Writing 2 Distinct Turns at the End of an Act

Several months ago, I wrote an article on "Writing with 3 Equal-sized Acts," where I used The Hunger Games as an example, since Suzanne Collins writes all of these books with that structure. In it, I said this:

I was originally going to avoid bringing this up, but since we are here. . . . Sometimes . . . act-turns can be broken down into two parts--one major moment that ends the previous act, and another that starts the next act. I'll probably do a post breaking that idea down later.

Guess what? Today is that day!

And this isn't something that only applies to working with three equal-sized acts. It applies to any type of structure that is long enough to use acts, including the most common approach, which divides the story into quarters, like this:

One of the reasons I've put off writing this post, is because you have to have a bit of an understanding of story structure and specifically acts. So if you are new here, I'll very briefly catch you up to speed (doesn't hurt for the rest of us to review this either, so we start this explanation with the right mindset (but if you want, you can skip to the next section)).

An act follows the same basic shape as the whole narrative arc. This shape:

The "climax" is also called a "plot turn," "turning point," or "plot point." Because it turns the direction of the story. It's just that an act's "climax" is going to be smaller than the actual climax of the whole narrative arc (overarching story).

At that turn, the character's goal and/or plan to get the goal somehow changes; this helps create the turn--it's what "progresses the plot."

An obvious example of this is the story's climax itself. At the climax, the protagonist and antagonist face off, and the protagonist either gets or doesn't get what she wants, then we hit the falling action.

If you are familiar with other story structure approaches, you may know the act-level turns by other names:

In 7 Point Story Structure, they are Plot Point 1, Midpoint, Plot Point 2, and Climax (or "Resolution" (or part of Resolution, anyway)).

In Save the Cat!, they are Break into Two, Midpoint, All is Lost, and Finale (or part of it).

In the Hero's Journey, they are Crossing the Threshold, unstated, The Ordeal, and Resurrection. 

(But if you aren't familiar with any of those names, that's okay too.)

Whether or not you are aware of it, most of the stories you consume follow this basic structure.

Let's talk more about goals. A character should have a concrete goal, of which there are three basic types: obtain something, avoid (or stop) something, or maintain something as is.

An antagonistic force of some sort will come along and oppose that, creating obstacles. The character dealing with those, creates the rising action of conflict.

At a turning point (or plot point, or plot turn--whatever term you prefer), the goal or plan to get the goal, will somehow shift.

There are several ways that can happen.

Goal Shifts:

- The character gets the goal (and therefore soon needs a new one)

- The character gains an additional goal (he can have more than one)

- The character abandons the current goal (maybe he fails or quits)

- The character swaps goals (this could be a change in priorities)

- The character gets part of the goal (some goals can be broken down into pieces)

- The character's goal gets more detailed and specific (ex. he wanted to graduate, but now he wants to graduate with honors)

Plan Shifts:

- The character forms a new plan

- The character abandons the current plan

- The character changes or swaps out the plan

- The character's plan gets more detailed and specific

Let's quickly look at some of my go-to examples.

In The Hunger Games (book version), Katniss's overarching goal is to win (or survive) the Games. But her specific plan (or route) of how to do that, shifts with each act. (And we may even argue, these are smaller goals that fit within the big goal.) For Act I, she's focused on preparing for the Games. In the first half of Act II, she focused on basic survival--find water and food sources, shelter, etc. After the midpoint, that shifts, and her focus is working with Rue to strike at the Careers. For Act III, she wants to win with Peeta.

Some characters don't have one overarching goal for the story, but their goal changes with each act.

So in contrast to Katniss, we have Luke Skywalker, whose goal simply changes for each quarter in A New Hope. First, he aims to get off the farm and go to academy. Then he wants to go with Obi-Wan and become a Jedi (which entails going to Alderaan), then he wants to rescue Leia, and finally, in Act III, he aims to destroy the Death Star.

In both stories, between each of these shifts, is a plot point. For example, the reason Luke's goal changes at the end of Act I, is because stormtroopers attack the farm, killing his aunt and uncle. This is Plot Point 1, and it leads him to choose to go with Obi-Wan.

When the plot point happens--that act's "climax"--the goal or plan shift.

2 Distinct Turns at the End of an Act

Sometimes, an act's plot point is essentially made up of two separate, distinct, significant moments, not one.

One moment closes the previous act.

And another moment kicks off the next act.

Let's start with the example I used originally, when I first brought this up. Here is what I said:

In Act I, [Katniss's] current plan or "route" is to prepare for the Games. This makes up the rising action.

The crowning moment of preparation is when Caesar Flickerman interviews Katniss and Peeta. This is the last major moment to "prepare." It clearly ends that phase. It is Katniss's last chance to make an impression before going into the arena.

Based on the actual act break in the book, Suzanne Collins views this as Plot Point 1, essentially (that first peak of the story). 

