RSS Feed

Rethinking the Plot Pyramid, Part #1

Posted on

The plot pyramid, that old writing trope.

Your English teachers told you all about it in 6th grade, then again in 7th, then again in 8th . . . . This, naturally, went on until you were well into college. Every year, the same thing over and over again. It looked something like this. If you were anything like me and actually paid attention and enjoyed English class, then you probably became sick of this continuing re-education.

Don’t get me wrong. I do not begrudge any of my teachers for going over the plot pyramid time and time again, the same way I don’t begrudge them explaining simile and metaphor every year. They had to. After all, several students didn’t care, didn’t understand, or didn’t have the ability to retain what they were taught in class. Hell, when it came to math, I was one of those students. I get it. I do. But after several years of school, after learning, and re-learning this thing over and over again and after reading and writing books, I’ve come to the conclusion that the plot pyramid, frankly, isn’t right.

I like for my tools to be right, as, I assume, most writers do.

That in mind, I came up with a few visual aids to help aspiring writers work their way through the pratfalls of plot. Here is my first one:

Plot Pyramid

I’m keeping it simple this time. I hope you enjoy.

There will be more . . . .

Snow Day Lonely

Posted on

Today is a snow day here in Bellevue, NE. We have a substantial amount of snow on the ground, the temperature is low, and the wind is a’blowing. It is a good day for a snow day, especially considering all of the hangovers people are probably nursing after the Super Bowl last night. Me? I have no hangover. I wasn’t really that interested in the Super Bowl this year. Sometimes I am, usually I’m not. This year, again, I wasn’t. It’s whatever.

But today, as the wind blows and the snow piles up, I can’t help but wonder if maybe I should have paid a little more attention to it, or, at least, to the commercials. After all, isn’t that what everyone will be talking about tomorrow? Sometimes I feel so disconnected from the rest of the world . . . . Once, while talking with a couple of my friends I offered an offhanded comment that went something like this: “Most of the time, when I’m in a room full of people, I feel alone.” In my own naïveté, I assumed my two good friends would relate. The three of us are writers, unique souls, etc, etc, etc. They paused though–both of them–and the first to finally reply said, “That’s so sad, man.”

After that conversation I started to rethink a few things about myself. No, I haven’t lost that feeling of loneliness. I don’t think I ever will. It’s just something built into me. However, I have made an effort to leave my comfort zone, to participate in life a little bit more than I have in the past, to actually feel what others feel. It can be hard at times, because there is so much I simply don’t care about in a world full of people who care about so much about things I find, to be brutally honest, trivial.

But I’m trying.

I just didn’t last night. Instead, I played in the snow with my daughter and did a few rounds of Super Smash Brothers with my son. I never feel alone when I’m with those two. I never feel trivial. Then I wrote. Though, through my office wall I could hear the Super Bowl going on the living room television. No one was watching it.

It must have felt lonely too . . . the television I mean. Sometimes I personify things that way. It’s a habit most of us pick up as small, small children. Some of us keep that habit into adulthood . . . .

But c’est la vie. It’s a snow day! That’s something worth celebrating whether you’re alone or together.

A Look Back on This Charmed Life

Posted on

I had a rough day as Aaron Stueve the teacher and now that we’re ankle deep into 2015 I felt it was time to look back on AE Stueve, the writer’s 2014. I hadn’t really thought about it, but it was something of a banner year for me. With an email from a local bookstore I haven’t felt has been all that supportive of me, asking me if I’d like to be in their ‘local author directory’ I think, now more than ever, I can officially say I’m a writer and other people will agree. For me, that’s a big deal.

So, like I said, 2014 was something of a banner year for me. I had a new book come out and an old one re-issued. I helped put together four issues of a literary magazine and I edited a novel about being stuck in the purgatory that is Village Inn. On top of that, I started teaching a class at University of Nebraska at Omaha on comic book analysis and execution called Writing the Graphic Story. Also, I signed a deal to get my sort-of-zombie novel published through a fledgling publisher with just the right amount of whimsy to succeed

Were there several rejections thrown into the mix here? Yes. So many, you guys. You don’t even know. I have a list on my Google Drive–the submissions colored red are for rejection letters and the submissions colored blue are for acceptance letters. The red far outweighs the blue. Such is life though, amiright? Also, all this success in writing hasn’t exactly brought me a fortune. I still have a day job where I teach filmmaking and design and run a yearbook, video yearbook, website, and literary magazine for Bellevue West High. I’m not complaining. If I have to work, I’m glad I teach. 

It has come to my attention recently, thanks to more than one colleague’s observations, that I live something of a charmed life. When I am grading films by students who clearly didn’t listen to a word I said when teaching, I don’t feel it. When I’m stuck on a sentence or even a word in a story I’m working on, I don’t feel it. When something in my house breaks and I don’t have quite enough money to fix it as quickly as I’d like, I don’t feel it.

