A while back, I shared a post at WHW about Scene Writing, and why it’s such a valuable tool for writers (especially those like me, whose brains get easily overwhelmed by details). This post also shares my tricks for keeping a story organized even if you have a disorganized brain or process.

A Word About Writing Process…

Adapt everything you learn to your own unique brain

Like underpants, writing process is personal. You’ll find out what fits YOU the best by trying it on for size. At the end of the day, the only writing process you need to embrace is the one that allows you to finish your stories.

It took me a long time to figure out that I couldn’t write linearly like all my friends. I had to find the process that worked for my brain. My brain needed stories to be in tiny pieces.

My old life:

(That’s the life of creating unfinished stories that taunted me.)

Whenever I’d get stuck, I’d stop. I’d stare at the page, clean my kitchen drawers, come back to the page and stare some more. Sometimes there was crying. Almost always, after a few weeks, I’d berate myself for being a hack, give up and start another story.

My new life:

Now I just pick a new scene and write it and the pantser half of my brain works the problems out. Most important, this method lets me keep writing. That immersion is what keeps most writers engaged with their story.

How does “process” work for a new writer?

The problem for most new writers is they don’t know what works for them yet. There’s a lot of trial and error when you’re new.

You’ll have to ask (and answer) questions like:

• Am I a plotter or a pantser?
• A linear writer, or an out-of-order writer?
• Am I more productive in the morning or at night?
• Do I like to use 3-Act Structure or the W-Plot?

A lot of what you try as a new writer won’t work for you. That’s okay – keep trying things out until you are able to produce a finished story. You might not even love the first story or two, but you’ll still be proud you finished it.

A View of My “Scene-Focused” Process

The abbreviated description of my process is that I’m a Plantser and a Story Quilter. That means I plot a little, I free write a bit, and I piece the story together scene-by-scene.

What does that look like in practice?

1. I start by making a list of all the scenes I know.

Like many writers, each book usually starts with an idea or a scene that comes into my head fully formed. I write that scene to get it out of my head and onto the page. I keep writing until all the initial scenes are out of my head.

Usually, there are between 5-10 scenes that come with the initial idea. When I’m lucky, this list includes some key turning points of the story.

2. I make folders for all those scenes in Scrivener.

That folder list is key for me. It means when I sit down to write, I have a list of places I can go in the story. Sometimes something will come to me all Pantser-like and I make a folder for that one too.

3. I try to brainstorm early.

Near the beginning of the process, I bat some ‘what if’s’ around with my writing peeps and decide on the overriding theme for the book and the internal and external conflicts for the main characters. I might be wrong, but it gives me a place to start.

Note: Scrivener has places for characters and research. For me, they’re part of my at-a-glance folder list over in the left sidebar. I can click on them to add, or when I need a refresher on a character for a scene.

4. Sometimes I get lucky.

During #3 above, sometimes the turning points make themselves known. I’ll often share the story with someone I trust, and ask if they see any major logic holes. If I’m lucky, they find one! Finding logic holes early, before I’ve done a ton of work, makes me way less cranky later in the process.

5. I keep writing until I’m out of scenes.

Sometimes that means I’m actually done with the book, and sometimes that means I have to beg some nice writing friends to do a manuscript swap. This step is usually when I begin the Second Draft work, which means using all those cool plotting and polishing tips that Plotters use on their first draft.

My Top 3 Tips for Getting Unstuck

Despite our best intentions, we all get stuck sometimes. OneStop for Writers is a great place to start when you get stuck. These smaller steps help me, too.

1. Change locations.

Typically, the act of moving to a new writing space can jiggle up some writing inspiration. This can be from your desk to the couch, from inside to outside, or from the library to a favorite restaurant or coffeehouse.

2. Use a digital timer.

I tend to use my cooking timer. When I don’t want to write, my deal with myself is I have to do at least 30 minutes of work on my fiction.

We can do anything for half an hour, right?

While it doesn’t sound like a lot, it really makes a difference. If I’m not digging the writing that day, I know “I only have to do this crap for 30 minutes.” If things are going well, I’m likely to go way longer than 30 minutes.

3. I print a list of all the scenes I know in table form.

This trick requires a printer and scissors, and I’m known to do it when I’m getting to the end of a book. Margie Lawson gave me this brilliant idea, and it works when I have difficult scenes that I don’t want to write. You could also handwrite your to-do list and make a game out of it.

• I print the table of all those scene prompts and cut it up until each scene is on its own slip of paper.
• I find a pretty container and I put all the slips of paper into it.
• Every time I sit down to write those final scenes, I randomly choose one from the container until they’re all gone.

Margie is so smart.

Why Scene-Focused Writing Is a Great Organization Method for Me.

The first major advantage is that I rarely get stuck.

Everything is visible to me at a glance. I just pick a scene from my to-be-written list of scenes (aka: my Scrivener folders/documents) and get writing. Eventually all of them will get written.

Here’s an example

A starting scene list for a made-up romance novel:

• Initial Meeting
• Scene in the Coffee Shop
• Job interview at the clinic
• Reunion with Sister
• Fight about parents’ funeral
• First look at sister’s house
• Discovery of parent’s will in the garage
• Flesh out mom’s mental illness
• Confront sister about secrets

The second major advantage (for me) is that I can see the story structure visually, without getting overwhelmed.

As I write those early scenes and begin seeing the bigger picture, I start making more folders. Every so often in the process, I’ll move those folders around, so they feel more logical.

Scenes and turning points will move into a logical three-act structure, which organically shows me plot holes. I can color code scenes (folders or documents) in Scrivener if I want to make unwritten scenes stand out more, which is great for an at-a-glance to-do list.

In a Word document, I can’t see the structure at a glance, and it stresses me out. I feel like I don’t know where to start or where I’m going. I lose scenes. It’s easy for me to get overwhelmed, and then the writing isn’t so fun anymore.

An example of my Scrivener folder list further in the process:

Act I

• Amanda and Archer meeting in Coffeehouse
• Amanda’s job interview at clinic
• Amanda chats with Unknown character about Disliking Archer
• Day 1 at Clinic WHERE ARCHER WORKS

Act II

• Need a scene with heroine’s BFF – Topic TBD
• Reunion with Sister
• Fight about parents’ funeral
• First look at sister’s house
• Find excuse for social occasion with sister
• Talk with Archer in Clinic Kitchen
• Discovery of parent’s will in the garage
• Flesh out mom’s mental illness
• Date with Archer at pub
• Confront sister about secrets
• All is Lost Moment

Act III

• Ending

Final Thoughts

Whether you’re innately disorganized like me or a detailed plotter, finishing a book is a big task. There are a lot of moving parts to be organized. Scrivener is my tool of choice, but I have friends who do things differently and stay organized.

I’ve seen great books organized all these ways:

• Using a notebook and writing by hand with Post-its and dividers
• Using Word documents with headings or Master/Sub Documents
• Using software like Plottr and ProWritingAid
• Creating folders on the computer and saving each chapter as a document
• Writing the book in a single Word or GoogleDoc file

Figuring out your writing process and how to keep your stories organized are two of the most important things you will ever learn as a writer. I’m wishing you a smooth journey!

JENNY HANSEN - Resident Writing Coach

Jenny Hansen provides brand storytelling, LinkedIn coaching, and copywriting for financial services firms. By night, she writes humor, memoirs, women’s fiction, and short stories. After 20+ years as a corporate trainer, she loves this sit-down-and-work thing. As a co-founder of Writers In the Storm (WITS), Jenny has supported writers since 2010. WITS, recognized by Writer’s Digest as a top website for writers, offers weekly posts on writing craft and inspiration. Jenny is currently revising a memoir about her cancer journey, with a style described as “get busy laughing, or get busy crying.”

Find her on WITS, Facebook, or Instagram.

The post Book Structure for Disorganized Writers appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Actions have consequences—that’s what makes a story tick. A story begins when events around a character push them into action. Those actions create new situations, and those situations push the character into even tougher choices. Watching this chain reaction unfold is what keeps readers glued to the pages.

When we call a story “entertaining,” we’re really talking about something deeper: the chance to step into someone else’s experience. We want to understand their choices and see how their decisions mirror our own journey.

We’re not reading strictly to find out what happens, but neither are we reading only to understand why. Instead, we’re fascinated by the ripple effect of how one dynamic feeds the other.

A satisfying story does two things at once. It sweeps us into an absorbing plot while simultaneously easing us into the vicarious experience of a character’s inner transformation. Plot events shape the character’s options, and their choices then create new situations—a self-perpetuating cycle of action and reaction that creates the story.

Are stories plot-based, or are they character-based? The answer is yes.
Story is the synthesis of both. Plot shapes characters, and characters drive plot. Stories draw their power from the interplay between the two.

Here’s how plot and character organically wind together in classic Western storytelling, act by act.

Act 1: Welcome to the Ordinary World

Key Concepts

Act 1: The first quarter of the story

Plot Keywords: status quo, the normal world, the ordinary world

Character Keywords: disunity, inauthenticity

The story opens on a character living in disunity and inauthenticity, although they don’t realize that yet. Something about their life is lacking, internally or externally or both.

The first act introduces the character, builds the story world and its time, place, and rules, and plants the seeds of change. This sets the chain of action and reaction that drives everything to come, creating the plot that the character will spend the rest of the story pursuing and wrestling with.

Act 1: This act is a story about how inauthenticity and disunity arrive in this character’s life.

Turning Point 1 (end of Act 1): This is how the character resolves to fix the problem created by inauthenticity or disunity.

Act 2: The Easy Way Out

Key Concepts

Act 2: The second quarter of the story from 25% to 50%; in three-act structure, this is the first half of Act 2, the part before the midpoint

Plot Keywords: reactive response, the easy way

Character Keywords: deconstruction

The character steps into this quarter of the story ready to tackle their problem, but they’re going about it all wrong. They’re reacting to their new reality without truly understanding it, chasing solutions that look promising but won’t really work. They’re still operating from old patterns and incomplete understanding.

This initial approach begins to crumble as they discover the problem runs deeper than they thought. Their responses slowly deconstruct their familiar worldview, forcing them to question what they believe about themselves and their situation.

Act 2: This act is a story about how the character reactively responds to the problem.

TP2 (end of Act 2—the midpoint): This is the moment the character realizes their reactive response isn’t working. The problem has grown more complex than they imagined, their old worldviews are deconstructing piece by piece, and they must find a new path forward.

Act 3: The Hard Road

Key Concepts

Act 3: The third quarter of the story from 50% to 75%; in three-act structure, this is the second half of Act 2, the part after the midpoint

Plot Keywords: proactive progress, the hard way

Character Keywords: reconstruction

The character enters this act with a new understanding: It’s time to stop reacting and time to start acting. They begin approaching their problem head-on, using newfound tools or information or wisdom, but success doesn’t come easily. The obstacles they face grow to match their increasing capacity.

As they make proactive progress toward their goal, they gradually reconstruct a new worldview to replace what was torn down. But this reconstruction comes at a cost—each step forward requires more from them than the last.

Act 3: This act is a story about how the character makes proactive progress toward solving their problem.

TP3 (end of Act 3): This is the moment when the character’s proactive approach seems to fail despite everything they’ve learned. Though they’ve been reconstructing a stronger sense of self, they hit what appears to be an insurmountable obstacle or dead end.

Act 4: Bringing It All Together

Key Concepts

Act 4: The final quarter of the story, from 75% to the end

Plot Keywords: final push, climax, resolution

Character Keywords: synthesis, unity, authenticity

This is where all threads converge. The character faces their goal and whatever stands in their way, and now they’re armed with something new: authenticity. The climactic breakthrough isn’t just about solving the external problem—it’s about achieving unity between who they are and who they need to be.

Act 4: This act is a story about how the character achieves synthesis, finding their authentic self and moving forward with a new sense of unity.

Climax: This is the moment when the character’s newfound authenticity or unity enables them to solve their problem in a way that would have been impossible before their transformation.

Finding Your Story’s Flow

Each story finds its own rhythm within the cycle of these four acts. Stray too far from their natural flow, though, and the story loses its power. A weak setup leaves readers adrift; without real struggle, victory rings false.

What matters isn’t following a rigid structure but creating a transformative journey. Readers come to witness your character’s evolution from disunity to unity—this is what lingers in their minds long after the final page.

LISA POISSO - Resident Writing Coach

Lisa Poisso specializes in helping new and emerging fiction writers. A veteran of the disciplined world of classical dance, she brings that same practiced artistry to writing—where structure, form, and technique are springboards that give you freedom of movement on the page. Explore her Writing & Editing Resources for valuable tools to develop your manuscript, and subscribe to the Writes of Fiction newsletter to receive Lisa’s hand-picked writing advice delivered directly to your inbox. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with Lisa below.

The post The Ripple Effect: How to Weave Plot with Character appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

In any discussion of story structure, the three-act model inevitably dominates the conversation. Even as plotting methods such as Save the Cat, the Hero’s Journey, and the Snowflake Method gain popularity, the classic beginning-middle-end form reaching back to the dramatic theories of Aristotle remains the essential core.

But here’s the rub: Three-act structure produces a disproportionately large act in the middle of a novel—the double-stuff cream in the three-act Oreo—leaving writers with a puffy, gooey act notoriously recognized as the most difficult section to write. Act 2 of a three-act story is twice the length of the other acts, forcing writers to combat the infamous “saggy middle” effect using a hodge-podge of plot tangents and pacing tricks.

But it’s not the writing that makes the double-stuffed Act 2 feel like such a slog; it’s the structure itself. The loss of momentum is a symptom of a missing component that flattens plot and character development: the midpoint complication.

The Frog in the Boiling Pot

A well-paced story thrives on rising action, tugging readers into a web of progressively escalating complications. This stream of gains and setbacks turns up the heat on the protagonist, like a frog in the proverbial soon-to-boil pot of hot water.

But when complications occur solely at the scene level, readers may not feel as though their hand has been thrust against the blistering heat of the pot. Their experience is more likely to resemble that of our oblivious friend the frog—they may never notice the relentlessly mounting heat. They may lose interest and hop out of the story pot long before it comes to a boil and the frog finally takes action.

While fans of slow-burn stories do exist, most readers prefer regular injections of momentum. And the exciting change they’re looking for—the stuff that sends plots skittering in new directions and forces protagonists to grapple with impossible choices—is driven not by incremental temperature increases but by large-scale structural movement: story turning points.

What Do Turning Points Do?

Turning points are a structural element of storytelling. A turning point is a pivot point between two acts, forming a joint between one limb of the narrative and the next.

It’s not that a turning point is simply a dramatic, landmark event. That’s missing the point. A turning point fills a specific role in the story: It turns the story in a new direction. It keeps the story living, breathing, evolving … changing.

Turning points work on the basis of stimulus–response. The first element is a stimulus: a significant action, event, or revelation in the plot. The second element is the protagonist’s response to that stimulus. Their reaction determines the tenor and direction of the entire next act.

Recurring, well-paced turning points keep the story from deteriorating into a dull, predictable march toward an inevitable climax.

And this brings us back to the downfall of three-act structure.

The Midpoint Complication

Without a fundamental opportunity for narrative and character change during the second act of a three-act story, readers and writers are likely to flounder. But dividing the second act to create four acts instead of three creates an additional turning point—and another opportunity for the protagonist’s choices to determine the story’s direction.

The midpoint complication, which falls between the two middle acts, offers the perfect story shakeup. It sends the plot in a new direction or complicates the protagonist’s choices with significant new information.

Four-act structure eliminates the long, sagging middle act of three-act structure, prolonging the initial strategy the protagonist chooses at the end of Act 1. The midpoint complication injects new energy into the quest. Readers can visibly see the tides begin to turn. The protagonist’s initial attempts may not be paying off yet, but the hard knocks they’re taking are building determination and resourcefulness.

The midpoint complication serves as a crucial pivot, channeling the story’s energy from reactive response to proactive progress, from the easy way to the hard way, from deconstruction to reconstruction. This form helps writers avoid the common pitfall of the sagging middle act, buoying readers from the first act through the last.

LISA POISSO - Resident Writing Coach

Lisa Poisso specializes in helping new and emerging fiction writers. A veteran of the disciplined world of classical dance, she brings that same practiced artistry to writing—where structure, form, and technique are springboards that give you freedom of movement on the page. Explore her Writing & Editing Resources for valuable tools to develop your manuscript, and subscribe to the Writes of Fiction newsletter to receive Lisa’s hand-picked writing advice delivered directly to your inbox. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with Lisa below.

The post The Missing Link in Three-Act Structure appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

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®.

If you’ve researched story structure at all, you know there are many models out there, and they’re all slightly different. The most popular forms tend to follow the three-act structure, which resonates with many readers regardless of genre or format.

• Act 1 sets things up for readers by establishing the protagonist, their story goal, the setting, and all the basics.
• Act 2 builds on that information, introducing escalating conflicts (both internal and external) that block the character from their objective.
• Act 3 resolves the story conflict in a showdown that determines whether the protagonist succeeds or fails at achieving their goal.

Within this simple framework, certain events need to happen not only to progress the plot, but also to encourage the character to become more self-aware, make positive internal progress, overcome setbacks, and so on. This journey is essential if your character is to progress realistically from Once upon a time to The End. It’s not an easy path, though, and sometimes characters balk; they’d rather stay where it’s comfortable and safe, thank you very much. The status quo may be stagnant or even unhealthy, but it’s what they know.

But a stalled character means a stalled story—which is death for reader engagement. At times like these, your protagonist needs a nudge (or a full-fledged shove) to reach the next important story event. This is where amplifiers come in.

An emotion amplifier is a specific state or condition that influences what the character feels by disrupting their equilibrium and reducing their ability to think critically.

Distraction, bereavement, illness, and exhaustion are examples of amplifiers that create friction.

To illustrate how amplifiers get characters moving while also supporting story structure, let’s examine a popular (and my favorite) model: Michael Hauge’s Six-Stage Plot Structure, which is beautifully explored in his book Writing Screenplays that Sell. In the right order and at the right places, these points move the character through the story in a logical fashion without sacrificing pace.

Six-Stage Plot Structure Model

Setup: The protagonist is living in their everyday world, but they’re emotionally stuck or dissatisfied in some way.

Opportunity (Turning Point 1): Called the catalyst in other models, this point consists of a challenge, crisis, or opportunity that pushes the protagonist into pursuing a certain story goal. That decision sets them on a journey that sweeps them out of their ordinary world and into a new one.

New Situation: The protagonist is adjusting to their new world, figuring out the rules and their role while dealing with obstacles that crop up. At this point, the character is largely unaware of their own faults and how they contribute to a lack of fulfillment.

Change of Plans (Turning Point 2): Something happens that creates an awakening for the protagonist, clarifying what they need to do to achieve their goal. They begin moving purposefully in that direction.

Progress: Fully conscious of their goal and their new plan, the protagonist takes steps toward success by gaining knowledge, honing skills, or gathering resources and allies. Although they may be growing in self-awareness, they’re not yet able to fully comprehend the depth of internal change that needs to occur.

Point of No Return (Turning Point 3): The protagonist’s situation becomes more difficult than ever as a death or significant loss pushes their goal seemingly out of reach. Forced to face what’s holding them back (their flaws, fears, lies they’ve embraced, and so on), they commit to changing their dysfunctional methods and evolving in the pursuit of their goal.

Complications and Higher Stakes: Though dedicated to personal change and healthier methods, the protagonist is assailed by escalating conflicts and increased stakes that make it more important than ever to reach their objective.

Major Setback (Turning Point 4): The protagonist experiences a devastating setback or failure that makes them doubt everything. Their plan forward will no longer work, and all seems lost. Finally rejecting any beliefs, biases, or doubts that were holding them back, they adapt their plan.

And so on…

Amplifiers in Story Structure

The flow of a story seems logical when seen through the lens of plot structure, but guess who really dictates this little road trip? Your characters—who don’t always cooperate.

Characters tend to resist change, especially the internal kind. An emotion amplifier pushes them from one point to the next with opportunities for decisions that add volatility, increase vulnerability, and make the situation worse. As the story progresses, particularly in the second half, amplifiers can also begin revealing growth as the characters adapt to new challenges and make better choices.

Look at how amplifiers have been used to this effect in some popular movies and books:

Inebriation: In Sweet Home Alabama, Melanie, who has spent years creating a new life for herself in Manhattan, returns to her hometown to get a divorce, which her estranged husband is reluctant to grant. Frustrated by her lack of success, she gets drunk during the Progress stage, turns nasty, and outs her best friend. This leads directly to the Point of No Return, when she awakens in a hungover stupor and realizes that her horrible behavior has caused her husband to finally sign the divorce papers. She should be excited to be able to put her past behind her and fully recreate herself, but she realizes she’s been pursuing the wrong goal all along.

Instability: The Nostromo vessel is floating in outer space, light years away from help, when an alien makes its way onboard (Alien). In the Complications and Higher Stakes phase of this classic movie, as crew members are picked off one by one, the captain is forced to pursue the alien into the air ducts to try to kill it. He fails, leaving protagonist Ripley as the senior officer with an enhanced security level that enables her to discover the Nostromo’s true mission, which has rendered her and her crew expendable (Major Setback).

Hunger: In Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, a father and son travel to the coast in a hard, post-apocalyptic world. During the Progress stage of the story, the father’s hunger drives him to enter a building he otherwise would have avoided. What they find there sends them running for their lives, questioning humanity’s right to survive. They stick to the woods, wet, cold, and hungrier than ever. A quote explains the father’s mindset at this point: “He was beginning to think that death was finally upon them.” Their foray into the house of horrors, driven by extreme hunger, has propelled them to their Point of No Return.

In each of these examples, an amplifier is used to drive the character from one turning point to the next, a technique that could work just as effectively for you. Once you’ve created a basic outline for your project, explore amplifiers that could be placed strategically to propel the character into the various stages of their story.

Choosing the Right Amplifier

Your story’s theme can deliver the perfect amplifier for informing a character’s choices and actions. It may be the same one employed repeatedly (as isolation is used in the movie While You Were Sleeping), or a variety of amplifiers that circle the overall message. If you know the theme for your story, consider options that reinforce it while also steering the plot events.

Genre can also provide ideas. A bleak, post-apocalyptic story like The Road is a natural setting for hunger, cold, and exhaustion. Likewise, attraction and arousal are common amplifiers in romance plots and subplots. Thrillers and action stories often include multiple instances of danger, stress, and mortal peril.

Additional Research

Looking for more information on amplifiers? Check out The Emotion Amplifier Thesaurus. With it’s easy-to-use list format and comprehensive how-to front matter, this resource can show you how to use amplifiers to motivate your characters, add meaningful conflict, and further your story.

You can see all the entries in this book here.

BECCA PUGLISI

Becca Puglisi is an international speaker, writing coach, and bestselling author of The Emotion Thesaurus and its sequels. Her books are available in five languages, are sourced by US universities, and are used by novelists, screenwriters, editors, and psychologists around the world. She is passionate about learning and sharing her knowledge with others through her Writers Helping Writers blog and via One Stop For Writers—a powerhouse online library created to help writers elevate their storytelling.

The post Need to Get a Stubborn Character Moving? Use an Amplifier appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

For strong storytelling, we need to focus on what’s important and relevant to current story events. That means we shouldn’t info-dump a bunch of irrelevant backstory just because it’s interesting or it’s something we enjoyed developing about our character, as we instead need to keep this story moving forward.

Yet two advanced writing techniques may seem to go against this advice by focusing on showing readers events in the past: flashbacks and dual timeline stories. What are these techniques, when might it make sense to use them, and what’s the difference between flashbacks and dual timelines?

Backstory 101: Use When Necessary

While we do need to be careful with backstory (due to potentially causing pacing issues, etc.), in most stories, it’s essential to include at least some pre-story information. Well-crafted backstory gives readers the context of a character’s issues (like a backstory wound) and emotions, informing readers about what makes the character tick. Backstory often creates a character’s pain and motivation—helping readers comprehend the why.

That said, our goal shouldn’t simply be to include backstory whenever we think readers “need” information. Instead, the most important advice for integrating any style of backstory is that the information must be relevant to the current story events and readers’ understanding of the story.

In general, backstory should be shared:

• only when readers need the context for understanding a character’s current choices and emotions (that why information), such as when their actions or behaviors seem out of character or confusing – and –
• only when that technique is the best way to have readers understand why the character is doing what they’re doing.

Advanced Backstory: Flashbacks vs. Dual Timelines

Normal Backstory:

In normal usage, we may allude to backstory in just a phrase or paragraph. Rather than spelling out the details of a character’s history, we may include just a hint, just enough for readers to understand.

For the first time in years, she prioritized her needs over those of her coworker.

That opening 6-word phrase is enough to allude to a past that’s held this character back from standing up for herself. Over the course of the story, readers can get similar hints if necessary to better understand her backstory wound and thus fully understand the story’s stakes and obstacles and her choices and motivations.

Backstory through Flashbacks:

However, sometimes it’s necessary to give readers more information. Maybe during this scene, readers need to know why this is the first time she’s willing to set boundaries. Maybe they need to see for themselves what happened in the past to understand why she was so traumatized and stuck in her mindset—and thus get the importance of this scene.

In that case, rather than contriving a way to share the information within the current story, such as having the character tell someone else about the past event, we may decide to show readers the event itself in a flashback. A flashback gives us a few paragraphs—up to a full scene—to show (rather than tell) a past event.

As her coworker prattled on about yet another emergency that he’d caused—and that required her to give up her weekend off to fix, for the twelfth weekend in a row—she remembered all the hundreds of other times she’d sacrificed for others at her expense. At the front of her mind was the teenage memory of her father demanding that she spend their entire Disney World family vacation watching her infant brother.
Some of the time, sure. All of the time?
At the announcement, she had stared into her parents’ faces, watching for a hint of a wink or smile. They were joking, surely. Her heart dropped as the reality sank into thoughts. No castle, no rides, no fun.
No way.
“But that’s not fair!”…

Dual-Timeline Stories:

Many books consist of multiple stories that interrelate to create one story, such as romance stories that feature both love interests or any story with multiple protagonists. For those, we may alternate scenes or chapters between the characters.

However, what if those stories happen at different times? As an example, what if the story we’ve been using above is a case of generational issues? What if we want to explore not only this woman’s story of learning to set boundaries, but we also want to explore her mother’s history of failing to do the same until she’s inspired by her daughter’s growth?

In that case, a dual-timeline story may make the most sense. With just flashbacks, we’d struggle to create an understanding of not only this woman’s history but also her mother’s story of past situations and choices. Instead, we could create dual stories set at different times so that both timelines are fully shown and not told.

A dual-timeline story gives us any number of scenes necessary to tell a complete story that happened in the past that is somehow relevant to the “present” story. Like any multiple protagonist story, we could alternate chapters or sections, one set in the “present” and one set at the earlier time (but still worded in our usual verb tense).

For our example, we may alternate chapters with the mother and daughter facing similar challenges in asserting themselves. The story set in the past may seemingly end with the mother giving up. Then soon after the daughter finds her backbone in the present, the mother’s story may resume by jumping forward in time to show her inspired to the same, finally leaving her abusive husband.

This time jump at the end is not necessary (or even particularly common) in dual-timeline stories (and in fact, it’s possible to feature the same protagonist in both timelines), but this structure fits with this example. Either way, the dual-timeline story comes together in the end, at least on a thematic level, to illuminate a single story idea.

How Is a Dual-Timeline Story Different from Using Multiple Flashbacks?

Depending on the story we’re trying to tell, the story arc set in the past of a dual-timeline story may also inform the “present” story the same way that any type of backstory provides context to readers. For our example, the alternating chapters could echo each other with similar challenges or show the daughter learning unhelpful coping habits from her mother, explaining more about why she is the way she is.

However, it’s important to understand that a dual-timeline story is not the same as a story with a bunch of flashbacks.

Multiple Flashbacks:

• Only need to be related to current story events
• Can be—but don’t need to be—related to each other
• Are triggered by events in the current story, not the previous flashback
• Don’t need to tell a story in whole
• Aren’t leading up to their own dark moment or climax

In other words, the flashbacks aren’t there to work together to tell a separate story from the present story. Instead, the flashback scenes exist solely to illuminate the current story.

Dual Timelines:

• Each should have their own obstacles and stakes.
• Each should progress as a complete story, with their own independent structure of acts and turning points (dark moment, climax), etc.
• Each scene set in the past should follow the cause-and-effect chain of the previous past scene, not the preceding present-story chain.

In other words, even if we cut out every present-setting scene, the story set in the past should still make sense and be a complete story. The past-timeline story exists for its own reasons, and the dual-timeline structure simply allows the two stories to add meaning to each other.

Need More Understanding or Examples of
Flashbacks vs. Dual-Timelines?
Check out Jami’s companion post!

When Should We Use Each Technique?

If we need readers to know aspects of the past to understand the context of the present, our default should be to use our normal backstory techniques, including hints/phrases, characters sharing stories, etc.

• Use Normal Backstory to share tidbits of necessary context relevant to current story events with readers.

If we want to use our usual showing techniques to share a specific past event with readers, such as to create a deep point of view (POV) experience, we may want to use a flashback.

• Use Flashbacks to show a past defining moment(s), event(s), or scene(s) with the POV character to readers.

If we want to explore a story idea that integrates the experiences of two different timelines to create a single understanding, we may want to use a dual timeline.

• Use Dual Timelines to show two stories set at different times that work together to illuminate each other.

Final Thoughts about Backstory Techniques

With the right writing techniques, we can ensure our backstory elements don’t slow down or interrupt our current story or feel like information dumps to readers. At the same time, appropriate use of backstory techniques can make our story and characters—and our readers’ connection to those—stronger and more compelling. *smile*

Want to learn how the new Fallout TV series juggles both flashbacks and dual timelines? Visit my companion post!

Have you struggled to understand how to weave backstory information into your story? Have you used flashbacks or written a dual-timeline story and have other insights to share? Do you have any questions about these techniques or how to approach backstory, flashbacks, or dual-timeline stories?

JAMI GOLD - Resident Writing Coach

Jami Gold put her talent for making up stuff to good use, such as by winning the 2015 National Readers’ Choice Award in Paranormal Romance for her novel Ironclad Devotion.

To help others reach their creative potential, she’s developed a massive collection of resources for writers. Explore her site to find worksheets—including the popular Romance Beat Sheet with 80,000+ downloads—workshops, and over 1000 posts on her blog about the craft, business, and life of writing. Her site has been named one of the 101 Best Websites for Writers by Writer’s Digest. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with Jami below.

The post Flashbacks vs. Dual Timeline: What’s the Difference? appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

As you may have heard, we recently released The Emotion Amplifier Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Character Stress and Volatility, a companion to The Emotion Thesaurus.

If you aren’t familiar with this term, let me explain. An emotion amplifier is a special state or condition that can make a character emotionally reactive. Whether it’s pain, scrutiny, pregnancy, competition, or other state, when a disruptor messes with a character’s psychological and emotional equilibrium, it’s bad for them, but good for the story. And this is but one way to use them.

Emotion Amplifiers are unbelievably versatile. In addition to making a character volatile, check out how else they can help you level up your story!

1. Amplifiers make it harder for characters to hide what they feel.

Characters are like people–they often mask what they feel to avoid judgment, vulnerability, and the perception that they are weak. But if your character is hungover, enduring high levels of scrutiny, or it’s been ten hours since they last had a cigarette (withdrawal), it becomes harder to keep their emotions in check. A slip–forgetting their filter, telling someone off–and suddenly their emotions are on full display.

2. Amplifiers are great for uncovering a character’s faults, flaws, and sensitivities.

Characters are motivated to control events around them as much as possible, which can make them seem more capable and strong than they actually are. Derailing their plans with an amplifier is a great way to show readers they don’t have it all together and can lose their emotional grip just like anyone else.

3. Amplifiers infuse scenes with tension.

When a character’s stress levels are heightened because of an amplifier like hunger, illness, or pain, the reader becomes glued to the page, wondering if the character will be able to handle the extra strain.

When a reader is unsure of what will happen next, the tension they feel causes them to read on…exactly what we want!

4. Amplifiers generate conflict.

Sometimes your character can manage the strain of an amplifier, and sometimes they can’t. If distraction, sleep deprivation, or even attraction causes your character’s attention to drift, they could fail to spot a threat or worse, taking their situation from bad to worse.

5. Amplifiers can help make a character relatable.

Most amplifiers are common enough that readers have experienced them themselves, or at least know the challenge they represent. So when a character is struggling with something like stress, pressure, or bereavement, readers relate to the character because this situation feels like common ground.

6. Amplifiers pressure characters to deal with their inner conflict.

It can be tempting to ignore personal problems when there’s a difficult decision to be made, but if characters continue to avoid the hard stuff, readers will disengage.

Deploying an amplifier at the right time can make the character’s situation untenable, forcing them to search within and find a way to change their situation for the better, even if this means a cost or sacrifice.

7. Amplifiers provide the opportunity to grow.

In a story, characters should make plenty of mistakes so they can learn from them. Letting emotions take over because of an amplifier like addiction, burnout, or confinement might mean taking a foolish risk, doing or saying something that damages their reputation, or creating big problems for themselves. Dealing with the fallout of bad decisions and emotional volatility will teach them to find a better way next time.

8. Amplifiers support your story’s structure.

Stories contain a framework of turning points and characters must move from one stage to the next for the story to progress. The problem? Fear can make them resistant to take on certain challenges, and they become resistant to leaving their comfort zone. An amplifier like danger, dehydration, arousal, or physical disorientation can force them to march into the unknown so they can secure what they need most.

9. Amplifiers give the story’s premise or conflict scenario a fresh edge.

Stories naturally contain elements and scenarios that will be similar, especially within a genre. The addition of an amplifier, perhaps one like brainwashing, an injury, mental health condition, or intoxication, will help readers see your events as unique, and give you a way to show a character’s individuality in the way that they handle the challenge.

10. Amplifiers encourage readers to connect with your characters on a deeper level.

Amplifiers are familiar to readers as these states and conditions are part of the human experience. When an amplifier brings a character’s emotions close to the surface, readers can’t help but be reminded of their own feelings and humanity. This fosters empathy and connection, and the reader becomes invested in what happens next.

Becca and I explore over 50 amplifiers in this second edition of The Emotion Amplifier Thesaurus. As a companion guide, each entry is styled very close to The Emotion Thesaurus. If you’d like a look at the list of amplifiers and a few sample entries from the book, just go here.

ANGELA ACKERMAN

Angela is a writing coach, international speaker, and bestselling author who loves to travel, teach, empower writers, and pay-it-forward. She also is a founder of One Stop For Writers, a portal to powerful, innovative tools to help writers elevate their storytelling.

The post 10 Reasons Why Emotion Amplifiers Are Good for Your Story appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Have you ever been running late, and found yourself scrambling around your house, looking for your car keys? Where did you leave them – on the kitchen counter? By the front door? Oh wait, you went up to your bedroom to get something. You race up the stairs, step into your room, and then stop short. You blink. You made your bed already. The blinds are drawn.

What were you looking for, again? For the life of you, you can’t remember.

This is a real phenomenon, so if you’ve experienced this, it doesn’t mean that you’re losing your marbles. It’s called The Doorway Effect, and it happens because as soon as you step over the threshold to a new room in your house, your brain has new information to process, and it clears its slate to ground itself in your new environment.

I’m in my bedroom now. My bed is made. I closed the blinds.

It might be a minute or two before you remember you were looking for your keys. You might need to retrace your steps. (But don’t worry, you’ll eventually remember that they’re on your nightstand, and you’ll leave your house only a few minutes late).

You’re probably wondering what this Doorway Effect has to do with writing? Here’s the cool thing about brains – your reader experiences a similar phenomenon when you cut to a new chapter or scene in your book. As the writer, you have the power to take them anywhere when you start a new chapter or scene. You can jump backward in time, dropping into a flashback, skip forward in time by days, months, years, even decades. You can change whose Point of View (POV) you’re telling the story from, you can even start a new scene on the moon if that’s where your story goes.

And your reader is along for the ride. They trust you, the writer, to lead the way. So, as they cross the threshold into your brand new chapter or scene, that they’ve never read before, they clear their slates, and look for clues to ground them in the scene that’s about to unfold. As they ease into the new scene, they’ll be looking to orient themselves, and need the answers to these questions, fast: 

1. Whose head are they in now? (POV)
2. Where are they in time, relative to the scene they just left?
3. What’s around your characters (setting)?
4. Who is in the in the scene when it opens?

This is true even if you start the next chapter only moments later, BTW, so you need to clue them in even if your grounding information is the same as the chapter before! 

If they don’t get that information, they’ll feel lost, like they’re floating, without their feet firmly planted on the ground. Without this information, especially any details about the setting, the reader will picture your characters in a white room, or against a white wall, going about the activities you pen for them. This is sometimes called White Room Syndrome, or White Wall Syndrome (again, aren’t brains cool?).

Many readers will start skimming to figure this out rather than stay in this no man’s land. So, if you don’t give this information until the top of the second page of your scene? They’ll miss all the amazing things that happen on page one.

The easiest way to fix this is to make sure you’re providing the 4 elements of grounding readers in your scenes within the first two paragraphs after every chapter or scene break. It’s like a big road sign when they step over the threshold to help them find their place in your world, so that they can relax and let themselves be dragged into whatever your characters get up to next.

Tips for Including Grounding in Your Scenes

Get creative, and give readers this information as quickly as possible, so you can get on with the story.

Whose head are they in now? (POV)

This is especially important when you are writing your book from more than one character’s point of view.

• Opening with an inner thought laced with your POV character’s voice, or an action or dialogue from them is the quickest way to establish this.
• If you start with another character’s actions or dialogue, readers may incorrectly assume that they will be following this new character’s POV in your scene.

Where are they in time, relative to the scene they just left?

Immerse your readers in your scene as quickly as possible by letting them in on where you’ve taken them.

• Get creative on establishing the time period for your readers. Phrases like moments later, or three months ago, can get boring, and make your grounding feel clunky. Try some of these ideas instead:
  • Show time passing with the character’s growth (longer hair, wrinkles forming, a child growing taller etc.)
  • Demonstrate a change in an object (a jar of peanut butter that empties over time, or a set of swings that shows wear).
  • Reverse these suggestions if you’re jumping backward in time.

What’s around your characters (setting)?

Rather than describing the setting, have your POV character interact with it to keep the story moving right from the top of the scene. And keep this short – adding this information is not an excuse to drop several paragraphs of worldbuilding (info dumping), which can pull readers out of your story.

• Give 2-3 specific showing details about the room or landscape you’re dropping readers into.
  • Have your POV character use something in your scene, or move an object around them that fits with their agency
  • Examples: Have them check the industrial clock on the wall to show urgency, pick up a rock and throw it to show frustration, etc.
  • Setting details are also needed when your characters change locations within a scene or chapter, in addition to the top of your scenes, so use these tips there as well to make sure your readers don’t get lost on your journey!

Check out this article by Angela Ackerman for more ideas on how to ground your characters in your reader’s world.  

Who is in the scene when it opens?

There is nothing more jarring than thinking a character is alone in a scene and having a second character speak up or yell on page two, while standing right beside them, as if they appeared out of thin air.

• Don’t simply list everyone who’s around if there’s a crowd. Mention the crowd but then zoom in on one or two specific people to make this pop.
• Just like the setting details, let your POV character interact with the people in the scene, through dialogue or actions to make it as engaging as possible.

It’s easy to check if you’ve grounded your readers at the top of your chapters or scenes, and to add these details if you haven’t got them in the first two paragraphs after a chapter or scene break to create an immersive experience for your readers, and to lead them seamlessly through the story you’ve spent months or even years crafting. Adding this information does not mean that you have to rewrite a scene you’re happy with. When done with creativity and style, your readers will enjoy your story even more, even if they don’t know why.

Grounding your readers in each scene is one of 30+ practical writing strategies Suzy shares in her Wicked Good Fiction Bootcamp. Want more? Sign up for her Free Masterclass, 3 Secrets to Increase Your Chances of Your Book Getting Published to learn more about her Bootcamp.

SUZY VADORI - Resident Writing Coach

Suzy Vadori is the award-winning author of The Fountain Series. She is a certified Book Coach with Author Accelerator and the Founder of Wicked Good Fiction Bootcamp. Suzy breaks down important writing concepts into practical steps to make it easy for writers coming from outside the industry to get up to speed in a snap, so that they can realize their big, wild writing dreams!

In addition to her weekly newsletter encouraging writers, and online courses, Suzy offers both developmental editing and 1:1 Book Coaching. Find out more about our RWC team here and discover how to connect with Suzy and all the resources she has to offer here.

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I want to write a book.

You remember when this big idea first hit, right?

Maybe you were browsing for books, waiting for an author’s autograph, or sitting in awe after finishing a great novel. The idea took hold of you, and soon you found yourself buying notebooks, pens, and sticky notes. You browse online for writerly things—a cute laptop sticker or a mug that says, “Writer at Work.” And then when it arrives, you fill it with your favorite drink, sit down at your computer, and open up a new document. Because it’s SHOWTIME!

You place your hands on the keyboard, grinning like a clown-obsessed maniac. This is it—the magic is about to happen.

Onscreen, the cursor blinks. And blinks.

Boy, the page is so white. How did you not notice before? And that infernal flickering cursor… is it just you, or does it seem kind of judge-y?

And that’s when you realize your big idea has a second part to it:

I want to write a book…but I have no idea where to start.

Thankfully, this truth, while inconvenient, doesn’t have to stop any of us from writing. It may seem daunting at first, and doubts might try to sway us (What was I thinking? I can’t do this!), but I’m here to tell you that, yes, you can write a book.

7 Tips for How to Write a Book When You Have No Idea What You’re Doing

Not knowing where to start is a problem countless writers before us have faced and figured out. So, if you are feeling a bit lost when it comes to your big dream, these seven things can help you move forward and even better, jump start your writing career.

1. Write

Sure, this seems obvious, but starting can be paralyzing. We worry about committing our ideas to the page because what if they resemble some four-year-old’s Cheerios-and-glue “masterpiece”? Well, guess what? They might, and that’s okay. Great storytelling takes time, and if that didn’t put off Stephen King, Susanne Collins, or Nora Roberts, it shouldn’t stop us, either.

To begin, think about your Big Story Idea. Jot down your ideas, or try outlining the story you envision using one of these methods or this outlining software. Or start with something small, like one scene. At the beginning of a writing journey our goal should be getting comfortable with putting words on the page and having fun, not pressuring ourselves into penning the next Game of Thrones.

2. Read Widely

Reading is so enjoyable we tend to forget how each story is a treasure trove of education on what makes a book good, bad, or off-the-charts great. So read widely, thinking about what makes each story compelling. Look for characters that stand out, story worlds that seem so real you feel part of them, and plots that keep you flipping pages long into the night. Ask yourself questions:

• What made certain characters larger than life?
• Did their personalities, complex motives, or a truth they live by pull you to them?
• What scenes and situations seemed the most real to you?

Studying where you fell under the storyteller’s spell can help you see how you can do the same for your readers.

3. Join a Writing Group

One of the best things you can do at the start of this journey is find others on the writer’s path. A community of writers puts you in touch with those who have the same goal, meaning you can learn from and support one another. Plus, having creatives in your circle helps to keep you accountable, meaning your butt stays in the chair and words get written.

4. Collect a War Chest of Knowledge

We all start with some talent and skill, but to write well we need to train up. Visit Amazon to find writing books with high reviews so you can judge which might be most helpful for your development. Make note of the title or ISBN and order them at your favorite bookstore.

Another way to build your knowledge is by subscribing to helpful writing blogs. Bite-sized learning can be perfect for a time-crunched writer. I recommend exploring all the resources on this page, studying up on character building, story structure, worldbuilding, and everything in between.

Getting to know who the people in our stories are and what makes them tick helps us understand what’s motivating them, and that makes writing their actions and behavior easier. To dive deep into who a character is so you can write them with authority, this tool will help.

5. Take a Course or Workshop

Investing in guided or self-guided learning can also kickstart your progress. The community is packed with great teachers. Below are some good options, but first, if you belong to a writing organization, check to see if they offer members classes for free or at a discount.

• Reedsy Learning Center
• Bang2Write Courses
• Lawson Writer’s Academy
• Jami Gold Workshops
• Jerry Jenkins
• Writing for Life Workshops
• Michael Hauge (Hero’s Two Journeys)

6. Look For Step-by-Step Help

As any writer will tell you, the road from an idea to a publish-ready novel is a long one, and it’s easy to get lost along the way. It’s no fun when we don’t know what to write next, or we don’t know how to solve a problem in the story. And, if we get too frustrated or our writing stalls for too long, we might end up quitting. Having an expert offer guidance as you write can keep you on track.

Some writers like to partner with a writing coach so they get personal feedback and support as they go. If this is something you might like, here’s a list to start with. A benefit is that you’ll learn a lot about writing as you go, but depending on how long you need coaching for it can get a bit costly. So another option might be the Storyteller’s Roadmap at One Stop for Writers. This roadmap breaks the novel-writing process into three parts: planning, writing, and revising. It has step-by-step instructions on what to do as you go, and points you to tools, resources, and articles that will make the job easier.

The Storyteller’s Roadmap also has built-in solutions for the most common writing problems, so whether you need to overcome Writer’s Block, Impostor’s Syndrome, or stop new ideas from derailing your story, the Code Red section keeps you on track.

7.  Above All Else, Be Fearless

Starting a book can seem like a monumental undertaking, and sometimes with big dreams, we have the tendency to try and talk ourselves out of them. We fear failing, because we think that’s worse than never trying at all. If you feel the passion to write, don’t let fear stop you. The world needs great stories!

ANGELA ACKERMAN

Angela is a writing coach, international speaker, and bestselling author who loves to travel, teach, empower writers, and pay-it-forward. She also is a founder of One Stop For Writers, a portal to powerful, innovative tools to help writers elevate their storytelling.

The post How to Write Your First Book appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Writers need to have a sadistic streak to inflict pain—emotional or physical—on our beloved characters repeatedly, but failure is important in fiction. Without it, the story drags.

Why to Include Failure

Without failure, we decrease the stakes, consequences, and slow the pace. And, most importantly, without failure there is no character arc. The story may seem messy and uncomfortable when we add failure, but it also adds authenticity. Mistakes and failure are part of life. If we don’t shy away from failure, the characters’ journey feels real.

Think about it this way. Who would you rather champion—a character who worked hard, persevered, failed a gazillion times, and still achieved massive success or someone who inherited a business?

How to Include Failure

It’s not difficult to make a character fail. The possibilities are endless. Failure might result from the character’s flaws, fears, insecurities, inabilities, or simple mistakes and oversights that have major consequences later in the story.

Here a few examples:

• Trusting the wrong person
• Refusal to accept help or advice
• Misheard information
• Tripping, slipping, falling
• Unable to follow simple directions
• Losing something that’s important to the storyline
• Rushing without forethought
• Misunderstanding a friend/parent/mentor
• Misunderstanding directions, plot clues, etc.
• Misreading a situation
• Overhearing something incorrectly
• Misplaced suspicion of an innocent person and/or act of kindness
• Physically failing
• Arriving too late
• Arriving too early
• Dropping an important object that shatters
• Losing something important
• Speaking without thinking things through first
• Unwilling to stay quiet
• Sneeze or cough at the wrong time
• Not speaking up when they should
• Forgetfulness
• Not trusting or second-guessing their own capabilities
• Not being willing to take a needed risk

Where to Include Failure

We don’t need major complex issues to fail. Speedbumps in every scene help with pacing. Our character doesn’t need to be a complete klutz, but they should make mistakes. Otherwise, the character won’t feel real.

We enjoy watching others fail. It’s human nature. How many of you have gotten frustrated with a cyclist who’s holding up traffic? Have you ever wished the car in front of him would open their door? Or the tires would blow, sending the cyclist over the handlebars?

Admit it. We’ve all experienced similar thoughts. Do we want the cyclist harmed? No. We just want him out of our way. And let’s face it, if he crashes it’d be a lot more interesting. Dark thoughts entering our headspace doesn’t mean we’re bad people. It means we’re human.