However, I want to point out that the start of the next chapter is the Cornucopia bloodbath, which kicks off the Games. This kicks off Katniss's new focus, which is basic survival in the arena.

So one moment ends Act I (the interview), and another event starts Act II (the bloodbath).

The interview completed that "plan." The bloodbath leads to Katniss's new plan. Once she checks what she's got from the cornucopia, she needs to move forward with the next phase: basic survival.

A similar thing happens at the end of Act II.

Katniss successfully blows up the Careers' stash, but Rue dies.

This ends her current plan/route (or we could say, smaller goal). She no longer needs to strike at the Careers with Rue, because she got that goal (though it came with a high cost--Rue's life). 

She mourns Rue.

And then an additional turn gives her a new plan/route for Act III: the Gamemakers announce there can be two victors if they are from the same district. New plan: win the Games with Peeta.

I've been listening to Hamilton lately, and a similar thing happens at the midpoint.

But let's back up a sec.

At Plot Point 1, "Right Hand Man," Washington asks Hamilton to be his right-hand man during the war, and Hamilton quickly accepts. This is the major turn of the first quarter, and it takes us into the second quarter.

Notice this is one key moment: Washington asks, and Hamilton accepts.

This changes Hamilton's objective. His focus for the second quarter is to win the war by helping Washington (specifically, he wants to do this by being in command). 

As we get to the middle, the midpoint, there are two separate and distinct key moments.

Hamilton successfully leads men to win the war--completing that objective--in "Yorktown."

This "ends" that quarter.

But his new goal for the third quarter doesn't show up until "Non-stop," where Washington asks him to be the Secretary of the Treasury--this kicks off the next quarter. Hamilton will be focused on doing this job, while Jefferson and Madison act as his (act-level) antagonists.

One moment ends the previous quarter.

And two songs later, another moment starts the next.

Lin-Manuel Miranda decided to slice the play after "Non-stop" for the intermission. Notice this is in contrast to my Hunger Games example, where Collins sliced it at Plot Point 1. (But it's similar to where she sliced it after Plot Point 2.) See below:

VS.

It's simply a matter of where the writer chose to put in the break (and I'm betting percentages had something to do with it 😉).

In these examples, both Katniss and Hamilton have completed their objectives, and there is a space, an "interlude" (the falling action in these cases) before their new objectives form. In these examples, these spaces are rather noticeable--as they have scenes in between.

In other stories, this sort of thing can still happen, but they just happen more closely together, and less obviously.

At the midpoint of Star Wars: A New Hope, Obi-Wan and Luke go to Alderaan. But it's gone.

This arguably officially ends the second quarter. The goal is abandoned, because the planet no longer exists.

A tractor beam pulls the Millennium Falcon onto the Death Star, and Luke learns the princess is here.

This kicks off the next quarter. Luke's goal for the third quarter is to rescue Leia.

The space between these moments in A New Hope is more intense and exciting, so it's easier to lump them together when talking about the midpoint--and I don't think that is a problem at all.

But I want to point out these are two different moments.

In contrast, Plot Point 1 of Hamilton happens in one moment, in one scene.

Both approaches are acceptable. 

Often when there are two distinct moments, spread apart by scenes, what's actually happening is this: a falling action is getting extra attention as it splits up these moments. (As shown in my diagrams above.)

And it's worth keeping in mind, that the falling action is often where character reactions happen. The character reacts to whatever major moment happened that shifted her current objective.

In my first example, Katniss's--well, and Peeta's--crowning moment of preparation is their interviews.

After this, Katniss reacts to what just happened, then she gets ready to enter the Games.

The bloodbath kicks us off.

At the end of Act II, the Careers' supplies have been attacked, and Katniss is unable to save Rue--this is that peak "climax." In the falling action, she reacts. She mourns Rue.

The announcement about two victors is made, and this snaps her out of it, giving her a new objective--this kicks off the next rising action.

The midpoint of Hamilton is the same way.

Hamilton leads his men to victory--the revolution is a success.

Then characters react. There are church bells ringing, people singing drinking songs, King George gets his own song with his reaction, followed by Hamilton and Burr singing about building a new country to their children--this is all falling action. The "valley," so to speak.

"Non-stop" has the turn that primes us for the next climb.

It may not always map out perfectly this way.

Luke and Obi-Wan barely have a moment to react to Alderaan (and the Death Star), before the tractor beam hits. This leads to a more intense "interlude," that works just as well. So I'm not necessarily saying we always need "downtime" between these two distinct moments.

Where This Most Commonly Happens

Some of these concepts may sound vaguely familiar to some of you. . . .

This is because many approaches teach writers to give Plot Point 2 a noticeable falling action, frequently referred to as "The Dark Night of the Soul" (courtesy of Save the Cat!). They remark that Plot Point 2 is a major loss, and that the character then reacts to it for at least a scene, if not longer. Then something comes along and snaps the character back into action (leading to a new objective)(In Save the Cat! this is called "Break into Three").

