The Laundry Line: Story Structure

In last month’s installment of this novel planning series, I moved onto story structure, discussing the big-picture methods I find most useful. I work through each, ending with a handful of major plot points. This is a great way to start. But then I delve deep. Like oil drilling deep.

Because my ultimate goal is to create a scene-by-scene beat sheet, which incidentally, is why this series started where it did.

When I began, I assumed you had your kernel that you’d popped into three disasters because you can’t plot a novel if you don’t have an idea! But before we could get to structure and beat sheets, we needed to go through the steps: writing exercises, inside and outside story, characters profiles and the wound and a want, and setting.

With all these elements in place, we can fill in that beat sheet, right?

Not quite.

Because we now need to start thinking about the smaller picture. To ease us into this idea of breaking down our bigger plot points into bite-size scenes, I want to share an analogy that hit home for me: the laundry line.

Picture a wide open space, green grass on the ground, puffy white clouds in the sky. The sun is shining down on a backyard clothesline. One tall pole staked in the dirt on one side, a matching one on the other, and a long, straight rope in between.

Think of the first pole as your opening scene. Think of the second as your ending scene. And the rope is your story. Start “hanging” your plot points on the laundry line. Your inciting incident goes somewhere very close to that first pole. Your first “disaster” goes 20%-25% of the way in. Your midpoint dangles at 50% and your third at 75%. Do you have a climax yet? If so, stick a pin on that line at 85%-90%.

Step back and take a look. Start thinking about how you get from each element to the next. Think about the characters you’ve fully developed by doing character profiles. Think about the setting that you’ve placed these characters in. Think about their wounds and their wants that form the inside and outside story. Think about the points introduced last month like Story Engineering’s “pinch points” and the fifteen Save the Cat beats. Put all that hard work you’ve done so far to use by figuring out what additional big scenes you need to get the story to work, to go from disaster to disaster.

Start hanging them on that line and stringing them together. And don’t worry, you can move them around. But get them up there so you can see them. If a small scene comes to you, great, get it up there too. But for now, concentrate on the bigger milestones. We’ll get to the small ones next.

This is a great way to, literally, visualize your story taking shape. You can do this by hand on a long scroll of paper (rice paper or butcher paper works well); with physical index cards; with online programs like Scrivener. There are even apps for smartphones that mimic index cards. Or you can list them in outline form in a notebook or in a Word file. Do whatever works for you.

I’m a bit old school and I like the index card method. I sit at my dining room table and start filling out card by card and arranging them in a row. Standing there, watching my idea actually become a story is exciting and fulfilling — a reward for all the effort I’ve put in just “thinking.” But that thinking is why this clothesline method works as well as it does. I find once I start writing scenes on those cards, my hand can’t write fast enough. I’ve internalized who my characters are and where this story is going. The physical writing of one scene sparks my brain to move to the next and the next. When I get stuck, I do some laps around the house.

Free-Write Synopsis

Let me deviate here for a second, because there’s another technique I use right about this same time: I “free write” a long synopsis. Not one of those one- or two-page synopses we all dread. This is for my eyes only, which takes the pressure off. In truth, the order here varies. Sometimes I take my hook, my three disasters, all my other prep work on characters, etc., and dive right into this synopsis. Other times I wait and do the laundry line/index cards first. I can also be writing this simultaneously while working on the index cards. Figure out what works best for you, and like me, that may change from story to story.

In order to create this synopsis, I take the plot points and bigger picture scenes I have so far and simply write — anywhere from five to fifteen pages. I write down the opening image (which I decided on when I worked through last month’s Save the Cat method), expanding on it, sometimes even writing a very short scene with dialogue. I then plug in each plot point I have so far and start writing between them. It’s almost a stream-of-consciousness type of writing. I let my mind wander, and the synopsis is often full of questions. Would the character do this or that? If she does this, then later, what about that other thing? I don’t worry about answering these questions. I don’t worry if the thread doesn’t make complete sense. I let myself go tons of places and explore every random idea that comes to me — any and every route that can take me from one plot point to the next. If a full scene comes, I write it. If dialogue comes, I write it. I don’t stop myself until I’ve written that closing image (which again I decided on thanks to the Save the Cat exercise) and exhausted myself and my brainstorming.

(Side note: this “free write” synopsis that I did when plotting Becoming Jinn ended in a final closing image and what I thought would be the last few lines of the book. You know what? Those lines in my initial synopsis are still the final lines to my book, post my revisions, post agent revisions, post editor revisions. They’ll be the ones in the final, published book. Pretty neat, huh?)

