Subplots are an essential part of storytelling that can add depth and complexity to your book's overall narrative. This post covers a step-by-step guide to making subplots, general tips, and some examples of subplots in YA books.
Step-by-step guide to making a new subplot
Identify a secondary character
Consider a secondary character in your story who is not directly involved in the main plot. This could be a friend or family member of the protagonist, or a peripheral character who has a unique perspective on the world of the story.
Create a conflict
Think about a conflict or challenge that this character could face, which could be related to their personal life or a separate issue in the story. This conflict should be something that the character needs to overcome or resolve.
Connect the subplot to the main plot
Consider how this subplot could connect to the main plot. This could involve having the main character help the secondary character with their conflict, or having the subplot reveal important information that impacts the main plot.
Develop the subplot
Once you have established the groundwork for the subplot, develop it in detail, including the character's motivations, the obstacles they face, and the resolution to the conflict.
General tips for a good subplot:
Make sure your subplots are related to the main plot
Subplots should be tied to the main plot in some way, either by affecting the main character or providing additional context for the story.
Develop separate character arcs
Your subplots should have their own character arcs that tie in with the main character's arc. This allows for additional character development and can help create a more immersive world.
Use subplots to reveal new information
Subplots can be a great way to reveal new information about the world or characters that might not be relevant to the main plot. This can help make the world feel more alive and fleshed out.
Keep subplots contained
Subplots should not take over the main plot. They should be contained and serve to enhance the main plot rather than distract from it.
Examples of subplots:
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling
Harry and Draco's rivalry
Hermione's fight for the rights of house-elves
the mystery surrounding the Death Eaters.
The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
The main plot of The Hunger Games is Katniss's fight to survive in the games. However, there are several subplots that tie into the main plot, such as her complicated relationship with Peeta and her struggle to reconcile her feelings for him with her need to survive.
Remember, subplots should enhance and support the main plot of your story, adding depth and complexity to the overall narrative. I'd recommend having 2-3 subplots of varying depth, depending on how important they are to the story, but obviously that's entirely up to you.
Writing more realistically (*very minor spoilers for ‘V for Vendetta’*)
‘Realistic’ can be a pretty subjective word in writing, but I just wanted to say:
Something I want to see more of is blurring the lines in character’s morality. I do know that this isn’t universally applicable--given that some characters are intentionally 2-dimensional for plot reasons--but it can facilitate crafting of the much debated anti-hero, anti villain, and morally grey archetypes.
Recently I have been reading an incredible comic called ‘V for Vendetta’, which I believe masterfully executed the complexities of humankind. In the book, V, an anti-hero who commits several acts of violence in the first 20 pages, is permitted a sense of humor and soft spot for Evey. What is so special about this is that the authors manage to use these small quirks V has to further express the brutality of what V must do to achieve his goals. Although he is by definition (however correct his views are) a terrorist, this does not stop him from treating Evey with respect (gasp! an edgy character who doesn’t abuse his friends?? what a thought) and even reading her bedtime stories.
The same goes for the more virtuous breed of characters. Although I know not everyone likes coffee, there is a reason coffee and doughnuts are marketed together! Everyone loves the ‘cinnamon-roll’ character, but eventually their unwavering innocence and fluffy optimism can grow stale. This is where I think it is important for them to diverge ever so slightly. Let them finally snap under pressure or seek solace in other characters.
The fluid transition from sweet to bitter (as per my food example) allows for the more complex notes of both the pastry and the drink to be shown.
They are still the same character, but allowing for them to have a moral panic or ironic values only enhances what they already had!
Examples of our writing can be found at our mains, @slytherin1318 (Mod Jess) or @fairylightsandthings (Mod Bee). We also have sideblogs that we’ve written things on, @mysticsitcom (Mod Jess, MM OCs) or @tableforonechaoscrew (Mod Bee, their OCs)
Somewhere along the way, I learned you could love the devil and love God at the same time. I walk the place where shadows and sunlight meet and meld and blend. Where the light and the darkness come together. One foot in one world and the other foot in another. To walk such a path requires sacrifice. It requires letting go and having complete faith in the road leading you onwards. It means willing to be uncomfortable and letting things happen as they will. It means giving up perceptions you were fed your entire life. It means going deep inside and examine everything you’ve ever believed and accepted as true about the world. It means, challenging yourself to see things differently.