This is often such a noticeable "interlude," that on some level, people recognize or even name these moments. So in Save the Cat! it looks like this . . . 

"All is Lost" is the climactic peak.

"Dark Night of the Soul" is the falling action.

"Break into Three" is the kickoff that starts Act III.

This isn't to say, though, that you can't distinctly split these moments elsewhere, in a different act. Obviously The Hunger Games and Hamilton show you can. 

This also obviously doesn't mean it always has to hit a peak with a major loss. Hamilton helps win the war, which is a major victory at the midpoint. 

Often these "interludes" show up when an objective is achieved or abandoned, and the character doesn't yet have a new, major plot goal to act on.

This also isn't to say that you have to distinctly split these moments up to have a noticeable falling action. A character may get a new plan or objective at the peak, then still take a moment to react, before officially starting the next climb (and running into an antagonistic force). 

With that said, though, often something will still come along that refines or reframes their current goal or plan.

For example, at the midpoint of The Lion King, Scar kills Mufasa and blames it on Simba. Simba's goal shifts in one moment; Scar suggests he runs away and never return, and Simba aims to do just that. Simba hits the bottom of his "valley" when he is lying unconscious in the desert. Timon and Pumba are the "something" that comes along and refines his current objective. Not only is Simba going to run away from home, but he's going to turn his back on it and live the Hakuna Matata lifestyle.

But to be honest, some of these moments can start to blur together . . . which is why they are so often lumped together.

I wouldn't stress too much about perfectly slicing, dicing, and categorizing the pieces.

What's usually really a problem is if there isn't any kind of major turn at the end of an act, and no clear goal for the next act.

Rather than worry if you have too many turns at the end of an act, it's more of a concern if you don't have any.

Still, I've been wanting to do this post and point out that in some cases, these are two, distinct, significant moments. And that's okay. And it's still worth covering and looking at them, because it may help you better understand and write your own story (as well as understand other stories better).

That's pretty much it. 😊

Read More

The Importance of Conveying Character Plans

Character plans may sound like kind of a boring topic to cover; they aren't as exciting as character goals, antagonists, conflicts, or stakes, but they are often still critical to communicate to your audience. In fact, conveying a character's plans will reinforce many of those exciting plot elements and help them show up in more impactful ways.

I consider the primary plot elements to be goals, antagonists, conflicts, and consequences.

And I consider the secondary plot elements to be progress, setbacks, costs, and turning points.

And the tertiary plot elements are plans, gaps, and crises.

Plans reinforce goals and help create a sense of progress.

If a character wants to achieve a goal, but has no plan, then the goal feels more like a wish. It's what the character wishes would happen, but the character isn't trying to make it happen herself. She isn't making plans for how to make it happen.

Read More

How Long Should the Denouement be? (Short vs. Long Falling Actions)

The denouement, also known as the "falling action" or, potentially, "resolution" (depending on what approach you use), is everything that happens after the climax. It's where any remaining conflict or tension gets addressed and dissipated, where important loose ends get tied up, and where change (or the lack thereof) gets validated. It's also usually where a new "normal" is established, or at least hinted at.

People mistakenly think denouements are all about ending the story quickly. While some writers certainly approach them that way, it's more important to address what I just mentioned if you want a satisfying denouement.

Recently, a commenter asked me about the length of denouements, and even though I responded, my mind has still been mulling over the topic. Generally, my rule of thumb is this: Keep them short enough to stay interesting but long enough to cover the important parts. (The important parts being what I listed in the first paragraph.)

Read More

Misaligned Character Wants & Plot Goals

Over the last several months, I've been writing on and off again about the internal plotline, and I've mentioned how one of its major components is the character's abstract want, which many in the writing world don't really talk about. Many of us were discouraged from focusing on the abstract, and for good reason, but the truth is, some of the most important components of your character are abstract--they exist within the character's mind and soul. 

In order to be effective though, these things have to show up concretely. A character who wants to be free, but then never takes any action toward that, doesn't do much for a story. It also calls into question whether that character actually wants freedom that bad.

If someone wants something bad enough, he will take action to get it. If he doesn't, it's just wishful thinking.

Sometimes, this abstract want is referred to as the motive, but to me, a character can have a lot of motives from one scene to the next. This abstract want I speak of, is something the character wants deeply and desperately, something the character will go to great lengths to get or, in some cases, keep. It's the driving force for almost all of the character's major decisions (and even many minor decisions.)

For example, in The Office, Michael Scott wants to be liked. This is what drives him to hold his bizarre conferences, to do a fun run to try to win Meredith's (and everyone's) respect back, to put "golden tickets" in their paper supply, and to even attempt jumping off a roof. When Michael thinks he's liked and admired, he feels his best, and when he thinks he's hated or rejected, he feels his worst.

A character can have more than one abstract want, but they're usually limited to one or two, sometimes three.