The Clothesline

After I complete this long synopsis, I then go back to my index cards. I print out this rambling story my brain has strung together and figure out what parts should actually make it into the book, highlighting them and crossing out the others. The ones that stay, I then hang on my laundry line. I start with the big scenes and then add the small ones. I then do the same exact thing with each of my subplots. I plot the subplot disasters, free write the subplots into that synopsis, and then get those subplot scenes onto index cards.

Each time I hang something on that clothesline, I assess what comes before it and what comes after it. I make sure I have a transition into and out of each item pinned to the line. For the subplots, I figure out if they are evenly spaced and spread throughout the novel, appearing at intervals and not all clumped together.

Are all of these scenes complete, fully fleshed out? Absolutely not! There very well may be a card that says “need interaction with XYZ” or “need romance scene here.” But the very notion that I know something is needed makes sure it will eventually be inserted, and inserted in the right spot. This makes the initial writing and the subsequent revisions a heck of a lot easier. I’m not trying to find room to jam something missing into an already finished manuscript. I plan for it at the start (even if, at the start, I don’t know exactly what that “romance” scene will be).

I continue to hone my long synopsis, often it will reach forty pages or more. I leave my index cards on the table for as long as it takes — days, a week, two weeks, three? My husband and I have dinners in front of the TV while my story haunts me from the dining room, calling me to add another card and another and another. Until my entire story, main plot and subplots, is laid out before me.

It is then that I can translate this into a beat sheet. Which I’ll discuss next time.

Lori Goldstein is the author of Becoming Jinn (Feiwel and Friends/Macmillan, Spring 2015, sequel, Spring 2016). With a degree in journalism and more than 10 years of experience, Lori is a freelance copyeditor and manuscript consultant for all genres. She focuses on the nitty-gritty, letting writers focus on the writing.

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Foundation Poured, Start Framing the Structure

You’d think a series on novel planning would have started with story structure. This one didn't. We are just getting to it now in my fifth installment. Because my approach was to begin by getting you to think about, well, thinking.

If you're like me, you begin with a nugget of an idea that you spin into your three “disasters.” I then work this into a hook — a paragraph summarizing the story.

That's the essence of structure right there. But structure is more than just three disasters. Articles online and craft books in libraries and bookstores detail the varies ways to structure your novel. It’s not the best use of this space for me to simply rewrite what others have already written — and written so well — but I do want to kick off this concept of story structure by sharing the ones I gravitate toward. And I say “ones” because I find myself using multiple methods, often combining them to create my own version that’s a mishmash of ideas.

I take each one of these different structures and work through it. This is repetitive work. For a reason. Each time I take a sheet of paper and start filling in the elements for that particular style of structuring, I find myself confirming the plot points that work and discarding the ones that don’t. I recommend using at least two different methods for structuring your story for this reason.

I’m partial to the Three-Act Structure, Story Engineering, and the Save the Cat approaches. (And incidentally, I work through them in that order.) While of course these are just guidelines and you can certainly "break the rules," it's useful to know what rules you are breaking (and you should also have a reason why) before you start smashing them to bits!

Three-Act Structure

You are likely familiar with this method: Act I, the setup, houses your inciting incident and ends in your first disaster at 20%-25%. Here you present your character’s “call to action,” the dilemma your character is presented with that threatens to change his world. Usually a character refuses (but doesn't have to), and the first plot point is your character crossing into this new world that results from his call to action decision. Act 2 is the middle of your book, where the bulk of the story happens. There should be ups and downs (tests and trials; victories and failures), but there needs to be a second disaster at the midpoint. This plot point at 50% clarifies the character’s call to action. Act II concludes at 75% with the low point/all-is-lost moment. This will lead to the character’s want/goal deepening even further, leading him to recommit. You’ll have a climax at 85%-90%, then the denouement or wrap up.

My spin on this is to be sure to plot both your outside story and your inside story in this three-act structure. You should be able to write down your inside plot points and changes in the same way you do the external ones. As your story develops, you will also plot your subplots using this structure.

Story Engineering

Another method I like is from Story Engineering, which breaks the structure down into four parts. While this has been criticized for being overly formulaic, isn’t the very idea of structure formulaic? What I like about this is the way it adds to the three-act structure. In addition to the plot points at 25%, 50%, and 75%, this method adds a couple of “pinch points” at 37% and 62% (ish). These aren’t your main disasters but are mini-disasters that push your plot along; they are intended to be reminders of your antagonistic force. This is a great way to ensure you have action happening in that troublesome middle act. 

