Storycraft for serious authors.
Epiphanies await.

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 Creativescreenwriting.com.  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 Amazon.com.  The trade paperback releases in a few more weeks… check back here or on Amazon if that’s your preferred format. 

Please follow and like us:

16 Responses

  1. As an aspiring writer with an unhealthy dose of impostor syndrome, your blog is such great help. I refuse to believe the dogma of “just write”. I don’t want to just write! I want to write WELL! There are too many authors who just write, and write more than they should. It is great to hear about ways to go about getting the story from the mind and onto the paper. There are good and bad ways of painting, and the same goes for writing. Following advice of someone more experienced, who is able to articulate the advice at that, would surely lead to a better result than just writing.

  2. I’ll throw in on the pearl thing. I got one word for y’all (been in Kentucky too long):
    Daydream. Daydream Believer…isn’t that the Monkeys?

    Anyhow, one of my favorite things to do is to daydream when life is dull, and that is pretty much all the time. The right music really gets me into daydreaming. I put my favorite music on Pandora, put on my can high-quality studio monitors (serious headset) and let er’ rip. Different music for different scenes: romance, chase, turmoil.

    Sometimes I’ll work on a scene in my book and daydream on it. What I do, is I setup the stage with the characters, where they are and who their opponents are and turn them loose, like watching them act on the stage. I’ve developed (and tossed in the garbage) many scenes like this. It also gives me a chance to get to know the characters more by how they act. These characters will take on a life of their own. It’s not me doing it, but you have to let your mind free-wheel. I don’t think everyone can do it, but those of us who can, they have probably been daydreaming all their lives, especially during that incredible waste of time: school (otherwise known as the indoctrination system for getting a job…fitting in).

    These scenes can also come when you least expect them. For me they work best just before bed, when it seems the ego leaves and your intuition-creative side is left to run wild.

    Another thing I do with these scenes, is I pretend I’m at the movies and I want to see the scene do something I want to see, not the usual lame stuff that’s out there. For example, Hollywood is forever telling us that you can’t have superpowers without some kind of weakness, or losing your parents, or your world turns to crap. That’s just a bunch of subconscious conditioning to tell you to give up hope, don’t revolt, and just swallow the shi–sandwich you’re fed by those with the power and money. Like the spiderman movie can’t have Peter Parker have a relationship with Mary Jane because the bad guys will go after her. LAME!!!! Are the bad guys gonna go, “Oh too bad Parker isn’t having sex with Mary Jane, and is only friends. Gee, guess we can’t use her as leverage anymore. NOT!!!! What kind of idiot buys that garbage? Pul-lease! Roger Moore poked fun at that BS saying, Bond is supposed to be a secret agent, yet everyone knows what he looks like and what drink he drinks! Ridiculous. While we’re at it, the author of the Bourne Identity had Jason Bourne wear disguises!!! Gee, wonder why?? But the movies? NO. Damon always looks like Matt Damon. It would be way more fun for Damon to be wearing disguises and then the audience would try to guess which character he is in a wide angle shot until they zoomed in on him. Call that realism and originality! THAT’S the stuff my pearls are made of. DAYDREAM!!

    Speaking of characters that are exceptions to the wimp-out celibate spiderman, consider the Jack Reacher character as one of those exceptions and those books are very popular. I read the author created the character because he wanted to see a guy that was already strong, tough, and wasn’t going to get a beating before figuring something out to save the day. Kind of like James Bond. Both will go in and kick a$$, you just want to see it done. Myself, I find the Jack Reacher books too dull as he never loses, there’s no worry he’s going to fail–ever. In real life, a sniper would finish him off in a planned caper that would draw him out into battle. Poof, he’s done and the author has to write about someone else. But if the hero sees it coming and isn’t that super–then now you have Lee Swagger, who the book “Point of Impact” was written and the movie “Shooter” was made. The point here is that these characters achieve what many dream of someone–actually doing out there. And that is to fix the corruption that is choking the life out of the rest of us.

    It seems I always end up in this rut. That of redemption and justice, to those who are “Above the Law”. Laugh all you want about Steven Segal’s acting, but when that first movie came out, nobody was laughing. I remember Segal was being touted as the next Sean Connery. The movie was fresh, and this hero was dealing justice to those who NEVER get it dealt to them. Oh, kinda like Jason Bourne. And Erich Brockovich. Don’t give me Iron Man. Snore-man is more like it.

