Category Archives: Story Design

What is the meaning of your story?

300: Courage and self-sacrifice of the few ultimately leads to the survival of the many.
300: The courage and self-sacrifice of the few leads to the survival of the many.

How do we inject meaning into our stories? Do we even care about meaning, over and above writing a rollicking good tale? We should. There is a specific meaning to every story, whether we intend it or not. Let me explain.

If we have a theme or moral premise in mind—such as greed leads to unhappiness, or unfettered technology leads to the destruction of the natural world, then we can point our story in that direction through the actions of our characters and their consequences. But even if we haven’t thought about the theme at all, choosing instead to concentrate on the surface layer of the tale—its plot, meaning will nevertheless arise in the story by virtue of what happens to the characters who hold certain views.

“The winner of the conflict between the protagonist and antagonist ‘proves’ the theme or moral premise, which in turn provides the meaning of the tale.”

If, say, our protagonist espouses self-sacrifice and nobility as virtues and he defeats the antagonist who espouses selfishness and vengeance, then you as a writer are saying that self-sacrifice and nobility trumps selfishness and vengeance. If the antagonist defeats the protagonist then your claim is that selfishness and vengeance defeats self-sacrifice and nobility. You are saying that the world is a place where the ruthless and self-serving win—a Godless world devoid of transcendent values.

If that’s what you mean to say, well and good—it’s your story after all. But if you haven’t thought about the ending of your story as the place where the final clash occurs— where one character who represents one set of values defeats another who represents contrary values, then you risk saying something you never intended. Like a ship without a radder your story could end up on the rocks.

Summary
The meaning of a story is coiled up inside its theme or moral premise. It manifests through who wins or loses in the story.

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The explanatory power of need in stories.

In the film Tootsie Michael Dorsey‘s ‘need” manifests in his actions.

What is the difference between a character’s want and need?

In her book, Advanced Screenwriting, Linda Seger explains that one’s ‘want’ is related to the outer goal in the story—what the character thinks s/he has to achieve in order to solve a problem: get the girl, or the job, and the like. One’s ‘need’, however, is typically hidden from the character. It is revealed only late in the developmental arc as a result of the characters having learnt a series of lessons about themselves, and the world, through life’s hard knocks. 

We as writers, however, have to know how to work with this hidden need on behalf of our characters. We have to know how to work with the subtext—with what is suppressed, left unsaid, with emotions of guilt, shame or regret. These are the generators of depth and resonance in our stories. Without them we have only plot. With them we have in-depth characters whose psychological motivation rings true.

“Without an acknowledgement of need, characters are unable to complete their character arcs and achieve their story goals.”

Tootsie’s Michael Dorsey, for example, does not, at first, realise that he needs to be less difficult, more sensitive to others in order to achieve his outer goals as an actor. He does not realise that his insistence on ‘perfection’, his obsessive disagreeableness and fussiness stems from his own insecurities. It is only when he adopts the disguise of a woman in order to procure a television soapie role, a disguise so convincing that he is subjected to the sort of insensitivity and sexism he has inflicted on others, that he realises that his need is to be a better man. It is only then that Michael can accomplish his external goals—his desire for Julie, his need for work, his desire to maintain his friendship with Sandy. The accomplished writer understands this about his character(s) and implements this knowledge. It is a skill well worth emulating.

Summary

A character’s acknowledgment of ‘need’ comes late in the story and results in an adjustment of the story goal.

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Turning point versus twist — what’s the difference?

The twist in The Sixth Sense
The twist in The Sixth Sense

Stories depend on twists and turns to deliver their content in an engaging way. But what’s the difference between a turning point and a twist? Let’s look into it.

In her book Advanced Screenwriting Linda Seeger gives us six attributes that define a turning point: 1. Turns the action in a new direction. 2. Ushers us into a new arena and a new focus for the action. 3. The protagonist makes a new decision or commitment . 4. Raises the central question again. 5. Ups the stakes. 6. Propels the story into the next act.

Seger states that the turning point is not a surprise although how it is executed may be. That’s because the turning point has been prepared for—through the inciting incident for example, or other foreshadowing elements.

