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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