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Story Structure Cliff Notes: The Whole Damn Structure Enchilada in Less Than 2000 Words

March 15, 2018

By Larry Brooks

(Click HERE for a Prologue to this post, if you like your setups heavy on context and real world backstory. There will be a link bringing you right back here for this 2000 word career starter.)

You’ve heard of three-act structure. With a little more resolution and specificity, that translates to a four part narrative sequence (because Act II of the three-act model actually has two parts to it).

So this “theory” isn’t new (is it truly a theory if it is nearly impossible to disprove?), but it is perhaps the most important thing you will ever learn about how to write a novel that works. Almost always, when someone comes out to reject or disprove this, it ends up being the product of some nuance of it they can’t or won’t understand.

Or, they are talking about process, not product. Which is a huge difference.

A novel is written in four narrative parts, always in the same sequence.

Each part has its own defined (meaning, we don’t get to make it up) contextual mission and purpose. Every scene that appears within any one of those four parts aligns with the contextual mission inherent to its definition.

Which is forthcoming.

All of this absolute for genre fiction, and more generally true for “literary” fiction, however you define that. Sometimes the definition of “literary” is something that takes liberties with the expected, so that accounts for something here.

Readers of commercial fiction arrive with certain expectations in place. It is why they come, why they buy or borrow the book. People don’t read classic, pure romance, for example, to come away with a broken heart. The HEA isn’t a rule, it is a core principle that is inviolate. Structure is like that, in all genres. It is how and why you deliver what the reader comes for: intrigue, drama, emotion, stimulation, frustration, fear, seduction, courage, cleverness, vicariousness, darkness and light, hope, entertainment and ultimately, resolution that makes you, the reader, glad you spent the time.

If done right, it will have four contextually-unique parts that deliver all of it, and does so in a certain order. And that becomes an astoundingly powerful tool for the writer seeking to make their story work as early in their process as possible.

A great airplane designer doesn’t forget the wings. Nor do they argue that wings aren’t always necessary. Structure is to storytelling what wings and engines are to airplanes, because they are what houses and delivers the things that readers come for, drama and emotional resonance especially.

Each part has its own contextual mission within the macro-arc of the story.

Those missions are distinct, there is very little overlap. Each leverages what has preceded it.

Each part is separated within the whole by a story milestone (a moment when the story changes), also with its own unique functional mission. These are the building blocks of your story. All your scenes appear within, or as, one of these elements… blocks of scenes that comprise each of the four parts, or the milestone scenes and sequences that separate those parts.

You could view those as four subsets of the novel.

Or even as four different stories within the macro story – four novellas, if you will – that when combined create the full narrative arc of the novel. This is what too many writers miss or try to fight off. They can’t accept that this is basically how all commercial novels are told… are written: in four parts, delivered in a certain order.

Horrors, this screams of the dreaded formula, they say.

By the way, I’ve never heard a credible novelist or writing guru/teacher say this is flat out wrong information.

They may say there is more to it, they may call it something else, but what is true for some is true for all (until you get to process, which is a different argumentative beast entirely). The people who do say this is untrue, or formulaic, or not universal in nature, are either newbies or someone confusing this discussion with process, or both.

It’s not formula, per se, which is just a word trying to explain something complex. And if it ever is, then the genre itself demands that formula; or better put, that application of the core principles (romance and detective mysteries and thrillers, for example). Rather, this is the basic nature – the physics – of modern commercial storytelling. If you doubt it, pick a novel – any novel, from your library or at your bookstore – and see for yourself. Or rent a movie, it’s true there, too. Of course, you’ll need to know what to look for, and where to look for it, and then recognize it when it appears… which it will. That ability is the true essence of someone who knows how to write a novel, versus someone that doesn’t.

The first contextual part of your story…

… is how your core dramatic thread – plot and character – is seeded, foreshadowed and setup, introducing the main players, allowing stakes to emerge, along with essential machinations to get the plot machine moving (often using foreshadowing here). It usually takes up the first 20 to 25 percent of the story. The story doesn’t fully launch in this initial section, but rather, it is set up here.

There, that was easy, right? That’s the first of the four parts. Nailed it.

Then your story changes.  It has to.

