Hi Reader,

This weekend, I finished watching season one of Andor.

I know, I know, I’m way behind. Friends have been telling me how good this show is for years, and I only just now got around to it.

But holy cow. They weren’t wrong. Andor is freaking phenomenal storytelling.

My favorite episode was episode 10 (iykyk). I literally applauded at the TV screen when I finished it. No wonder that episode earned a Hugo nomination for best dramatic presentation and an Emmy nomination for outstanding writing.

And since I’ve been raving about Andor for days, I just had to draw an editing tip from it to share with you.

So here’s one insight from my favorite episode. Let’s talk creating tension in your audience.

How Andor creates tension

In episode 8, Cassian Andor is placed into a situation where he’ll need to make a plan.

In episode 9, he gathers data, gains allies, and makes the plan.

And in episode 10, he executes the plan.

Before the episode even began, I assumed the plan would be successful. I made that assumption for a few reasons:

First, because this is a prequel series set before the movie Rogue One, and Cassian is in Rogue One. Star Wars fans know right from the start how Cassian’s story ends, and it doesn’t end here.

But second, and more important for our purposes:

We the audience are not told what the plan is.

For me, in any story, this is a tip-off about a plan’s success. Here’s a pattern I see a lot—maybe you’ve noticed it too:

• Character tells us the entire plan ahead of time or otherwise imagines what they expect in the future in great detail → that’s not going to happen like they think it is
• Character doesn’t tell us the plan → the plan will play out as they expect

Why do writers do this? Why don’t they just always tell us the plan, or never tell us the plan?

Writers do this to control the tension the reader feels.

Let’s look at the opportunities for tension in each case.

When the reader knows the plan

. . . here’s how to lose tension:

If you’ve told me how the plan will work, and then we execute the plan and it goes exactly as expected, now you’ve told me the same thing twice.

🥱 No surprise, no tension, just a repeat of the same information. That’s boring.

. . . and here’s how to create tension:

Since you’ve told me the plan, I’m now expecting it to fail in some way. But of course, the character doesn’t know that. So I’m watching the character execute the plan with confidence that I believe is misplaced, and I’m bracing myself for obstacles I believe they’re unprepared for.

😧 That’s tension—specifically, it’s dramatic irony, where the audience knows more than the character does.

And since I know how the plan should go, I’ll be hyper-aware of anything that doesn’t go according to plan. I’m primed to recognize when things go awry, and so I can correctly interpret the first signals of danger and feel all the tension they signal.

😧 That’s tension—specifically, suspense, where the audience knows the same information the character does.

When the reader doesn’t know the plan

. . . here’s how to create tension:

Since I don’t know what the plan is, I don’t know how to interpret the success of each stage of the plan. Are things happening the way the character expected them to? The way they meant them to? Or has something gone awry? If it’s gone awry, are we prepared with a countermeasure? Or is the plan about to fail completely?

This is especially powerful if the plan involves steps where it looks like the enemy has the upper hand. The character might know that they’re leading the enemy into a trap by allowing them to think they’re in control. But as the reader, all I see is that the enemy is in control, and that looks like a bad sign.

😧 That’s tension—specifically, mystery, where the audience knows less than the character does.

. . . and here’s how to lose tension:

Since I don’t know what the plan is, I’m assuming that it will be successful. But if it’s an easy success, I’ll be disappointed. I want the execution to convince me that failure is still on the table. I want success to be difficult, to be earned, to test the characters in ways that might be beyond them.

🥱 Success without struggle? No tension, no surprise, just delivering exactly what I expected to happen. That’s boring.

Readers want tension even when we know the ending

The tension you create through sharing or withholding information is incredibly powerful.

In fact, it’s so powerful that in episode 10 of Andor, I knew how the episode would end, and yet I was still on the edge of my seat the whole way through.

In a sense, Rogue One spoiled the entire show before the writers wrote a single word.

And yet, Andor season one is on so many “Best Shows of 2022” lists.

That’s for a ton of reasons—they did a lot of things phenomenally well in this show.

And one thing they got right? Creating tension in the journey—even when we know the outcome.

So: what plans are your characters making? And when will you tell your readers what they are?

Happy editing,

Alice

P.S. Want to see this in action? Here are three places I’ve seen this in the wild recently:

• Andor, season 1, episode 10 (but I won’t say more to spare you spoilers 😉)
• Community, season 3, episode 21, when the study group breaks into Chang’s Greendale to rescue the Dean
• Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas, chapter 26, when Chaol imagines his future with Celaena

Have you seen any plans laid out or withheld from the reader in stories you’ve encountered lately? Hit reply and let me know!