In The Hunger Games, Katniss has two driving wants, which are frequently in conflict with each other--to survive and to save others (particularly the innocent). This is why she volunteers to take Prim's place, why she wants to win the Games, why she teams up with Rue, why she destroys the Careers' supply, why she looks for and saves Peeta . . . and the list goes on, through the series.

Read More

Working with Relationship-driven Scenes

As I've covered previously, most successful stories have at least three different types of plotlines, and most commonly they are the external, internal, and relationship plotlines. Often these plotlines overlap, and almost always they interweave, at least to some degree. There are some exceptions to this; for example, you may have a relationship plotline with characters other than the protagonist, and it may even be, basically, a separate story (a topic for another day).

Many of your scenes will likely interweave these plotlines.

A lot of us have learned how to handle the external plotline. The character has a concrete, external goal, and faces antagonism, which leads to conflict. This conflict escalates and escalates in rising action, until eventually the character and antagonist face off in a defining way at the climax, where one or the other comes out the victor (simplistically speaking). Consequences take effect, and we fall into the falling action.

This is (essentially) the plot structure of the external plotline. For the narrative arc. For the acts. And for the scenes. Because story structure is a fractal.

Read More

Why You Should Avoid Bored Protagonists (& When Not to)

It's usually a bad idea to have a bored protagonist (or viewpoint character). Often a bored protagonist means a bored reader, and perhaps even more often than that, it means that the writer didn't take the time to think about what the character should be doing. It's lazy writing.

It's also just problematic because it means there is no active, present goal. And/or there is no active, present antagonist. Which usually leads to scenes "flatlining" (no rising action). This will slow the pacing down (and not in the good way), and if it takes up a lot of word count, will bring the story to a grinding halt. A lack of goals and antagonists creates a domino effect that usually results in a lack of everything else related to a strong plot--a lack of conflict, a lack of progress, a lack of crises, a lack of tension.

Perhaps just as bad, is often the character's boredom segues into terrible play-by-plays, where nothing meaningful happens.

Boredom in a protagonist is typically a lost opportunity. Even if nothing "important" is happening in the plotlines (which is something that should give you pause in and of itself), the protagonist could still be doing something minor that is important to him or someone he cares about. This reveals character, and is therefore more interesting than him wasting time doing mundane things or doing nothing. Something as simple as giving him a hobby he loves, is better than boredom.

9/10 you do not want a bored protagonist.

But . . . as always, there are exceptions. These are the 1/10 situations.

So let's go over those.

Read More

What is a Play-by-Play? And Why are They a Problem?

What is a Play-by-Play? 

In writing, a "play-by-play" happens when the author simply follows the character around while the character does unimportant things, like get dressed, eat, and do homework. It's like getting a narrative version of the character's schedule. For example:

Jared woke up and took a shower, thinking about the last baseball game he watched until the water turned cold. In the kitchen, he made waffles and eggs for breakfast, while the rest of the household slept. Then, he went to the grocery store to pick up some deli meats for lunch later. He and John were planning on a hike that afternoon, so Jared also gassed up--it was a bit of a drive to get to the trailhead. Back at home he unloaded the dishwasher and emptied the trash. He decided to watch another game to pass the time. John called to make sure they were still hiking, because he'd heard it might rain. Jared said he was still up for it. They decided to leave earlier.

To be honest, I'm not sure at this point if I came up with the term "play-by-play" or if I heard it somewhere. I could only find two sources that use the term, and my usage predates those sources by a lot . . . though I've never done a post exclusively on the topic. Some of my clients also now use the term.

But in any case, can you see or sense a problem here? This isn't story. It's lazy writing. So let's get into why such passages are problematic (and then when they aren't).

Read More

Registration Now Open for The Triarchy Method

Hi friends! 

Registration for my live online writing course is now open. 

- Sign-ups are first come, first serve

- I only take 10 students for the course (however, auditing is available for additional writers)

- Classes start April 29th at 5 pm Mountain Time and end on July 17th (all classes are recorded, so if you miss, you can watch later. You can also rewatch the course however many times you want to in the future)

The Triarchy Method is a developmental writing course that is all about strengthening the "bones" of your story (character, plot, and theme)--and you may have heard me reference it in my posts . . . or seen me share some slides and diagrams from it recently. Like these . . . 

In this course, you will learn approaches that will not only help you with your work-in-progress, but with every story you write after--all while receiving personalized feedback on your assignments straight from me. 

Here are what two of my students said about the course:

“I have done many courses . . . and I found this course going well beyond most of the others. September has a clear teaching style, and she gave a huge amount of time and effort helping us to work through any issues, and the weekly assignments are fantastic. I appreciated this so much as often writing courses are simply ‘set and forget’ videos with little or no feedback. The Triarchy Method was nothing like that.”

- Sharon M.

"I was hesitant with the cost, but it was worth every cent. Every class brought new epiphanies for me. September is a brilliant teacher and the Triarchy Method is an essential course for anyone wanting a better understanding of story. She will take you on a journey through character, plot and theme that will deepen your understanding of the bones of your story, the three-act structure, and the trajectory of different plotlines across different arcs. I cannot recommend this course enough."