When I take a moment though, to look at my house and my family, to really think on the work I do every day, and to see the clear success I have as a writer, I do. I should probably do it more often because when I do, I realize I am living a charmed life.

More importantly though, I realize, I’ve earned it.

Everything is Wrong

Posted on

On MLK Day, after a year of wars, racism, and riots, it’s hard not to think everything is wrong with our society, isn’t it?

Do you ever get the feeling that something isn’t quite right around here?

These questions might sound like the troubling contemplations of a sick man. So let me back up a step before you call the po-leese to take me to the crazy house. I don’t want to go there and you can’t make me.


Since I was a little boy I’ve been fond of superhero comic books. If you’re a regular reader, you know this. There has always been one aspect of them that has fascinated me. No. That’s not true. There have always been several. Today though, I’m going to focus on one: alternate universes. Comic books–science fiction stories in general really–have, for time immemorial, contemplated the theory of alternate universes/timelines/realities/histories/etc. Some great examples include but are not limited to:

There are many, many more. Some are good (like the above mentioned). Some . . . not so much. But that’s not the point. In recent history, science has come to terms with the concept of alternate universes/timelines/realities/histories/etc. Many scientists, including Dr. Neil Degrasse TysonDr. Max Tegmark, Dr. Michael J.W. Hall, and other cosmologists, quantum physicists, astronomers, etc, etc, etc. have concluded, perhaps unknowingly, that the possibilities put forth in superhero comic books, pulp fiction, and sci-fi films are, in fact, quite feasible. I’m not going to get into the science of it here . . . . I’m not sure I understand it, something about wormholes and multiple outcomes to any given decision . . . .


Finally–we’ve made it back around to the point I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. What if it is all wrong here? What if we live in an alternate timeline? What if, ages ago, a villain with a time machine rocketed through the space-time continuum and did damage to a perfectly acceptable timeline? What if, alternatively (pun intended) someone else followed and tried to make right what was once made wrong? What if this then sent ripples through the space-time continuum and this, then, created the world we are currently living in . . . as well as countless others? What if they’re all here, a few steps away from ours, just like ours is a few steps away from theirs? Furthermore, who are the ‘they’ who live there? Do they see us? Is there society as advanced as ours? Is it more so? Am I there right now typing something similar or did another version of me die in a sledding accident when he was in sixth grade? For the record, a distinct possibility. Anyway, is there a world, somewhere on the other side of the multiverse where MLK wasn’t shot and killed? Is there a world where the peace movement of the 60s didn’t devolve into a mess of drugs, frustration and (gasp) disco? Is there a world where Stephen King never wrote this?

I’m falling down a rabbit hole ladies and gentleman and I’m taking you with me. On MLK Day this may seem like an off-color topic–time travel and alternate universes and all that. But when I watch the news I have to think of the possibilities because if there is a world like this one, a world where people who promote peace and equality are assassinated and/or imprisoned, and comic books and scientists are right, then there must be a world where people who promote peace and equality are embraced and encouraged.


I Forgot

Posted on

I forget things . . . often . . . . Little things here and there, like the last item on a grocery list or my coffee as I walk out the door to go to work. I don’t do it quite as often as my son, but I do forget. Luckily for my son, he makes up for this social drawback with an intellect and a social panache that defies reason. Sure, when my wife or I are lecturing him, this intellect and social panache fade like so much sunshine at night. When others do it though, well, let’s just say I’ve seen him smile and talk his way out of whatever mistake he has made, even when it’s forgetting something. It probably doesn’t hurt that he is usually the smartest person in the room when he does this.


Maybe I have that ability too (not because I’m that smart). In fact, I’m pretty sure I do (again, not because I’m that smart). Much like him though, this ability vanishes when I am speaking with a family member . . . my wife in particular. With her, there was a time when I could, then there was a time when I tried, now we have reached a point in our relationship when I don’t even try. I simply say, “I forgot” and offer an apology.

As sincere as it is, this apology, which is on something of a repeat button, must get . . . irritating. No. Strike that. I know it gets irritating. I get it from my son and it irritates me . . . .

It is, it seems, our lot in life though. Something in our blood perhaps . . . .

Such is life. Full of lots. I wonder, sometime, if cosmically, we are all just shards of the first sinner. We’ve been broken into billions of pieces and here we are, each of us, small parts of a whole, suffering our respective lots in some sort of twisted infinite repentance. Mine, quite obviously, is that I tend to forget things. This, admittedly, is a pretty light lot to carry. Then again, maybe it’s not something that pseudo-religious. Maybe it’s just a misspent youth that has caused this forgetfulness. Sometimes, if I think too much on such things, I start to wonder if I am getting early onset Alzheimer’s. Just typing that sends shivers down my spine.