• Failure creates conflict.
• Conflict creates tension and raises the stakes.
• Tension is far more interesting than continual success, which gets boring fast.

To answer the “Where?” question, include failure when things are going a little too well. Now, it doesn’t need to be a major failure. The character arc shouldn’t change.

Four quartiles or Parts (each represent 25% of the book) of a character arc should look like this:

• Part I—The Setup: Introduce main character, hook the reader, and setup First Plot Point. In terms of character, they’re like a newborn experiencing the world for the first time. With an uncertain future ahead of them, they should fail. A lot.

• Part II—The Response: Main character reacts to their new reality, the goals, stakes, and obstacles revealed by the First Plot Point. They’re trying new things and failing a great deal.

• Part III—The Attack: Midpoint information or awareness causes the MC to change course in how to approach obstacles. The MC is now empowered with intel on how to proceed, rather than staying reactive. We still need failure, but they’re smaller mistakes.

• Part IV—The Resolution: The MC summons the courage and growth to find a solution, overcome inner obstacles, and conquer the villain(s). Failure is minimal here, if at all.

When to Include Failure

Let’s say your character is cruising along. They’ve met many of their scene-level goals and are making decent progress. Now would be the perfect time for failure. I’ll show you what I mean…

A scene is broken into two parts, Scene and Sequel.

Scene Structure

Goal: What does the character want to achieve? What’s their objective?

Conflict: Obstacles preventing the character from reaching that goal. *Here’s a great place to add failure.

Disaster: Things worsen. *Or here.

Sequel Structure

Reaction: How does the character react to the Disaster? *Another perfect spot for failure.

Dilemma: A no-win situation. If they do A, B might happen. But if they refuse to act, the fallout will be worse.

Decision (which leads to the Goal of the next scene): The act of choosing what to do. *We can even add failure here (i.e. short-sightedness).

On a micro-level, include failure in motivation-reaction units or MRUs.

• Motivation (external): Something elicits a response in our character.
• Reaction (internal): How the character responds to the outside stimuli.

Also known as cause and effect, failure can only occur in the reaction. Why? Because the MC has no control over external stimuli. Could their past actions or mistakes be responsible for the motivation/cause they’re facing now? Absolutely. Hence why failure is so effective in fiction. As mentioned above, failure leads to conflict. And conflict drives the story.

What types of failure have you included in a WIP?

SUE COLETTA - Resident Writing Coach

Sue Coletta is an award-winning crime writer and active member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and International Thriller Writers. Feedspot and Expertido.org named her Murder Blog “Best 100 Crime Blogs on the Net.” She also blogs at the Kill Zone (Writer’s Digest “101 Best Websites for Writers”). Her backlist includes psychological thrillers, the Mayhem Series (books 1-3), Grafton County Series, and true crime/narrative nonfiction. Now, she exclusively writes eco-thrillers, Mayhem Series (books 4-7 and continuing). Sue’s appeared on the Emmy award-winning true crime series, Storm of Suspicion, and three episodes of A Time to Kill on Investigation Discovery. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with Sue below or at www.suecoletta.com.

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Goal-driven scenes are akin to the classic joke setup, “A _____ and a _____ walk into a bar …”        

A _____ and a _____ walk into a bar. The scene begins with the entrance of the protagonist and antagonist.

The first guy says …  The first guy, our protagonist, lays out what’s on his mind—his immediate agenda, or the scene goal.

And so the other guys says …  The antagonist throws a curveball, a turning point that disrupts the expected flow.

… [punch line]! Surprise! Something new is revealed or happens that makes everything collide in an unexpected way.

In a joke, we laugh because the poor first guy has encountered something completely expected. In a scene, we turn the page to find out what the first guy does next. It’s cause and effect, action and reaction—the foundation of every novel.

Here’s how goal-driven scenes work.

Goal Establishing a clear scene goal draws readers into whatever the character will spend the scene attempting to accomplish, usually some incremental step toward the central story goal.

Turning point But something doesn’t go as anticipated, and the character is halted by a conflict, obstacle, reversal, or complication. This interruption, the scene’s turning point, throws a monkey wrench into what readers and the characters were hoping for or expecting.

Change Things are different now, because the turning point has changed the character’s original plan or course of action. How will this scene affect what’s next?

1: Establish the Scene Goal

Scene goals are incremental steps toward the ultimate story goal. They’re the viewpoint character’s immediate agenda. What’s on their mind? What did they get up today to accomplish? Unless you’re writing some variety of mystery or thriller, this agenda should be made clear to readers right away.

In a renowned memo to the writers of The Unit, playwright and filmmaker David Mamet underscored the necessity of clear scene goals.

Every scene must be dramatic. That means: The main character must have a simple, straightforward pressing need which impels him or her to show up in the scene. This need is why they came. It is what the scene is about. Their attempt to get this need met will lead, at the end of the scene, to failure—this is how the scene is over. It, this failure, will, then, of necessity, propel us into the next scene.

Issue: Failing to get the character emotionally engaged with the scene goal. Scene goals are serious business. If your character isn’t invested, readers won’t be either. The scene will flop, bereft of stakes and dramatic tension.

To clearly establish a scene goal, show readers what the character plans to do and why it matters to them. Properly done, this process hooks readers into the scene, rallying them to root for the character and keep reading to see whether they triumph or fall flat in their efforts.

Issue: Forcing a new scene goal with every scene, or keeping the same scene goal throughout the story. Because scene goals represent incremental steps, they’ll evolve as the story progresses. In fast-paced sections of the story, your viewpoint character’s immediate agenda may shift every scene. The bigger and more challenging a goal, the longer it will take to accomplish, and some goals will require multiple scenes to accomplish.

2: Interrupt With a Turning Point

The turning point is the peak of a scene. It’s the whole point of the scene, its raison d’être.

At a scene’s turning point, things stop unfolding the way the character had hoped or expected. They now face some new problem, conflict, or obstacle.

While this point in a scene is often described in terms of conflict, it’s often not about conflict at all. Although conflict is fundamental to every story, it’s not a necessity in every scene. Framing the peak of a scene as a turning point, rather than outright conflict, allows for more nuance.

A scene turning point can take the form of a complication, obstacle, or reversal. These terms are mostly self-explanatory, but let’s touch on what’s meant by a reversal. Renowned screenwriting and storytelling master Robert McKee identifies two types of scene reversals:

1. Reversal of power The relative power of the viewpoint character and another character in the scene swaps.

2. Reversal of expectation The viewpoint character enters the scene expecting one thing, only to encounter a different outcome.

Some of the most common scene writing problems are related to trouble in this turning point phase.

Issue: Failing to directly relate the scene turning point to the scene goal. For example, if Camille’s objective is to covertly retrieve a secret code from her coworker’s files, it wouldn’t make sense for the scene’s turning point to be returning home to find her apartment flooded due to a burst water heater in the unit above. This is definitely a nasty setback for Camille, but it doesn’t have any bearing on the pursuit of the secret code; that plot thread is left dangling.

Instead, imagine Camille poised to steal the secret code form her colleague’s office when the receptionist rushes down the hall with word of an emergency call from Camille’s landlord. This turning point directly affects the scene goal of obtaining the secret code. Just as Camille anticipates snatching the code, she’s yanked away.

Issue: Centering the scene turning point on an entirely internal dynamic. The scene turning point of a goal-driven scene demands the involvement of the viewpoint character with another person, thing, or event. Internal conflict alone isn’t enough to sustain a goal-driven scene, though it’s a powerful catalyst in reflection scenes (a topic for another day).

Issue: Mistaking the most exciting moment of the scene as the scene’s turning point. Think of the turning point as the peak of significance in the scene, not necessarily the most intense or dramatic moment. It’s the apex of tension in regards to the thing that matters most to the viewpoint character. It’s a crucial moment in the pursuit of the scene goal.

Issue: Rushing through the scene’s turning point. As the peak of a scene, the turning point is the juiciest part to readers. Give readers time to appreciate it. Sink into character interiority, allowing readers to savor their entanglement in the turning point. Unravel the character reactions one sticky finger at a time. While there may be times when you want to sweep into the next scene for shock value or chop things off to create a cliffhanger, in general, readers relish the opportunity to appreciate the character’s predicament. (Contrast the writing at this point in the scene with the first and last phases, which could require only a paragraph or pointed sentence to effectively convey.)

