“Just because you shot Jesse James, don’t make you Jesse James…” I recently rewatched “Breaking Bad,” the TV show that famously bucked the culture of “enforced stasis” and plotted an epic character change over five seasons, in this case turning “Mr. Chips into Scarface” in the formulation of the creator, Vince Gilligan. When the show’s finale originally aired, I was just out of college, and my reaction was mainly: “Wow.” Now, as a professional writer, my reaction was still “wow,” but I had a deeper drive to see how the intricately-plotted, well-written, hyper-detailed sausage was made.

Writers and storytellers have a lot to gain by not merely consuming the art they love but understanding how it’s doing what it’s doing. That can be handled with time and analysis, but there’s another layer, too, and one that’s even easier — hearing from the writers themselves. I started by finding interviews with Gilligan, and eventually stumbled on one with the whole writers’ room, which was especially illuminating. Not to mention filled with delightful or fascinating nuggets, like the fact that the writers internally referred to a certain climactic —and explosive—plot point involving a bell as “ding boom,” and the fact that they originally planned to kill off Jesse Pinkman after episode 9. Here are five core lessons that stood out to me after pouring through a few of these interviews.

* “Breaking Bad” spoilers ahead *

Look backward for ideas

“The more we went on, the more I realized that some of the ideas that we got most excited about were looking back at things that were already in the story.”
— Peter Gould

A conventional approach to generating new story ideas in a larger narrative is to look forward and try to map out compelling moment to arrive at. Before the delay from a writer’s strike caused him to rethink things, Gilligan was working toward a major heel turn for Walter White at the end of…Season 1! Which, we can say in hindsight would certainly have felt less organic and more pre-ordained. But some extra reflection and advice convinced him that change would be way too fast, even if it would maximize shock value. Instead, the writers opted for an incremental approach that inched out over five seasons and led to an arc that felt Shakespearean.

As opposed to looking forward for ideas, Peter Gould, a staff writer, mentioned the tactic of looking backward at little things that were already in the story. There’s an opportunity to bloom those details, making the world-building richer and more cohesive. The fact that previous details are already in the world makes connecting back to them feel organic.

One example Gould cited was the Pollos Hermanos franchise that meth mastermind Gus Fring runs as a cover for his empire. The restaurant’s name begged the question: Who was the second chicken brother? The answer to that question turned out to be a chemist named Max — and the skeleton key that unlocked Fring’s motivation, coloring in his relationship to several major cartel figures, and driving his quest for revenge against Hector Salamanca, which led to his downfall.

Handle coincidences strategically

“If it’s a coincidence that’s ultimately bad for the main character, then it’s kosher. If it’s a coincidence that’s good for that protagonist, then it’s lazy.”
—Vince Gilligan

Coincidences present a challenge to fiction writers because they can seem like cop-outs and deus ex machina-style interventions from author gods. I filed away Gilligan’s guiding principle, which warns against coincidences that help protagonists but sanctions ones that set them back. Instead of the audience/reader thinking “how convenient!” a negative coincidence can have the patina of reality. Life is messy!

The main one the writers discussed was when Walt ends up at the same bar as Jane’s dad, Donald, on the night Jane dies. Donald’s comment about not giving up on family encourages Walt to double back to Jesse’s house in an effort to talk to him after things have soured between the two, but the events that follow result in him watching Jane die and doing nothing to save her, something that causes him to lose more of his soul, as Gilligan put it.

Check in with your own characters

“The characters didn’t want to do what we wanted to do.” —Peter Gould

Whenever the writers were stuck, they had a motto they would use to figure out what should come next: “Where’s X’s head at?” Often in storytelling, whether novels or movies or any medium, a character’s motivation can become thin and secondary to serving plot, but in this formulation, it’s crucial that characters drive the plot forward rather than the other way around. Paying granular attention to your characters leads to a naturalistic feel rather than awkward, externally-imposed events that don’t track.

Handling story that way may mean relinquishing some control and acknowledging that even though you’re dealing with a fictional person, you’re trying to be as realistic as possible and they may be different than you first intended. Complex characters often scoff and reject and reverse your early understandings of them. An example that comes to mind from the show is Hank, Walt’s brother-in-law who just happens to be a DEA agent. In season 1, Hank often served as comic relief, needling anyone in sight with off-color jokes and crass language, but after he’s involved in a traumatic shoot-out that haunts him, the writers realized it wouldn’t be realistic for him to be cracking jokes at the same clip. Instead of forcing it with Hank, the writers introduced a new character to fill the humor void, and boy, did he. Better…Call…Saul!

Let the consequences do the talking

“[Vince] almost never said ‘Let’s not go there.’ [He said] let’s look through the consequences of this idea.’” — Peter Gould

Several “Breaking Bad” writers talked about the value of a “safe room” where they felt free to discuss any idea they had without a fear of being derided, which is an extremely useful mood for any creative collaborative effort. I found it insightful to hear the actual mechanics of that, or as Saul Goodman might say, the “brass tacks.”

The formula, as explained by Gould, was to hear ideas out and map them to their consequences for the story and for each character. Rather than the creator just asserting executive privilege and dismissing ideas he wasn’t interested in, Gilligan projected them to their logical conclusions, which is a useful exercise in itself, and can let any idea live or die according to its actual merits. Additionally, I would imagine it’s a major confidence builder for everyone else in the room that their ideas are consistently worthy of being heard. One bonkers idea the writers discussed that made it into the show was when DEA informant La Tortuga has his head mounted on a turtle. As if that wasn’t enough, there’s a bomb rigged to the poor creature, leading to a harrowing but unforgettable scene.

Character dictates theme

“People ask me… ‘how do you figure out your theme’ and I never think of theme.” — Gennifer Hutchison

Sometimes writers to try to start with theme, which can end up feeling forced or awkward. I liked Hutchison’s comment that “everything comes from character.” When you allow yourself to follow compelling characters you’ve created, themes will naturally emerge from them and their choices. A project that began by orbiting around ideas of change and family and mortality sprouted additional major motifs revolving around masculinity, capitalism, and ego. Walt may have started out as a man who would do anything for his family, but later on it was just an excuse.

“If I have to hear one more time that you did it for the family…” Skyler says in the clip above.”

“I did it for me,” Walt finally admits. “I liked it. I was good at it.”