    What do YOU dream about specifically? Can you create pearls of scenes, or even a scene about it? Can you play the characters in your scene? No, why not?

  3. Once again I must intervene to apologize for a handful of typos in this post (hopefully now repaired). Honestly, I read it over a dozen times before hitting the PUBLISH button, and once again that 24-hour rule applies (set it aside and then re-read it 24 hours later before you do anything with it) .

    I continue to struggle with this, and I continue to commit to doing a better job of proofing my work. While these setbacks continue to plague, know that I am upset by this as much as you may be irritated by it (I do get hate mail on this front, mostly from high school English teacher). I hope that – not in lieu of but in spite of – these mistakes that you found the content valuable. I believe that content does trump perfection of grammar, but I do know that, like a fly in the chowder, a single screw up can ruin the whole thing for some. (Now I will proof the heck out of this comment before hitting the POST button… hope I didn’t miss anything.)

    1. Just as when my wife says one thing but clearly means another, as long as I understand what she means, I may notice, but we just skip over it to the good stuff: communication.

      Anyone who whines about typos in a blog post should be excommunicated from the interweb. I know, Larry, that you can not only spell, but even know what all the words mean.

      Thanks for caring. Today’s post was especially helpful — and that despite the fact that, yeah, I saw a typo, not that I cared.

  4. This approach might be just what I’m looking for. Even though I planned my novel (the one I tore apart and am rebuilding) on an Excel spreadsheet, I’ve reached a “stuck” spot. Perhaps if I only look at the last pivotal scene (which is my Midpoint) I can visualize what should come next rather than what I’ve set it stone, because the last quarter of my story isn’t working like I’d hoped. Something is missing. What, still remains a mystery. By only looking at the scenes rather than the overall structure might get me unstuck. I love this post. Sometimes all we really need is “permission” to veer away from our usual way. Thank you, Larry! As usual, you’ve solved my problem. Ideas are already flowing.

  5. Stringing pearls. This, precisely, is what I’ve been stuck on.

    I have a bunch of scenes in my head, especially the Oscar-winning “all is lost” moment which inspired the whole book.

    I have, for the past few weeks, been so focused on structure that I haven’t paused to write down the scenes I already know — whether they make the final cut or not.

    Unlike building a house, where you have to do certain things in a certain order, I need to remember that once I have my concept and premise, a few main characters, and the end of the story all sorted, I can write a bunch of skeletal scenes just to get some of this structure down in a slightly creative manner.

    There will be wasted bits, deletions and rewrites. But far less than my old pantsing days.

    1. So true, Joel. I’m a copywriter by day, and recently I listened to a recording of a seminar given by Gary Halbert, a legendary copywriter. In the seminar he composes a sales letter live with the participants, and when he got to several parts where he wasn’t ready to write the copy yet, he actually had them write, “yadda yadda, blah blah,etc” in full.

      His point being that there’s no need to stop your creative flow because you’re stuck, or need to research something.

      I did that a while ago with a scene I was stuck on – just wrote “Don’t know what the heck goes here…” and I have to say it was totally freeing. And I was able to break my writer’s block and later come back to the scene and fix it.

      Gary Halbert also brings up another point which I think is also relevant, and that is the guarantees we will absolutely make mistakes, and will be very unpleasant – perhaps even painful- but we just have to do it anyway. Permission to fail, I guess.

      1. Ha!

        When I’m writing a song, sometimes what moves the process ahead is a great rhyme (I’m a huge fan of non-rhyming, but some songs benefit from it.)

        I’ll have one line nailed down perfectly, and the next is just a short phrase to make the rhyme. So, I fill in with enough “da da da” to make up the right number of syllables and keep moving ahead. Write what will flow, then go back and fill what needs work.

        It works. Last week I had a fun idea for an Irish folk song. Once I had the chorus, I wrote the three verses and recorded a rough demo in less than half an hour.

        I’ve seen this with music all the time and I just forget to bring it to my fiction. Last year I struggled for hours and hours to birth a song I wanted to write, but another short phrase, completely unrelated, kept popping into my head.

        The other song my brain wanted to write took 45 minutes, start to finish, and the song I’d struggled with practically wrote itself once I got the simpler song out of my head.