Something goes wrong. If it doesn’t, in roughly the right place (the 20th to 25th percentile mark), your story suffers from that miscalculated decision.

Which often happens if you are just writing and allow the narrative chips to fall where they may. The difference between an experienced pro and you, perhaps, is that the pro will recognize this mistake and fix it.

This narrative moment is where the sky falls.

Or when doors open. Or a threat emerges. Whatever, this shift thrusts the hero we’ve already met into the need to respond to that new situation/problem. To take action. Which could be described as embarking upon a quest, though they may not realize it yet. Often, to run for their life. Or to run into the chaos and help, or seek help.

This critical story turn is what I (and others, including Syd Field) call The First Plot Point (my friend and colleague James Scott Bells calls this the “doorway of no return,” which it is… we’re saying the exact same thing in this regard). It is what separates (transitions between) Parts 1 and 2 of your story.

That done, we’re now in Part 2.

Your hero has now noticed or engaged with something that requires a response. Because there are consequences (stakes) attached to that response (like, if they don’t succeed they will die or fail, or someone else will, or the crime will go unsolved or wrongly accused, or the love affair won’t work, and so on…), which were framed back in Part 1. The reader relates to those stakes (often a threat of some kind), they feel the emotional weight and the need to take action. And so, driven by that ability to relate to the problem – that’s what it is, your hero now has a problem that wasn’t fully there before – the reader roots for your hero within the framework of this problem.

Roots for translates to: emotional involvement. This is a critical aspect of your story’s purpose. Miss that and the story doesn’t work.

It isn’t a story until something goes wrong.

The First Plot Point, while perhaps foreshadowed earlier in Part 1, is where it goes wrong at a level that the hero cannot stay on the sidelines. Again, which is at roughly the 20th percentile mark, give or take. Everything prior to that is there to help set up this moment.

By definition then, your hero does something in response to the First Plot Point. Not always the right thing (it’s way too early to have your hero experiencing success). Here is where they get deeper into trouble, and/or the darkness that opposes them gets closer, more threatening.

A good story always has an antagonist.

Because a good story always has conflict.

Part 2, where the hero is on a new path that responds to the call to action (or cowardice, whatever it is), and it is the looming presence of a threat (stakes) – often a villain – that makes it work. Part 2 is where the dynamic between hero and villain is put more fully into play (compared to any Part 1 foreshadowing) and allowed to grow in nature and scope.

Things need to get worse, and more complicated, before you can show them getting better.

But any ultimate change of fortune for your hero must be precipitated by new information being put into the story. It may change the story, or it may explain things in a way that wasn’t obvious before. This is the midpoint moment, one of the critical story milestones, this one dividing the Part 2 hero’s response context and the Part 3 confrontation context.

The hero either leverages, or is impacted by, the new information you’ve put into play at the midpoint. It could be a betrayal, or an illusion clarified, or new forces in play, or the proximity of an otherwise incongruous opportunity or tool that might change things. The midpoint shifts the context of the story from the hero responding and running, to one of more cunning and courageous as a pretext for a more proactive attack on the problem.

Part Three is where your hero ups her/his game.

They stop running and starting acting more strategically and courageously. It may not work all that well yet, but it forces the villain to up their game as well… meaning the stakes go up, the pace accelerates and things get more dramatic than ever. Both sides collide here, and in a way that makes your reader wince or squirm or feel something that surprises them.

That doesn’t mean it ends well for the hero at this point. Threat, tension, stakes and urgency all accelerate here in Part 3. Whatever the collision is, though, it happens in a way that opens up an avenue of ultimate resolution for the hero… even though that hero, or your reader, may not see it that way quite yet.

The second plot point (at roughly the 75th percentile mark) is where your story changes again…

… with a major shift in perception and truth for all sides, including the reader’s point of view, right here at the dividing point between Part 3 and Part 4.

And quite simply – ridiculously simply, you might argue – Part 4 is where the fraught paths of hero and villain converge and ultimately collide, with a confrontation that determines the outcome of the story, and sets up the way the hero’s life is changed and is shaded going forward after that point.

Part 4 has a context of heroism, even martyrdom on the part of your hero. It doesn’t have to be fully happy, it doesn’t have to be anything, other than delivering some sort of resolution, full or partial, ironic or on-the-nose, and an emotional end-point for the reader.

