Ask Sally #23 Plot Ninjas

A new question from my lovely friend, Womagwriter.

What's a plot ninja? I've seen the term on writing sites, and you say you've put some in your nano first chapter. Can you explain what they are, whether they're good or bad, and why you have them.

I've mentioned this a few times over the past couple of weeks, all leading up to NaNoWriMo, but it's a good idea to put it all here, so that anyone looking for specific information about plot ninjas can find it easily.

The term 'Plot Ninja' originated on the NaNoWriMo forums, as desperate NaNowers struggled to find a way to retain interest in their stories. Someone had the bright idea of having them all include an ninja jumping out of a wardrobe somewhere in their novel. Hence the term 'plot ninja'. The idea grew, so that now NaNowers all over the world come up with different 'plot ninjas' in order to make the nano process more enjoyable. It doesn't have to be a ninja nowadays. It can be anything the imagination can come up with. In my first year of Nanowing, I was given the plot ninja 'a troupe of tap-dancing nuns'. As my novel was set in Elizabethan England, that was quite a challenge.

It's something I take part in with other members of the Writers Dock NaNo group. We all supply one or two plot ninjas each, then everyone taking part tries to fit them into their novel. I can give you examples of a few I used in my Raven novel last year, with extracts to show how I worked them in.

I got the ball rolling with the first plot ninjas:

A large bar of Turkish Delight and a packet of chocolate biscuits

This is how I wrote it into my NaNo novel:

For another couple of years we all muddled through. Now we’re suffering from war fatigue. We all sit silently in the tube until the release siren goes off. We don’t even talk to each other because the only topic of conversation is war. We’re sick of food being rationed. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a large bar of Turkish Delight and a packet of chocolate biscuits with my girls, all in the same room. It’s more galling when pictures appear in the papers of King William and the Prime Minister at some banquet (laughingly called peace talks). I don’t know. Maybe they put their ration books together to save up for these occasions.

Writers Dock member, Goggs, was next with this idea:

Seven midgets (not dwarves) with an affinity for anything peanut buttery

I cut it down to one midget (much easier to handle!)

I decided to have breakfast out and think about it. I went to a small café near Tower Hill and ordered a slice of toast – a sign said ‘Due to a shortage, we regret there is no butter today’ - and homemade marmalade, with a cup of tea. I longed for the days of bacon, eggs, mushrooms and all the trimmings. While I eked out my toast, more as a means of delaying my decision about going to Tower Temps than anything, a midget came into the café.
“Have you got peanut butter?” he asked the owner.
“No butter today,” she said, pointing to the sign. She treated him as if he were invisible. I almost interfered and clarified his order for him, but decided it best not to.
“No, not butter. Peanut butter.”
“We ain’t got any. Look at the sign.”
“He wants peanut butter,” I said, feeling irritated with the stupid woman.
“We ain’t got none of that either.”
“So you do have some,” I said, my inner pedant rising to the surface. The midget smiled at me and held up one of his thumbs.
“I just said we ain’t got none, didn’t I?”
“So if you ‘ain’t got none’ that means you must have some. It’s a double negative.” Truth be known I was beginning to feel a bit embarrassed by my own intransigence over something so trivial. Who was I to tell this Londoner how to speak? It wasn’t even her bad grammar that annoyed me. It was the way she treated the man as if his needs were not important.
“Oh, bloody smartarse, are you?” said the owner. “I Ham so sorry, sir,” she turned to the midget, speaking in mock King’s English. “We do not ‘ave Hany peanut butter. We do not ‘ave Hany ordinary butter. Now Horder something Helse Hor piss off.”
“I’ll piss off if it’s all the same to you,” said the midget. “Spend my money somewhere it’s appreciated.”
“There’s a little American shop, down near Portobello Road,” I told him. “Sometimes they have a special delivery.”
“Thanks, missus,” he said, once again raising a thumb. He gave me a charming smile before leaving.

There were a few more, when Oz Baston suggested:

Dead octopus hanging from a lamp-post.

I had no idea how this was going to fit in, but I managed it, and made it a part of my character's shameful history!

I dreamt about Lily’s wedding last night. We were all there. Me, Harris. His new wife. Grace and Mia were stunning bridesmaids, dressed in peach to match their complexions. Lily looked exquisite, dressed in a nineteen twenties style ivory lace gown as she gazed up at her handsome husband. They’d met during their basic training. In my dream, I was drunk and had been for some time. I’m talking days and weeks, not hours. I struggled to stay upright, but was convinced I’d fooled everyone. Even at the reception, I behaved. I may have danced and sang a little too loudly, but everyone was in good spirits. Harris danced with me, to an old song in which the girl felt that nothing compared to her old lover, and for a few minutes it felt as if we were together again. The dream turned into a nightmare when I fell – I may have even been pushed – yes I was pushed. It wasn’t the drink at all. I fell into the wedding cake, knocking it to the ground and destroying it completely. I looked up to see Lily’s horrified face, and Mia and Grace’s shame. I caught the words ‘Oh mum, you promised,’ on Lily’s lips just before she turned it into her new husband’s shoulder.
I woke up, in the dream I mean, some time later in a dirty alley just off the docks. I looked up and was convinced I saw a dead octopus hanging from a lamppost. It took a while for the mist to clear and for me to realise it was my tights. I had no idea how they got there.

That's just an example of three uses of the plot ninja, and we had loads more between us, but I hope it gives you an idea.

I don't know if they're good or bad, but I actually kept quite a few in my novel inlcuding the Turkish Delight/chocolate and the bit about the dead octopus. However, the midget became an immigrant looking for peanut butter for his wife, and, it turned out, one of the major characters in the novel.

We have them for the fun factor of NaNo, but they can also be a good way of getting that word count up and a good prompt if you're stuck on something. They might not be much use if you're writing a 'serious' novel, but as few people write serious novels during NaNoWriMo (they'd really have to be quite mad to try!), they fit in quite well.