right, I'll admit it. I could talk about transactional analysis all day. But rather than go on any longer, why don't you just go watch TheraminTrees' awesome videos instead? Oh, and I also talked about DramaSystem a little, too, didn't I? Well, anyway. I hope you've picked up some interesting little ideas here. Catch you next time!