A careful study of fictional and dramatic plot will well repay the photoplaywright.  But little more can be said here on the technique of plot, though it deserves a treatise in itself; but much will be gained if these few words are taken seriously, and no stories are submitted except those revolving about ORIGINAL, CLEAR-CUT, PLAUSIBLE SITUATIONS SHOWING THE LIVES OF HUMAN BEINGS IN THEIR HOUR OF CRISIS, AND WORKING OUT THE AFTER-RESULTS OF THAT CRISIS WITH LIVELY, DRAMATIC HUMAN INTEREST.

This advice applies even to humor, for humor takes things which are ordinarily serious and by introducing the incongruous makes them laughable.  It is the sudden interruption of smooth going, the unexpected shifting of the factors in the problem, the new and surprising condition of affairs, the swift disappointment—­it is any of these in countless variety that makes plot possible.

Learn to invent plots.  Invent them wholesale—­by day, by night.  Turn the facts of everyday life into plots.  Draw them from jests, from tragedies, from newspapers, from books, from your own heart—­and don’t omit the heart, whatever else you do omit.  At first, invent merely complications; later work out the situation entire.  Thus you will cultivate an inventive attitude and at least some good plots are sure to result.

4.  Preparation of the Synopsis

The synopsis of the plot is the first part of the script to be read by the editor, for from it he decides whether the whole script is worth reading further.  For this reason, even were there no other, the importance of the synopsis should need no argument.  Besides, many companies now are willing to consider “synopsis only.”

The final preparation of the synopsis should be the last stroke in the completion of the script.  We emphasize “final” because, as has been briefly pointed out in a previous chapter, the writer should at the very outstart draft a rough, or working, synopsis, to be used as a guide while working out the various scenes in his scenario.

The reasons for reserving the synopsis for improving and polishing at the very end of the writing may easily be understood.  Suppose an author were to write the complete synopsis of his story first, and then in writing his scenario follow that synopsis rigidly, adding no scene not indicated in it, introducing no character that it does not mention, and otherwise being bound by his earlier work.  He might indeed produce a good scenario, but would it be quite as good as it might have been had he allowed himself a freer rein in working it out?  Might there not have been a scene or two added that would have aided materially in making every little detail of his plot clear to the spectators?

Again, a writer will frequently find, when working out his scenario, that he can improve his story by transposing some of the scenes as originally planned.  In fact, there are a dozen ways in which the story may be altered for the better while in course of construction.  Why, then, should the author hamper himself by obstinately adhering to his original plan or synopsis of it?  In photoplay writing an author should not promise himself never to change his mind.