Monday, November 24, 2025

Is Your Character Truly the Antagonist?


Previously, I went over what a protagonist actually is (and what it isn't), and I gave some defining attributes to help you determine if your character is truly the protagonist. So it only seems natural that I do a follow-up on something similar: what an antagonist truly is.

Of course, though, not all antagonists are characters. Some stories may not even have an antagonistic person. The antagonist could be nature, like a hurricane or a disease. It could be technology, like a computer virus. It could be a religion. With that said, though, many stories do have an antagonistic character.


Villain vs. Antagonist

We often think of the antagonist as the "bad guy," the villain. And frequently she is. But just as I pointed out that not all protagonists are heroes, not all antagonists are villains. The antagonist does not need to be "bad." A loving family member, friend, ally, significant other, or pet could actually be an antagonist. Technically, a hero could be the antagonist. This is exactly how Death Note is set up. The bad guy/villain is the protagonist. And the good guy/hero is the antagonist. The role has nothing to do with morals.

Monday, November 10, 2025

Check: Is Your Character TRULY the Protagonist?


Many writers have a vague understanding of what a protagonist actually is, and the misconceptions in the writing community haven't helped. Learn what truly makes a character a protagonist (and what doesn't).

Recently, I was brave enough to share my dissection and analysis of Twilight 😉🙃, and in it, I pointed out that--regardless of what the internet, readers, fans, or even the author says--Edward, not Bella, is the true protagonist (at least in the first installment). It is Edward who embodies what a protagonist actually is. Bella is the viewpoint character, and an important one, but she is not the protagonist. 

Do I think this was a conscious decision? 

No.

Yet it obviously still worked for a lot of people, regardless.

Most writers, though, are not so lucky.

As an editor, I've worked with a lot of new writers who tell me the protagonist is one character, but it actually isn't.

Because, in the context of the story, that character does not fit the role and definition of a true protagonist. This often makes the plot, and character, weaker.

The problem typically comes from a misunderstanding: The writer thinks that making someone the POV character makes him a "protagonist." But these are not technically the same.


Point of View Character vs. Protagonist

Just because someone is the viewpoint character, the one relaying or narrating the story, the one the audience is following around, does not mean he is automatically the protagonist.

Sherlock Holmes, Jay Gatsby, and Edward Cullen are all protagonists who are not the POV characters. John Watson, Nick Carraway, and Bella Swan are the POV characters; we read the protagonists' stories from their perspectives. It's entirely possible to write a story where these roles are not one and the same.

Almost always, though, we want these roles to be one and the same. This is what is usually most effective. When the protagonist is the viewpoint character, the audience is closest to the most important person--the person who has the most to win or lose, and the person who is the main driver of the plot. This theoretically creates the most impactful story. Everything hits stronger when the audience is in the mind and body of the protagonist.

But of course, there are exceptions. And they are just that, exceptions. 

If the viewpoint character is going to be different than the protagonist, then it needs to be done for a good reason--like the fact that the protagonist is a genius who is difficult to relate to (like Sherlock Holmes), or a vampire who can read minds and, by extension, foresee the future (like Edward). Both of these protagonists' perspectives would be overwhelming to access, and difficult to read, right out of the gate. So instead, the authors gave us people more ordinary, John Watson and Bella Swan.

Or perhaps your POV character offers a special perspective on the protagonist or situation, like Nick Caraway. Or maybe you want or need to create distance from the protagonist because he is an unsavory person. Or because his impact on others is more important than being in his mind.

There are several reasons that may justify making these roles different characters.

But ignorance or laziness usually aren't part of them.



Hero vs. Protagonist

I also want to mention that a hero isn't necessarily a protagonist either. Being heroic doesn't make the character any more of a protagonist than being the viewpoint character does.

Once again, most often, the protagonist will be a hero, a "good guy."

But these are not one and the same.

The word "hero" is Greek, and comes from a root word that means "to protect" or "to serve." A hero is ultimately willing to sacrifice her wants on behalf of what is needed or necessary, on behalf of others. A hero has a positive character arc.

But there are many protagonists who have a negative character arc, who prioritize their own wants over what is needed or necessary, who prioritize themselves over others, when it comes down to it.

Often the word "hero" is used interchangeably with "protagonist" (and I myself am known to do that on occasion, because often they are one and the same).

But technically, the protagonist may be an anti-hero, or even a downright villain.

In Death Note, the protagonist is the villain. And the antagonist is the hero.

So being a protagonist has little to do with morals, ethics, or character arcs either (which is a common misconception).



What is a Protagonist?

The word "protagonist" comes from the Greek word "prōtagōnistḗs," which literally means "first combatant." This is essentially the character who combats the antagonistic forces the most. So he is usually the one who struggles in the story the most, while still exercising meaningful agency (he can't just be a victim).

