Structure is critical to every story. And it’s highly likely that if you are reading this article, you are familiar with the most basic shape of story structure. This one:

Rising Action: A character starts with a goal, runs into an antagonist, and struggles through conflict.  

Climax: Eventually that conflict hits a peak, where the protagonist will succeed or fail definitively.

Falling Action: With the conflict resolved, the tension dissipates into falling action, and a new normal is usually established.

This is story’s foundational, basic structure. Nearly every satisfying story follows this structure. But this is still rather simplistic, and you can get more complex and detailed than this.

For one, it’s helpful to know that the climax is also what’s called a “turning point”–it turns the direction of the plot. Notice how the story’s “line” in the diagram quite literally, visually turns, from rising action, to falling action at the climax. The plot was going one direction and then wham–it’s now going a different direction. 

A turning point is also known as a “plot point” or a “plot turn.” So we have three different terms for more or less the same thing. One of the quickest ways to gauge if a turning point has happened, is to ask if the character’s current goal or plan has shifted in some way. If the answer is yes, you likely hit a turning point.

The climax is the biggest, most recognizable turning point in a story, and it most definitely shifts the protagonist’s goal–because he will either definitively achieve (or fail to get) that goal. You can learn more about turning points here.

The climax, however, isn’t the only turning point in a story.

In reality, this basic structural shape works as a fractal or a Russian nesting doll.  There are smaller versions of it that exist within the big one.

Just below the narrative arc as a whole, we have another structural unit: acts.

Most commonly, we see stories with three acts. We may view these as beginning, middle, and end.

Frequently, Act II (the middle) will be split in half, because it’s the longest–often taking up 50% of the story. So we have Act II, Part I, and Act II, Part II.

This means, generally speaking, we can divide most stories into quarters.
Act I (Beginning) takes up ~1 – 25% of the story.
Act II, Part I (Middle) takes up ~ 26 – 50%
Act II, Part II (Middle) takes up ~ 51 – 75%
Act III (End) takes up ~76 – 100%

I’m well aware that some writers dislike percentages, but percentages are the quickest way to explain when something should typically happen in a story, and they are just guidelines. Not all stories break down like this, and there is certainly room for variation.

Still, generally speaking, each of these quarters, follows this same shape–it’s just smaller and less pronounced than that of the whole narrative arc.

Each quarter should have a climb, hit a peak, and then have some falling action (which is usually made up of the character’s reaction to what happened at the peak). That peak is a turning point.

For example, in Act I of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, the rising action is Harry dealing with the Dursleys and then trying to get the mysterious letter. It hits its peak when Hagrid arrives and reveals “Yer a wizard, Harry.” That’s the major turning point the beginning has been building toward. Notice it shifts Harry’s goal: Now he wants to go to Hogwarts to learn magic (which will take us into Act II).

Commonly, act-level turning points are called “plot points,” so you may have heard of them referred to as “Plot Point 1,” “Plot Point 2,” or the “Midpoint.” 

However, in other approaches, they may go by different names. For example, Save the Cat! breaks down like this:

Each one is the major “climactic” plot turn of that quarter.

But this shape goes even smaller.

Inside of acts, we have scenes.

Most scenes should also have the rising action of conflict, the peak of a turning point, and the falling action of the character’s reaction.

Most scenes should also have an antagonist and goal.

The difference is that these things will be even smaller and less pronounced–because they fit inside acts.

For example, in Harry Potter, we have the scene where Harry is trying to find Platform 9 3/4 at King’s Cross–that’s his goal. But he’s met with obstacles: he can’t find the platform, he can’t find anyone to help him, he has to run at a barrier. The turn is Harry successfully getting through that barrier; notice it shifts his goal–because he achieved his scene-level desire. The falling action is him reacting to and taking in the platform.

This basic shape can go even smaller, fitting within passages of scenes, or it can be expanded into something bigger, creating a nice structure for a book series.

This basic shape permeates just about everything. 

SEPTEMBER C FAWKES - Resident Writing Coach

September C. Fawkes is a freelance editor, writing instructor, and award-winning writing tip blogger. She has edited for award-winning and best-selling authors as well as beginning writers. Her blog won the Writer’s Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers Award, Query Letter’s Top Writing Blog Award and has over 500 writing tips. She offers a live online writing course, “The Triarchy Method,” where she personally guides 10 students through developing their best books by focusing on the “bones” of story.

To learn more, visit SeptemberCFawkes.com and grab her AMAZING free guide on Crafting Powerful Protagonists. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with September below.

The post Story Structure as a Fractal appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Writing an ensemble cast can feel daunting, especially when most writing advice is for stories that feature one, or maybe two, lead characters. How is an author supposed to structure a novel or series that has four, five, or six? One of the most useful approaches, is to consider plotlines.

Years ago, I did a post on the different types of plotlines in stories: external, internal, relationship, society/world, influence character, and undercurrent. I mentioned that most stories benefit from having at least three different types, because this creates dimension.

By far, the most popular combination is external, internal, and relationship. And usually, the protagonist is the lead of all three. However, this isn’t the only option. You could have external, relationship, and society, for example. And the same character may not always be the lead. Plus, once you have three different types, you can add more—more of the same or other types.

With these principles in mind, there are two main ways to approach ensembles.

Sets of Plotlines

In the first approach, you create sets of plotlines. The Lord of the Rings is a great example of this (particularly in the films).

We have Frodo, a lead, with his own set. He has an external journey of taking the Ring to Mount Doom, an internal journey of his struggle with the Ring, and a relationship journey with Samwise.

Then we also have Aragorn, another lead with his own set. Aragorn has an external journey with the war, an internal journey over taking his place as king, and a relationship journey with Arwen (and arguably Eowyn).

The Fellowship also breaks down into more plotlines. Merry and Pippin have their own external, internal, and relationship journeys (though to a lesser degree), and so does Gimli.

Eowyn, Arwen, and Smeagol are other notable characters who get their own personal journeys.

Every character, though, is ultimately connected into the world/society plotline with the war against Sauron—they are each influencing or being influenced by it. So this is the glue that holds the sets together.

Admittedly, not every character mentioned here gets three plotlines, but that’s okay, because you only need three different types in the story, not three types for every key character. Speaking of which . . .

Splitting a Set

In the second approach, you start by having different characters share the three dominating plotlines, then go from there.

So in contrast to The Lord of the Rings, where Frodo and Aragorn get their own full set, in Umbrella Academy the dominating set gets split.

In season one, the dominating plotlines are external, internal, and relationship, but they are split between characters.

Five holds the main external plotline. He is trying to stop the apocalypse from happening by unraveling the mystery of what started it. He does not have strong internal or relationship plotlines.

