Monthly Archives: September 2015

Bradley Cooper on Concept. Really. Sort of.

Earlier this week Bradley Cooper appeared on The Late Late Show with James Cordon. Among other things (and other guests), a topic of discussion was a new TV series premiering next month called Limitless, which Cooper produces and, we are promised, will feature him as an occasional guest star (he’s not the lead/star of program, however).


This is interesting – and germane to the above headline – because the series is based on a 2011 movie of the same name, in which Cooper was the star.  The concept was this: what if there was a pill that allowed you to access the full power and potential of your brain, but there were side effects and unpredictable consequences from suddenly becoming the smartest and most competent person on the planet, although burdened with the suddenly enhanced foibles and obsessions of that same brain.

Hijinks would certainly ensue.

Notice there is no story yet, no characters, either.  Just an idea, a notion, a proposition with serious dramatic potential.

Cordon asked Cooper how this happened, and more surprisingly, how Cooper came to be associated with the TV show, when this just doesn’t happen in Hollywood (movie stars producing and appearing in TV spin-offs of their films).  His answer says volumes about the power of a compelling concept, and in doing so becomes a sparkling example of one of the primary criteria and benchmarks for just that.

You can see and hear that answer here, via Youtube.

In essence, without using the word “concept,” he said this: when a core idea is this deep and strong and compelling, it can be spun into any number of stories… because it is not the story itself, but rather, the conceptual framework or notion for any number of stories.

This, folks, is the essence of concept.

That 2011 movie was just one story – one premise – arising from that singular killer concept.  The first season of the TV series will bring us 13 more unique premises, each different than the last (26 if it lasts the whole season), all derived from the very same concept.

That’s what we’re trying to achieve when we create a concept for a novel.  

Not necessarily the achievement of a TV series (though I think we can all agree, that would be so cool), but rather, an idea so conceptually strong that is compels and draws interest even before you throw in a premise that introduces a specific hero with a specific quest.

Concept is the driving dramatic framework of every dramatic  television series, as well as the likely explanation behind a new bestselling novel (Hunger Games, anyone?).  Castle, Scorpion, Veep, Ray Donovan, Orphan Black… The Help, Girl on a Train, Broken, The Girl in the Spider’s Web, The Martian, All the Light We Cannot See, Twilight… name your favorite show or novel, this same phenomena is happening: one concept, birthing any number of specific story premises.

In the case of novels, though, the author runs with just one premise (until the book becomes a series, in which case they apply a new premise to the same concept)… the very best premise they can come up with that is driven by the core concept driving it.

This is one of several key criteria for either concept or premise.

Click HERE to listen in to a FREE 90-minute TeleClass on this subject…

… with me and story coach  Jennifer Blanchard.


Important Story Coaching Notice — as of today I will be putting a temporary hold on new/incoming story coaching projects, as I head off to France for three weeks with my lovely wife (Laura) to celebrate our 20th anniversary.  I will return to work on October 26.

If you were/are on the cusp of submitting a new project for coaching, you have two options:

  • You can go ahead and use the Paypal links to opt-in to the coaching level of your choice, and you’ll be first in line to receive your program materials (including the appropriate Questionnaire) upon my return (a few days prior to October 26th).
  • Or, you can wait until then and contact me at that time, or when you’re ready

If you’re ready now and can contact me this week, I’ll send you the Questionnaire so you can begin working, and we can catch up on the paperwork (a polite term for fee) when I get back.

Thanks for your patience, I look forward to working with you when I return, newly-hatched French accent and all.


Read my new post on The Kill Zone, put up this morning, “On Fishing For A Story.” 


Filed under other cool stuff

The Non-Structural Language of Story

Or… How To Get Your Story Written Efficiently and Effectively, Even If Structure Is Not Your Thing.

Or maybe… Stop Worrying and Just String Some Pearls Together.

Wherein I borrow cutting edge content from frequent Storyfix contributor Art Holcomb (visit his website, as well as the article linked later in this post).  He and I agree there is a gap in the understanding of how and where structure fits into the creative process, even among experienced professionals, and today’s post offers a fresh point of view on the subject. 

Art trains both professional and amateur screenwriters, and has been doing so for the past 25 years, teaching and lecturing all over the world (in fact, just this week he just returned from lecturing in Italy).  His goal relative to structure – something he and I share a passion for – is to smooth and empower the transition from what writers see in their mind onto paper, and do it quickly and with brilliance.  This is one of the fundamentals of his teaching method, and it is massively relevant to what we do as novelists.