I also love the concept of the “epiphany”: your character comes face-to-face with her core flaw and figures out how to use her core strength to overcome it. This scoots in right before your climax/final push/final battle. This structure also adds the idea of “triumph,” which is essentially the moment where your character’s journey is complete after the climax. How has your character grown (or not)? This blending of inside and outside story makes for a great plotting structure.

Save the Cat

While a screenwriting approach, the elements in Save the Cat work well for a novel and often spur me to think about my plot in new ways — always a good thing.

This approaches breaks the story down into 15 “beats,” each with a specific goal for your overall story. You can read more about it in Blake Snyder’s book, but here are the 15 elements:

1. Opening image: first impression, sets the mood and tone

2. Theme stated: often stated outright

3. Set-up: introduction to the world and characters

4. Catalyst: otherwise known as the inciting incident

5. Debate: character deciding whether or not to accept the call to action, which leads into “Act II”

6. Break into two: leave the old world and proceed into a world that is an upside down version of it

7. B story: subplot, like romance; a breather from main plot 

8. Fun and games: “promise of the premise”; stakes won’t be raised until midpoint so we are concerned with “having fun”

9. Midpoint: either false victory or false defeat (and “all is lost” is opposite of this)

10. Bad guys close in: we’re not done yet….

11. All is lost: lowest point, opposite of midpoint

12. Dark night of the soul: darkness before the dawn; how does your character feel?

13. Break into three: A and B story meet and intertwine and hero has prevailed, found the solution, and now just has to apply it

14. Finale: lessons learned are applied, and we wrap it up

15. Final image: opposite of the opening image; proof that change has occurred

One of my favorite things about the Save the Cat method is the idea of opposites, particularly how your opening image and your final image should play off one another. If you don’t know how your story ends, you can't know how it starts. This is the best example of that I’ve seen.

All of these methods give you the building blocks for your novel. These are all big-picture ideas and plot points. In next month’s installment, I’ll address how to break these down into manageable, bite-size scenes that we can use to create a beat sheet: the scene-by-scene outline that takes sweat and tears to create but makes my writing a breeze (okay, well, that's an overstatement, but much easier!) when it’s done.

Do you use any of these story structure methods? Which is your favorite?

Lori Goldstein is the author of Becoming Jinn (Feiwel and Friends/Macmillan, Spring 2015, sequel, Spring 2016). With a degree in journalism and more than 10 years of experience, Lori is a freelance copyeditor and manuscript consultant for all genres. She focuses on the nitty-gritty, letting writers focus on the writing.

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When Analyzing A Story Just Won't Quit

In my pre-kid life I was a publicist for a major movie studio and was privy to a lot of inside knowledge about the films I worked on. Often that made it hard to watch movies for enjoyment’s sake only, knowing that a particular scene was filmed where it was because the unions had made it difficult to film in the first-choice location, that the actor and director positively hated each other and searching for signs of it on screen. Several times a week, I would “have” (tough gig, right?) to watch movies and try to identify potential marketing strategies we’d use to sell the film in my geographical territory.  I could never complain about that job, but it did make watching movies feel like work, and so I escaped to books to lose myself in another world.

This summer I thought I would do the same in reverse.

With the kids home from school and plenty of vacation to disrupt our routine, I knew I wouldn’t have the quiet time and mental space I usually rely on to write and read. It’s hard to plot amidst requests to carve the watermelon or help find new batteries for the Wii remote. So I decided to give myself a total break from it all.

Mmm...not so much.

What I found was that I’d been working so hard recently to dissect books I loved and really hone the story analysis part of my brain, that I just couldn’t turn it off, even though the medium was totally different. On the one hand, there were times I really wanted to lose myself in a story, but on the other hand, I gained appreciation for the techniques other mediums employ and the way they can transfer to my own stories. I watched mindless summer blockbusters, but still gained a whole new appreciation for breathless pacing. 

I watched TV shows that were master classes in realistic dialogue. A stretch of rainy days had us marathon viewing full seasons of TV series, which gave me a great perspective on combining smaller story arcs with an overarching season-long narrative and some kick-ass examples of realistic dialogue. 

I thought I was taking a break, but instead I was expanding my source material and I’m hoping my “time off” has made me a better storyteller.

Of course, I now need to find entirely new diversions since none of these gave my brain a rest. So, can anyone recommend a good board game? Preferably one with absolutely no characters and no background storyline?

And while you’re at it, where have you found inspiration to help you as a storyteller?

A Story About Finding Your Way

Bear with me, if you will, while I flashback to a difficult time in my writerly life, allllllllllllllll the way back to the year 2011...

I had it--the story that would make me famous! It was good. Really good. Or so I thought.  I was in love with it. Better yet, I was having the time of my life writing it. The words poured onto the screen like magic. I pictured its cover. I imagined the looks on the faces of those kids who were going to read it.