Instead, Vanya holds the main internal plotline (as well as a big relationship plotline). She’s struggling to come to terms with the fact she has powers.

Allison holds another major relationship plotline, with Vanya.

There are other plotlines too, but those are the ones that impact the story the most, and they are split up.

From there you can add more, similar to Lord of the Rings. In Umbrella Academy, we also have Luther coping with the fact he wasted years on the moon (internal) and has feelings for Allison (relationship). Diego loses Patch (relationship) and wants revenge on Hazel and Cha Cha (external). Klaus is trying to get sober (internal) in order to connect with Dave (relationship). Vanya also has a minor external plotline about performing as a violinist. And Hazel and Cha Cha are trying to kill Five (external), but Hazel has doubts about the job (internal) and is developing feelings for the lady at the donut shop (relationship).

Above all this, there is a society/world plotline with those involved in the bureau.

But the glue that ultimately holds everything together, is Five’s quest to stop the apocalypse (the dominating external plotline). Every character influences or is influenced by that.

Typically with ensembles, the trick is that the characters and their plotlines have to somehow be connected to or influencing each other.

However, on the rare occasion that they are not, then often the glue is the theme. You could technically write a story where the characters never cross paths, nor fit into a greater plotline, but they each have a journey about the same theme topic ( . . . which may be a subject for another post).

In any case, if you are writing a long epic, like The Lord of the Rings, you will have more space to build out more plotlines for more characters. If you are working with a shorter story, you may want to split three or four dominating plotlines between leads, and keep any other plotlines minor, like The Umbrella Academy. The less important the plotline, the less it needs to be on the page.

With these approaches, you should be off to a great start in structuring your ensemble story.

SEPTEMBER C FAWKES - Resident Writing Coach

September C. Fawkes is a freelance editor, writing instructor, and award-winning writing tip blogger. She has edited for award-winning and best-selling authors as well as beginning writers. Her blog won the Writer’s Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers Award, Query Letter’s Top Writing Blog Award and has over 500 writing tips. She offers a live online writing course, “The Triarchy Method,” where she personally guides 10 students through developing their best books by focusing on the “bones” of story.

To learn more, visit SeptemberCFawkes.com and grab her AMAZING free guide on Crafting Powerful Protagonists. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with September below.

The post Structuring an Ensemble Cast with Plotlines appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

A turning point (also known as a “plot turn” or “plot point”) changes the direction of the story, through an action or a revelation. The protagonist was going one direction, and an event takes place or information is revealed, and the protagonist is now on a different trajectory. Major turning points are often recognized in popular story structures. “Crossing the Threshold” in the Hero’s Journey and “All is Lost” in Save the Cat are both examples of major turning points. And let’s not forget, the biggest turning point of all, the climax, turns the story from conflict to resolution.

Previously, I discussed how relationship plotlines have the same elements as external plotlines: arcs, goals, antagonists, conflicts, and consequences. They just manifest a little differently.

This is also true with turning points. Relationship plots (whether they be between allies, love interests, or enemies) need turns as well. So, let’s go over their critical components.

1. A Point of No Return

In external plotlines, turning points are often called “Points of No Return,” because when handled properly, the protagonist should not be able to go back to how life was previously. He may try, but it’s never the same and his attempts are costly.

In relationship plots, turning points are also “Points of No Return.” An event takes place or information is revealed, and it essentially changes the relationship forever. A first kiss, sharing an emotional wound, a punch to the face, a betrayal—these alter relationships in definitive ways.

In Pride and Prejudice, at the midpoint, Mr. Darcy shares he’s in love with Elizabeth and proposes to her. This is both a revelation and an action that can’t be undone. It’s a moment where Mr. Darcy attempts to move closer to Elizabeth, but Elizabeth creates distance. She will never see Mr. Darcy the same way. Their relationship will never truly go back to what it was. It has become more personal.

2. Close or Distant

Typically, in external plots, the turn ends in a victory or a failure. In relationship plots, the turn ends in the participants being close or apart. For most relationship journeys, you’ll want major turns of each. A “break up” may tear characters apart, while a “grand gesture” may bring them close together. This helps create a zigzag effect, so it feels like the relationship is evolving, instead of remaining stagnant or circling the same problems.

It’s also possible to bring close characters closer, or pull distant characters further apart.
You have four options:

Distant –> Close
Close –> Distant
Distant –> More Distant
Close –> Closer

With that said, there is room for complexity. In the Pride and Prejudice example above, Mr. Darcy tries to get close to Elizabeth, but she pushes him away, creating distance. This brings me to the next section.

3. A Vulnerable Moment that is Accepted, Rejected, or Neglected

A relationship turn almost always contains a vulnerable moment. One character is vulnerable, and the other gets to decide how to respond.

The first character’s vulnerability may be voluntary, or it may be forced. It may even be forced by the other character in the relationship.

In Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Darcy shares his vulnerability voluntarily—he confesses he’s in love with Elizabeth.

In contrast, in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, when Hermione is attacked by a troll in the girls’ bathroom, her vulnerable state is involuntary.

And in Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith, Obi-Wan forces Anakin into a vulnerable state when he cuts him down in the climactic fight.

In the next moment, the second character gets to decide what to do to the first: accept, reject, or neglect them. This is what ultimately turns the relationship.

Elizabeth responds by rejecting Mr. Darcy. They are pushed further apart.

Harry (and Ron) responds by accepting the call to save Hermione. They are brought closer together.

While Anakin lays dying, in need of medical assistance, Obi-Wan neglects him, walking away. This also pushes them further apart. (Neglect can be viewed as a lesser form of rejection.)

It’s important to note that rejecting and neglecting aren’t always bad. What they usually mean is that the second character is unwilling to cross a boundary. Elizabeth isn’t going to agree to marry Mr. Darcy, because she’s unwilling to marry someone she hates. And Obi-Wan isn’t going to help Anakin, because it would harm the whole galaxy.

As with any writing element, there is room for variations, but at the basic level, this is how relationship turning points work.

And just like the external plotline, the turns in the relationship plotline should escalate so that vulnerable moments grow more intense, and the acceptance, rejection, or neglect of them carry bigger ramifications.

If you are looking for more help with your relationship plots, check out my relationship beat sheet. You can also always peruse the relationship thesaurus, too.

SEPTEMBER C FAWKES - Resident Writing Coach

September C. Fawkes is a freelance editor, writing instructor, and award-winning writing tip blogger. She has edited for award-winning and best-selling authors as well as beginning writers. Her blog won the Writer’s Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers Award, Query Letter’s Top Writing Blog Award and has over 500 writing tips. She offers a live online writing course, “The Triarchy Method,” where she personally guides 10 students through developing their best books by focusing on the “bones” of story.