Existence is a strange place. An interwoven quilt. Each switch lovely sown. Each piece of fabric chosen carefully. The pattern complex and strange and unfamiliar because you’re one of the threads woven in. A single cell in a greater and larger organism. An apart of a bigger reality you don’t even know exists around you but can sense once you quiet all the voices that tell you what you’re supposed to be, what you’re supposed to do, and how you’re supposed to behave. It’s liberating and yet terrifying. You regain an part of you that you thought you lost or were told didn’t exist.
Sometimes, smut or fluff requests we receive as authors for a character can be really hard to fulfill based on the idea. To prove this point, lets take it to the extreme:
Send me the most ridiculous prompt request you can think of, and I’ll write a couple of smutty sentences to a paragraph showing you how difficult it can be to come up with good smut or fluff for that idea. For example:
Fandom Favorite x Alien - Smut
“The creature’s long, thick tendrils snaked around the Fandom Favorite, but still he thrust in earnest, chasing his release in the strange protrusion that had been offered him. The creature made a high-pitched noise, a mix between a growl and the cry of a banshee. Was this actually working?”
hello. i could use some assistance. i tried looking this up but found nothing. how do you write a clumsy person in first person present. get back to me when possible. thanks.
Hey @kion700
first person present tense... Okay so this means it’s from the character’s point of view, “I” and it’s happening as we read it... “I am typing” So an example of clumsiness might go something like this.
‘I make may way down the corridor, I know there is a door here somewhere but it’s so dark. There are strange noises behind me and a light is flickering. I start to jog, knowing that I would rather be anywhere else right now. The door is upon me before I know it and my whole body slams against it. Everything hurts, especially my hip where I can feel bruises blossoming from the door handle.’
or
‘As I brush my hands manically over the keyboard with great speed and minor accuracy, I fling my fist to the backspace key. Completely misjudging the distance, my coffee spills it’s sticky brown liquid all over my desk.’
Hope this is helpful. When do clumsy things, like smash a plate when getting out of the dishwasher, I tend to get really frustrated with myself. Every clumsy person is different though. I have a friend who is so clumsy, she is often hurting herself, and she just laughs it off.
What I’m doing right now is revision for the ebook of “The Dragon Lord” (check Amazon for some earlier ebooks, all IMO much improved on their paper predecessors).
Part of my revision is rebuilding the Fourth Wall, kicked down in several places where Young Peter thought it would be a cute idea, in a scene involving a storyteller festival (one of them has Information the hero needs), to include quotations from favourite Real-World books.
So letters were sent, and permissions received (I still have them somewhere): to the estate of Robert E. Howard for a line from “The Conan Chronicles”, to Michael Moorcock for a line from “The Elric Saga”, to Barry Hughart for a couple of lines from “Bridge of Birds” (first and finest of the Master Li novels), and to Anne McCaffrey for a couple of lines from “Dragonflight”.
(Annie was responsible for @dduane and me hooking up and getting hitched. She thought we’d be a good match for each other. She was right.)
I never got questioned about this by agents or editors or publishers or readers either here or in the US (not even by DD, who has Views About That Kind Of Thing) but as time passed I got more and more uncomfortable about it. Each of those cute lines was a pothole to jolt a reader from immersion in MY world, to remind them they were just reading a story. Now I’ve filled those potholes in, and IMO the work is better for it.
DD said, “you should make a post about this, self-confessed mistakes by pros are educational.” So this is the post, and the relevant extracts are after the cut.
Original version –
Still, it was intriguing to hear not only stories which he knew already— though in a foreign language which required a degree of concentration for him to understand—but also tantalising snatches of tales entirely new; although some of these were familiar and popular favourites here, if the noisy approval of their audiences bore true witness.