A true protagonist will be one of the most active characters in the plot, and likely, the most active. He is the one taking action toward the goal.

His agency ultimately matters more than the other characters'--what he chooses to say and do turns the direction of the plot. He makes the story happen. It does not matter if he is a peasant or a king, a professional or a rookie, experienced or naive, within the context of the plot, his decisions are influencing what happens next.

It's Sherlock who is solving the case. It's Edward who is overcoming his vampiric tendencies to be in a relationship.

Similarly, it does not matter that Frodo is a humble Hobbit from a shire--one of the objectively most "powerless" people--and not a king like Aragorn; in the story, it's Frodo's decisions that ultimately affect the plot the most (though Aragorn is probably the second most important).

The protagonist must be assertive enough to make the story happen--whether that motive is innate or brought on by threats (read: the stakes become so significant, the protagonist feels he must do something). 

The protagonist is almost (always) the biggest player in resolving the main conflict. It's Sherlock getting to the bottom of the mystery. It's Edward overcoming his vampiric nature to save Bella from James. It's Luke shooting the Death Star. It's Katniss pulling out the berries. It's Rumi defeating Gwi-Ma with her blade.

And if I were asked to sum up what a protagonist is in one word, it would be "problem-solver."

It does not matter if she is objectively "weak" within her "world," or even if she wants to be the laziest, most passive person on the planet, within the context of the plot, she must be a problem-solver (even if a reluctant one).

Of course, this does not mean she needs to be a genius like Sherlock Holmes.

At the most basic level, what this means is that when she encounters the antagonistic force (a problem), she's coming up with--or perhaps shifting--goals and plans (however big or small, or grand or modest), and taking action to try to make those a reality.

If she's not doing that, she's probably too passive in the plot and not exercising enough agency. The story is happening to her, but she's not doing anything to make the story happen. She's not influencing the direction of the story.

In other words, she's probably not the protagonist.

And she's likely just a viewpoint character.

Yes, there are always exceptions (for example, you may be writing an ensemble story, where there is no real protagonist), but if your "main character" is not fitting these qualifications, then the truth is, she's probably not the protagonist.

And the truth is, that's probably going to be a big problem.

So make sure your character meets these qualifications.



Sunday, October 26, 2025

The Fastest Way to Make a Character Sympathetic




In the writing community, much has been said about how to make a character likable and/or sympathetic. And I've written ways to do that myself, but there is one technique I've found that is one of the most impactful (in my opinion, anyway), and can often be quick.

Many writers remark that we need to put the character in unfortunate circumstances, so the audience will readily root for him. Others say that it helps if he is kind to people. And having a character be self-aware of his own weaknesses can be useful as well.

One of the most popular techniques is "pet the dog," which is also known as "save the cat." You have the character pet a dog, or save a cat, or something of the equivalent. It could be giving the homeless food or walking a neighborhood kid home from school.

If you want to make the audience dislike and be unsympathetic to the character, you use "kick the dog" or "kill the cat." You have the character hurt someone who doesn't deserve it. It could be a homeless person. Or it could be a child. Or something else.

My technique is a mash-up of the two, believe it or not. I call it, "feeding the dog, poison."

I know, it doesn't sound very sympathetic, so let me explain how it works.

Monday, September 22, 2025

Why You Should be Cautious with Beat Sheets


Beat sheets are amazing tools that can guide you to write a great story, but unfortunately, they also have their pitfalls. For those unfamiliar with the term, a beat sheet is like a story template, and it can help you brainstorm and/or map out a sturdy structure for your story--generally speaking, anyway. Some of the most famous beat sheets are Save the Cat!, The Hero's Journey, and 7 Point Story Structure (depending on the version you are using). There are also beat sheets for writing romance (Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes has a great one).

These guides walk you through the beats--the moments that move the story forward--so that you can use them to shape your own more-likely-to-be-successful story.

Though, I must admit, the term "beat" is a bit of an ambiguous one in the writing community, as it gets used both for parts of the whole narrative arc, and for tiny parts that exist in scenes, and people define the term in different ways (which isn't very helpful when you are learning). Some people argue beats are plot points, others say they are shifts in emotions or tone. And sometimes in a screenplay, the word is used to denote a pause. So yes, another ambiguous writing term to add to the list. But anyway . . . 

Beat sheets can also be useful when learning about story structure, what happens when and how (and sometimes, why).

And some people are rather religious about beat sheets in the writing community. There are many people who will speak as if every story needs to follow this specific beat sheet, and they will try to fit every story that's been successful into that beat sheet.