In Dead Poet’s Society the boys going to the cave has been prepared for by earlier scenes: The boys discover John Keating’s Year Book and ask him about it. Keating mentions that the cave was where the dead poet’s society used to meet. This sets up the context for Act II and the resulting conflict between creativity versus conformity, the theme of the story, that is to be unleashed. The cave scene, then, leads the story in a new but not unexpected direction.

“A turning point steers the story in a new direction, usually prepared for earlier. A twists uncovers a gut-wrenching emotion through exposing a secret that has the penny drop.”

The twist by contrast differs from the turning point in these ways: Twists are almost always rooted in secrets. Specifically, the twist is an action or event which reveals that things are not what everyone thought them to be. It is the moment when the penny drops—the moment in The Sixth Sense, when Malcolm Crowe realises that he is dead, the moment when a puzzle is suddenly solved as in Chinatown when Evelyn Mulvaney gives up of her shameful secret that Katherine Cross is both her daughter and her sister as a result of her father’s incestuous acts with her. Her shocking revelation explains Evelyn’s obfuscating behaviour, her seeming lies, her stutter upon the mention of the word ‘father’, and the like.

Here’s what you need to know about writing secrets and have them drive your twists: 1. What is the purpose of the secret? 2. Whose secret is it? 3. Who is unaware of the secret? 4. When should the secret be revealed? 5. To whom is the secret first revealed, and why?

Typically, then, the twist may occur near a turning point in a story, but it’s most important differentiation from the turning point is that it delivers a gut-wrenching emotion, couched in past secrets, that sheds light upon hitherto unexplained action.

Summary

Turning points steer the action in new directions prepared for earlier. Twists expose secrets and create powerful emotions through surprise.

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Why have our stories grown stale?

Banish the stale! Follow Chinatown’s example.
Banish the stale. Follow Chinatown’s example.

Much of our viewing consumption, whether at the cinema or through streaming services, has grown stale. There is a repetitiveness to the story structure, genre, theme, and the subliminal messaging. Superhero stories predominate, and what’s worse, the sequel-generating machine has diminished the spark that may have existed in the original. The disconnected and visually numbing Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania, is a case in point.

What’s the reason for this? I’d venture a lack of originality and character authenticity which the presence of the brand alone can’t compensate for. Then there’s the easy access to tons of tv series and films on streaming services which has educated audiences about the tricks that go into a story. Formulas are exposed for being just that—formulas. Add the avalanche of cardboard characters and limp story lines and you get the picture.

So, what’s the remedy? My instinct is to go back to creating strong, authentic characters driven by credible goals, hopes and ambitions—characters who harbour wounds and secrets, and who are immersed in situations, albeit fantastical on occasion, that we find believable. 

“We should banish what is stale in our stories by getting back to the basics, by concentrating on originality and verisimilitude.”

One of the things that makes Chinatown a great story is the power of the wounds and secrets that Evelyn Malwray harbours. These drive the entire story—wounds and secrets whose consequences affect the characters, generate subtext, and create story questions. And what a staggering reveal late in the story when Evelyn finally comes clean to Jake Gittes!

Citizen Kane too is an enduring classic in no small part because Kane has a painful secret that the audience is dying to know. Indeed the whole film is predicated upon unraveling the meaning of the word ‘Rosebud’ uttered by Kane on his deathbed. The theme that is encoded in that word—that the value of family outweighs material wealth and fame, also lends the story a transcendent meaning that elevates it and keeps it resonant and fresh. If only we could inject such verisimilitude into the current parade of stories.

Summary

Many stories have fallen prey to stale, repetitive formulas, plots, and shallow characters swimming in the sludge of endless franchises of dubious worth.

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Story beats and archetypes in the Hero’s Journey

During one of my lecturers on the Hero’s Journey based on Christopher Vogler’s The Writer’s Journey, a student asked me about the nature of the relationship that exists between the eight archetypes and the twelve beats that comprise a tale of this sort. Before answering the question let me remind everyone of the Archetypes and story beats.


The Archetypes are: 1. Hero, 2. Mentor, 3. Threshold Guardian, 4. Herald, 5. Shapeshifter, 6. Shadow, 7. Ally, 8. Trickster.

The story beats are: 1. The Ordinary World, 2. The Call to Adventure, 3. Refusal of the call, 4. Meeting with the Mentor, 5. Crossing of the First Threshold, 6. Tests, Enemies and Allies, 7. Approach to the inmost Cave, 8. The Ordeal, 9. The Reward, 10. The Road Back, 11. The Resurrection, 12. Return with the Elixir.

“Story beats and archetypal characters are two sides of the same story coin .”

One of the most essential relationships between story beats and archetypes is their proximity to each other—archetypal characters tend to be evoked at specific points in the story: The introduction to the Ordinary World, for example, entails that we meet the Hero in the context of his or her world. The Call to Adventure demands that we throw the Herald into the mix. The Meeting with the Mentor means that the mentor has to persuade the hero, who has previously Refused the Call, to take it on. The Crossing of the First Threshold necessitates that the Threshold Guardian makes an appearance to defend his threshold. Tests, Allies and Enemies means that these characters interact with the hero (and to us), to aid or block his path towards his quest.

The point is that the archetypal characters are embedded in the hero’s journey—they are two sides of the same coin. Together, they tell of how a character, the hero, rises to the challenge to subdue outer threats, which necessitates integrating the warring energies within himself or herself represented by the very archetypes.

Summary

Archetypal characters appear at specific points in the hero’s journey, so much so that several of these story beats contain their very name.

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The catalyst scene(s)

Solving of the math problem in Good Will Hunting is a fine catalyst.
Solving of the math problem in Good Will Hunting is a fine example of a catalyst scene.

Linda Seger describes the catalyst scene as one that sets the story in motion. Some refer to this scene as the inciting incident, but this may be a little confusing if not positioned early, as I shall explain below.

The first catalyst, or inciting incident as some may say, occurs within the first ten or fifteen minutes in a film. Seger gives us the following examples: The death of the gladiator’s wife in Gladiator, the quitting of the job in American Beauty, the solving of the math problem in Good Will Hunting or the shooting in Saving Private Ryan.

Seger makes the point that strong catalysts ought to emerge through actions and events rather than unfold through long verbal exchanges. Although a catalyst most commonly occurs in the first half of Act One they may occur throughout the script. For this reason I prefer not to refer to the catalyst as the inciting incident.

“A catalyst scene is a call to action.”

Seger provides further examples: Let’s say two people meet at the first turning point in Act One, and as a result fall in love. Or, say, in Act Two a detective uncovers an additional clue which leads him to change his approach to an investigation. Or, perhaps, at the midpoint a protagonist learns about a new drug which might cure her of her cancer. All these bits of information serve as catalysts which initiate subsequent actions that propel the story forward.

Summary

The catalyst scene is a spur to action initiating a series of cause-and-affect events in a story.

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The Character Triad

What is the Realisation-Decision-Action character triad and how does it help you write your characters?

The character triad is masterfully rendered in the Breaking Bad television series.

The triad focuses on character development, and while, dialogue and plot are important in helping to conjure up the magic in a story, it is convincing character action that keeps the tale moving. That’s where the realisation-decision-action triad comes in. It is a game-changer for creating memorable and believable characters. Here’s how it works.

At its core, the triad reveals how a character responds to a problem or event in a story. First, the character has a realisation – they identify the problem and gain insight on how to solve it. Then, they make a decision about how to act on that realisation. Finally, they take action.

“The character triad combines a realisation and a decision of how to solve a problem with the action itself, rendering the action authentic and convincing.

Let’s take a look at how this works in one of the greatest TV shows of all time – Breaking Bad. In episode 6 season 3 Walter learns that Hank is close to discovering Walter’s link to Jesse by locating the RV meth lab. Here’s how the triad plays out:

Realisation – Walter realises that Hank is on his trail and is about to uncover his identity.

Decision – Walter decides to have the RV destroyed before Hank can find it and connect it to him.

Action – Walter rushes to Clovis’s lot where the RV is located and decides to have it pulverized in a nearby junkyard.

But of course, it’s never that simple. Jesse learns/realises that Walter is about to destroy the RV and decides to try and prevent this. He rushes to the junkyard, leading Hank, who has been following him, straight to the RV and to Walter.

Unable to get away without being spotted, Walter and Jesse lock themselves inside the RV in a blind panic.

What happens next? You’ll have to watch the episode to find out!

So, there you have it – the realisation-decision-action character triad on a roll!


Summary

The function of the character triad is to establish a cause-and-effect relationship between the characters’ thoughts, decisions and actions.

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The Decision Scene

The decision scene in Stand by Me.
The decision scene is in full displays in Stand by Me.

Are you struggling to make your story feel authentic and engaging? Then look no further! One of the keys to powerful plots lies in mastering how to craft the realisation-decision-action scene triad, as humans are wired to think and act in this order.

According to Linda Seger’s Advanced Screenwriting, not inserting a decision scene between a realisation scene and an action scene can make the story appear forced, disconnected from the plot, and without depth. A decision scene provides the reasoning and motivation behind a character’s actions, making them feel more genuine and relatable.

Think of Chuck Nolan discovering the plastic door in Castaway, or Vern and the boys deciding to investigate the dead body in Stand by Me, or the nurse in The English Patient making the decision to stay behind. These decisions lead to significant plot development and create an air of authenticity that draws the audience in.

“A decision ought to follow a realisation and lead to action showing the outcome of that decision.”

A decision, then, involves a character or characters inspecting, investigating, questioning or simply observing, before coming to a decision. This leads to action being taken directly after as a result.

So, if you want to take your story to the next level, make sure to include a decision scene between the realisation and action scenes.

Summary

A decision scene follows a realisation and provides the reason for the action that follows it. It grants your story verisimilitude.

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The Confrontation Scene

The confrontation scene in American Beauty.
The confrontation scene in American Beauty.

In her book, Advanced Screenwriting, Linda Seger explains that the confrontation scene is one which uncorks the pressure that has been building up in the story between characters.

It is typically about one character’ s anger or dissatisfaction directed at the wrongs, real or imagined, perpetrated by another against him or her. The time for hints and innuendos has passed. This scene allows a buried truth to be uncovered. Here the subtext finally explodes to the surface. In the words of Seger, this is the scene where a character ‘tells it like it is.’

In the film American Beauty Lester confronts the lies in his life. He desperately needs more from his job, his sexuality. And he needs something deeper from his wife who elevates her job and the couch above the meaningful things in life. Here is Lester’s confrontation with her about the gulf between them stemming from her shallowness and confused values.

LESTER: Carolyn, when did you become so joyless?…This isn’t life. It’s just stuff. And it’s become more important to you than living. Well, honey, that’s just nuts.

Lester’s words are not overly angry or numerous, but their import is devastating.

“The confrontation scene is where the subtext explodes to the surface.”

Sometimes the confrontation scene is anticipated, which builds tension. At other times it is unexpected although the reader or audience has sensed that it is coming.

In the film Tootsie, Michael confronts his agent for not informing him about an audition for a play. The agent suggests that Michael’s problems have made him essentially unemployable. The scene exposes Michael as being in need of therapy.

Summary

The confrontation scene is typically one where the subtext bursts to the surface, where one character confronts another about a wrong perpetrated against him, whether real or imagined.

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Revealing backstory

Linda Seger talks about revealing backstory.

In her book Creating Unforgettable Characters, Linda Seger wraps-up her chapter on creating and revealing a character’s backstory in this way (I paraphrase her here):

Creating backstory should be a process of discovery. The writer ought to keep asking questions about a character’s background in a back-and-forth fashion in order to explain or support that character’s motivation for their action. When the writer is in the flow, the information seems to reveal itself rather than be imposed by brute force through specific formulas. The result is a process of expanding, enriching, and deepening a character in an organic and effortless way. To help us in this process, Seger suggests that we ask these questions as we write:

“Revealing backstory in an adroit way is indispensable to the crafting of accomplished stories.”

  1. Is my work on backstory a process of discovery? In other words, do I let the character’s backstory unfold naturally as needed rather than imposing excessive detail on the character in a way that may not be relevant?
  2. As I reveal backstory, am I careful not to show more than the bare minimum needed for a character to carry the moment?
  3. Am I layering the information throughout the story, not lumping it all into info-heavy speeches?
  4. Am I revealing information in the shortest, most economical space possible? Am I able, for example, to reveal bits of backstory in a single sentence, with the help of subtext, so that the attitudes, motivations, emotions, and decisions of characters are revealed?

Although not replete, this bit of advice will improve your ability to fashion a character’s backstory in a more economical and flowing way.

Summary

Ask a series of questions to help you create an economical and organic approach to writing and revealing backstory.

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