Who Knows What? When? And How?
Successful storytelling hinges on choreographing a dance between characters and audience, with information as the music.
Controlling the Flow of Information
As audience members watching a story (or reading it, listening to it, whatever) we are constantly adding new information to our understanding. We start with very little information, and over the course of the story, we get more and more information until it all comes together.
We each build our own personal story from the clues the writer and their colleagues supply.
We’re constantly trying to judge which bits of information are important, and which are just window-dressing.
In one story, the fact that a character is wearing running shoes with a suit might be about the sort of character he is; in another story it’s a comment on how much pressure he’s under; or in another, it’s a crucial clue in a murder mystery.
And in another, it might just be a whimsical detail that goes nowhere, and cause us to doubt what we should be paying attention to.
And now and again, we discover we were wrong: that something we thought we understood is not right, might even be the exact opposite of what we thought.
Which makes us learn even more.
As the writer, one of our crucial tasks in telling a story is to make the audience feel that we have the flow of information under control: that we know which bits of information are important, and which are less important.
This is part of what makes us trustworthy as storytellers.
However, what makes us compelling as storytellers is our ability to manage the dance of information between the characters and the audience, modulating who knows what, when and how for maximum impact.
Three Modes of Revelation
At any significant moment in a narrative, there are three possible relationships between the audience and the character.
Character Knows More Than the Audience
This mode is ubiquitous at the beginning of a story or a sequence.
We see characters acting purposefully while we try to catch up. They know what they’re doing, we don’t yet. We lean forward and ask:
- Who are these people?
- What are they doing?
- What is the problem, and who has it?
- Why are they making these choices?
This is a repeating strategy in storytelling, not just at the beginning. Throughout the story, we cut from the end of one sequence into the middle of the next one, arriving halfway through an action we don’t yet understand.
A sequence may end with a character facing a dilemma. Instead of cutting to them beginning their response, the next sequence might start with them already in the middle of doing something mysterious.
Gradually, we piece together what they are doing and why. Once we catch up, we feel as though we’ve gained privileged insight into them — and then the next dilemma arrives.
When done well, this mode makes the audience feel trusted: instead of being spoon-fed, they’re allowed to infer, interpret, and discover.
It certainly beats long expositional speeches as a mode of discovery.
This mode creates dramatic momentum through curiosity.
Audience Knows More Than the Character
This mode creates suspense.
The audience realises something the character hasn’t yet seen:
- He’s a double agent.
- The bridge is out.
- She’s walking into a trap.
The Active Story Question becomes: “Will they realise in time to take action?”
Suspense can’t last forever on a single question — it becomes repetitive — but it’s a powerful temporary state.
Sometimes its power comes from brevity and direct connection to character choice, such as the example in Sequence 2 of Sample Sequences where we realise what the King is expecting before the Queen does. The gap is just long enough for the audience to wonder ‘What would I do here?’, and to sympathise with the Queen’s position.
Sometimes, if you want to extend the suspense for longer, you can switch POV to another character who does see the problem and is trying to intervene before it becomes too late. Or is unable to intervene.
For example, you could stage the scene between the King and the Queen so that one of the chambermaids is still assisting the Queen when the King’s expectation becomes clear, and the chambermaid realises while the Queen is still oblivious.
Audience and Character Realise Something Simultaneously
This is the engine of action and emotion.
When the audience discovers a crucial piece of information at the same moment the character does, it creates a cascade:
- What is she going to do right now?
- No, don’t do that — oh, she’s done it!
- Oh god — what does that mean for her next choice?
This is where stories feel immediate, urgent, and alive. But it’s better to use this mode sparingly, otherwise it’s like putting an exclamation point at the end of every sentence.
Crafting a Dynamic Narrative
A good story moves among all three modes:
- Sometimes the audience lags behind, trying to understand
- Sometimes the audience leaps ahead, worrying for the character
- Sometimes the audience runs alongside, experiencing every consequence in real time
It’s choreography. And here’s a typical series of steps:
- An extended series of Catch-up Moments → “What are they doing, and why?´
- A Moment of Realisation for both character and audience. Often the audience realises just before the character, which leads to a brief moment of Suspense → not so much “Will they realise?” as “What will they feel, and do, when they realise?”
- And if you have created a Moment of Suspense, you’ve created a space for the audience to think “Wow! What would I do?” before the character makes their choice.
- A Moment of Choice from the character, followed by Action → either they do what we would have done, or they do something we didn’t predict, or wouldn’t have chosen. Either way, we learn something meaningful about them.
These shifts in knowledge distribution are the story’s emotional rhythm.