There it is: four parts of the story, each with different contexts.

Part 1 sets up the story, consuming roughly 20 percent of your word count, give or take. Every scene in this part has a context of story setup.

Part 2 sends your hero into the game or storm or relationship or opportunity, with clear stakes in play, and with a threat of harm or failure looming and growing closer. Every scene in this part has a context of the hero’s response to the first plot point situation, in further context to the stakes you’ve put into motion.

Part 3 leverages new midpoint information/shifting to empower and embolden your hero, or at least puts their back against the wall in a way that calls for a higher level of response. The villain ramps up their game here, as well. The context for all scenes in this quartile/part is proactive attack on the problem the hero faces.

Part 4 puts all those pieces – of your creation, by the way, which is why you can’t really attach truisms for how your story resolves – converge (even if that’s already occurred) and collide and resolve. Your story has posed a dramatic question – will the detective catch the killer? Will love endure? Will he get away with murder? Will they survive the attack/storm/frame-up/smear/impending doom? The context of the scenes here: driving toward resolution that leverages the hero’s wits and actions.

Four contexts: setup… response… attack… resolution. Separated by three major story shifting devices: first plot point… midpoint new information… second plot point new information or nuance… leading to resolution.

If you want a deeper dive…

… there are dozens of posts on this site (there’s a Search button to the right), and there are many sites out there that explore these principles.

I have three writing books on these topics, including Story Engineering, Story Physics and Story Fix, if you want to continue the journey in a seamless manner. Also, the work of James Scott Bell (including his terrific Plot and Structure) is some of the best you can find.

Truth is, it’s all way too complicated and important to leave it at 2000 words. So I hope this has piqued your appetite for this core buffet of essential storytelling craft.

What has been your experience and journey relative to the discovery and internalization of the core principles of story structure? Are you a believer or a nay-sayer?

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22 Responses

  1. Mike, I agree. We have been thrust into a science fiction story and a horror story combined. It seems to inspire some writers and stop others in their tracks according to several articles I’ve read in recent months.

    But you’re right…all we can do is keep writing. Because it’s more important than ever to hold onto the strength of our convictions!

  2. @Robert –

    In these present days, I somehow find myself thinking that George Orwell was the greatest futurist writer of them all – if not an outright prophet. After all, “more or less (1984 …), he only missed it by about thirty years.”

    (Meanwhile: “keep writing. Just keep writing.”)

  3. Mike,

    Interestingly enough, I’m currently taking all of those aspects you mentioned and trying to project them into a possible future based on the direction the world currently seems to be heading.

    Past and future stories always interests me. The past has distinct parallels in the present, and how those parallels might project into the future always makes for interesting speculation. And while the future seems like it might be easier to work with on the surface—because you get to make a lot of things up—the science and social strata can be rife with pitfalls. Going too far, not going far enough. And at the heart of it, people don’t really change. And how they reflect those circumstances based on the three existing generations that are present in almost every time frame shows both the determination of certain values, as well as the biases, stories, or even hope that resides.

    As a race, we can never truly get out of our own way. And no matter what sort of culture you place your future (or past) in, that culture will always divide, and sub-divide. In between those lines resides things like fear, prejudices, control, as well as striving for personal contentment, diversity, and freedom. And no matter what timeline your story takes place, the heart of it will always be human nature, getting those ideals and cultures clashing.

  4. @Robert –

    All of these are very excellent suggestions – thank you.

    My general approach so-far has been to focus on the “showdown” scene and then work backwards. There are several different aspects that I want to work into my story – vengeance, drug abuse, the purposeful promotion of drug abuse for financial gain, civil rights – and I find different cast-characters to be representing these different parallel concerns.

    But, when I refer to a “jigsaw puzzle,” I guess I simply mean that at this point I am dancing all over the surface of this thing, considering various ways in which the elements _might_ fit without, at this point, trying to put too much “depth” into any of it. I want to be “breadth-first,” right now.

    But the notion of “cast-character equals concern” has proved to be useful. Imagine -this- character who regards the situation from this point of view (at the exclusion of others), and -that- character etcetera. “Now, if we have two such characters, and if we then put them into the same scene together, and if we then engineer that scene to …”

  5. Mike,

    I can’t remember if you said you tried Larry’s story coaching questionnaire or not. I wish I could comment more, but I don’t know the pieces of the puzzle.

