Predicting the Unpredictable: Statistical Patterns in Epic Storytelling
Epic stories must feel fair and authentic to make us feel something. Even when we dive into a fantasy world with fire-breathing dragons or set off on a perilous space adventure, we want to believe there’s a small chance of survival. At the same time, we don’t want our hero to win every battle without a single scratch.
So, how does a writer strike a perfect balance to make us believe and keep us engaged? Successful epic storytelling relies on statistical patterns that cause neurological triggers.
Our Brains Always Seek Patterns
Human brains are trained to seek patterns. As a result of evolution, our brains have become pattern-recognition engines, which helped us survive. Therefore, instead of just observing the world, we constantly try to predict what will happen next.
The same happens when we read a novel. As we read, our brains try to detect patterns and anticipate how the story will unfold. So, if we read about a hero who constantly overcomes challenges without any setbacks, we will recognize a pattern of invincibility. Without any surprises, this feels predictable. To keep us interested, the author must shake things up.
It’s All About Neurochemistry
Although dopamine is usually not associated with reading, epic storytelling relies on the same neurological processes as gaming, for instance. Whenever we encounter something unexpected, we get a dopamine spike, which keeps us yearning for more. In neuroscience, this is known as a reward prediction error.
Such neurological tension is typically caused by modern video games. One of them offers the so-called CS case opening, a gameplay stage where items slide across the screen to be revealed. Instead of focus on the common outcomes, our brains wait for the ticker to land on the Gold icon, a rare item with a 0.26% success rate. When the icon stops just one tick away from the selector, it creates a near-miss. We keep playing because there’s still a chance for a rare item to land.
Whether it is a video games or fantasy novel, the mechanics of engagement are the same. In epic storytelling, the author can use the same near-miss event to depict the dangers of the world. When our hero survives by a hair’s breadth, we get a confirmation that miracles are possible and our pattern-seeking nature is satisfied.
Near-Miss vs. Plot Armor
Epic writers use two storytelling devices with the same objective: to manage character safety. A near-miss refers to a dramatic event in which the hero suffers a major consequence or nearly dies. Its objective it to raise tension. On the other hand, plot armor makes the hero survive against the odds just because the writer needs him to drive the story forward.
On the surface, these two devices might look similar. Still, our pattern-recognition brains perceive them as completely opposite because of the risk involved. A near-miss event is highly risky, since the world has already been established as dangerous and failure is possible. Escaping death in such a situation causes a dopamine spike.
On the other hand, plot armor creates a statistical flatline. The hero doesn’t survive by luck but because of the suspension of logical rules. If you have seen the legendary TV show Game of Thrones, you must remember how Jon Snow magically resurrected after being stabbed to death. He’s just one of the characters with too much plot armor, which fans rightfully criticized. At the same time, others praised the moments when the plot armor was unexpectedly broken, as these made the story feel more authentic.
Black Swan in Storytelling
Have you ever heard of the Black Swan theory? It describes unpredictable events with high impact that no one normally expects to happen, yet which are falsely rationalized in hindsight as predictable. The term comes from the European belief that only white swans existed until black swans were discovered in Australia.
The black swan is a perfect metaphor not only for the fallacy that the future mirrors the past, but also for the fragility of human knowledge in general. To avoid predictable patterns, epic storytellers usually introduce unexpected events, mimicking the Black Swan theory. And how do they make them feel plausible?
One common approach is to rely on the Law of Large Numbers. In statistics, the Law of Large Numbers usually makes things feel more predictable. At the same time, it guarantees that black swans will eventually happen if the sample size is big enough. For instance, in a small village with 100 people, the odds of a chosen one are almost non-existent. On the other hand, a 5,000-year-old fantasy world with a 10 million population is a massive sample. In such an environment, a hero that can survive near-misses, is a mathematical certainty.
Select the Unexpected
Another technique that has proven effective for predicting the unpredictable is called Select the Unexpected. It allows improbable failures to happen occasionally. For example, our brave hero could suddenly fall ill, which demonstrates that no one is safe in a volatile world. By making the hero vulnerable, the writer resets our dopamine receptors.
This way, the author reintroduces risk, ensuring that when the final victory occurs, it feels like hard-won reality rather than fiction. The story is no longer a straight line, but a high-risk environment where every roll of the dice matters.
The Beauty of Epic Storytelling
We don’t read epic stories for the average or expected, as our lives are already a mix of small wins and setbacks. We read them to witness how the hero who refuses to give up beats the odds. In high-quality literature, the impossible feels earned rather than gifted. Successful authors accomplish that by creating miracles using techniques based on statistics and neuroscience.
That’s why a great story is not just a sequence of events. It heavily relies on the uncertainty that resembles the chaos of our own lives, just with higher stakes. As such, epic storytelling is the art of making us believe in miracles, reminding us that even in a world ruled by statistics, there is still room for the extraordinary.