I’m sure that’s not what’s wrong with me. Hell, I’m sure there isn’t anything wrong with me as far as memory goes. I’m just forgetful. I’m just one sinning shard lost with the billions of others. All of us are making up for some universal sin that took place eons ago. Or I’m just a man who made many mistakes growing up and forgetfulness happens to be a side-effect of said mistakes. Or maybe I’m one piece of star-dust given life so I could sit here at this moment and type these words and sin means nothing and morality is what we make it. Maybe I don’t know what I am. Maybe I don’t know what any of us are because I forgot before I was alive, just like everyone else.

Maybe that’s fine.

I did, after all, forget what this blog post was about at some point in the typing . . . .


Here We Go Again

Posted on

A week ago, I was getting over a horrible, horrible stomach bug. A week and a day ago, I was smothering in said stomach bug’s suffocating embrace. By ‘smothering’ I mean I was in so much physical pain I thought I was going to die. Seriously. As I sat in the passenger seat of my modest Toyota Corolla and my wife drove the family west across Iowa and back home, I was trying to decide if I had enough energy to get on my phone and send her an email with the message I want carved into my tombstone.

In case you’re wondering, it’s ‘I’m not dead yet.’ Even though I was sure I was dying, I wasn’t going to lose my sense of humor. 


What’s that?

Why were we driving west across Iowa and back home?

Well, because we were in Davenport, visiting family for Christmas when this monstrous bug crept up on me and began to slowly and maniacally eat away at my ease until I was nothing but a vomiting mess in the passenger seat, contemplating what sort of life my family would have after I passed on to the next threshold of existence . . . .

It was awful. Have I made that clear?

But I made it, like millions before me have and millions after me will. By the end of the second full-blown day of my illness (it was actually a three-to-four day event–the word ‘crept’ isn’t hyperbole, but you don’t want the gory details of all the telltale signs that something was wrong with me), I had watched a season-and-a-half of Bob’s Burgers, several episodes of Doctor Whoand even read this novella completely through. I don’t usually have entire 48 hour periods of time wherein I do little to nothing. Sometimes though it’s good for the soul, especially when you’re so sick you’re contemplating epitaphs for your own tombstone that would make Mark Twain proud.

And here we go again.

Second semester began today, this morning actually. One down, one to go. It’s a new year. I have no words of wisdom for this. I have no clever quips about teaching or resolutions. I only have a clean bill of health, the truth, and a job to do.

I hope that’s enough.

I’m Not A Writer, I Make Christmas Cookies

I’m sitting in my office. There is a thin wall between it and my family room. My wife is in there. I can hear Law & Order: SVU playing and her stepper stepping. In my mind, that’s just awful . . . just awful. The last thing I want to do is watch that show or step on a stepper. Both activities freak me out. My daughter is upstairs in her bedroom playing with the twins from down the street. My son, whose room is in the attic, is there, on his computer, playing Minecraft with some of his friends across the city. I’m saying this to illustrate how everything is going on as it should be  at my house. Everything except for this blog. I’m trying to find something relevant to say. I like to post once a week. I got a few followers, you know? And I took last week off. I’m gonna go ahead and say it was because of the difficulties of finals week for a high school teacher/college professor. But the truth is, I just didn’t know what to write . . . .

I probably shouldn’t have said that if I want to keep up the facade that I am actually a writer.

It’s a strange thing to be a writer who has nothing to write. All the craft books tell you, “Pay attention to the down times but don’t worry about them,” or other such things about birds flying and fiction working and zen or something. I don’t know. I’m sure there are some that tell readers the exact opposite, but I haven’t read any. So you think I’d take the advice I’ve been given and not worry. But every time I sit down at this computer to write this blog and nothing I think is relevant comes to mind, I get the feeling I’m doing something wrong. I get the feeling I’m lying when I write. I get the feeling I’m not a writer. This, of course, is not true. You can see my name on a fair number of books. EAB Publishing just released a couple and the good folks at The Novel Fox are publishing a new one soon. So yeah, I’m a writer.

Then I think about the books I have out. I think about all the short stories I’ve had published and I know I am a writer. This career doesn’t make me a lot of money and it isn’t like I have some kind of addiction . . . . It’s more of an impulse really . . . . Maybe the impulse isn’t to blog though and that’s the problem. When my mind tries to wrap itself around current events and ruminate on them, I find myself stumbling over my words.


I guess it comes down to this: I write stories. When I write about the facts and my opinions on them they get all jumbled in my head and flipped around so by the time I’m done writing about them I don’t even know what I mean anymore.

I’m not sure why any of this is relevant.

After all, I’m not a writer.

I’m just a guy who wants to go make some Christmas cookies.

And then eat them. Oh Lord, how I will eat them.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 602 other followers

%d bloggers like this: