Elements of a Successful Story: Part 3

In my last two posts, we’ve been talking about story structure. We’ve covered Act 1 and Act 2, and today we’ll be looking at Act 3.

But first, I want to take a minute to tackle some concerns I hear from writers when I talk about story structure.

I want to be clear here. I’m talking about story structure. Not story formula.

Sometimes writers conflate these two things. And it’s no great mystery why. Craft books on story structure not only can leave writers thinking that it’s just a formula to follow, they sometimes explicitly call it a formula. A Save-The-Cat-Hero’s-Journey-5-Act-Beat-Sheet-Outline-Till-You-Drop formula for banging out story after story, easy-peasy.

This can leave writers worried that focusing on story structure will make their story too formulaic, too predictable, too neat, too HEA.

But that’s story formula, not story structure.

I wish I could say it as well as K.M. Weiland does in her craft book, Structuring Your Novel. But I can’t, so I’ll quote her. This is from her introduction: 

 “Story is a reflection of the cyclical patterns and psychological arcs we experience throughout our lives. When we examine the structural patterns that create resonant stories, what we find are the landmarks of life itself.

When we structure a story, we are trying to create a faithful facsimile of real life. This is what grounds a story’s verisimilitude, whether it is hyper-realistic modern fiction or the most fantastical and archetypal of fairy tales. The foundation of solid story structure allows audiences to suspend disbelief and identify with the story world, even if that world is filled with bizarre and unfamiliar details.

Writers often discuss story structure as if it were something we arbitrarily impose upon a story when really just the opposite is true. What we call ‘story structure’ is the shape of life itself. As writers is it our job to uncover this shape from within our stories and polish it until it touches a point of universal resonance within every member of our audience, no matter how different they may be from us or from each other.” 

Structuring Your Novel, 12-13

In other words, story structure is intrinsic to story, not extrinsic. The 7 Elements of Story we’ve been talking about are the landmarks we all pass when we go on our own arcs of change in life. This is what stories are – chances for us to see others in the midst of change, to see what obstacles get thrown in their way and how they handle it, and if they are okay in the end. We test-drive change in our own lives by experiencing it vicariously with the characters in the books we read.

There’s a reason I call my story development tool the Inside Out Synopsis. And my 4-week manuscript audit course the Inside Out Revision Plan. I’m reminding writers that we build stories from the inside out.

If you’re still wrestling with this, here’s another metaphor for you. All houses need studs, right? Rows of 2x4s, made of pine, spaced 16 inches on center. With this standard framework of studs, you could build a sprawling rambler. Or a cozy cottage. Or a McMansion. Or Fallingwater.

The studs do not dictate what your house will look like, or mean that your house will look like every other house. The house you build is up to you. But without studs, it won’t stand. When you’re done, the studs will be invisible and all anyone will enjoy is your beautiful house.  

Story structure is the studs of your story house. The invisible architecture of your story. Yes, it can give you a path to follow. A way to plan your story. But it is not a formula. It is, as K.M. Weiland put it, the shape of life experience itself.

Here are those story studs again:

Open

Inciting Incident

Act 2 Build

Act 2 Low Point

Act 2 Midpoint

Climax

Resolution

Now let’s dive into Act 3’s Elements: the Climax and the Resolution.

Climax

From the Act 2 Midpoint on, everything is building to the Climax. The Protagonist has learned something, experienced something, or realized something that flipped them out of reaction mode and into proactive mode. They are changing. But, while one foot is in their new self, they still have a foot in their old self.

Near the end of Act 2, they experienced a second Pinch Point, where the key source of antagonism has reared its ugly head again, this time with everything it’s got.

And your protagonist is up against a wall.

Enter the Climax.

The Climax needs to break that last thread connecting them to their old self. They need to bring their new, whole self to the fight if they’re going to succeed. This is the moment your whole story has been building toward. Has the Protagonist changed enough to succeed?