    I also tend to think very large within the scope of my stories. Although I’ve learned to piece things together better, I still end up with WAY more choices than I should when planning a story. I’ve tried several things that helped to refine things. Not sure what parts of this can prove useful to you at this point in your own planning, or if you’re already doing something similar, but here goes!

    1) Research. It sounds like you have a lot of it. How much of it is the story and which parts are just cool stuff you want to work in? Always a problem with historical fiction. You won’t be able to use it all without going off on tangents, however, there are ways to insert bits of life into things like news stories, gossip, possibly even in overheard conversation—if you have a naturally inquisitive character. In Salman Rushdie’s “The Golden House,” his main character/narrator is a film student to whom life is a sort of curious biography and his neighbors, the Goldens, are a kind of fascination for him. They are eccentric, and of foreign descent, so he constantly comes up with theories and speculates about them. He admits he isn’t sure what’s true and what isn’t at times, but it allows the author to insert a lot of sound bites in the form of mini tangents that entails everything from history, to comic books, and film.

    2) Try laying out the pieces of your jigsaw puzzle out in a different way that you usually work, or usually look at it. If the puzzle isn’t complete yet, then lay out the parts you have, each within the story quarter you feel they might best fit into. If you work on a computer normally, write them out on scene cards. If you use scene cards, try writing them out like a beat sheet, describing each scene in no more than a line or two. And use a separate sheet of paper for each quarter.

    I spent two months filling in the blanks of a plot once using this beat sheet method and by the end, I could see the bigger picture more concisely just by listing the scenes in this way so I could take them in at a glance. Sometimes the limited space of a computer screen or even stacks of scene cards seem to make you feel like your constantly reaching for things you can’t see in the context of a larger story. Four sheets of typing paper somehow just makes it seem like it’s not so large and beyond your reach.

    3) Keep your cast limited. Try to make some characters composites of things you might have spread out over Too many characters. I always start out with more characters than I can use. Sometimes these characters manage to make it all the way up to the first draft, then I see how eliminating some of them gives me space to do more with the characters that are most important. Subplots that don’t add to the main story in an important way—meaning characters who don’t effect the hero or villain in a significant way—might play a part in adding something cool, but just because it’s cool doesn’t mean it gets to be a part of the final cut.

    But again, some of those things might fit well if filtered through the lens of a primary character (see suggestion 1).

    Hope some of this gives you food for thought when making those choices 🙂

  6. @Robert – I know that I’m just another n00b1e writer who right now insists that “it won’t take ME years to write this thing!” 🙂 But seriously, I *am* pouring planning effort into it from the very start, and I can immediately see results. As I’ve said, the process feels like assembling – or is it, designing? – a jigsaw puzzle. Plus you immediately see how it is “anything but(!) a foregone conclusion” how any single scrap of the story is actually going to work. Constantly, constantly making choices. All of them, at this point, provisional.

  7. Mike,

    Agreed, it does take time and planning. Right there with you, mister. That’s where so many new writers go wrong. It’s never going to get done as fast as they want to get it done. I don’t really understand that mentality because even as a kid, I would rework short pieces I wrote several times before I felt it was getting the point across I wanted to. And by the time I attempted to tackle a novel, it was such a large undertaking that I knew pretty quickly I didn’t know enough to dive in without some pretty careful planning.

    Most writers spend years on a single novel. And few finish the first one believing it’s ready for an audience. At least not without some major rewriting.

    I reworked my fist effort forwards, backwards, even by taking all the scenes involving each character and working through them in sequence to try to better capture their voices and personalities. It was a massive learning experience. And you know what? It still didn’t work. Not that the basic concept couldn’t be reworked into something, but while all that writing was going on, I was changing and growing in craft knowledge. It was time to put it away and move on to the next one in order to gain further insight.

    Reading and comparing common denominations in other people’s novels, figuring out how and why they worked. I was all over that. But no one helped me understand structure in quite the same way Larry has. I still read other people’s ideas of structure and concept…and more often than not I’ll end up thinking, “This person needs Larry!” You know a writer has influenced you in an important way when you keep referring back to them in that way.

    Thanks, Larry!