        I should really learn from my own example.

  6. Well I for one find this “pre-planning” quite helpful. I love Larry’s story structure, but sometimes I find it hard to start out that way. Many times all I have is an image of a great scene, and though I know exactly how to use all the various parts (FPP, SPP, Midpoint, etc) if you don’t have a story fully worked out they can be difficult to visualize.

    This not only gives me the freedom (and perhaps permission – I’m a bit of a perfectionist, I know, not good) to keep at it even if everything isn’t planned out perfectly, while allowing me to rearrange everything in its’ proper place after I’ve fleshed out the story.

  7. I can definitely see the value in starting out by writing a “pearl” scene, capturing the initial impetus and excitement of the idea.

    Going beyond that, writing a lot of “pearls” is just another name for “pantsing.” It goes against everything Larry teaches us about the value of planning, and will result in a messy, unusable first draft.

    1. @ Elizabeth – thanks for commenting, but I believe you’ve missed the point. This isn’t remotely a contradiction, and clearly (in this post) I clarify that: at some point structure demands its moment… that some writers don’t/can’t/won’t relate to structure, this is a mental-model that allows them to actually begin structuring a story in a free-form manner that eventually LEADS TO structure… and unless and until structure enters the writer’s intentions, the story will, as you say, be messy… and just as clearly, there are infinite variations relations to process, and this is just one of them

      Early on I took a lot of heat for viewing the writing process from only one perspective. I’ve learned that process isn’t the issue (everyone searches for their story, and while I advocate mission-driven story planning, it doesn’t mean that other roads that lead to structure aren’t useful to writers who don’t think the same way), the criteria for storytelling is, and that DOES include structure (not backing away from that). Too many writers are successful without structure-driven story planning, so we can’t say their process doesn’t work (though it certainly does take longer, unless they are already seasoned, and then structure is already factored into their story planning/pantsing approach). Until one understands the structure needs of a story, any process with lead to frustration and a “messy” draft.

      Read it again, if you will. The whole thing is about story planning and structural planning as seen through a different lens. It doesn’t remotely “go against everything Larry teaches us about the value of planning…” because this is just another WAY to plan a story. This IS story planning. Doesn’t change the value or nature of structure in the process, even a little.

      1. Hi, Larry. Respectfully, I have to disagree. Pantsing is pantsing, call it “writing pearls” or whatever. It is not story planning. It’s going back and applying structure to a lousy first draft–and many drafts after that. As you’ve said before, it’s not a “wrong” way to write, just an inefficient one.

        What can I say? I’m a “Larry Brooks purist.” I know you’ve taken some heat, but, on the other hand, you’ve helped innumerable writers and built a career on sound advice. I just can’t see watering down your message to appeal to writers who can’t–or refuse– to “get it.”

        1. @ Elizabeth – with equal respect, you’re still not getting it. “Pansting” refers to how one writes a DRAFT, plowing into it without really understanding what will happen. That may or may not be done in context to a working knowledge of certain principles (including structure), and when it’s not, bad things happen.

          Much thought can and should be given to a draft before one begins the writing process. That is called story planning (something many pantsers do in their head, then write the draft without an outline, relying on that “in my head” planning). How we do that planning has a broader spectrum of validity than does how we write a draft.

          This post is about that pre-thought process. Writing an entire draft simply to find the story… that’s pantsing, as you say. But thinking about specific scenes, ordering them… all prior to writing a draft… that’s just another form of story planning. It is EXACTLY what a flowchart-driven, structurally aligned story plan does. It may lean into pantsing (for example, when I plan a story, I do visualize a scene in broad strokes, which becomes part of my flowchart), but it is just another way to think about – to plan – your novel before you launch into the draft. It’s a middle ground, and that’s a good thing, because half of all writers out there really don’t do, or understand, story planning, and this information helps them get there.

          So please don’t criticize, especially from a lack of clarity about what this means. This is for writers who aren’t yet where you are in terms of understanding the value of story planning. This shows them one way to approach it, all of which ultimately depends on the same principles I write about here. Thanks for your support of the site, and the principles it looks at, I’m glad you’re here.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

(Spamcheck Enabled)

Wordpress Social Share Plugin powered by Ultimatelysocial
AWSOM Powered