- Kelly W.

This course is offered in partnership with MyStoryDoctor.com, and is $1,747 to take. (If you want to split that up into multiple payments, that option is available.) Prices increase April 15th. You can register here! For more details, see below, or go to this page.

**UPDATE: The class is now full**

Read More

Alternative Views of Basic Story Structure

Basic story structure is, well, the foundation of story structure. 

Rising action. 

Climax. 

Falling action. 

You've heard me talk about it all before. 

And if you've followed me for a while, you likely know how I view this shape as a fractal, with smaller versions that exist inside it. One for each act, one for almost every scene. 

Read More

If the Relationship is the Primary Plot (A Story), What is the Secondary (B Story)?

As I've talked about several times on here, most stories are made up of three different dominating plotlines, and most commonly, they are these: 

External--this is the character's outer journey. The character has a concrete goal, encounters an external antagonist, and struggles with the conflict to get the goal.

Internal--this is the character's inner journey. The character has an abstract want, and in pursuing that, completes a character arc. The antagonist is the self.

Relationship--this is a relationship journey. The character either aims to draw close to or increase distance from another person (or maintain the relationship as is). The antagonistic force is what is upsetting that. How it is resolved completes a relationship arc.

In the writing community (specifically in screenwriting), typically the external and internal weave together to make up what people call the "A Story." The A Story is seen as the primary plot.

The B Story is the secondary plot. It's most commonly a relationship. In fact, it's so commonly a relationship, that the term often gets used to mean a relationship plot, but in reality, not all B Stories are relationship stories.

Like the B Story, I have some qualms about the term "A Story," since not every book and film has an internal plotline.

And as this post suggests, in reality, the A Story isn't always the external plotline either. Yes, it almost always is, but not always.

Sometimes the relationship plotline is the A Story.

Sometimes the relationship arc is the primary plot.

Read More

Writing a Meet Cute for Any Story, Any Genre

What is a Meet Cute? 

"Meet Cute" is a term from the romance genre, and it's basically what it sounds like. It's when the two love interests meet in a cute way. A common (and arguably cliche) example of this is when Character A accidentally drops all her papers, and Character B comes and helps her pick them up. And if the audience is lucky, they may even brush hands. 😉

That's a Meet Cute.

Here's another, Character A accidentally slams the door on Character B, who gets upset with him.

And another, Character A trips down a flight of stairs and rams into Character B.

And another, Character A enters a taxi to see Character B is already inside it.

It's common for there to be something awkward happening, but you know, in a cute (or even adorkable) way.

And/or it's also common for one character to be irked by the other.

(And just for the record, Character A and Character B can be either character in the relationship.)

I've written about Meet Cutes before, but it's an important enough beat (and term) to get its own post. (Plus it seems to fit with the fact Valentine's Day is coming.)

And as with most things that come from the romance genre, in reality, Meet Cutes are important to most stories, since most stories feature a relationship plotline. Whether your story features a romantic relationship, a friendship, an allyship, or even a rivalry, and whether it ultimately ends up positive or negative, every relationship plot has a Meet Cute . . . or at least, its equivalent.

(It sorta depends on how married you are to the "cute" part of the term. 😉)

Yes, originally, Meet Cutes were intended to be cute, and yes, they were intended to be about romantic relationships, but the truth is, they don't have to be. When we broaden our understanding of this beat, we can see how to write this moment for any relationship, in any story, in any genre.

Even if the characters technically already know each other when the story starts.

This is because, as Gwen Hayes wisely touches on in Romancing the Beat, this moment is the first time the audience sees these characters on the page together.

Read More

When to Wax Strong on Interiority

Lately I've been doing some posts on the internal part of stories, the internal plotline and on balancing interiority. For a long time, I've wanted to write a post about when to lay on that interiority a little thicker in a story. This is an important topic because many of us were taught that writing the abstract is bad and that we shouldn't spend too much time in introspection.

Those are both true, somewhat.

Writing in the abstract can be "bad" because it's less immersive and therefore less impactful for the audience. It relates more to "telling" not "showing." It doesn't allow the audience to experience the story (generally speaking), and it gets way overused (and used poorly) by beginning writers.

In truth though, many of your character's inner pieces are going to be abstract.

I mean, they kind of have to be, because they exist inside the character.

And as I mentioned before, the internal plotline is the most abstract plotline, since it's about how a character arcs.

As for introspection, beginning writers do tend to write too much, and they tend to do it in "bathtub" scenes--scenes that happen largely in the character's head, but aren't usually moving the story forward. That can be a big problem.

There are so many nuances to this topic though, that I've frankly struggled on where to put today's info and how to organize it. My thoughts eventually evolved into this post and this angle, and I can only hope it was the best approach. (Though I acknowledge it won't click with everyone, and I'll be looking at this topic from a more advanced writing level.)