While many successful stories will--actually--fit multiple beat sheets, not all of them will fit a popular beat sheet.

Beat sheets are super helpful, but I also feel like they have damned a lot of stories, writers, and to some degree, even the writing community itself.

Friday, September 19, 2025

20 Years Later: Dissecting Twilight


Twilight turns 20 this month, so I'm bringing you the story dissection and analysis no one asked me for, but everyone can learn from (with my editorial feedback too 😉). And would you believe it? We all misread this story from the start!

Twilight. As infamous as it is famous. Especially in the writing community. In fact, despite it being one of the biggest bestsellers of modern times, few in the writing community will touch it with anything other than a ten-foot pole. Almost no writer can reference this series without losing some respect. And if you must bring it up, you must do it derisively or at least apologetically; otherwise, no one will take what you say seriously.

So do I dare bring it up? In a whole article dissecting its strengths and weaknesses? On my blog? Apparently.

Say what you will about Twilight, but it has been more successful and the author has earned more from it than any of us could realistically dream of.

Which means, despite its flaws, it must be doing some critical things right. 

How did I get here?

Well, it all started back in January, when the films returned to my local theaters (though apparently they are returning to national theaters later this month). A family member asked me to see them with her, and I love going to movies. Naturally, I said yes--even though I remembered how cringy the films could be. (Why did they cast Kristen Stewart as Bella? Why use a CGI baby? How do they take such amazing music and place it in the most awkward, terrible places imaginable?)

I hadn't watched or read anything Twilight in over ten years, and the first film was as bad as I remembered.

Yet at this time, I was also writing a post on Meet Cutes, and I decided to go back to Twilight to read the Meet Cute--because it has always been memorable to me--and when I retrieved the book, I decided I wanted to also read the Early Glance, so I started at the beginning, feeling unsure what I would think about the text.

I had read the series when it was first getting popular, before I had any kind of professional understanding, training, or classes on writing. And I only read the books once each. So I wondered, would I hate Twilight now? Would I even be able to get to the Meet Cute?

To my surprise, I ended up reading all of Act I.

To my bigger surprise, as we continued attending the films, I . . . well . . . I got teary-eyed in Breaking Dawn, Part I.

Then a lot of things began clicking into place in my writerly brain. Despite its flaws, with my editorial background, I now clearly saw past its imperfect cosmetics to its core--what the series was really about, and even more, the potential for what it could be.

Just after this, I flew out to a writing conference, so I got the first audiobook to listen to.

Considering this was the first novel Stephenie Meyer wrote, ever, and that she didn't write it with intentions to publish, and that its initial request came from an assistant who was also brand new to the industry . . . I was curious how well it followed story structure, or if it even followed it at all.

I discovered some interesting things.

But first, I want to share some thoughts on the book, particularly with those who haven't read it.

***

And because this is a long one, I also wanted to list its sections up front:

Is Twilight “Good”? Or is it “Bad”?

Edward is the Protagonist; Bella is the Viewpoint Character

Character Arcs and Themes (Edward and Bella)

The Relationship Plotline as the Primary Plotline

The Structural “Skeleton” of Twilight

Act I: Moving from Classmates to Friends

Act II, Part I: Moving from Friends to Couple

Act II, Part II: Moving from Couple to (Physically) Separated

Act III: Moving from Separated to Reunited (Rescued and Rescuer)

Editorial Feedback (Improving Twilight)

Plot Points

External Plotline

Bella Swan

Thoughts on Controversial Cosmetics

Extra Diagrams 

Monday, September 8, 2025

Writing the Societal Plotline


Most stories need at least three different types of plotlines to be successful. This gives the story more dimension and depth. While there are other combinations to choose from, by far the three most popular ones to interweave are the external, internal, and relationship journeys.

The external plotline is the character's outer journey; the objective is to get a concrete goal. He encounters antagonism and struggles with conflict. This leads to significant consequences that can alter his life. This is referred to as the plot arc.

The internal plotline is the character's inner journey; the objective is to fulfill the abstract want. The antagonist is the self, which causes internal conflict, and the consequences are related to identity, which creates the character arc.

The relationship plotline is the character's relationship journey; the objective is to increase or decrease distance with another person (or, in some cases, maintain the relationship as is). The antagonist is what endangers that, which leads to conflict. The consequences are the relationship arc.

While I have written about each of these plotlines on my blog, I haven't really covered the fourth most popular plotline. This is what I call the "societal plotline" (or in some cases the "world plotline").


What is the Societal Plotline?

The societal plotline is the journey of a society. The objective is a collective's concrete goal (which could have an abstract want behind it). The antagonist may be another collective, or an entity within or outside the group. The consequences are the way the collective arcs. We may call this a societal arc.

