In the preface to their recently published writing guide, Writer's Companion, Carlos J Cortés and Renée Miller state, “we set out to compile everything a creative writer needs to write well into a single reference volume.” Over the next two months, Open Book will be posting the first chapter of the guide, “The Nuts & Bolts.”
CONTEST: To enter our contest to win an e-copy of Writer's Companion, send an email to clelia@openbookontario.com with the subject line “Writer's Companion.” A winner's name will be selected in a draw each month.
Read Part One, Part Two and Part Three of "The Nuts and Bolts."
__________________________________________________________
1.4 STRUCTURE
This section discusses the plotting and structural tools to lay the framework of a genre fiction work. The extent to which writers use these is a matter of what works for them and the type of story they write. Some character-driven novels need little or no outlining.
The question of whether to structure or not to structure has promoted rivers of ink and heated exchanges between the writers who structure, those who start with a blank page, and the great majority who do a little of each.
“Know the story — as much of the story as you can possibly know, if not the whole story — before you commit yourself to the first paragraph. Know the story — the whole story, if possible — before you fall in love with your first sentence, not to mention your first chapter.” 1
Most problems in fiction writing stem from lack of structure. Floundering middle sections and dead ends, unworkable or silly or disjointed plots, writer’s block and scores of other problems often are the result of poor planning or no planning.
No sane scriptwriter would dream of settling down to write before diagramming the script. Novelists, likewise, have plans in some form or other. Written stories serve the same customers as films and TV — viewers and readers expect similar deliveries.
In real life, writers use structure for practical reasons: planning saves time and hundreds of pages of wasted words. A professional writer can’t afford to suffer a block. To spend weeks or months writing without knowing where a story is going or how it would end is too frightening to contemplate. Diagramming key scenes or events of a story is a surefire way to see if the plot works.
Writers unwilling to invest time and effort to prepare a plan, complain about the required complexity of a formal structure when nothing could be further from the truth. A blueprint for a full novel might consist of a few lines scribbled on a scrap of paper, a page of notes, a synopsis, a spreadsheet, or a painstaking chapter and scene outline with character sheets. There are levels of structuring to suit every taste.1
Some authors swear by a story structure while others prefer to “wing it.” This is understandable. The most technically demanding and difficult stages when writing a genre novel involve plotting the storyline and planning.
Writers are often eager to get to the actual writing and balk at doing the hard work first. We believe this is a myopic view.
Building a house is a monumental endeavor, perhaps the largest undertaking and investment of our lives. Men and machines enter the stage to lay down the concrete foundations. Once they finish, they cover up, cart away the excavated soil, disappear, and leave us with the sinking feeling of having paid a pile of cash while the lot looks as empty as before: no house.
Yet, we know that building a house without foundations and good drainage would be lunacy. Why any writer would insist on tackling stories without a foundation is beyond comprehension. And before the enraged voices of the cognoscenti cry from the wilderness, please, do not cite writers who eschew structures and produce technically perfect plots. They cheat. They work out the pattern in their minds and follow it up from there.
We would never suggest the layout must be on paper (though it helps) or a computer (though it’s handy but risky if the data is not backed onto external devices). One can work out a novel outline and commit it to memory, and tweak it while riding a bus or mowing the backyard’s jungle. We advocate a comprehensive structure, but the means of storage is up to the writer.
Some writers don’t like plans; they cringe at the thought of knowing the full story beforehand. We would contend that writers should know the story beforehand. The great gurus of writing counsel to never write a single word without knowing the beginning, the end, and the plot points. Otherwise, what would you write about? Whatever comes to mind?
These writers complain that writing to a pattern is mechanical and hampers creativity. However, this need not be the case. A plot structure can have many levels, from loose to exhaustive, and nothing must be set in stone.
The writer can always alter it by introducing plot points; promoting secondary characters; or adding, removing, or altering scenes at will—and still retain full control of the plot. Even if the writer changes substantial parts of the story, a framework still helps because it’s easier to get a clear picture of an entire novel if backed by good notes.
To write a story within a frame can be as creative as writing without it, but far more productive. For the professional, production is the key to success. Without a clear story line, good writing can often be wasted; sometimes paragraphs, passages, or even entire chapters must be discarded when they don’t further the plot. Thus, we switch the creative plot building to a point before the actual writing. The writer plots the novel from beginning to end and later expands each idea, concept, and scene during the writing phase.
By working to a layout, the writer can ensure that each key event or clue leads toward the ending. Without a good idea of where events will happen in the manuscript, the writer runs the risk of hitting dead ends, middle of the story blues, or the dreaded writer’s block. These horrors can make the craft of writing unnecessarily hard.