Then the rejections started rolling in--one after another, each a bigger, sharper dagger straight to my ego. The dream of my passion project being on bookshelves went up in smoke. I kept asking myself: what went wrong? I scoured over the rejections, looking for something that I could use, something that would help ease my mind--and reassure me that it wasn't just because I sucked.

Of course, as much as I tried to find an answer, I knew it was a pointless search. There never is one answer to why a particular project isn't right. It could be anything from bad timing to just being poorly executed. Frustrated over not being able to find that answer, I became down on the project, and worse yet, down on myself as a writer.

I was scared to death of starting a new project, worried about wasting another six months on something that would get me nowhere. Man, to view writing as wasted time... thinking back, I just shake my head. My mind was so consumed with negativity. I decided right then that for my next project I'd leave no room for error. I'd write a story that was guaranteed to attract an agent. It would have all the ingredients of a book that sells in today's market. In other words, I was writing for no other reason than to get published.

Don't get me wrong, I still loved writing. It was my passion, as it always has been. But the process of trying to get published, of being immersed in the publishing industry with all the querying, and Twitter following, and seeing other writers get deals--it makes you a bit obsessed. So, I tried my hand at writing to the trends. I was still confident in my ability, and I knew I could write a book that would sell.
   
Well, what resulted was one of the worst cases of writer's block I ever had. It was beyond block. It was a writer's funk. I would start one thing, lose interest, and then start another. Did you know that I tried to write a paranormal romance? I know, right? Me! Paranormal romance! Then I moved on to dystopian, becauce those were big at the time. Then YA sci-fi. Then contemporary realism. Then magic realism. I just kept jumping from genre to genre, forcing myself to churn out a story.

Well, fellow YAtopians, I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. At least not for me, as I learned the hard way. I wasn't passionate about any of those stories. And so, my writer's funk continued--for 18 long, excruciating months. 

Then I got some advice from someone near and dear to my heart.

"At the end of the day, you're a story teller, Ryan," he said. "We're all sitting around a camp fire waiting for you to spin your next yarn. At the end of it, it's not about profit. Just a good story."

"Write what you feel, what you're passionate about. Write you. Don't write to get published, because then you lose the story. If you're thinking about getting published more than a story that will be memorable, then in my opinion you're in the wrong profession."

It hit me. I was writing for the wrong reasons. Somewhere I had lost sight of why I was writing, and more importantly, who I was writing for. When I first started out--bright eyed and fresh-faced--I wasn't writing for agents. I wasn't writing for publishers. Certainly not for money.

What happened to that guy? What happened to the guy who wrote that goofy story about the kid-eating washing machine? All he wanted was to write stories that filled kids' heads with a sense of wonder like Roald Dahl books did for him. That guy needed to come back in the worst way.

And thanks to that advice, he has. For that, I'm eternally grateful. As long as it echoes in my mind, I'll never lose my way again.

Remember this: trends come and go, but truly great stories written by people who are passionate about them are timeless.

Write about what you love, not what you think others will love.

     

The Butterfly Effect

So you've had the most blindingly, stunning idea hit you at 2am (yes, you noticed correctly, I used an adverb in the first sentence...sue me...a writer needs to put them somewhere!!!).  You spend the next few weeks battering away at the keyboard.  There is an open channel from you to the Great Muse Above and it feels like the story just writes itself.  It's as if your words can literally fly off the pages:

And then...

You read your story back two weeks later and your amazing butterfly has been stomped flat on the ground.  The story just doesn't read right.  Something doesn't click.  But what?  How can such a great plot, peopled with deep concepts and amazing characters be so...blah?

While you knew your story inside and out as you had that flash of inspiration, when you come back cold, a lot of the background information in your head is gone.  You just have the words on the page to work with.  And that is exactly what it's like for your reader.  They don't know your Muse's sparkling undertones and overtones.  They have only the words on the page.

But don't despair!  This is a GOOD sign.

For those who live always in the warm embrace of their Muse, it can be almost impossible to recognize WHEN your reader just can't feel what you feel.  So, if you are one of the lucky one's whose Muse does a runner the moment you put down the pen, just remember...this is the way of the butterfly.  It guides you to an amazing story, it leaves you cold, then gives you the chance to read your book as the reader does.

So use it to your advantage.  Don't fall into the trap of thinking "how did I think this is good, when it's really not?"  Instead, turn it around and think "I am so grateful I have the opportunity to work this story to where I can make it what I want it to be."  As they say...I was blind, and now I see...

May the butterflies be with...and away...from you.