"… As long ago as forever, and as far away as the moon…"
"… Know, O Prince, that between the years when the oceans drank…"
"… be sure that you return before the stroke of midnight, for otherwise…"
"… proud, pale Prince of ruins, bearer of the rune-carved Black Sword…"
"… the falcon struck thrice upon the ground and became a fine young man…"
"… I shall clasp my hands together and bow to the corners of the world…"
Still, it was intriguing to hear stories he knew already, now in a foreign language that had changed them more than somewhat. There were also tantalising lines from tales entirely new, though noisy approval from their audiences showed they were familiar favourites here.
“…As far past as yesterday, as far distant as the moon…”
“…When every sea was dry, and every land was sea…”
“…Be sure you return before the bells sound midnight, for otherwise…”
“…The petals turned to gold and the stems to silver, and each raindrop was a diamond, but the droplet on the thorn stayed ruby red…”
“…It was a blade such as he had never seen before, gleaming bright and dark by turns, and it had an edge to shave the cold off a winter wind…”
“…The falcon spoke with a human voice, like all creatures of that time, and it said…”
“…If you doubt my tale, she told him, go there yourself, and then come back to name me false if you have the breath of life to do it…”
The introduction of the Character with Information was originally like this…
Then Aldric’s head jerked around, his smile vanishing; for what he had just heard had to be more than accident, more than just a tale. There was an uncomfortable coincidence between certain memories and the words.
“… the dragons confer honour where they will.”
He could feel his hackles lifting. Maybe this was coincidence, but it was still too close to what had happened to him, and to what Ymareth had said to him, for him to ignore it safely. Once he had traced her voice above the background babble, the speaker was easy enough to aim for: a stocky, middle-aged, matronly woman whose silvery hair was pulled straight back from her forehead and held there by a bronze clip, and who wore an unmistakable suit and overmantle of turquoise velvet. But more important, and more noticeable even than her own appearance, was the embroidered design on each sleeve: a dragon, crawling from cuff to shoulder.
This, like the world it’s set in (and the writer) has grown a bit…
“…though Dragons love gold they respect honour, because it can’t be alloyed or debased. It can be only true or false, so if your honour is true then you’ll be safe…”
Aldric’s head jerked around, his smile vanishing. What he had just heard seemed more than accident, more than just a tale, for it was uncomfortably close to what Ymareth the firedrake had told him.
The speaker was easy to spot. She was a striking woman with a high-cheekboned face, too severe for beauty but definitely handsome, and she stood taller than Aldric although, since he lacked the typical Talvalin stature, that wasn’t such an achievement. Silver-white hair hung over her shoulder in a single braid wrapped about at intervals with ribbon, and though she wore everyday clothes for the most part, over them was an elaborate high-collared gown, wine-red with embroidered patterns in copper wire. She was as dark as an Elherran and, what with height, dress and demeanour, there was enough authority about her to command any of their merchant-ships.
Maybe En Sohra in Master Barrankal’s absence, thought Aldric. Then a hint of smile returned. Or even in his presence, if he knows what’s good for him.
She had the voice for it too, ranging from loud and fierce to soft and tender, low and dramatic to high and humorous. The book on her lap was consulted once in a while, but mostly she told her tale instead of reading it, and her audience hung on every word and even every pause woven by that remarkable voice.
“…But take warning from me, Farmer Kolvin. If this is just a tale to make us all think well of you then beware, for the Dragon won’t be fooled. Are you a good husband to your wife, and a good master to your servants and your beasts, or you beat and curse them?’
‘I would never do a thing like that!’ declared Kolvin, ‘and I defy anyone to say I would!’
‘When you go to market, do you give and take fair price for goods, or do you cheat and lie for your advantage?’
‘No one could trade like that for long in these parts,’ said Kolvin, ‘and if you keep talking like that, then wizard or not we’re going to have some words you might not like.’
‘What would you take out of a burning house? Answer quickly now!’
‘My family,’ said Kolvin at once, ‘for they’re the only wealth I can’t recover by hard work. But if I could, I’d take the fire out first.’