With careful scaffolding, everything should contribute to the outcome of the novel, ensuring that the writing takes the writer closer to completion, saving steps, hardship, and frustration. Time building the structure is well spent.
But, how long? How complex? How comprehensive should a structure be?
Only the individual writer can answer these questions. There’s no set length or level of complexity. Some writers will need one single page listing the opening, plot points, and ending. Others will want to add subplots and characters. Some will choose a scene structure and others will work from a synopsis.
In every case, a good structure should:
- Contain a bird’s-eye view of the plot.
- Break the manuscript down into manageable chunks.
- Keep track of the story beat.
Besides the unique idiosyncrasies of each writer, the genre also dictates the level of a novel’s layout. Literary work may not require a detailed storyline, but for most commercial fiction, a structure is helpful.
Before committing the first sentence to paper, a writer should have an idea about the beginning, pivotal plot points of the story, and the end. Whether composed in the mind, on a screen, or on reams of paper is a matter of approach and personal preference.
Opening. A king sponsors a ball to find a wife for his son.
Plot point one. Girl’s fairy godmother delivers a beautiful gown and glass slippers.
Midpoint or reversal. Girl and prince dance and fall in love.
Plot point two. The clock strikes twelve, and the girl loses a slipper.
Climax. Prince arrives with slipper. Sisters scorn the girl and try the slipper. Girl tries the slipper. It fits!
Ending. Girl and prince gallop into the sunset.
This is a full six-point structure in seventy-five words, and it provides the framework a writer needs to produce Cinderella.
In the next few pages we will explore in detail the structural tools for novels, though some aspects of these can be applied to plays, film scripts, and other fiction formats.
1.4.1 Three-Act Structure
Aristotle defined structure and its principles in his Poetics. According to his definition, the classic linear plot has a beginning, middle, and ending. This inner structure is the underlying backbone that keeps the story moving forward. In diagram form, this structure is represented by a pyramid.
The beginning or Act One is critical. It gives readers a first glimpse into the story and often determines whether or not a prospective reader will buy the book. This act should introduce the characters and conflicts while setting the tone and mood for the rest of the story. Setting is important and if the fictional world differs from the real one, it should be detailed here. This should be a short act, limited to one-quarter or less of the novel’s length.
The middle or Act Two usually begins with a complication, a point in the story where things go from bad to worse. Of the three, this act is most often overlooked. Many stories slow down toward the middle, perhaps because the writer didn’t introduce enough complications. Traditionally, during this act, the hero’s first plan will founder. In writing parlance, this is called the story midpoint and should cause a great change in the characters. This is the point where relationships fail, where the hero is captured, or the car runs out of gas. The key is that by the end of the Act Two it should appear impossible for the protagonist to succeed. The climax, or high point of emotional intensity, follows, providing the moment of resolution.
The ending or Act Three is the wrap-up. The adventurer reaches the summit, the warrior fights his final battle, or the lovers find each other.
While the Three-Act Structure is a helpful organizing tool, it is not easy to use, in particular for those writers who don’t know enough of their story before they start. A simple test to see if this is the right structure for a given story is for the writer to determine if he could write the ending first, knowing who the characters have become. From this point, the writer can plot backward to explain how the character got there, or became who he is.
No matter how much a writer may like or identify with the protagonist, the antagonist and the problems move the story forward. This is the key to the Three-Act Structure.
Act One: Create a problem for the main character.
Act Two: Make it worse or seemingly impossible to solve.
Act Three: Allow the character to discover the answer.
Following these three steps and any story becomes interesting.
1.4.2 Six-Act Structure
The classic linear plot of beginning, middle, and ending, as evolved for novel writing, has six key scenes or points. 1. Opening; 2. Plot point one; 3. Midpoint or reversal; 4. Plot point two; 5. Climax; 6. Ending.
1. Opening. This is the character introduction and the set-up of conflict, setting, and background. Needless to say, it should start with fireworks and not with exposition or ‘Once upon a time....’ In Alien, this is the interval up to the moment where the crablike creature attaches to the astronaut’s helmet.
2. Plot point one. This event concludes the beginning of the story and sets the rest of the plot in motion. Rather than the introduction of conflict, (it should have been introduced in 1) it’s an event which moves the conflict forward. The opening of the story leads up to Plot Point 1, which carries the story into the midpoint or reversal. In Alien, this is the moment where the creature bursts from the wretched technician’s belly.