In any case, let's talk about when it might be a good idea to focus more on your character's interiority, on the page.

And to some extent, how much interiority you should include, will depend on what kind of story you are writing. . . .

Character-driven vs. Plot-driven

You may have heard there are character-driven stories and plot-driven stories. These are terms I don't use a whole lot, in part because I think they are a bit misleading, for reasons I'll likely cover in a future post. Regardless . . .

Character-driven stories focus more on the character. They focus more on the character's personal journey, how he is impacted by the events of the plot, and how he arcs through the narrative (because of his choices). These are stories that emphasize the internal plotline. A Man Called Otto and The Secret Life of Walter Mitty are character-driven stories.

Plot-driven stories focus more on the plot (obviously). They focus more on the external journey. Rather than emphasizing high personal stakes, they emphasize broad, far-reaching stakes. They are less about how the protagonist is impacted by the events, and more about how other people or the world at large is impacted by them. 007 and Ghostbusters are plot-driven stories.

There is more I could say about either of these categories, but we'll keep it simple for now.

And it's worth noting that many stories exist somewhere in the middle of these. This is all really more of a spectrum rather than an either-or situation.

Some genres fit more into one category than the other. Drama, women's fiction, and literary fiction are almost always character-driven. Thrillers, action films, and adventure stories are almost always plot-driven.

As you may have guessed by this point, character-driven stories are going to have more interiority than plot-driven stories.

So while a big chunk of introspection may be perfectly fine in women's fiction, another chunk of introspection the same length may be problematic in a thriller.

Furthermore, it also depends on what you've established as the baseline of interiority in your story. Is this a story where we are constantly getting a unique take on what is happening from a colorful viewpoint character? Or is this a story where we mainly get just enough interiority to provide context and validation for the audience? The sort of interiority we might expect from anyone in that same situation?

What you establish as a baseline will affect what you can get away with.

So this is a difficult topic to cover, because how much interiority you can lay on in a given place, is relative to the type of story you are writing.

This means it's not really a matter of word count. And it's arguably not even really a matter of percentage.

A lot of it depends on your story.

With that said though, there are some places where you can--relatively speaking--use more interiority. Let's go over those.

Internal Plotline & Internal Conflict

Okay, this may sound obvious, especially since I recently did a whole post about the internal plotline, but I'm going to cover some things from a slightly different angle.

In that previous post, I talked about how, at the basic level, a plotline should have these things: an objective, an antagonist, a conflict, and consequences (and a turning point).

An Objective

In the internal plotline, the objective is fulfilling an abstract want. Luke Skywalker wants to become, or be part of something great. Hamilton wants to build a legacy. Agent Mulder wants to find and reveal the truth. In order to write a great plot, these wants need to show up as concrete, measurable things--like Luke wanting to become a Jedi, rescue the princess, and destroy the Death Star. Or Hamilton wanting to win the war.

In any story, this abstract want is not being fulfilled (or if it is, it will soon be put in jeopardy). This is why the protagonist does whatever she does.

In most stories, it's okay to use interiority to convey the objective. 

This isn't the only way to convey the objective. Certainly a character can voice in dialogue what she wants or aims to do. Or we can show or imply this in action. In fact, as I mentioned, we need this want to show up in concrete ways to tell a good story.

But if you are conveying the character's want . . . you can get away with a little more interiority.

Because it's an element that informs the plot and largely motivates the story. So writing about it will feel more relevant, and less like a superfluous passage that is distracting from the story (which kills pacing). Instead, it's contributing to, and bolstering what's integral to the story.

We may say that writing about the want is the equivalent of writing the "I want" song in musicals. These songs are in almost every musical--"Part of Your World" in The Little Mermaid, "My Shot," in Hamilton, "The Wizard and I" in Wicked, to name a few. These are in almost every musical because establishing what the protagonist wants is integral to a good story.

As always, though, anything taken too far can cause problems (and chances are, you aren't writing a musical), so you'll have to gauge how much is too much according to your story. Audiences also don't like a bunch of repetition, so you'll have to dig deeper into that abstract want so you aren't just repeating the same thing over and over. You'll likely want to get into why the character has that want and how they believe fulfilling it will make their life better (and perhaps what it's like to live without that want fulfilled).

I also need to mention that not all characters are consciously aware they have this abstract want driving them. For them, it could be totally subconscious. In that case, the character is going to focus much more on the concrete goal in their thoughts, rather than this abstract want. And in either situation, the character believes achieving this concrete goal will largely satisfy them. Focusing their introspection on the concrete goal likewise strengthens the story, because it bolsters the first element of (the external) plot--the goal itself.

The audience gets a stronger sense of what achieving this goal means to the character, and so the audience gets more invested in the story--they'll want to stick around to see if the goal gets achieved, and the interiority won't feel so out of place. 