The societal plotline is arguably "bigger" in scope than the external plotline, because it involves groups of people (or entities at least). However, this doesn't necessarily make it the most important in the book or film. In fact, the societal plotline is rarely the primary plotline (the A Story). Most commonly, it is the quaternary plotline. It's nonetheless still very effective, and significant. And sometimes it is pulled up into a more dominating position, like when there is no internal plotline. 

This is what happens in Indiana Jones. Indy doesn't really have an internal plotline, so it's the external, relationship, and societal plotlines that dominate his stories instead. Those are the three dominating plotlines.


In any case, I like to envision the societal plotline as fitting "above" the external plotline (since it is bigger in scope), and in a sense, adding dimension that way. 

So, let's cover more of what this plotline is, and how to work with it, so you can write one that resonates throughout--and adds dimension to--your story.

Monday, August 25, 2025

Does My Character Have to Arc Out of Their Want?


Last week, I taught a class at WorldShift: The Speculative Fiction Writers' Summit on raising the stakes, and I got a few questions and comments that spoke to some complex concepts, which I couldn't thoroughly address because it was a < 1-hour presentation, and they went beyond the scope of the class. These related to the concept of "want vs. need," and implicit in them was this question: What if my character arcs (or doesn't arc) out of their want? And in a sense, by extension: Does my character have to arc out of their want?

The answer to that is, it depends.

It depends on the story, the character arc, and the want.

But first, let me quickly lay out some groundwork so we are all starting on the same page.

If you've followed me for a while, you may know about (what I call) the "abstract want." Most recently, I wrote about it when I did this post on misaligned character wants and plot goals. But in case you are new here, or need a reminder . . . 

Every protagonist (or really, any lead character) should have an abstract want, a motive, behind his or her plot goals. 

The protagonist tries to fulfill this want in concrete ways, and this is what makes up the plot (or it should). 

Friday, August 15, 2025

✨ Your Free Ticket to the Speculative Fiction Writers Summit!


Hey writers! 

Maybe you read my latest writing tip on plot goals . . . or maybe not. But if you did, you may have seen me mention WorldShift: The Speculative Fiction Writers' Summit. This is a free, 4-day online event happening August 20–23 (next week!).

And I have a free ticket for you!

If you are ready to learn from some of the best, and get that novel written, then I have good news: This summit can help you.

Whether you write speculative fiction or not, you will learn loads from experts in the industry.

This free, 4-day online event brings together 30+ brilliant minds to help you:

Monday, August 11, 2025

Goals: the REAL Framework of Plot


Often in the writing community, people define plot by conflict. "Story = conflict"--or so they say. In reality, goals, not conflict, are the true foundation and framework of plot. It's by changing and evolving the protagonist's goal that you truly progress the plot, not by how much or how little conflict you have.

This isn't to say conflict isn't important; it most certainly is. I still consider it a critical element (most of the time). But more important than that, is actually the goal, which is where true plot starts, anyway.

You can't have conflict, until you have an antagonistic force. The antagonistic force is a form of opposition--it's something in the way of the protagonist's pathway. In other words, it's something in the way of the goal. So, you can't have a real antagonist, until the protagonist has a goal.

Okay, already some of you who are new around here, are chomping at the bit to tell me I'm wrong. You want to tell me you can think of great stories where the protagonist wasn't pursuing a goal. She was just enjoying her life, until something interesting happened.

And that's one of the problems with talking about goals in the writing community: most of us have a narrow idea of what a goal is. Too many of us envision big or aspirational goals, but that's actually only one type of goal.

At the most basic level, there are, in fact, three types of goals: to obtain something, to avoid (or stop) something, or to maintain something.

Monday, July 28, 2025

How to Make a Character's Inaction & Indecision Work


Inaction is an action. Indecision is a decision. 

It's often a terrible idea to write a truly passive protagonist, when it comes to the plot. You can have a characteristically passive protagonist--a character who wants to be the laziest person in the entire world, but feels she can't, because she needs to stop the antagonist. This sort of thing often creates a reluctant hero, where the protagonist hopes to quickly defeat the antagonist to get the status quo back, to return to her ordinary, passive lifestyle. 

But when it comes to the plot itself, the protagonist must be an active problem-solver. At least, she should be, if she's going to be a true protagonist. (And if she's not, there is a good chance she isn't the true protagonist, and she's just the viewpoint character of the story.)

With all that said, though, there are times when passivity can work, for a short while, when inaction is an action, and when indecision is a decision.

These moments are certainly exceptions, and not rules.

Monday, July 14, 2025

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. 😊


Monday, June 23, 2025

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.

Monday, June 9, 2025

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.)

Monday, May 26, 2025

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.