3: Demonstrate Change

The final phase of a goal-driven scene is the outcome, a moment marked by unexpected twists or the heralding of change. This phase of a scene is sometimes referred to as the scene “disaster,” but that needn’t imply an actual catastrophe. What’s important is the implication of impending change.

At this point in the scene, the viewpoint character either achieves the scene goal or encounters an unforeseen development. It’s now clear that whatever readers and the characters expected the beginning of the scene, something else has come along to add new developments.

Issue: The outcome or change phase at the end of a scene should rarely create a resolution. Resolution leads nowhere; with matters settled, the story momentum stops cold. Instead, pump forward momentum into the story. Because of this scene, what must the characters do next? This creates an emotional springboard toward the next scene.

The Action-Reaction Dynamic

To sum it up, the structure of a goal-driven scene comes down to action and reaction. Goal-driven scenes are little vehicles for change, and protagonists are the drivers. They react, decide, choose, and act, concluding one cycle of options and turning down another avenue for pursuing the elusive story goal.

LISA POISSO - Resident Writing Coach

Lisa Poisso specializes in helping new and emerging fiction writers. A veteran of the disciplined world of classical dance, she brings that same practiced artistry to writing—where structure, form, and technique are springboards that give you freedom of movement on the page. Explore her Writing & Editing Resources for valuable tools to develop your manuscript, and subscribe to the Writes of Fiction newsletter to receive Lisa’s hand-picked writing advice delivered directly to your inbox. Find out more about our RWC team here and connect with Lisa below.

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Every writer’s journey is unique, but we all experience one iconic moment: the decision to stop thinking about writing a book and actually do it.

And then? Euphoria. Finally, our ideas will live on the page! We imagine characters, plot twists, and future readers clutching our book, unable to put it down.

Of course, this high usually curdles into terror because now we must write the book. And we have zero clue as to how to do it.  

It’s overwhelming; we can see the finish line but have no idea how to get there.

With any big goal, the best way to achieve it is to break it into manageable pieces. A great first step for writing a first book is to map the route, start to finish. Here’s what that might look like.  

1. Choose Your Best Idea

Whether you have hundreds of ideas for a novel, or only a few, you need to settle on a core premise to make sure it’s strong enough to build a story around. Using Goal, Motivation, Conflict (GMC) can help you test ideas:

Goal: What your character wants

Motivation: Why your character wants it

Conflict: What stands in their way

These key elements form your core premise, and once you know it, you have your story’s first piece! To dive into this a bit further, here’s a GMC+Stakes worksheet.

Here’s more on brainstorming your story idea.

2. Prewriting

Once you have your story premise, it’s time to plan the people, places, and events. Some writers do a lot of prewriting, brainstorming their characters in depth to understand who they are, what they want and need, and develop their backstory and relationships. They also world build so they can write the story’s reality with authority, and plot/outline story’s events so they have a really good idea of what will happen, and when. Other writers do minimal planning in favor of a discovery draft, where they uncover these things as they write.

Try these tools to help you plan your story.

The level of prewriting you need is a personal choice, but generally the more you know, especially about key characters and their motivations, the easier it can be to write. Very likely you’ll have less big-picture revision to do later, but results may vary, as they say. If this is your first time, pay attention to your gut. When your instincts are nudging you to stop planning and start writing, you’ll know.

3. Mental Prep

When you think you’re ready to start writing, take a moment to set yourself up for success. Choose a place to work where everything you need is at hand – notebooks, pens, a computer, noise-cancelling headphones or whatever else you might need. Think about when is a good time to write, and if any challenges could make it hard to get words down. This will help you be prepared when life intervenes.

Julie Glover has great additional advice on what you need to write regularly here.

4. Writing

Welcome to the fun zone! This is when you finally get to unleash your creativity, so enjoy every moment of it. Don’t let worries about quality get in your way. This drafting process is about letting go so words can flow. Fixing and refining comes later. If you get stuck, try these tips and keep writing to the finish line.

It’s possible you might hit a point where you doubt yourself and your abilities. If so, know you aren’t alone. All writers feel this way at some point. What’s important is that you push back on these thoughts. Keep writing and trust the process. You’ve got this!

5. Celebrating

After the first draft is written, celebrate! Writing an entire book is a huge undertaking, and you’ve just done it. Take some time to do something special – read, relax, and reward yourself for having the persistence to see this through. Celebrating each win is self-care, so indulge.

6. Putting the Manuscript to Bed

You need time and distance from the story so when it’s time to revise, you see it with fresh eyes. Even if you want to start revising right away, put the manuscript aside for two weeks to a month. 

7. The First Read

After your story has sat for a bit, you’ll want to read it from start to finish to get a sense of how it flows, what areas need stronger development, and anything that might need to be reworked. So rather than start revising right away, make notes as you read. This will give you a plan to follow for your first round of revision.

Also, expect to find some cringe-worthy writing. This is a first draft, not a final product, after all. But guaranteed you’ll also find some gems and think, “Whoa, did I write this?” Use those as fuel to inspire you!

8. Revising

This first round is where you fix the big stuff: strengthening characters and their arcs and making sure they and their emotional experiences are relatable so readers will connect to them and their journey. You’ll want to address any plot and pacing issues, look for plot holes or logic issues with your worldbuilding, and things like that. This revision pass isn’t about making the story perfect, just create a story with strong bones. Remember to use your notes from the first read.

Check out this post by Janice Hardy on Revision Maps – Gold!

9. Feedback

Because this story is your baby, it can be hard to be objective about what’s working and what isn’t, so going to others will help you get distanced opinions on how well the story works and what might need to be fixed.  

This step should only be taken when you’re mentally ready for it. It’s easy to become emotional and mistake help as criticism, which brings self-doubt to the surface. Find people who are genuine about wanting to help you and don’t be afraid to tell them this is your first experience with critiques. When feedback comes in, remember their goal is to help you strengthen this story, not hurt your feelings.

At this early stage, paying for editorial help may not be the best choice. Workshopping your story via critiques helps you save yourself money by doing as much of the work yourself as you can. Here are six tips for finding a great critique partner.

Wondering when it might be time to outsource to an editor? Read this.

10. Refining

After you’ve had a few people provide feedback, you’ll have more ideas on what needs to be strengthened. Sort through the advice, and take your time, doing as many rounds as you need to get your story and characters to where they need to be.

11. Editing

Once you’ve workshopped your novel and you feel the story is solid, you’ll want to turn your focus to description, dialogue, and language choices. At the sentence level, strengthen your verbs, look for words or actions you may overuse, tighten your writing, deepen symbolism, and make sure your pacing is strong. Look for opportunities to strengthen every word.

These tip sheets & checklists can be a big help.

12. Polishing

When you feel confident about the shape of your story, it’s time to polish it up. Proofread for typos, missing words, repeated language, repeats, and make sure everything is consistent. If you changed names, places, or other elements, make sure you’ve caught any old bits hanging around. Read your story aloud as it will help you find the little things.

13. Final Read

Just as you did with your first read, you’ll want to do a final one, too. By now, you might be sick of this story. If so, take a break before the final read.

If there’s anything that bothers you as you read, make a note of it. You can also ask others to read it as well to get second opinions before you take the next step toward publication.

Before turning to a publishing route, you want to feel confident that this is your best work. At any time, if you need to, go back, revise again, seek out more feedback, or even look into hiring an editor to help you work through a problem. You can also work your way through this Storyteller’s Roadmap if you would like step-by-step help:

Remember, it’s not a race. You’ve got this!

Don’t rush. Strong stories take time, so give yourself the freedom and space to create the best story possible. And remember you aren’t alone in this; help is everywhere. Search this blog for keywords to read articles that can help you. Ask other writers for resources and advice. Chances are, any challenge you encounter is one others have faced, and they’ll have ideas on how to help!

ANGELA ACKERMAN

Angela is a writing coach, international speaker, and bestselling author who loves to travel, teach, empower writers, and pay-it-forward. She also is a founder of One Stop For Writers, a portal to powerful, innovative tools to help writers elevate their storytelling.

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