Antagonist & Conflict

The next two elements have a similar effect because they both relate to plot. Introspection isn't usually meant to be random--that's when we run into issues--it's meant to contribute to the story, to enhance the story, and to move the story forward. 

When the character is acting as an antagonist to himself, and therefore creating internal conflict, you can include more interiority. 

Because it's relevant to the plot.

I know I'm kind of talking in circles, but that's the main point here--if it's relevant to the plot, then it's relevant to the story, and you can layer more on.

I've talked before about how all structural units fit this basic shape.

It's a fractal, so smaller versions of it exist inside the overarching version.

It's the shape of acts.

And it's the shape of scenes.

When a character runs into an antagonist, it creates conflict. This escalates us into the rising action.

If the rising action--the conflict--of a scene is largely internal, then yes, of course you can use more interiority. Because the driving conflict is happening inside the character.

Now often it's also useful and more impactful if it shows up in concrete ways. For example, a character in conflict about whether or not to ask a coworker on a date, may pick up the phone to do that, then slam the phone down out of fear. Then pick up the phone, redial, only to ask the woman if she saw the email from their boss before hanging up again. Then maybe he calls again, says something stupid, and has lessened his chances with her.

The character is an antagonist to himself, but his internal conflict is also impacting the concrete world. That's often ideal.

In any case, you are justified in using more interiority, because the antagonist is the self and the conflict is with the self. That's where the tension is, that's where the escalation is, that's what is interesting.

As I mentioned before though, not all internal conflict is related to the internal plotline. And that's okay. Sometimes it's related more to the external plotline or even a relationship plotline. Sometimes the character is simply conflicted about which action to take next on their adventure. Should they team up with a questionable thief? Or go to their estranged father for help?

Even if it's not strictly related to the internal journey (or character arc), you can still get away with more interiority when there is internal conflict about any relevant situation. (And usually "relevant" means it's related to one of the other dominating plotlines.)

Consequences (& Turning Points)

The turning point is that climactic peak in basic structure. It's when the current conflict is resolved, for better or worse. It's when we tip from conflict into consequences.

In the overarching internal plotline, the consequence is the character arc.

Anytime you are working with the character arc, you can use more interiority.

But again, you can overdo it.

And again, to be most effective, it should (also) show up in concrete ways.

It's not enough for me to read that Scrooge has changed, I need to see his change in concrete ways--I need to see him spend his money on others and visit Tiny Tim.

But if you want to delve deep into how this change impacted his mind and body as he completed his arc, and how it continues to impact him moving forward, that's likely going to be acceptable (as long as you don't wear out your welcome).

When working with smaller structural units (like acts and scenes), what happens after the turning point is going to show up in a slightly different way (though often that way is still relevant to the character arc). I'll talk about that way in the next section.

Let's first go more into consequences in general.

With consequences, I like to split them into two categories: ramifications and stakes. 

Ramifications are the consequences that actually happen (like I just talked about). And stakes are the consequences that could happen. Stakes are what the character (or audience) thinks will happen when a certain condition is met. This means that stakes often fit into an "If . . . then" statement:

If Luke doesn't destroy the Death Star, the Rebel Alliance will be defeated. 

If Hamilton doesn't come clean about his affair, Burr may use the information against him as a political opponent.

Those are stakes.

A full rundown of stakes is beyond the scope of this article. But the point I want to make here is you can use (more) interiority, when it relates to the stakes.

In fact, often stakes are conveyed through introspection. The viewpoint character clues the audience into the stakes, by laying them out on the page through their thought processes. If I don't defeat the [antagonist], then my family will be killed, the protagonist may think. 

And having them think about the stakes will actually bring in more tension and hooks, which are just going to strengthen the story.

Of course, though, there are others ways to communicate the stakes, like through dialogue or by showing the consequences happen to someone else.

But you can definitely use more interiority when it's related to the stakes.

In the "Valleys"

If we view basic story structure as a fractal, we see that a story isn't made up of one continuous climb, but rather, smaller "peaks" and "valleys," in acts and in scenes.

I've mentioned how the rising action is where escalating conflict takes place and the peak is the turn where that conflict gets resolved (for better or for worse, and if only temporarily). This leads us into the consequences.

Well, the consequences are what the characters react to.

And another simplistic way of looking at this basic structural shape, is that the climb is where action takes place, and the fall is where reaction takes place.

After a turn (the peak), things should have changed (because there were consequences). In the falling action, the characters react to what just happened and the consequences they now have to deal with.

Some turns are bigger than other turns.

The turn of the whole story, the climax, is bigger than the previous turns of the acts.

And the turn of an act is going to be bigger than the turns of the scenes.

The bigger the turn, the bigger the consequences.

The bigger the consequences, the bigger the impact on the characters, which means the bigger the reaction.

The more important the reaction, the more important interiority can become.

If the protagonist just had her best friend killed at the turning point, then you're likely going to want to use more interiority to show how she reacts to such a blow. This is a place where you may want to lay more interiority on.