Or, perhaps more aptly stated… how we do what we do as novelists.

Contrary to recent popular rumor, story does not trump structure. That’s like saying food trumps water.  But structure isn’t obvious to some, even when it should be, and it isn’t important to others, when it absolutely should be.

This was a dangerous headline, because unless you read the sub-heads as well (somewhere out there is a study that says X percent of readers never see the subhead) you might think I’m implying that structure is not necessary to the development of a story.

That implication could not be further from the truth.

But another truth is this: some writers simply don’t like the word “structure” and what it implies and means.  They find it less than artful, antithetical to being creative, even downright offensive.  Some don’t understand it.  Others view it as formulaic, and thus, they reject it…

… until they don’t.  And even then, they may hesitate to admit using it.

It is tempting to say that structure is always part of the writing process…

… which some writers (those same “some” writers from that prior paragraph) might construe as an intention to say that structure IS the process.

We could bat that one around all day, but here is what is unassailably true: structure is always a part of the result of the story planning and writing process… when that process works.

Which, in turn, means that it doesn’t always have to be the driving context of story development. 

Every successful pantsing drafter on the planet can attest to this: they don’t give structure much thought (if any) as they begin to write, preferring to go with the flow and lose themselves in a sequence of random and unburdened imaginings that seem to be driving the whole show… they like to believe that all they’re doing is just writing it down.

That last part is not true, by the way, but that’s another debate altogether.

Thing is, when that process works for a pantser – including authors who are famous and love to talk about their process in interviews, of which there are many – there is a hidden truth behind it, a sort of dirty little secret about structure that never seems to make it into the interview.

And that is… they already understand structure.  They already think structurally.  And not only that, they actually believe in structure, just not as part of their initial story development process.

For them, it’s simply there from square one.   Like a hockey player who learned to skate in grade school, they don’t spend a second thinking about skating — the essential fundamental of their game — once the puck drops.  The story pours from their head onto the page in a way that is naturally in close alignment with the principles of structure, quietly and unacknowledged to their pantsing peers, which in their heart of hearts (if not their interviews) they know are required before the story will work.

All writers, no matter how they claim to develop a story, share a common goal. 

They must first search for and find their best story, before they can actually engage with developing it to any degree.  This includes knowing how your story will end, and how the dramatic arc plays out across several key story turns toward that ending (in essence, setting it up), and how all of it (including structure) drives character development and arc.

Again, some folks conduct this story-search using drafts , others through some form of fluid sequencing (flowcharts, three-by-five cards, yellow sticky notes, etc.) that leads to an outline, or at least to a post-search draft that is fully informed.  The process doesn’t really matter, because…

… (this being important enough to warrant its own paragraph, and these italics) the criteria for an effective story are the same no matter how you go about writing it.

That said… even when a writer reluctantly accepts that structure is a criteria for their story, if not the focus of their process, they may struggle with how to go about finding it.

Which is, by any other name, their process.

The search for story is not the same as the search for structure

Every story is unique and different, and thus the search process has no users manual.  But structure… that’s a different thing altogether, because structure is not different for every story.  In fact, when viewed as a generic model, it is nearly identical in every modern successful commercial story, and it goes like this:

Hook… setup… story ignition from that setup… response and envelopment… a midpoint twist or reveal… the hero proactively engages and confronts as the antagonist ups its game… another reveal… the hero becomes a primary catalyst in the resolution of it all… the end.

So let’s put the word STRUCTURE aside for a moment…

… and ask how we might develop a story without that nasty three-act/four-part monster sucking all the air out of the writing room.

There’s another thought-model – the one that Art has put to words – that appeals to writers who prefer to address structure later in the process, allowing their unfettered creativity to go wild in the early story development phase… which is also the story search phase.

There are many types of first sparks of energy when a story initially announces itself to a writer.  It can be a character, a notion or concept, a place, a thematic passion, a real-life event… none are better than another.  From there, the astute writer (don’t take this one for granted) understands that one should not latch onto that first spark and simply begin writing … because – that astute writer understands – you don’t have a story yet.

In other words… an idea is not a story.  Yet.

