Up until recently I associated “premise” within the field of debate. It’s important to understand your premise if you are going to argue a point. For example, it’s fairly common for a Christian to argue the truth of Jesus’ claims based on what is written in the Bible. The problem is that an atheist will refute the credibility of the Bible before you’ve even begun. Therefore, the premise of your argument is wrong. You must take a step back and attempt to prove the validity of the Bible or, more likely, the existence of God. You still may not convince him, but at least your premise is in line with your opponents level of belief. If he believes in nothing, you must start from ground zero.
After I began writing, I understand what an idea was, of course. Without ideas we’d never have stories. And I may have even had a grasp on theme. The them is the umbrella over your entire story. In a romance, the theme is usually “Love conquers all.” In a mystery, it may be “Crime doesn’t pay.” That’s a bit simplistic, but you get the idea. Nothing specific with theme.
Premise is your story
Premise, on the other hand, is really what your story is about. It’s also fairly general, but it digs deeper into the meaning you’re trying to convey. Dr. Stanley Williams wrote a book on the topic entitled The Moral Premise. All stories have a premise, but not all have a moral premise. Dr. Williams argues that the truly successful screenplays (he targets screenwriters, but the advise applies well to novelists as well) have a moral premise.
Let’s back up. First you must define your premise. A premise, remember, is the message you’re trying to convey. One or two sentences is all you need. For example, the premise behind The Hunger Games might be:
A young girl’s courage and love of family will overcome impossible odds.
This is a passable premise. But notice something missing. The young girl has more going against her than 23 other kids and a bunch of mutts. There’s something internal going on, isn’t there? Katniss, as we know, has some inner turmoil. She has a weakness. She has what Susie May Warren refers to as The Big Lie. The Big Lie is something your character believes that holds her back. If she believes that she’s ugly, she’ll never go on a date or put herself in a position to be rejected. If he believes he’s useless, he’ll never try to achieve great things. It’s basic. We all suffer from it. Think about it. What was, or is, your big lie?
Premise Math
The Big Lie results in negative behavior. Your “ugly” young woman will probably not trust the men who try to get close. The young man will run from a challenge, accepting his mediocraty.
Negative behavior = unsatisfactory results.
When we live by our negative behavior, which is the result of our Big Lie, nothing good happens. How often have you heard the phrase “I just can’t catch a break?” You can clearly see that the person saying this is responsible for every bad thing that’s happened to her. She can’t catch a break because she keeps behaving stupidly (you might want to shoot for a little more tact if you confront this person). This is a fact of human behavior. Those who believe nothing good will come their way are usually right. They believe the lie. They behave accordingly. Life sucks.
Now for the other half of the equation (thanks, Ron, Algebra is just what I was hoping for today):
Positive behavior = satisfactory results.
Shocking, yes? But this is right out of 7 Habits or any Zig Ziglar self-help manual. Thinking positive results in success. The problem is, of course, your character believes the Big Lie. So what do we have to do, kids? That’s right, spend the next 80,000 words convincing your heroine that she’s not ugly. If you can’t do that, your romance is gonna be a real downer.
So that brings us back to the moral premise. Putting both halves of our equation together, we get:
Negative behavior = unsatisfactory results
Positive behavior = satisfactory results
With me so far? High level stuff, I know. Now let’s take our formula and make a word problem out of it. Let’s visit Katniss again. The moral premise for Hunger Games might be:
Fighting for self brings about isolation and certain destruction.
Fighting for others brings alliances and survival.
And we saw Katniss move in the wrong direction several times. When she trusted no one, she got herself treed. When she found someone to fight for, the young Rue from District 11 (who, ingeniously, reminded Katniss of her sister), Katniss found inner strength and the fight began to go her way. Same outcome when she fought for Peeta.
If I may digress, I think many of us found the last book in the series unsatisfying because Katniss never really grew to the full opposite of her negative behavior. She never sacrificed for the entire oppressed population of Panem. I won’t spoil for those of you who haven’t gotten that far, but I’d love to hear your take on it. Book three is good, but I think it could have been better (I suspect outrageous publisher deadlines).
Premise takes Time
Defining your character’s moral premise is more than a five minute exercise. The moral premise will direct you through every scene. It will keep you from running off on well-written, but useless tangents. Once you’ve defined that moral premise, it’s written in stone. That’s your path. I suggest you check out Dr. Williams book. Your premise will be your compass for the next 80,000 words, so we want to make sure it’s pointing in the direction we want to go.
So, if you’ve got an idea in mind, what might your moral premise look like? You can change it later, and you probably will, but it’s always good to give yourself a starting point.