Sometimes the Climax is a knock-down-drag-out fight between the Protagonist and the Antagonist. Sometimes it’s just a moment, where the Protagonist finally admits something they’ve been refusing to admit this whole time. Whether it’s a big moment or a small one, it brings with it a revelation, not just for the Protagonist, but for the reader, too. This is what this whole story has been about. This is the answer to the story question posed in the Open.

In The Hunger Games, the story we’ve been looking at throughout these posts, the Climax comes when Katniss, having fully turned away from her old misbelief that the key to survival is keeping her head down and not confronting the Capitol, make the choice to pop poisoned berries in her mouth, and Peeta follows. The Capitol must have its victor, and by choosing to ingest the berries, Katniss is directly confronting the Capitol. She will no longer play its game. This results in the Gamemakers naming both Katniss and Peeta victors.

The Climax is where the plot arc comes to a close. But for a story to conclude successfully, it needs one more Element.

Resolution

The Resolution is the where the internal arc of change comes to a close. Having survived the Climax, whatever that looked like for the Protagonist, they have fully stepped into their changed self. And now they, and the readers, get to enjoy a moment of triumph or, maybe, relief. Maybe they got the guy or girl, got the job, got the grade. Saved the world. Or maybe they didn’t, but they learned to trust themselves again. Or to trust others. Or to love again. Or that that dream job was never what they needed and they’re much better off now.

This doesn’t mean you have to neatly tie up your ending in a pretty bow.

The key to a successful resolution isn’t tying up every loose end. It’s leaving the reader with the sense that life will go on for the Protagonist. The central story question is answered, but others hang in the air that this new-and-improved Protagonist will need to face. But having been through the adventure of the story with them, we readers know that they have a new set of skills to handle these problems. A resolved story is one that leaves your readers with the sense that this ending is really a new beginning.

In The Hunger Games, Katniss goes home. She has survived the Hunger Games, and she gets to go home and see her sister. Because this is a trilogy, the author doesn’t put Katniss totally at ease – there’s more to come. But at the end of the third book, Katniss does get her moment of rest and we readers get the sense that she goes on to live her life, the wisdom she gained knit into her consciousness forever.

Crafting an Effective Act 3

Remember: the key to seeing your story’s invisible architecture is to stay zoomed out. To focus on the big picture.

Ask yourself:

Does your Climax answer the story question you posed in the Open of your story? Does it bring the story arc kicked off by your protagonist’s decision in the Inciting Incident come to a close here?

Does your Resolution leave readers with a sense that your protagonist, while not necessarily having figured everything out, now has the skills they need to solve whatever problems are left? Does it resonate with a larger story point or theme?

There you go. The 7 Elements of Story. The invisible architecture of your story.

Knowing the 7 Elements is one thing. Seeing them in your work is another. It’s hard to assess our own stories. We’re too close to them. Our minds filled with what we’ve written, what we’ve cut, all the different ways this could play out. It’s hard to see the story forest for the trees.

So how do we ‘see’ our stories?

The best way is to get fresh eyes on them.

If you’ve been working on your story with a writer’s group… DON’T turn to them! They’ll be too close, too. They know your story and they know you and they’re rooting for you and you may not get the fresh perspective from them that you need.

Instead, try a manuscript exchange with another writer who’s never met you or seen your work before. Or try a professional beta reading service.

Or you could consider a developmental editor or a book coach.

There’s no way not to make this sound self-serving, since I’m a developmental editor and book coach, but I do what I do because I believe in the power of working with someone who is trained to help writers move to the next level. Classes and workshops are great at getting you started on your writing journey, but they can only take you so far. At some point, another class on building believable characters isn’t what’s going to help you figure out if you’ve built believable characters. For that, you need someone willing to dive into your manuscript and give you direct feedback on it.

So get the fresh perspective you need, wherever you decide to turn. If you have question about how to think through any of this, my doors are always open. You can schedule a free consultation call here.

Till next time…

Happy writing,

Erin

Photo Credit: Annelies Geneyn on Unsplash