Right here is where the crowd divides (those who get it on one side, those who don’t on the other, wondering what went wrong…), become some writers – too many writers with honorable intentions – don’t really understand what a story is, what those criteria will be that ultimately will measure its effectiveness.  And so they begin writing the story armed with nothing more than that initial idea… which is like trying to hike Everest with a back pack and a bottle of Perrier.

So what is better than an idea?  Art Holcomb has the answer.

A story process can begin with a single scene.

One of the more common and rich starting points, from whatever spark might land in your imagination, is the visualization of a scene.  Very quickly you can see this whole scene in your head, you have a place for it, a player within it (often your first inspiration for your protagonist), and some notion of what happens.

You might even write this scene, fully and with the intention of using it, before you know anything else about the story.  Which is fine, provided you know where you are – and aren’t – in the process… and ultimately, within the structure.

But again, set that last one aside for now, criteria-wise.

This is cause for celebration, because this initial scene might be the beginning of something big.  Something that doesn’t care what or where your first plot point is, or how you are going to pull the rug out at the midpoint, or even where the scene goes, period.

All that stuff comes later… for now, you have a scene that you’d pay big money to see on the silver screen, after it appears in the bestselling novel that features it and your name on the cover.

So now what?

When you ask that question in the context of your writing process, doors fly wide open before you.

Intuitively, two questions await your attention. 

First, ask yourself what happens right before this initial scene that has you salivating for more?  And then, what happens after it?

In both cases you can quickly and intuitively expand the scope of those questions, from what happens right before/after your scene, to what happens at some point before/after your scene.

Because your beloved cornerstone scene, the one that ignites from that first spark of story inspiration, probably is not the opening scene in your story.

From this simple model, now begin imagining other scenes. 

Go crazy, don’t worry about anything that smacks of structure (at least for now, that awaits down the road, and when it does it won’t be an imposition, but rather, it will be the glow-in-the-dark finishing catalyst that will take you to Hollywood).  For now just come up with more scenes, doing it organically.  Sting a story together.  Go for stuff you’d like to see, and need to see, somewhere next to that opening scene that rocked your world.

Yes, this is story planning, but if you leave the notion of structure out of it, some pantsers put down their weapons and join the fun.

Before long an amazing thing will happen.  You will begin to thirst for, if not engage with, a sense of context for the scenes you have.  A purpose for them.  And not long after that, you will sense where in the story any of these scenes might – should – reside.

And here’s a little secret… don’t tell your structure-loathing friends: context is good.  It is always necessary.  And context is… wait for it… nothing other than structure itself.

Think of these random scenes as pearls of inspiration. 

When you are designing a necklace, you don’t give much thought as to which pearls go where.  But with storytelling, you can’t help but address that issue, which is preceded by having a bunch of pearls waiting on the table.  And yet, at the end of the day, your story is nothing if not the stringing together of a bunch of scenes, and the more sense that sequence makes, the better.

Your innate story sensibility – even if you are new at this – may begin to put those scenes into some kind of order.

And dare I say, if you become unsure, or stuck, there is a tool waiting to help out… and that is the accepted and proven story structure (three-act/four-part) paradigm itself.  Not necessarily as your starting place (though it remains an excellent starting place), but as either a get-past-the-sticking-point assist, or even the golden finishing touch.

My buddy Art Holcomb, who is a Hollywood screenwriting heavyweight, wrote about this much better than I just have, in an article for  Check it out, see if this appeals to your sense of whimsy, or just your structure-phobic self.

Let’s be clear… structure is inevitable, and it’s never something you can simply make up as you go (definition of hubris: “Gee, my story is so unique I have to make up a brand new form of structure for it.”).  Structure, the kind that renders stories effective and powerful, awaits.  But it doesn’t care how you come to it, and it is forgiving in its willingness to take your story where it needs to be.

It’s like a full can of gas waiting in the trunk, in case you find yourself lost with no lights on the horizon.

Until then, let the sparks fly and the pearls appear. 

Sting them together, have fun with no borders or rules – really go for it, give us something we’ve never seen before.  And then, when the time is right within your process, your inner storyteller and that generic structure chart you aren’t fond of staring at will combine to bring it all to life on the page.

And you will smile when you remember… it all began with a single pearl.


My new writing book, “Story Fix: Transforming Your Novel from Broken to Brilliant,” is available now as a Kindle edition on  The trade paperback releases in a few more weeks… check back here or on Amazon if that’s your preferred format. 


Filed under Write better (tips and techniques)