‘Well done, Farmer Kolvin,’ said the wizard. ‘You’ve got more true honour than our noble Prince, and more good sense than his whole council.’
‘If I had any good sense at all, I wouldn’t go talking to Dragons!’ said Kolvin, and he laughed, though it was the laugh men laugh at the foot of the scaffold steps. ‘But if a thing needs done, be it harvesting or milking or something worse, then better do it soon than late. I’ll go to Dragon Castle right away.’ And off he went at a great pace, like a man trying to outrun second thoughts, while all the others watched and wondered if they would ever see him alive again.
Though Kolvin didn’t know it, before he had climbed more than halfway up the hill to Dragon’s Castle, three men in the Prince’s colours rode up to his farm. Their swords were drawn, and their eyes were fierce, and they said…”
The woman smiled, and closed her book.
“Be here tomorrow at the hour of noon, and I’ll tell you what they said, and what happened Farmer Kolvin met the Dragon, and all the things that followed after. Until then, my friends, good night.”
“Ker’Trahan steading, commander,” she yelled after him with all the power of a voice that had been trained for song and public speaking. “Beyond the Great and Lesser Mountains and through the valley…”
Aiyyan ker’Trahan closed her mouth around the unfinished sentence, knowing that to continue was a waste of breath. She looked from side to side and felt the slightest tremor of embarrassment as she met the interested – if somewhat bewildered – stares of the new audience who had begun to take their seats around her. A scarcely-formed notion of following the hanalth – just to see what happened; all right, call it nosiness! – took no further shape as she sat down and composed herself with a toss of her silvery head and a sweet storyteller’s smile. One after another they named favourite tales: classics, rarities, her own work.
Aiyyan pushed the strange young officer and his most unhanalthlike interests right to the back of her mind. But not out of it entirely; he was far too interesting a potential story-character for that. Then she drew breath, nodded at her audience, and began:
“Ker Trahan steading, commander!” she shouted after him with all the power of a voice trained for song and public speaking. “Go two leagues beyond Twin Crags on the Great North Road and turn off left at…”
Ayan ker Trahan closed her mouth around the unfinished sentence, knowing that to continue was a waste of breath, and felt a flush of embarrassment warm her cheeks as she met the interested if bewildered stares of people taking their seats around her. She pushed the strange young officer and his curiosities right to the back of her mind, though not out of it entirely. There had been a half-formed notion of following the hanalth to see what happened next, but that went away because right now there was work to do, and what happened next was underneath a bookmark..
“Where did I leave off last time?” she asked, despite knowing perfectly well.
“ ‘There were eyes in the darkness!’ ” prompted an eager voice from the audience. Ayan nodded, raised her hand and waited for silence before opening the book. A single quick glance was enough to refresh memory, and then she resumed her tale.
“There were eyes in the darkness. Seela looked up and up, thirty feet above her head, and saw them blink. They might have been eager, they might have been content, they might have been merely curious. She couldn’t tell, for they were such eyes and such an expression as she had never seen before.
But she was a blacksmith’s daughter, and blacksmiths know the power in cold iron that Evil can’t abide. After Seela’s mother was stolen away, her father made her a special amulet to carry always. It was a nail, only a simple thing, but even the most simple thing has strength if made well and true. Seela’s father had put all his strength of hand and skill of eye into making that nail, and all the love of a father for his only child.
It was as long as Seela’s hand from wrist to fingertips, and its four sides tapered to a point as sharp as a sword, as sharp as a needle, as sharp as the grief of loss. The nail was pure iron, smelted and refined ten times, and though it had been dull grey when it left the fire and hammer, Seela had ground it with a stone and polished it with clean fine river-sand until now it gleamed like a dagger forged for some great lord from the finest twisted steel.
She took it out, and held it up, and said, “By the power of this cold iron, I bid you gone!”
For a moment nothing happened, but then it was as if some fog or smoke had blown away until Seela could see clearly. And what she saw was this: the eyes had never been just in the darkness. They were part of it…”
