Brick by Brick: Three Act Structure, part two

Yesterday I talked about how telephone in essence screwed up a perfectly, foolproof understanding of Hauge's structure. What follows is my version. It's not special or unique. It's the bastardized version of something that is foolproof in my eyes. Yet I use it again and again without fail:

Catalyst: The point in the story where the introduction ends and the story’s core conflict is presented.

The best examples are what you read on the back of every book–the blurb.

Paige Darlington is finally free of the literal boss from hell–Satan. There’s just one hitch: she’s cursed and will soon lose her soul. The only way to reverse this ultimate buzz kill is to skinny dip in one of Heaven’s cleansing moats. But Heaven has defense against girls like Paige...and they typically involve being charred to a crisp.

~Sex and the Immortal Bad Boy by Stephanie Rowe

The bolded portion is the core conflict of the story. Paige has to figure out a way to get there. If she can’t get there, she had to figure out a way to make herself less evil. If all else fails what will she have to do in order to save the world from herself?

Another example:

Secrets she (Emma Corrigan) wouldn’t share with anyone in the world....Until she spills them all to a handsome stranger on a plan. At least she thought he was a stranger...

But come Monday morning, Emma’s office is abuzz about the arrival of Jack Harper, the company’s elusive CEO. Suddenly Emma is face to face with the stranger on the plane, a man who knows every single humiliating detail about her. Things couldn’t possibly get worse. Or could they?

~ Can You Keep a Secret? by Sophie Kinsella

Yes, Paige in Sex and the Immortal Bad Boy had a huge problem already by being Satan’s ex-minion, but then the heroine finds out that she’s a ticking bomb of evil. At this point in the story we've gotten to know the heroine. We want her to succeed.

Can You Keep a Secret? starts off with the heroine sitting in a meeting where she’s only supposed to be there as a bobble-head. Yes, yes, whatever you say. Things go off-course and she ends up making a complete, excuse my language, ass of herself.

All this leads to a hilarious scene where she makes an even bigger ass of herself. That builds up to the moment when Emma realizes the stranger is really her boss. Her boss knows all her secrets. You cringe with the character.

Now imagine for a moment someone knows all of your darkest secrets. The stuff you won’t even tell your best friend, especially if that secret is she knits horribly. It makes your friend happy to give you the things she has made with her hands.

Or that your cousin, who lost her parents at a young age, is the golden child in your family. What if someone knew when you were in desperate need of a job she refused to give you one?  What would you say or do to keep those secrets, well, secret? What would happen if those secrets came out?

So, yes, the core conflict is a narrowed focus on the novel, but that doesn’t mean it can’t act like a crack in a window shield. If you ever had a crack in your windshield you know that small crack, eventually, starts to grow. It gets worse and worse.

The Difference

The Catalyst isn’t any different from a combination of The Opportunity and the New Situation. Emma has to learn to live with what she’s said to her boss. Paige now knows what she needs to do in order to not end mankind. A snafu in understanding that a Catalyst could be broken down in two stages led me to a simplified version, but I still had the same problem. What did it mean to start where the story starts? Wouldn’t that automatically be the Catalyst? It’s where the core conflict is presented, but what about Stage 1: The Set Up?

The Conundrum

A novel is not a movie. You won’t have the benefit of a montage to show who your character is and what their life is like before the Catalyst.

By now I’m sure you’ve been scared to death by the knowledge of an agent or editor deciding your fate by the end of page one. If not by the end of the first paragraph. One page, and the agent/editor has already decided to ask for more or reject you. (Yes, really, go check out some agent and editor blogs if you don't believe me.)

 This knowledge has caused many a writer to pass out. It’s okay to take a moment to breathe into a brown paper bag. It’s a lot of pressure for 250 or so words.

It could tempt even the most secure writer to put their Catalyst on the first page or believe the Catalyst is the first page. If putting the Catalyst on page one fits your story, then go for it. If not, then it can kill the urgency that a proper build-up brings to your novel. Most people don’t keep reading because the plot is interesting. They keep reading to see what happens to the character.