To learn more, visit SeptemberCFawkes.com and grab her AMAZING free guide on Crafting Powerful Protagonists. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with September below.

The post Mastering Turning Points in Relationship Plots appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Whether you are writing romance, adventure, fantasy, or mystery, nearly every well-told story has a relationship plotline. Unfortunately, though, entertaining banter or fiery arguments alone aren’t enough to sustain that plotline. Your characters may be love interests, friends, neighbors, allies, rivals, or even enemies, but regardless, they should work off the same basic storytelling principles. They should have a relationship arc, and they should have the proper relationship plot elements in play.

Relationship Arcs

Just as a character arc is about how a character grows or changes through a story, a relationship arc is about how a relationship grows or changes through a story. And at the most basic level, there are only four arcs that can happen: positive change, negative change, positive steadfast, negative steadfast.

Positive Change: The characters start distant, and one or both may even distrust or dislike the other, but they end close, growing in trust and respect. Examples: Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, Sulley and Boo in Monsters Inc.

Negative Change: The characters start close, with trust and respect, but end distant with distrust or dislike. Examples: Anakin and Obi-Wan in Revenge of the Sith, Katniss and Gale in Mockingjay.

Positive Steadfast: The characters start close, and while they may struggle through the middle, ultimately end close. Often their trust, respect, and commitment grow by degree. Examples: Frodo and Sam in The Lord of the Rings, Shrek and Fiona in Shrek 2.

Negative Steadfast: The characters start distant, with one or both perhaps even distrusting or disliking the other. While they may possibly get close through the middle, they ultimately end distant, often increasing in distrust or dislike. Examples: Estella and the Baroness in Cruella, Winston and Julia in 1984.

You can get more detailed and complex with any of these arcs, and there is room for variation, but these work for any relationship: friends, coworkers, couples, rivals, or enemies. You can check out Angela and Becca’s relationship thesaurus for ideas on specifics.

Relationship Plot Elements

Once you have an idea of the relationship arc, you want to make sure you have the proper plot elements for the journey. My primary principles of plot are goal, antagonist, conflict, and consequences. Because it can be tricky to see how these show up in relationship plotlines, we’ll go through each.

Goal

At the most basic level, in a relationship, there are only three goals: draw closer, grow apart, or maintain the relationship as is.

While other plotlines may influence the relationship plotline, think of the relationship itself and ask: Does my character want to be closer to or more distant from this person? Or does my character want to maintain the relationship as is? That is the relationship goal. And it’s okay if each person in the relationship has a different one. It’s also okay if the goal changes through the story—just make sure there is a goal in play.

Antagonist

The antagonist is a form of opposition—it’s something in the way of the goal. What is keeping your character from having that goal? For relationships, this may come from three different places.

External: Something outside the relationship is interfering with the goal. A powerful father may be determined to keep the lovers apart.

Within the relationship: Each participant has a different goal, such as one person wanting to get close, and the other wanting to create distance. They may also have personal differences that get in the way.

Internal: Something inside one or both characters is interfering with the goal. Internal conflict, such as a fear of rejection, is creating obstacles.

You can have more than one relationship antagonist, and it may change through the story. It does not need to be the same as the main antagonist of the external plotline.

Conflict

Having a relationship goal and antagonist doesn’t amount to much if they aren’t creating conflict. The character should be striving for the goal and the antagonist should be opposing it (directly or indirectly). Just wishing for better circumstances isn’t enough. There needs to be a struggle, with no easy, foreseeable resolution.

How the characters address the conflict will create the arc. As the characters overcome, or are overcome by, the obstacles, they will grow closer or further apart.

Consequences

Conflict without consequences is just cleverly disguised filler. Make sure to lay out the stakes and ramifications. What do these characters have to gain (and/or lose) in overcoming the conflict? What do they have to lose (and/or gain) in being overcome by the conflict?

It’s best if the consequences of the relationship plotline bleed into other plotlines. A common example is that the protagonist can’t succeed in the external plotline, unless she resolves the conflict of the relationship plotline.

With these elements, you’ll craft stronger relationship plots, for whatever relationship you’re writing. For more on the topic, check out my series on it.

SEPTEMBER C FAWKES - Resident Writing Coach

September C. Fawkes is a freelance editor, writing instructor, and award-winning writing tip blogger. She has edited for award-winning and best-selling authors as well as beginning writers. Her blog won the Writer’s Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers Award, Query Letter’s Top Writing Blog Award and has over 500 writing tips. She offers a live online writing course, “The Triarchy Method,” where she personally guides 10 students through developing their best books by focusing on the “bones” of story.

To learn more, visit SeptemberCFawkes.com and grab her AMAZING free guide on Crafting Powerful Protagonists. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with September below.

The post Five Elements of Relationship Plotlines appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Many say plot begins with conflict. But you can’t have conflict if you don’t have an antagonistic force. And you can’t have an antagonistic force, unless your protagonist has a goal, a want; opposition doesn’t exist until it’s in the way of something. This is why plot truly begins with a want or goal.

At any given moment, your protagonist should almost always have a want that manifests in a concrete goal. Even if the want is something abstract, such as, “I want to be loved by others,” it needs to be tied to something visually attainable. Perhaps the character believes that if she throws the biggest, best summer party anyone has ever attended, her neighbors will adore her. An abstract want has now become a concrete goal. And the audience now knows what success looks like: an outstanding summer party.

The concept sounds so simple, that many newer writers overlook or even dismiss the idea. But a clear goal is critical to a strong plot, not only because it essentially is what starts plot, but because if there isn’t a goal, the audience can’t measure if what happens is progress or a setback. If nothing is trying to be attained, then the events don’t really matter. The audience is just watching stuff happen. Or, perhaps as the Cheshire Cat says, if you don’t know where you want to go, then which way you go doesn’t really matter.

The goal helps provide context to the plot, by orienting the audience to a desired outcome. When the goal is to throw an outstanding summer party, then managing to book the biggest local band becomes a success while rainclouds become a setback.

Some writers are resistant to including goals because they have a restrictive view of what a goal must look like and the kind of protagonist needed reach it, but not all goals are lofty and not all protagonists are go-getters.

Goals fit three categories:

Obtaining

These are related to gaining something. Often, these are more aspirational. The protagonist may want an award, treasure, a significant other, or a career. They may also simply want a meal. These goals are more associated with the character having a hope.

Avoiding

Some plots are about stopping something (the antagonistic force) to avoid a negative outcome. It could be a meteor about to hit Earth, or bandits robbing travelers, or an illness that promises death. The goal may be to prevent the consequences from happening or to stop problems currently happening or to minimize potential damage. These goals are more associated with the character having a fear.

Maintaining

Sometimes the goal is to keep things the way they are, or on the path they are currently going. When something disrupts that (an antagonistic force), the protagonist strives to re-establish an equilibrium. These goals can be more associated with hope or fear, depending on the story’s angle. (Note: the tricky thing with these is that if there aren’t big disruptions and obstacles to overcome, the story can feel too passive.)

To some degree, one may argue that these all overlap. After all, isn’t thwarting a supervillain a type of aspiration? And when the protagonist is striving to keep things the way they are, aren’t they avoiding negative consequences? Nonetheless, the categories can be useful in better understanding plots and characters. Ariel trying to become human in The Little Mermaid is much different than Batman trying to stop the Joker from destroying Gotham.

Goals of obtaining often feature go-getter protagonists who are innately motivated, whereas reluctant heroes often have goals of maintaining—they act in the desire of going back to not having to act.

But just including a goal isn’t enough—a goal really only matters when achieving (or not achieving) it carries significant consequences. Who cares about a successful summer party if it doesn’t change anything? For a goal to be meaningful, it needs to have stakes—potential consequences—connected to it. For example, if our character succeeds in throwing her outstanding summer party, perhaps she’ll finally be able to form deep relationships in her community, and if her party turns into a disaster, perhaps others will alienate her even more. These are significant consequences because they change the character’s “world.”

Luckily, even the simplest goals can become significant with the right stakes. The goal to obtain a drink of water can be just as effective (if not more effective) as the goal to become a famous musician, if the character is at risk of dying from dehydration. To make a goal more powerful, raise the stakes tied to it. This is also how to get the most reluctant of protagonists to act—anyone will act when the stakes get big enough.

While a protagonist’s goal can evolve or change, or they can have multiple goals through a story, if you want a strong plot, make sure your protagonist has a goal with significant stakes.

Need help brainstorming your character’s goal?

Don’t forget that the Character Motivation Thesaurus is at One Stop for Writers. Whether your character is looking for love, wants revenge, needs to catch a killer, or protect a loved one, you’ll find tons of brainstorming material to help you plot the story and shape your protagonist’s inner journey.

SEPTEMBER C FAWKES - Resident Writing Coach

September C. Fawkes is a freelance editor, writing instructor, and award-winning writing tip blogger. She has edited for award-winning and best-selling authors as well as beginning writers. Her blog won the Writer’s Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers Award, Query Letter’s Top Writing Blog Award and has over 500 writing tips. She offers a live online writing course, “The Triarchy Method,” where she personally guides 10 students through developing their best books by focusing on the “bones” of story.

To learn more, visit SeptemberCFawkes.com and grab her AMAZING free guide on Crafting Powerful Protagonists. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with September below.

The post Why a Strong Plot Requires a Significant Goal appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

In the writing community, a crisis (also known as a “dilemma”) happens when a character has to choose between two opposing things. And he can’t have both.

Shawn Coyne, author and creator of The Story Grid, breaks crises down into two types:

a. The Best Bad Choice

The character has to choose between two negative options.

Ex. Katniss Everdeen has to either kill Peeta, or risk killing herself.

b. Irreconcilable Goods

The character has to choose between two positive options.

Ex. A protagonist has to choose between the job of her dreams, or the man of her dreams.

While the categories are helpful when teaching and talking about crises, in many stories, the options may not be obviously “good” or “bad.” For example, in The Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins gets called on an adventure. He has two options: Refuse and continue to live his predictable life, which invites a sort of personal stagnation, or accept and risk danger and death, which include gaining personal experience and growth. From the audience’s perspective, we may say that going on the adventure is the best, and obvious choice, but that isn’t how it looks to the character. Each option has both negative and positive stakes tied to them: Stay safe and alive, but somewhat stagnant, or risk danger and death, and grow through experience.

While traditionally crises are talked about with pairs of options, it’s technically possible to have more than two things to choose from—the keys are that the choice needs to be difficult, irreconcilable, and hard—if not impossible—to reverse (at least not without significant ramifications). It’s also possible that in some crises, not making a choice is an option, but for that to work, it needs strong stakes.

The crisis is a moment where we lay out current stakes and the directions the story could go, depending on what the character chooses. This reinforces the character’s agency, and what the character selects will reveal a lot about him or her. In fact, a crisis is one of the most effective ways to reveal true character.

When Katniss chooses to risk killing herself over simply killing Peeta, it reveals that, when it gets down to it, she’s more willing to sacrifice herself in an effort to protect the innocent, than others to benefit herself. In contrast, President Snow and the Capitol repeatedly pick the opposite. When a character chooses her dream job over her dream man, it shows she values her career more than her romantic relationships. And when Bilbo accepts Gandalf’s invitation, it reveals he’d ultimately rather risk danger and death to experience adventure.

A crisis helps indicate a character’s true belief system. It’s easy to proclaim we will do something when there are no stakes or competing choices. I might insist repeatedly that I always tell the truth . . . but if telling the truth could get me fired, leaving my family with little to eat, I face a difficult decision. Do I value honesty or food more? To dig a little deeper, we may ask why I value one over the other, or how I came to value one over the other.

Crises can also be very effective in character arcs. If you are writing about a protagonist who changes because of the story, you may use a crisis at the beginning of the story to reveal what the character initially values. For example, I may show our protagonist choosing her work over her boyfriend. At the end, you may choose a similar crisis to show how the character now believes differently. Our protagonist chooses the man of her dreams over the job of her dreams. If you are writing a steadfast (also known as a flat-arc) protagonist, you will show how the protagonist ultimately chooses the same option, despite the added pressure of the climax. Katniss initially chooses to risk sacrificing herself to protect Prim. Regardless of what the Games have tempted her to do, she ultimately makes the same choice to try to protect Peeta.

Because crises emphasize agency, they also put responsibility on the protagonist. When he chooses an option, he’s also choosing its ramifications. If Katniss killed Peeta, she’d have to live with that, but she’d be safe. Because she didn’t, she puts herself, family, and ultimately all of the districts at risk. She now has to deal with the consequences of that.

Crises can be a great way to create internal conflict and also plant seeds of doubt and regret, as the character may be haunted by her choices and the accountability they bring.

Using crises will strengthen any story, particularly by revealing character.

Need help designing conflict scenarios that generate crisis?

The Conflict Thesaurus has over 100 different scenarios that will challenge your character inside and out.

Find out more.

SEPTEMBER C FAWKES - Resident Writing Coach

September C. Fawkes is a freelance editor, writing instructor, and award-winning writing tip blogger. She has edited for award-winning and best-selling authors as well as beginning writers. Her blog won the Writer’s Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers Award, Query Letter’s Top Writing Blog Award and has over 500 writing tips. She offers a live online writing course, “The Triarchy Method,” where she personally guides 10 students through developing their best books by focusing on the “bones” of story.

To learn more, visit SeptemberCFawkes.com and grab her AMAZING free guide on Crafting Powerful Protagonists. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with September below.

The post Using Crisis to Reveal Character appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Most of us are familiar with the “Show, don’t Tell” rule. In short, it’s more effective to dramatize the story than to simply tell what happened. Nonetheless, almost every story needs at least some telling. It can help keep the pacing tight, relay background information, and enhance tone, among other things. Here’s more on when breaking the rule can work.  So how do we tell well? Here are six cheats to help you.

1. Appeal to the Senses

Good showing appeals to the senses. Basically, we have to appeal to the senses to really show a story. There is no reason moments of telling can’t appeal to the senses in a similar way. Appealing to sight, sound, smell, taste, or touch can strengthen your telling just as it does with showing. It’s just that with telling, it’s usually brief, or relayed “in passing.” This example appeals to senses despite it being a telling summary:

We drove through Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, stopping to cool the engine in towns where people moved with arthritic slowness and spoke in thick strangled tongues . . . At night we slept in boggy rooms where headlight beams crawled up and down the walls and mosquitoes sang in our ears, incessant as the tires whining on the highway outside. – This Boy’s Life by Tobias Wolff

2. Use Concrete Metaphors and Similes

Some telling doesn’t lend itself to the senses very easily, because of the subject matter that needs to be told. In cases like that, you can try tying in a concrete comparison to suggest a sense. This example tells about a telepathic and emotional connection using comparisons:

At night awake in bed, he’d remember her presence. How their minds had been connected, ethereal like spider webs. How just her being there brought a sense of comfort, like a childhood blanket he hadn’t realized he’d still had.

3. Sprinkle in Details

Just as you use detail to make your showing great, you can and often should include detail in passages of telling. Mention a red leather jacket here or a specific cologne there. Of course, you won’t be including as much detail as you would with showing, but detail makes telling more realistic. One key to making this work is to pick the right details, as opposed to generic ones.

Their mom had always stressed the importance of eating dinner as a family, of stir fry nights and cloth napkins on laps, of hands held in prayer and laughter pealing off travertine, and even of the occasional green bean food fight.

4. Elevate Your Writing Style

You can also make telling stronger by making it more literary. Elevate the prose with smart word choices and by paying attention to rhythm and sound. Again, you can bring in similes and metaphors, or better yet, extended metaphors. Basically, you are finding a way to make what you are telling particularly pleasing and poetic.

From Crossed by Ally Condie:

In the night, it feels like we’re running fast over the back of some kind of enormous animal, sprinting over its spines and through patches of tall, thin, gold grass that now glimmers like silver fur in the moonlight.

The air is desert cold, a sharp, thin cold that tricks you into thinking you aren’t thirsty, because breathing is like drinking in ice.

5. Bump up the Tone and Voice

Unfortunately, the poetic approach won’t work with everything—it likely won’t work in a comedic passage or an angry one. Instead, bump up the tone. Pull in the narrative voice or let the character’s voice bleed into the narrative at the deepest level. Channel the emotion of the narrator or character and write your telling in ways that reinforce that. For help, check out my previous post on WHW.  

From The Book Thief by Markus Zusak:

Earlier, kids had been playing hopscotch there, on the street that looked like oil-stained pages. When I arrived, I could still hear the echoes. The feet tapping the road. The children-voices laughing, and the smiles like salt, but decaying fast.

Then, bombs.

This time everything was too late. The sirens. The cuckoo shrieks on the radio. All too late.

Misfortune?

Is that what glued them down like that?

Of course not.

Let’s not be stupid.

It probably had more to do with the hurled bombs, thrown down by humans hiding in the clouds.

6. Create Tension, Even if Only on a Small Scale

Good tension will keep a reader invested, even through telling. See if you can include tension when telling. It can be tension that lasts only for a sentence, or, better yet, promises of conflict yet to come.

From Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone:

The Dursleys had everything they ever wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it.

They didn’t think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters.

Here’s a great resource for knowing when to tell:

(Click here to download this and other Checklists and Cheat Sheets…including one with great examples of telling and showing!)

SEPTEMBER C FAWKES - Resident Writing Coach

September C. Fawkes is a freelance editor, writing instructor, and award-winning writing tip blogger. She has edited for award-winning and best-selling authors as well as beginning writers. Her blog won the Writer’s Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers Award, Query Letter’s Top Writing Blog Award and has over 500 writing tips. She offers a live online writing course, “The Triarchy Method,” where she personally guides 10 students through developing their best books by focusing on the “bones” of story.

To learn more, visit SeptemberCFawkes.com and grab her AMAZING free guide on Crafting Powerful Protagonists. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with September below.

The post 6 Cheats to “Tell” Well (When It’s Warranted) appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Almost every character should have their own voice—their distinctive way of communicating their worldview.

To illustrate, here are three lines from Harry Potter that reveal Hermione’s, Ron’s, and Harry’s individual voices, respectively.

“Don’t go picking a row with Malfoy, don’t forget, he’s a prefect now, he could make life difficult for you…”

“Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?”

“I don’t go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me.”

Because Hermione believes in following rules, she regularly tells Ron and Harry to do likewise, and she’s often very logical about it. Ron, however, tends to be a little coarser than the other two and usually says comical one-liners. Finally, Harry, who is always associated with trouble, often has to defend and explain himself.

When boiled down to its most basic parts, voice is made up of two things:

What the Character Talks (or Thinks) about + How She Says it = Voice

What Your Character Talks About

What someone chooses to talk about (and not talk about) reveals character. It reveals worldview, personality, and priorities. For this reason, it’s often helpful to work from the inside out. Knowing your character’s wants, needs, flaws, fears, and layers, will make crafting their voice easier. With that said, it’s also okay to work from the outside in, especially for side characters. You may craft a pleasing voice that then indicates who the character is.

In The Lord of the Rings, the Hobbits often talk about food. They eat a lot more than other characters so food is a higher priority for them. Because they bring up food a lot, we know it’s what they are thinking about a lot. They don’t casually strike up conversations about advanced battle tactics; they don’t have a war-based background. And any conversation they do have about battle tactics wouldn’t be on the same level as a warrior.

So, their culture, interests, and experiences influence their voices. And because they come from similar places, they talk about similar things. However, each Hobbit still has his own voice (because each Hobbit has his own personality). While Pippin would ask about second breakfast without a second thought, Frodo wouldn’t say anything.

How Your Character Talks

Just as the character’s background and personality influence what she talks about, they also influence how she talks. Education, age, and social circles will factor in as well. You will want to consider word choice and speech patterns, and when appropriate, slang and dialect. The character’s dominating emotions can also play into their voice’s tone.

Listen to how Samwise Gamgee talks:

“It’s like the great stories, Mr. Frodo . . . Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think I do, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. . . . . Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going.”

Notice words like “Mr. Frodo,” and “folk,” help establish Sam’s voice. Pretend, instead, Gandalf said this. The word choices and speech patterns would be different. Instead of “lots of chances” he might say “many opportunities.” He might pause in different places and use different sentence structures. He’s far more educated and experienced than Sam, so he’d say those same thoughts in a different way.

Character Voice in Viewpoint

Whether in first person or third person, most stories today are written from the point of view of a character (usually the protagonist). This means that character’s voice will influence the narration. However, actually getting that on the page can be a little tricky. Here are three quick tips.

Regularly Write in Deep POV

“Point of view penetration” refers to how deep the writer gets into the character’s perspective. At the deepest level, the prose takes on the thoughts and attitudes of the character. This is the most effective place to be to get voice on the page (learn more).

Utilize Similes and Metaphors

What your viewpoint character chooses to compare something to will tell us a lot about him. If he compares the color of the sky to the white static on the television, we know he spends more time around or thinking about t.v. than he does nature.

Add Lines that Speak to Worldview

Watch for opportunities to slide in a worldview your character has about something that comes up. Maybe someone your viewpoint character is listening to references the police. Assuming it suits the passage, go ahead and slide in a brief line that clues us into what that character thinks about the police. To them, are they “pigs”? People to avoid? Or protectors?

Here are some more dos and don’ts of getting your viewpoint character’s voice on the page.

SEPTEMBER C FAWKES - Resident Writing Coach

September C. Fawkes is a freelance editor, writing instructor, and award-winning writing tip blogger. She has edited for award-winning and best-selling authors as well as beginning writers. Her blog won the Writer’s Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers Award, Query Letter’s Top Writing Blog Award and has over 500 writing tips. She offers a live online writing course, “The Triarchy Method,” where she personally guides 10 students through developing their best books by focusing on the “bones” of story.

To learn more, visit SeptemberCFawkes.com and grab her AMAZING free guide on Crafting Powerful Protagonists. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with September below.

The post How to Showcase Your Character’s Unique Voice appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Conflict is key to writing great stories. And while writers may categorize conflict differently, I categorize conflict into eight types:

Person vs. Self
Person vs. Person
Person vs. Nature
Person vs. Society
Person vs. God
Person vs. Fate
Person vs. the Supernatural
Person vs. Technology

In today’s modern times, the Person vs. God conflict often gets left off lists or is combined with or even replaced by the Person vs. Fate conflict. But because fate conflicts don’t necessarily have gods, and god conflicts don’t necessarily include fate, I put them in separate categories.

Out of all the conflict types, Person vs. Fate is often the most misunderstood.

Many of us were introduced to the concept of person vs. fate through classic tragedies where the protagonist was foretold a future that led him to a dreadful end (like in Oedipus Rex or Macbeth). This has led some to proclaim that the person vs. fate conflict is unpopular or even outdated, and has also led some writers to shortchange this conflict type (if they even give it much thought). In reality, a fate conflict happens whenever a character is struggling with a destiny–something is predetermined or foreordained, and the character somehow opposes that. What is foretold need not always be tragic or lead to a dreadful end. Arguably, it need not always even be otherworldly.

In fantasy, fate often comes from a prophecy. In Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince, Harry struggles with the prophecy that neither he nor Voldemort can really live while the other survives. In horror, this may be a kind of curse. In Final Destination, the characters are trying to cheat their deaths–they are fated to die. It can even play into the concept of the universe having an order or law that must be upheld or fulfilled. In The Lion King, Simba must embrace his destiny as the one true king to bring order to the Circle of Life. And if we broaden the concept a little more, we can find foretold fates in the normal world; in The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, Hazel is fated to die from terminal cancer. 

Person vs. fate conflicts are very effective because they get the audience to anticipate a future outcome, which is exactly how we hook and reel the audience in. Readers will want to keep reading to see if what is expected to happen actually does happen, and they will want to know how it happens. So the person vs. fate conflict has some innate strengths.

Many fate conflicts are rendered as teasers. Some characters have premonitions in dreams or visions that only reveal a snippet of fate. Prophecies are often worded in ambiguous or metaphorical ways, giving rise to multiple interpretations. Teasers don’t tell readers specifics, but they promise that the specifics will come if the reader keeps reading. So, the reader keeps reading. This also introduces a sense of mystery. Some fate conflicts work as a riddle that the audience gets to participate in, which pulls them even deeper into the narrative.

Usually person vs. fate conflicts explore free will within strict limitations. While some writers choose to ultimately emphasize a lack of free will, others choose to emphasize the power of free will. In Oedipus Rex characters try to change fate and end up bringing it about. In Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince, Harry eventually realizes he has a choice to accept his role or not, and chooses to rise to the occasion. Characters destined to die, may have a moment where they decide how they will face that death.

How the character chooses to deal with the fate is often just as (if not more) interesting than the fate itself. The character may openly fight against fate like Oedipus Rex, or the character may have more of a personal struggle with accepting the fate and its costs, like Simba. The audience may be invited to consider whether it’s worth the cost. In Dr. Faustus by Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus sells his soul to the devil to gain all knowledge. Was gaining all knowledge worth a fate in hell?

We often think of fate conflicts coming from some force beyond the character’s power, but sometimes it’s interesting when the character makes a choice that leads to an inevitable fate, such as Dr. Faustus, or even Jack Sparrow, who makes a deal with Davy Jones in exchange for the Black Pearl in Pirates of the Caribbean.

Fate conflicts traditionally come from the supernatural: prophecies, premonitions, curses, fortunes and predictions, a universal law, magical debts, or the will of otherworldly entities. But the concept can be broadened to include real-world fates: terminal illness, death row and other court sentences, forced marriage, being made a scapegoat, or forced labor. Admittedly, some conflict types can overlap with others, but looking at conflicts from a fate angle may open up your stories to new possibilities.

A few more examples of fate conflicts:

• Curses, like in The Ring, where a video is promised to kill the viewer in seven days.
• Deals, like in Pirates of the Caribbean, where Jack is in debt to Davy Jones and must join The Flying Dutchman or be taken by the Kraken
• Fortunes and predictions, like in The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater, where Blue is told that if she kisses her true love, he will die
• Supernatural entities, like in A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, where a ghost tells Scrooge of his coming death

What have you noticed about fate conflicts? Have you ever written, or do you plan to write about a fate conflict? What do you like about them?

Note from Angela:

This seems like an excellent time to mention our thesaurus guides that tackle all forms of conflict, from the central ones that September mentions here, all the way down to scene-level, inner, and micro conflict.

The Conflict Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Obstacles, Adversaries, and Inner Struggles (Volume 1 & 2) will ensure you have plenty of fresh ideas on how to plot, create complications, and cause your characters to struggle. Find out more.

SEPTEMBER C FAWKES - Resident Writing Coach

September C. Fawkes is a freelance editor, writing instructor, and award-winning writing tip blogger. She has edited for award-winning and best-selling authors as well as beginning writers. Her blog won the Writer’s Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers Award, Query Letter’s Top Writing Blog Award and has over 500 writing tips. She offers a live online writing course, “The Triarchy Method,” where she personally guides 10 students through developing their best books by focusing on the “bones” of story.

To learn more, visit SeptemberCFawkes.com and grab her AMAZING free guide on Crafting Powerful Protagonists. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with September below.

The post Testing Fate: A Closer Look at Person vs. Fate Conflict appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

It’s no secret that side characters can be amazing in their own right. Great side characters feel like real people–even if the focus isn’t on them. They have lives that exist beyond the scope of the protagonist. When they seem to exist only to help or exacerbate the protagonist, they lack authenticity.

With that said, untamed side characters can water down a strong story, or worse, steal the story. While we don’t want our characters to be exact copies of each other (unless, of course, you’re writing a story about characters being exact copies), it can be helpful to examine the main character and his or her journey to bring balance, depth, and meaning to your cast. After all, side characters are also called supporting characters, which means they are meant to support the protagonist’s journey, not take away from it. 

In her book, Story Genius, Lisa Cron explains that while we need to develop secondary characters that have their own driving agendas, realizations, and often, own arcs, we also need to create them with this purpose in mind: “to help facilitate the protagonist’s story.”

She writes, “This means that although each one of them could stand alone as a full-fledged human being . . . you’ll create them and their beliefs so they will naturally facilitate your protagonist’s story.”

Consider what role the character plays in the protagonist’s journey, and develop the character with that in mind. What kind of qualities and attitudes are going to challenge your protagonist? What does your protagonist need to learn from this person? Who would uncover a new side of your protagonist? It’s possible to fully brainstorm a side character who actually doesn’t interact well with your protagonist. But when you consider these questions and similar ones, you’re more likely to create a side character who offers meaningful exchanges. 

(Explore different types of character relationships here.)

If the character is an ally, some writers feel compelled to make him or her too similar to the protagonist. In reality, it’s often more interesting if the ally contrasts the protagonist. In Pixar’s Soul, the protagonist, Joe Gardner, has a thirst for life (jazz, specifically), but he is allied with 22, who has no desire to even be born. This contrast brings each character into sharper focus, balances out the story, and provides more opportunities for meaningful discussions. 

Likewise, if the character is an opponent, it’s often more effective to emphasize a likeness between that character and the protagonist. In Soul, Terry functions as the antagonist, trying to bring Joe to the Great Beyond. Like Joe, Terry is so obsessed with fulfilling his purpose (to count the dead), that he’s blind to the inspiring things happening around him: Joe helping 22 finally find her spark. Like Joe, Terry is also aspiring to a moment of recognition–he wants the Jerries to recognize him with an award for him doing his job. 

It may be helpful to consider much of the side characters as foils and mirrors of the protagonist and his situation. We can see how this balances out in Soul. Joe’s mom foils him by pressuring him to take a practical job. On the other hand, Dorothea Williams reflects what Joe wants to become. Dez foils Joe by letting go of his veterinarian dreams and becoming a barber. Connie reflects his passion for music. Paul foils by being someone who never went after his dreams. . . .

In a sense, each of these characters represents a different moment of or outcome to the journey Joe is on. In his book, The Structure of Story, Ross Hartmann refers to these characters as clones (a term that comes from award-winning screenwriter Brian McDonald). Hartmann writes, “a clone character . . . is a way for us to show what could, should, or might happen to a character if they take a particular path. . . . [We can] use a clone character to convey information about where the character is headed or might be headed either philosophically, emotionally, or physically.” 

The supporting cast is also more balanced when it contains different types of arcs, which tap into the protagonist’s journey. A character may change positively or negatively, or hold steadfast (remaining more or less the same) positively or negatively. In the film, Marley & Me, the protagonist, John, changes positively as he learns to embrace the adventures of domestic life. Marley, who already embraces the adventures of domestic life, remains the same, positively, throughout the film. John’s friend Sebastian dismisses domestic life to go on career-driven adventures instead, remaining the same negatively. Had the filmmakers wanted to, they could have added a fourth character who leaves the adventures of domestic life to fully focus on her career, which would have been a negative change character (within the context of the story). 

Because the protagonist’s journey also plays into a story’s theme, balancing out your cast with your protagonist in mind, can help keep your side characters thematically relevant. For more on that topic, I suggest reading “Use Theme to Determine Subplots, Supporting Characters, and Tension.” 

In any case, creating your supporting characters with your protagonist in mind, will likely lead to a more meaningful, balanced cast, and story.

SEPTEMBER C FAWKES - Resident Writing Coach

September C. Fawkes is a freelance editor, writing instructor, and award-winning writing tip blogger. She has edited for award-winning and best-selling authors as well as beginning writers. Her blog won the Writer’s Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers Award, Query Letter’s Top Writing Blog Award and has over 500 writing tips. She offers a live online writing course, “The Triarchy Method,” where she personally guides 10 students through developing their best books by focusing on the “bones” of story.

To learn more, visit SeptemberCFawkes.com and grab her AMAZING free guide on Crafting Powerful Protagonists. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with September below.

The post Balancing Your Cast of Characters appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

In a lecture series on Youtube, #1 New York Times best-selling author Brandon Sanderson talks about the three P’s of plot structure: Promise. Progress. Payoff. 

Promises are particularly important in the beginning of the story, as they draw in the audience. 

Progress keeps the audience invested, particularly through the middle of the story. If there is no sense of progress, then the reader feels as if the plot isn’t going anywhere. 

Payoff is what fulfills the promises of progress. It rewards the audience for sticking around, and if done properly, creates a feeling of satisfaction at the end of the story. 