  8. @Robert – I think that it’s simply impossible to seriously contemplate any “major writing project,” even if it’s just an important presentation at $WORK, without both “content planning” and(!) “project planning.”

    Content Planning: No matter what you’re writing, “it’s not the first one.” Therefore it only makes good sense to be aware of other successful DESIGNS (and archetypes) as you then set out to do “something that’s never quite been done before, yet.” Learn how to look at your favorite stories “analytically.” Where did they run that piece of plumbing, or that essential piece of wire? Why did they know that they needed it, “just so,” and how did they hide it so well?

    Project Planning: Pretend you have a deadline – because you do. Assume that above all you don’t want to waste your time. Realize that you haven’t even dreamed-up most of the things that are going to be in your story, let alone picked the winning team. What IS going to be the most-efficient and least-risky way to do a (BIG) PROJECT like this? (What do architects and structural engineers know about this sort of thing? What does Hollywood do, given that they must produce hundreds of successful projects every year, AND satisfy advertisers?)

    @Larry tackles both sides and does it with “tough love” expertise. Witness a skilled instructor at work.

  9. @Larry—I love it when you talk about structure. There really is no one better. I’ve taken snippets from others who add to it, but no one really makes it sing like you do.

    My personal theory on the arguments of story structure seeming overly formulaic is because so many Hollywood blockbusters repeat the same plot under slightly different circumstances and a new cast. It becomes very obvious to new writers how they use structure once they learn it. And the fact that they feel they are seeing the same movie over and over again MUST be due to the formula being the same as well.

    I.E: Story structure gets the brunt of the blame because Hollywood places more emphasis on better graphic effects than better (or more diverse) writing.

    @MikeR—I’m also convinced that Stephen King comes from the generation where talking about the nuts and bolts of craft to newbies was essentially a secret guarded by large publishing houses. Since those secrets are out and many of those houses have disappeared, one could make an argument that some secrets are best kept in order to preserve books and the old guardians who respected them. And that would be true on certain levels.

    Another side of that argument is that technology is also changing the way stories are delivered and publishers have been discussing those coming changes since the mid-90s. Some in fear, others looking for the next stage to shift their cash cows as soon as sales started dropping—which was due to all the bad hype about the economy and the bailouts designed to many off so the few could take over.

    Because those sales were (and are) influenced by a number of things. Politics, corporations, economy—which are all influenced by a handful of people, really. And the fear of becoming obsolete for corporations draws them to perpetually seek something new and also continually drop old habits…as well as post-technology creators. For Stephen King—as well as any other creator—that corporate way of thinking is a slippery slope. What you enjoy, and how you enjoy doing it, can quickly go away. The entertainment industry has never been kind to those who are older than the new young editors who choose why they want to hire.

    It has always been encumbrance upon each of us to learn our craft. More than that, it’s a personally responsibility. Because even that is a shifting quagmire in the current environment. Not just for self publishing and new writers, either. I was talking to longtime comic book writer, Tom DeFalco, who told me that when he mentions structure to some of the new editors, their responses have been, “That’s old hat,” or “We don’t use that any more.” And while movies based on comic books soar at box offices, comic books sales have decreased significantly and they can’t seem to figure out why.

    Corporate America at work, folks. They’ve thrown out the baby with the bath water so often that even the bathtub is becoming obsolete.

  10. Hey, Larry, been away from your blog for some time, so just having fun commenting here to support what you’re doing:

    You say: So this “theory” isn’t new (is it truly a theory if it is nearly impossible to disprove?)

    Yes it certainly can be. A theory is something built on solid evidence. The ‘theory’ of evolution is not a hunch… it is a theory built on thousands and thousands and thousands of significant pieces of evidence. To prove this theory false would be extremely unlikely/difficult because there is such a tremendous body of evidence to support it. Some new breakthrough would have to come along that doesn’t necessarily supplant it, but puts it into a new context, i.e., would almost certainly not disprove it.

  11. Always great to revisit the story parts. They help guide us during story creation, and they help us ensure we’re on the right track during revision. Thanks for summarizing them up so succinctly. This is a great page to bookmark for when we need a story-part reminder.