Anyway, below are some examples:

gods in Alabama by Joshilyn Jackson

Part of Blurb: When Arlene Fleet heads up north for college, she promises God that she’ll stop fornicating and lying, and never, ever go back to her hometown in Alabama. All she wants from Him is one miracle: make sure the body is never found. Now, ten years later, God breaks the deal when a dark secret from her past lands on her Chicago doorstep.

“There are Gods in Alabama: Jack Daniel’s, high school quarterbacks, trucks, big tits, and also Jesus. I left one back there myself, back in Possett. I kicked it under the kudzu and left it to the roaches.

I made a deal with God two years before I left there. At the time, I thought He made out pretty well. I offered Him a three-for-one–deal: All He had to do was perform a miracle. He fulfilled His end of the bargain, so I kept my three promises faithfully, no matter what cost. I held our deal as sacred for twelve solid years. But that was before God let Rose Mae Lolly show up on my doorstep, dragging my ghosts and her own considerable baggage.”

    

     The Catalyst is right there on the first page. God breaks his promise to Arlene by allowing Rose Mae Lolly to stand on her doorstep. It works for the novel because the past and the present are told in a way that blends the NOW with the past. The NOW isn’t the prologue and it isn’t the backstory or flashback. It’s what’s happening right at that moment in the character’s life.

Jackson creates a sense of NOW when she goes over the events that made her make that deal with God. She creates a sense of urgency to keep reading. Yet when you look at that first paragraph you can see the character, and it takes you for one hell of a spin. I mean, who would say big tits and Jesus in the same breath?

     Evermore by Alyson Noël

Part of Blurb: After a horrible accident claims the lives of her family, sixteen-year-old Ever Bloom can see people’s auras, her their thoughts and know someone’s entire life story by touching them. Going out of her way to avoid human contact and suppress her abilities, she has been branded a freak at her new high school-but everything changes when she meets Damen Auguste...He’s the only one who can silence the noise and random energy in her head...

     “Guess who?”

     Haven’s warm, clammy palms press hard against my cheeks as the tarnished edge of her silver skull ring leaves a smudge on my skin...”

     This sort of set-up goes on for pages and pages. No catalyst to speak of. Ever doesn’t find out Damen can silence the “noise” until page 25.

The Undomestic Goddess by Sophie Kinsella

Part of Blurb: Workaholic attorney Samantha Sweeting has just done the unthinkable. She’s made a mistake so huge, it’ll wreck any chance of a partnership.

     Would you consider yourself stressed?

     No. I’m not stressed.

     I’m...busy. Plenty of people are busy. I have a high-powered job, my career is important to me, and I enjoy it.

OK. So sometimes I do feel a bit tense. But I’m a lawyer in the City, for God’s sake. What do you expect?

    

By the time the big mistake happens (page 47), I want to take a vacation for Samantha.

When Does the Catalyst Happen?

From the examples the Catalyst occurs on page 1, 25, and 47. There’s no pattern to speak of, so it would be easier to pin down at what point it doesn’t happen. If you have made it to page 100 and the Catalyst hasn’t occurred, you might have a problem. Unless you are Nora Roberts and can make 150+ pages of backstory work.

Why is it likely to happen in 100 pages or less? It’s the chicken or the egg theory. Partials sent to agents/editors are usually 100 pages or less. Most places that sell books have a sample and it will be, maybe, the first chapter and part of the second. Maybe more, but never 100 pages. (At least none I've read.) The answer: There’s no exact science to where the Catalyst should fall. Put it where it feels most natural.

*****

By now, if you're still actually reading, you're eyeballs have dried out. You might be slumped over half-dead, I'm going to stop now and pick up in the next installment. It's going to continue on with my jacked up version of the Three Act Structure.

 As usual I'm more than open to questions or outright disagreement. Do so in the comments.

Brick by Brick: Three Act Structure, Part One

(Three Act Structure will be the epic posts that will seem to have no end in sight. Settle in and bring snacks.)

Have you ever played telephone as a kid? I did. I loved to see how distorted the message ended up by the time the last person heard it. Great game. Unfortunately, this is the way I learned the Three Act Structure.

I’d successfully completed and written three novels using the “wrong” method of the three acts before I realized I was doing it wrong. Thankfully, by then my newbie author status had worn off and I wasn’t afraid to do things in a way that worked for me.

I had also learned one other valuable lesson, but first I’m going to walk you through the “right” way. The Michael Hauge’s way (Turning Points and How To Use Them In Fiction), because it’s a brilliant breakdown of the ebb and flow in movies that also can be applied to the structure of novels. It involves six stages, and five turning points.

Summary of Michael Hauge’s Three Act Structure

Stage 1: The Set Up

Here the hero/heroine is seen in their natural habitat. It’s the handshake. Hi, my name is Susie and let’s look at my world as I know it now. The purpose of the Set Up is to create attachments to the character. It’s to make you care enough to keep watching. Or pluck down your hard-earned cash and walk out the store with the book.

Turning Point 1: The Opportunity

Something in the character’s mundane world changes. This is the chance the character has been waiting for or didn’t know they were looking for.

Stage 2: The New Situation

You will see the character react to the opportunity. That choice brings about a whole set of other avenues, and the character must choose one road for their journey.

Turning Point 2: Change of Plans

In a sense it’s self-explanatory, but let’s use See Megan Run as the example. Megan has decided to stay for her mother’s wedding. The carrot at the end of the stick is getting the deed for her father’s home. Should be simple, right?

Yet, Megan has to deal with the emotional landmine that is the relationship with her mother. Also, she needs to deal with the ex-boyfriend she left behind. So the plan to keep her head down and wait leisurely for the wedding date to roll around is shot to hell.

Stage 3: Progress

In which the character deludes themselves to believe she has a handle on the situation. She might have a handle but just barely. If anything else comes along in their path that hold will become unsteady. Of course....

Turning Point 3: The Point of No Return

Something else is thrown in their path, and the character will have to make a choice that will forever change them. Hauge’s says this happens exactly midway through the movie.

Stage 4: Higher Stakes and Complications

If this is a 5-mile marathon, your character has just reached mile 3.5. So what’s 1.5 more? Except that small hitch in her side has turned into a full-blown muscle cramp and that healthy, fruit-only breakfast isn’t feeling so good in her stomach.

Turning Point 4: The Major Setback

All hope seems to be lost. There is no way she will get what she wants. In the romance world we call this the black moment. The hero is found out to be a liar. The heroine can’t seem to trust the hero no matter what he does. Cue the Angela Basset scene where she burns her ex-husband’s car, or at least the heroine feels like she wants to do the same.

Stage 5: The Final Push

Despite the odds not being in her favor, the heroine pushes through. She has reached .5 left in the final mile. The finish line is in sight. Even if she has to crawl bloodied-soldier style across it. She will do it dammit.

Turning Point 5: The Climax

Remember that locked door? The character breaks out the key they would have never used.

Stage 6: The Aftermath

The resolution, the happily ever after, or if it’s a mystery novel, a huge info dump that explains everything in a nice neat bow. This happens at this point of the movie. Roll the credits and outtakes.

This structure is foolproof. Hauge even gives you percentages on when the stages and turning points are supposed to happen and for how long. You can use it again and again and come up with different scenarios.

How did Telephone distort something so simple?

Easily enough. I spent the first year of being a serious writer learning as much as I could. I did my best to incorporate everything I learned at the same time. Bad idea. If you’ve been on this hamster wheel long enough you know that information can conflict with each other, bleed together and make you dizzy. You can end up with a novel that you’d rather burn than edit if you followed every rule.

So, at the same time I was trying to take in the Three Act Structure, I was learning a new rule of thumb: Start where the story starts. I needed to apply this knowledge, because I had fallen in love with a writer’s worst friend–backstory.

Susie received a red letter in the mail that would change her life forever. Holding the thin parchment in her sweaty palm made, Susie remembered the first letter she received. It was 1992 and her once A cup breasts had finally turned into solid a B. It hadn’t mattered to Bobby Macky as long as he...

On and on and on it went until I circled back around to the red letter. But, by following that advice off the edge of a writing cliff I ended up smashing together The Set Up, The Opportunity, and The New Situation. I went from one extreme to the next. I did not give myself or the character breathing room, for fear it was really backstory. Eventually, I swung to the middle. (Refer to the spreadsheet to see the layout of my version.)