3. Midpoint or reversal. Understanding the importance of this key element will help writers prevent a boring, foundering story middle — the dreaded middle-of-the-book blues.
The midpoint is the scene or event that transforms the characters or causes a big change. This event should anchor the scenes both leading up to the midpoint and away from it. In a mystery, it could be an overlooked angle. In a thriller, a disaster that may thwart the expected plot continuation. In a romance, the couple may break up. In Alien, this is the scene when they realize the thing will kill them all.
4. Plot point two. Just as plot point one closes the opening, plot point two closes the midpoint and readies the stage for the climax. This is the scene to wind up the action, twisting the strands of the story even further so they can be unwound in the ending. In Alien, this is the scene where Ripley manages to reach the escape pod.
5. Climax. The climax of a story is the high point of emotional intensity. It is the moment of payoff or resolution. In Alien, the climax is the moment the alien is sucked out into space.
6. Ending. The ending is the final scene of the story. At this point, everything has come to a logical conclusion. An ideal ending scene should convey a final image that remains in the reader’s mind after he has closed the book. In Alien this is the instant when Ripley settles down in the hibernation capsule.
This six-point structure is the most useful tool to lay down a plot, but there’s a caveat. As explained in the opening of this chapter, the writer must know the opening, the plot points, and the end before writing a word. These points hold up the structure.
1.4.3 Problem Solution
Rather than a plotting tool, Problem-Solution is a device to use with any structure.
The natural structure of a problem has two parts:
1. The action that created the problem or inciting action.
2. The action that will resolve the problem or principle action.
The driving force of the inciting action is the threat, be that a terrorist, a frying pan on fire, an alien invasion, or Fido falling down a hole. The incident incites the action. Any of these can be the cause of the problem.
The anti-threat is the driving force of the principle action. The hero faces the threat and solves the problem.
If there’s resistance, either of these actions will require assistance from the components of the classic structures (Three-Act or Monomyth). With enough resistance, there will be complications, a crisis, the need for action to resolve the crisis, and a resolution.
The classic structures are already built around the problem-solving principle action that encounters resistance, namely: conflict, complications, crises or turning points, climax, and resolution. It follows that plot development requires dividing the problem-solving action into scenes, units of action.
This is the natural structure of any problem-solving action—real or fictitious—that encounters resistance.
1.4.4 Organic Structure
Although it has developed myriad variations, the organic structure is the oldest among the modern structural tools.
The organic structure became the indispensable working tool of scriptwriters. When producing a spec-script, the writer needed to break the play into scenes and set the scenes on cards to obtain an overview of the full work.
Later, the writer would tackle each scene, in whatever order he liked, or write the story linearly. Though much has changed in the scriptwriting industry, the scene-card core concept remains untouched. Nowadays, many scripts are the work of a team and not an individual writer. This is important in series, soap operas, and follow-ups. Senior writers craft the story arc and secondary writers churn out scenes or episodes while adhering to the outlines. Of course, this requires a detailed scene structure.
The organic structure replicates the human mind in the development of an idea. It starts with a concept, which can be boiled down to a single sentence.
“An intelligent amoeba from the ocean’s depths decides to get rid of an annoying species: humanity.” Frank Schätzing’s The Swarm.
“A tycoon bankrolls the reproduction of dinosaurs from the DNA of amber-encapsulated mosquitoes.” Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park.
“A man awakens to discover he’s turned into a monstrous insect.” Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis.
From the idea, blurb, or concept, the writer composes a synopsis: a few lines or a page. With the synopsis, the writer plots the opening, plot points, midpoint, climax and ending.
From these, already divided into sections, acts, segments, or structural elements, the writer produces scenes. These are the chunks forming the backbone of the story.
Once the scenes are on cards, a spreadsheet or a list, it’s simple to shuffle the scenes around, delete, and add complications, plot points, subplots, or any other device to flesh out the story. Thus, the organic structure can be remodeled at any time and may be viewed as growing a plant from seed.
In the sections dealing with chapter and scene structure, you will find details about classing and rating scenes to ascertain tempo, tension, and story flow.
1 In On Writing, Stephen King, (who professes being an “off the cuff” writer,) details the genesis of Misery. After having jotted a line or two in a cocktail napkin, he couldn’t sleep. So he sought a quiet place and produced sixteen pages in longhand with the gist of the story. Perhaps we’re using different words, but to us it reads very much like outlining.
"1.4 Structure" will continue next week.
"The Nuts & Bolts" is an excerpt from Writer's Companion (2011) by Carlos J Cortés and Renée Miller. Reprinted with permission.
Post new comment