I don’t know that everyone has had a personal 9/11, but a lot of people have.

Some are more earth-shattering than others.

On the slim chance that you don’t know what a personal 9/11 is: it’s an event that shakes your world so hard that a fault line appears: Before and After. (I wonder what people called them before 9/11/2001?)

Oftentimes, a personal 9/11 can be an enormous motivator, a huge wake-up call to change your life.

On the actual 9/11/2001, people stepped up and became heroes.

In the aftermath, people affected by that horror quit jobs, divorced, married, moved, pursued goals that had been put on the back burner of their life.

People made changes, large and small.

I don’t wish an event like 9/11 on anyone.

Not in real life anyway.

Books, on the other hand, are often crafted around personal 9/11s.

Here are a few.

A Christmas Carol: Scrooge is visited by three spirits that scare the bejeeburs out of him.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone: Harry’s parents are dead.

The Goldfinch: Theo’s mother is killed in a museum blast.

Gone with the Wind: Civil War.

The Diary of Anne Frank: the Nazis of WWII invade.

Fictional 9/11s don’t have to be so catastrophic.

Paddington Bear’s 9/11 was being sent by his Peruvian aunt to London with a suitcase, a jar of marmalade, and a sign that read “Please look after this bear.”

In writing your own book, try giving your protagonist a personal 9/11.

When does their world get shattered into Before and After?

What’s their disaster, and then what do they do about it?

Disasters are often about loss.

When crafting the 9/11, think about your genre and the age of your readers.

What loss would be of utmost importance to your reader?

Losing a parent?

A spouse?

A sibling?

A job?

A home?

A pet?

A grandparent?

A best friend?

Their privacy?

A favorite keepsake?

A manuscript?

Democracy?

Their hair?

Time?

The disaster can also be the result of too much. (Picture books are really good at that.)

Too much of a good thing.

Too many admirers.

Too many puppies.

Too many mice.

Too many jobs.

Too much advice.

Spread too thin.

Disasters can be mixed and matched, too.

For example, in my current project, my protagonist has lost a sibling, and is about to lose her home and her pets.

Any disaster will carry a book as long as the writer can build a bridge between the reader and the protagonist with relatable emotion.

Once you’ve created the disaster, give your protagonist a fatal flaw that will make finding balance—stability—ever again seem impossible.

This formula for story works for picture books all the way to adult fiction.

Be cruel.

Tear the protagonist’s life apart then make them claw their way back to balance.

Enjoy your week,

~ Gail

Onward!

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