*****

Today's post was brought to you by why my way is so totally jacked up. Next up is a hard look at my jacked up way.

As usual I'm more than open to questions or outright disagreement. Do so in the comments.

Brick by Brick: Turning Points, part 2

How Do You Know It’s A Turning Point?

So far I’ve talked about what turning points are and what they do. I always thought the hardest part of understanding turning points were how to spot them.

This is what I wanted to know for months on end when I first learned about turning points. I understood what kind of things happened, what it was, and why it was important to have them. The one elusive quality was how did I find turning points within my own story or other people’s stories. Now, I may be off base to some, but this is how I find them.

1. The adventure gets more complicated.
It sort of feels like an oh, hell moment. You wanted me to do X and Y. Now you're handing me Z? Are you serious? Or, better yet, it's like a Simpson's episode. The episode starts off simple enough and then something happens and that simplistic opening is blown to smithereens.

2. The doubt increases. (Am I doing the right thing? Who am I? If I make this choice what are the consequences? If I do nothing, because I really want to do nothing, what are those consequences?)

3. The alternatives become limited i.e. the blur syndrome. Things are moving so fast the first choices that come to mind are the only ones you have the time to think of, so it’s either those choices or nothing.

4. The choice the character makes is final. They cannot backtrack. In a romance novel, even in real life, there is no such thing as un-kissing someone. You can not kiss them anymore, but you can’t take back that one kiss.

Every scene has conflict, which means every scene is emotionally charged in some way. Turning points are definitely emotionally charged. Every scene pushes the character to where they need to be by the end of the novel. At turning points the character is closer to getting there.

I know some people embrace change. My character, and everyone else’s character, is not one of them. Otherwise everyone would be writing short stories.

Even with those cues above in the list, the one common thread I found when looking for a turning point is the character gave a little (or a lot) on their never stance. The give is preluded by a choice they’ve faced before and decided to go with the established reaction, but this time the reaction is different. It’s the sigh before the mother says yes after being asked a hundred times Can I have candy? 

Example: In When Harry Met Sally you get these beautiful sections of the story. They're stories within a story. But one never Sally has for the first half of the movie (hell, 3/4s of the story) is she'd never date Harry in a million years. He's the annoying, gross guy after college. Years later, while on an airplane, he's the smug, pessimistically optimistic guy she once had to sit next to on an airplane.

Sally would not, could not spend another moment around him. These are special circumstances, meaning she couldn't jump out the car or airplane to get away from him.

They meet a third time but now she's gotten her heartbroken. (Although, she doesn't yet feel that heartbreak. Or admit it to herself.) She's lonely and he's there. He's not so gross now. Yeah, he's still pessimistically optimistic, but she's changed. The break up has changed her and she gives slightly on her never.

Sally's established reaction is to get away from Harry as soon as it's physically possible. Her new reaction to become his friend. If you've seen the movie then you know how that one decision, one she can never take back though she tries, snowballs.

Using the Four Turning Points To Write A Novel:

If you know your overall goal or picked it out of the ether, you know where your character is and you know where your character is going to end up. Turning points are the roadmap. You can create them beforehand or write to them. They'll likely change as you get to know more about your character. That's all good. The wonderful thing is if you write them down and fill up the space between you've got story. I'm not saying you're going to start outputting Great American Novels. I'm saying writing and revising that Great American Novel will be somewhat easier.

Some questions you can ask yourself:

What is the embodiment of my character's fear?

What's behind the locked door?

What wouldn't they do to open that locked door?

My favorite question: what can I make them do?

What are the worst things that can happen to this character? And, how would it change them?

*Fodder For the Turning Points

The fodder comes from story and story comes from character. Fodder can also come from plot and plot comes from character. Fodder comes from theme and...you get my drift. If all else fails, find out more about your character.

Tip: Watch a movie or re-read a favorite book and find what you think are the four turning points.

A big tip: Even though the character changes internally make sure you show the change externally. Put your story where your mouth is.

*****

Ok. Is that clear as mud? Good. Next up I'll be putting this big chunk of turning points into the bigger picture of the Three Act Structure.

As usual I'm more than open to questions or outright disagreement. Do so in the comments.

Brick by Brick: Turning Points

When I look at the pages this subject takes up...I'm breaking it up into two posts. Even I know when I'll likely lose people. It doesn't happen often. You should write this down. On to the lesson.

Before I cover turning points I need to go over short definitions of external and internal as it relates to fiction. Simple definitions:

External is tangible.

Internal is intangible.

External is the gun pointed at the heroine’s head.

Internal is the fear the heroine feels though she’s starting to feel a little courageous.

External is the heroine grabbing for the gun.

Internal is the way heroine feels now that she has finally stood up for herself.

In a story the external conflict feeds into the internal conflict. Same with plot points. You not only have to look at what happens, but how the character feels while it’s happening.

What does that have to do with turning points?

The mainstream definition of a turning point is a point in a story when the character’s path is redirected in a new and unexpected way. It’s a good core definition, but what does a turning point consist of?

The basic ingredients: an action and a reaction. A turning point is an external change that creates an internal change. It’s the point of the story when Dorothy makes a cameo to say, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

So, turning points can also be thought of as points of no return. Once a character has passed them she can never go back. In every sense, Dorothy couldn’t go back home. She couldn’t un-see in color again. It's like graduating from high school or being at your high school weight—it's never going to happen again.

The Touchstone To Turning Points:

Again, the core understanding of a turning point is that it's a changed action that changes the character’s reaction. Something happens in the story and the character reacts to it on the page.

Like most structural tools, it's a step by step progression from point A to point B. How the character would react on page 1 is not how they would react on page 350.

Turning Points Serve Other Functions

1. Turning Points raise the stakes.

At each interval a turning point threatens the character’s want. In The Mummy, the heroine wants greater recognition, specifically from her intellectual peers. The heroine cannot get that if she believes in curses and mummies. If they do exist, she can’t get that if she were the one to actually release the plague against humanity. Oh wow, curses and mummies do exist and now she has bigger troubles–saving all of humanity. If she can save the world how could her intellectual peers not give her the accolades?

2. Turning Points helps your pacing.

The dreaded, sagging middle didn’t get its name because it’s pleasant for everyone to write. (Yes, I’ve met some authors who love to write the middle.) Doesn't matter if you're writing 30,000 or 100,000 words, the middle is an oasis of words. If you're building toward a changed action and reaction it can serve as a guidepost.

How exciting could a trek through the desert be? As with The Mummy it can turn out to be a horrifying experience. The heroine watches as the villain sets out to kill the hero and her brother. Not only that the mousy, clumsy librarian can be more than a damsel in distress. She can attempt to distract the villain so that the hero and her brother can get a chance to defeat the second plague on Earth.

3. Turning Points show progress within the character.

Series can be frustrating because it can seem like the character has learned absolutely nothing from their experiences. If you read book 1 you're reading the same type of character in book 6.

If you're reading a novel that stands alone it can feel the same way if the character doesn’t change. Unless that is the author’s purpose. Stasis can be very frustrating to a reader. Turning points serve as checkpoints to the character’s growth. Turning points show the reader how the character is striving for what they want and the obstacles they're facing to get it. Each change should show the progress the character is making to who they need to be.

What Is The Action and Reaction?

This is the hardest question to answer, because it depends on your character and where they are in the story.

Imagine her (insert your character’s name) in front of a locked door. Your character has to open it. There are a million things she would do, except one.

Under any other circumstances the character would walk away, but what's behind that locked door is what they have to have. It’s the universal question of what do I have to do in order to get what I want? For you, the author, it’s showing what the character needs to do and them refusing to do it. What is the million things they would do? What is the one thing they will never do? That never is what the character fears the most. It's the fear she faces at each turning point. It’s the need of her overall goal.

Example:

The commitment-phobe would have to face committing. This fear can be embodied as inheriting a house from her beloved mother. If a cousin had willed the heroine the house she would have sold it without an ounce of guilt. So, she bargains with herself. I'll stay for X amount of time to clean it out so I can rent the house, then I'm out of here.