  12. The biggest take-away that I ever learned is that NO ONE “just sits down to write a story.” You gotta do it like your teacher taught you to write a term paper – and you didn’t listen back then, either, did you? Not until you realized (s)he was right and that you were wasting your own time fumbling around in the dark without an outline and a plan.

    But some skilled writers, like @StephenKing, are so good at storytelling that they can tell a STORY about storytelling. A nice, compelling, palatable work of …

    … fiction.

    Like everyone else did, I bought “On Writing” and it’s a good read and I even re-read it from time to time in hardcover. (Along with the @Larry trilogy.) But, unlike @Larry’s stuff, “it’s just not true.”

    Or maybe it _is_, for @StephenKing, who by this point in his career could … ahem … on a piece of toilet paper and watch it go to the top of the NYT best-seller list and, ahh, “stick” there. 😉 …. ewwww-w-w-w-www…

  13. Of course, a believer… Honestly, there will always be some percentage of nay-sayers… You can look up any topic and you will find nay-sayers with respect to that, even regarding the things most clearly known in life. Some people feed off battles, etc., and this and that, for all kinds of reasons. The majority of people, though, are clear and level-headed and your work on story structure and story physics and everything related to story has been extraordinary over the years. It’s not faith for me here to confirm this, it’s logic, it’s reason, it’s recognition of what is….story.

  14. What MikeR said.

    Even jokes have a structure. I recall Bill Burr talking about the setup, etc. The story structure you’re explaining exists in real life. A car accident has a setup before the crash, then there’s the Response and the other parts. In real life, a car accident can be only an inconvenience, money, or physical injury and death. If death, then the story has been launched into a Response for the survivors.

    TELLING others about the car accident: people want to know how it “happened” as in what was the driver doing just before the accident (texting, day-dreaming, talking, having oral sex maybe from a passenger), or did the other car come out of nowhere? Then they want to know about “what happened next.”

    Yes, this story structure aka engineering of Larry’s has been invaluable to me in my upcoming novel, in the final stages of editing. Unlike other author posts I have read, I have not gotten “stuck” or bored with my novel while I was designing it or writing the scenes. What I did get was “temporarily” confused and frustrated BUT–the tools in Larry’s engineering material made me see what the problems were–and how to fix them.

    A writer without the “insight” of those tools will be on their own, likely writing something that will bomb.

    **The question for a writer to ask is what is a story like that does NOT follow the above structure in this post? The answer I have, is CONFUSION, BOREDOM. What people usually say is “nothing is happening” or “I just didn’t get into it.”

    Larry’s material will save you YEARS of time and frustration. Many wanna be writers will quit because what they wrote isn’t received well and is just–boring.

    In addition to structure, try to have your story be “realistic.” This means the scenes could actually happen due to science or authentic human behavior. Beware of writing things you want to see–because you want to see them. If your character is a cop with twenty years experience, do NOT have him “forget” to bring his gun to the bad guy’s meeting so you can further the plot on his “mistake.” That’s LAZY writing.

    Jason Bourne was NOT LAZY (don’t count the last movie).

  15. @Larry – those who haven’t figured out that you’re one of the best fiction-writing teachers out there will very soon learn. (You hooked me by being the first one to call it Story “Engineering.”) Your gift is as an _instructor._ (And if anyone thinks that’s easy, I invite them to actually try it. And if they get “the classroom” down, let them try “a book” and then try to sell it commercially. Uh huh.)

    Every play or movie is broken into acts. So is a television program, as it is punctuated by commercials. And the people who =professionally= write for those media are obliged to follow a process: you “pitch” a story premise, hoping to get the green light to “pitch” a detailed story outline, hoping then to get the green-light to pitch a script … which will turn into a “rainbow” (every revised page gets a new color) before shooting is done or the curtain rises. And did I mention the committee meetings? There’s no such thing as a “free lunch pass” here. They’ve got a process that works and they’re sticking to it.

    As my own writing project kicks into an unexpected high-gear, you can be damn sure I’m not out to waste my time. “First draft?” Not even close. I’ve got to pitch a story-premise to myself first … if I can stand the committee meetings. 😉 Even before the first outline.

    1. Ever read one of his thrillers? His gift is also putting into practice everything he teaches, his books an amazingly twisty thrill-ride of pulse-pounding suspense. I can hardly wait for the next one!

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