In the "valleys," the character reacts and eventually regroups (well, in most valleys--in some valleys the character has gotten what he wants and just enjoys that until a new antagonistic force appears.) The character will eventually come up with a new way forward and a new plan. You can use interiority to guide the audience through that thought process.

This will then lead us out of the valley and into the next climb.

One thing I want to mention here is that often one of the significant differences between character-driven and plot-driven stories, is the size of the valleys.

In a plot-driven story, the valleys are shorter . . . or I guess . . . shallower. We get a brief reaction (at least enough to validate the character isn't a robot), and shortly after, a new plan, and the plot moves forward.

In a character-driven story, the valleys are bigger . . . or I guess . . . deeper. We spend more time on the reaction and how the character eventually regroups.

Generally speaking anyway.

What happens in the valleys can also relate to character arc--how the character reacts to the turn can shape who that character is becoming. 

. . . Okay, so I know what some of you are thinking right now, Well, September, at this point haven't you just told us we can use more interiority at basically any part of the story? That's a fair observation, so let me speak to that.

When Not to Wax Strong on Interiority

One of the points I'm trying to make through all this, is that what the interiority is about, matters. And this is where many beginning writers go wrong, and we start getting all these rules that we shouldn't use interiority very much.

Just as we can't write random things to make a good plot, we can't usually write random stream-of-conscious stuff and justify that the interiority belongs in the story.

One of the major problems that comes up here, is that the writer wants to use interiority to give an info-dump about how the character got to where she currently is and what happened in her past, and the writer mistakenly thinks that putting in random detailed thoughts about whatever comes along in the story creates "character." But true character is shown through the plot elements. It's not a long passage about the protagonist's favorite music, or a random flashback about how grandma always made her lemon cookies in the summertime. It's how the character acts and reacts to the plot. That's what shows us who she truly is (and/or who she is becoming).

I'm not saying you can't ever mention your character's favorite song. You can, if you can slip it into the scene without detracting from important things (or from pacing). And you can if you make it important to the plot.

It's not a good idea though, to spend a whole paragraph on your character's favorite bands, if it's not feeding into or overlapping with these plot elements.

In some stories you may be able to get away with this, if it suits the strong narrative voice. Sure, someone like Lemony Snicket can go on a tangent about driver's licenses when it's rather irrelevant, because that's why readers read his work. That's the main appeal of his books. But that is a very, very small percentage of literature.

What the interiority is about matters.

Okay, so, I know this article has been kind of heavy, and likely difficult for some of my readers to follow--that's all right. I don't expect it all to click with everyone, nor to click with everyone instantly. 

But I've felt strongly this is an important topic to cover.

Because lots of interiority isn't always bad.

Improper use of interiority is bad.

It needs to be strengthening the story.

Not detracting from it.

Unfortunately, though, these aren't concepts you can easily whip out and share with new writers. You need to understand stories at a much deeper level before you can discern and apply these principles in the ways I've laid out (which is why I've been struggling with how to approach this topic).

So yes, limiting introspection is great advice for new writers, for most stories. Basic general statements about it, are helpful.

But as you understand the craft more, you understand it's all more nuanced.

In any case, I've done my best to explain these nuances today. Hopefully there is something in here that is useful to you.

Superstars Writing Seminars

Next month I'll be teaching two classes at Superstars Writing Seminars in Colorado Springs (Feb. 6 - 9th). This is a business-focused writing conference, but there are also some craft-focused classes (like mine).

I've been given a code that will get anyone who wants to join us, $100 off. Register here as a new member, student, or military, and use code SEPTEMBER2025

You can learn more about Superstars, and see the schedule at superstarswriting.com

Here is a brief summation:

Superstars Writing Seminars teaches writers the business of being successful in the publishing industry. Instructors are chosen from the top of the industry and include International Bestselling Authors, Top Editors, Indie Publishing Platform Managers, and many more. The primary goal at Superstars is to teach you how to have a successful writing career by sharing how those at the top of the industry manage their careers.

Read More

What Happens When There are No Plot Points in a Story?

Plot points are a vital part of storytelling, but many writers aren't taught about them until they are elbow-deep into writing. Some are lucky enough that they naturally put proper plot points into their stories without consciously understanding what they are. But others . . . aren't so lucky.

Today I want to go over what actually happens when you don't put enough plot points in. But first, let's review what a plot point is.

Read More

Writing Interiority: Too Much vs. Too Little

Recently I talked to some groups of writers about interiority, and the importance of balancing it out in stories. As I've been thinking about the topic some more, I wanted to do a follow-up post on the problems that arise when it is unbalanced.

(Not to mention it also seemed like a good follow-up to my recent post on the internal plotline.)

But first, let's go over what interiority is.

What is Interiority?

Interiority is everything that happens inside your character--typically the viewpoint character.

This includes the character's thoughts (introspection) and feelings that aren't externally observable, like a speeding heart or dry mouth.

Interiority is the internal experience of the character.

Read More