While all three can be tricky in their own right, many writers struggle to create a proper sense of progress, which can lead to saggy middles. 

Luckily, Dramatica Theory breaks plot down into eight story points that essentially encapsulate progress.

If you apply them to your stories, your writing will always have progression through the middle.

1. Goal – Every story has a goal. It may be a goal of aspiration, such as becoming a top chef. Or it may be a goal of thwarting something, such as stopping a murderer. Whatever the case, a story’s goal is what enables us to measure progress. If there is no goal, then what one does, doesn’t really matter. We have no orientation or purpose, so there is no sense of moving forward or backward. The goal allows progress to happen. 

2. Requirements – In order to achieve the goal, something is required. This can be broken down into two variations. In one, the characters must follow an order of steps, like following a set of directions. In the other, the characters must do or obtain things in any order, like a shopping list. The characters in Jumanji, for example,have the goal to restore the world to normal. The requirement is to win the game. But they must do this in a proper order–they can’t skip turns.

3. Consequences – Consequences are what happen if a goal isn’t achieved or hasn’t yet been achieved. In some stories, the protagonist is trying to prevent the consequences, but in others, the protagonist is trying to stop the consequences that are already happening. Consequences might be thought of as overall stakes. In Ralph Breaks the Internet, if Ralph and Vanellope don’t buy a new steering wheel for Sugar Rush, then its characters will be homeless. 

4. Forewarnings – Forewarnings convey that the consequences are getting closer, becoming worse, or becoming permanent (depending on the story). If a dam is in danger of breaking, then a forwarning may be a crack that shoots out water. In Back to the Future, Marty’s family slowly disappearing from a photograph works as a forewarning. 

5. Dividends – Characters will likely receive small rewards for little successes along the journey to the goal. These are dividends. For example, on her journey to fight in the war in her father’s place, Mulan is rewarded honor and a place in the military when she is able to retrieve an arrow from a wooden post that none of the men could get down.

6. Costs – Just as the journey may include dividends, it also entails costs. These have negative impacts on the protagonist’s well-being. In order to win The Hunger Games, for example, one must be willing to kill others, which also includes psychological trauma. In order for Frodo to get to Mount Doom to destroy the Ring, he must suffer a loss of innocence. This is a cost. 

7. Prerequisites – There are often certain essentials one must have, to pursue the goal at all. These are prerequisites. Prerequisites on their own don’t bring the goal closer. This is why they aren’t requirements. In Interstellar, a spaceship, equipment, and astronauts are needed to travel space to find a new home (goal). But simply having those things doesn’t necessarily mean the characters are closer to discovering a liveable planet. 

8. Preconditions – Preconditions do not directly relate to the goal. They are “non-essential constraints or costs placed on the characters in exchange for the help of someone who controls essential prerequisites.” In Karate Kid, a prerequisite is that the protagonist must receive extra lessons from a master, but the master adds the precondition of doing chores. One does not technically need to do chores to do karate.

Some of these points are more direct–like requirements–while others are more indirect–like preconditions. The direct points will usually be more intense than the indirect. As you apply these elements to your stories, you’ll create a sense of progress–especially through the middle, which will help make any story more satisfying. 

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SEPTEMBER C FAWKES - Resident Writing Coach

September C. Fawkes is a freelance editor, writing instructor, and award-winning writing tip blogger. She has edited for award-winning and best-selling authors as well as beginning writers. Her blog won the Writer’s Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers Award, Query Letter’s Top Writing Blog Award and has over 500 writing tips. She offers a live online writing course, “The Triarchy Method,” where she personally guides 10 students through developing their best books by focusing on the “bones” of story.

To learn more, visit SeptemberCFawkes.com and grab her AMAZING free guide on Crafting Powerful Protagonists. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with September below.

The post The 8 Points of Progress appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Last time I coached on Writers Helping Writers, I talked about 6 Tricks to Layer on Stakes, in it, I explained how I like to think of stakes as potential consequences–what could happen if a certain condition is (or is not) met. For stakes to be most effective, they usually need to be specific and often on the page. They should follow a cause-and-effect trajectory. 

Usually, we want more stakes on the page than what actually comes to pass.

One thing that stakes do, is they set up the reader’s expectations. They may not always be 100% solid expectations, but they set up expectations more or less. 

Because if Suzy accidentally left her campfire going, then I would expect that it could start a forest fire. That is a logical outcome. Depending on how this is rendered in the story and what’s happening in the plot, and what I, the reader, have read and seen in other stories before, I may fully expect that to happen next: Suzy’s campfire will start a forest fire. 

Now that my expectations are set up, the author can play with them, if he or she desires.

Stakes are what might happen, not necessarily what actually happens. When you set them up as a writer, you have a few options on how to handle the actual outcome.

The situation leads to the expected problem:

1. Suzy’s campfire does start a forest fire.

The situation leads to no problems:

2. The campfire peacefully burns out, and it rains that night.

The situation leads to a problem worse or bigger than expected:

3. The campfire not only starts a forest fire, but burns up a few homes, and the state park.

The situation leads to a surprising outcome:

4. The campfire attracts a bigfoot.

Good writers will take advantage of these different outcomes (whether the writer is fully conscious of doing that or not). 

Be careful of using option 2: The situation leads to no problems. If you use that too much, you run the risk of undercutting the tension in your story. This is when the writer cuts threads of tension, so that there is no tension in the story for a period of time, or when the writer repeatedly fails to deliver on promised conflict.

The point is, when you work with stakes, you set up expectations in the audience. This is a good thing, because it helps the audience get invested in the story (unless you are only setting up expectations that are totally predictable). Once they have expectations, they’ll want to stick around. And you, the writer, can meet them, surprise them, or over-deliver on them. And yes, sometimes, undermine them too (only on occasion, and only when you have plenty of other important forms of stakes and tension in play).

So think about what your audience is expecting from your story’s stakes. And if you are only using one or two of these types of outcomes, try to switch it up to keep your readers surprised.

Need more ideas? Download this Raising the Stakes Tip Sheet:

SEPTEMBER C FAWKES - Resident Writing Coach

September C. Fawkes is a freelance editor, writing instructor, and award-winning writing tip blogger. She has edited for award-winning and best-selling authors as well as beginning writers. Her blog won the Writer’s Digest 101 Best Websites for Writers Award, Query Letter’s Top Writing Blog Award and has over 500 writing tips. She offers a live online writing course, “The Triarchy Method,” where she personally guides 10 students through developing their best books by focusing on the “bones” of story.

To learn more, visit SeptemberCFawkes.com and grab her AMAZING free guide on Crafting Powerful Protagonists. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with September below.

The post How Stakes Set up Expectations appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.