Let's call that the established reaction. It's what the character would normally do. Also, let's call this character Mel. This house is in a small town where she grew up.

1st turning point: Mel finds out the house is in disrepair. It needs to be fixed before she can get a decent price for rent. The established reaction would be to bulldoze the home and sell the land for a pretty penny.

The problem is it's her mother's house. The same house Mel grew up in. Under these circumstances she can't make that choice. Mel's reaction is to repair the house, but no way is she staying for a minute longer.

2nd turning point: Though Mel has tried to avoid making friends, or connecting with old ones, she's really starting to like the people in town. Mel starts to understand why her mother stayed here until she died. Still that doesn't mean she's not leaving. She's enjoying herself. That's all.

3rd turning Point: The repairs on the house are almost finished. She finds a photo album that brings up old memories of why she left in the first place, and why she doesn't need to commit to this town or house. Despite being faced with her reasons for the established reaction, the stirring to stay gets stronger.

4th turning point: The house is ready. She has potential renters in sight. The plane ticket out of there is burning a hole in her pocket. Where Mel's headed no one who knows her. No one who would care to bring her chicken noodle soup if she's sick. Can she go back to that existence?

*****

I'm going to stop here and let that disgust for a bit. Next up will be figuring out what IS a turning point within your story. There's a big difference in knowing what a turning point is and pointing at one and say that's a turning point. Some writers, bless them, make it clearly obvious. I have a love/hate relationship with those writers. Yes, it's great I can see your turning point, but I've stopped reading the story to go Hey, there's a turning point. As a reader I like my stories to be seamless. I don't want to see the man behind the curtain. But, of course, I love to see the character is progressing.

I digress.

That's for the next blog post. As usual I'm more than open to questions or outright disagreement. Do so in the comments.

[I've got a rambling turning point break down for The Mummy and Back to the Future. Other people may see the turning points differently, but these are the ones I think the story hangs on. Follow the Google Doc link. ]

Brick by Brick: Revising a Scene

Lucky you. Since I'm using the same tools to revise a scene, the bulk of this lesson happened in the last post. This post will be short. I'm sure many of you are glad for glad for this reprieve. On to the lesson.

Revising a scene using structure is the same way as writing one, just in reverse. Many times I've had a scene that didn't work. The scene didn't add much to the overall story or bring new insights to the character. I'd get so caught up in the details I'd lose sight of the heart of the scene.

Character X discovers mother's secret life.

Character Y wants to go to the grocery to buy a bottle of gin.

Character Z kisses the hero.

When it should be:

Character X's core beliefs are shaken.

Character Y, once again, butts heads with her need to control everything.

Character Z finally let's go.

Back to the Scofield's definition of a scene, something important happens that can't (shouldn't) be summarized. That's why it happens on paper (or e-ink) in real time. That reason plays into the overall goal of the story. A summary of Aiden seeing Megan for the first time would not have sufficed.

Example:

*****

A few days earlier Aiden had saw Megan. The sight of her could still tie his stomach in knots.

*****

Er, no, just no. I skated over very important reasons why a scene happens and why that particular scene should happen at that point in the story. But when a hero and heroine meet in a romance, the reader should know why this match-up is a catastrophe. The reader needs to know (maybe not know know) what stands in the characters' way of a HEA.

In See Megan Run it's the simple fact they used to date. They were one step away from getting married. Everyone assumed it would happen, but Megan just up and left. There would have been no story to write if Aiden didn't care.

Seeing Megan again was a big event and there was no way I could have gotten away with the above. It's like writing an erotic romance and closing the door on every single sex scene. Not only are you going to piss off readers (and really you're lying to them about what the story IS), but you're shortchanging the hell out of your story. A scene with the character seeing their ex for the first time in twelve years, that he's still in love with, needs to happen on the page. /soapbox

Questions to ask yourself:

Did I write a scene that needed to be summarized?

Did I summarize a scene that needed to be written in real time? (If I cut out this scene would no one miss it? Would no one think, hey, what the hell?)

If you have those questions answered and the scene still isn't working, look at the simple structure:

Who is the protagonist?

What does she want?

Who/what stands in the way?

What does the antagonist want?

Why does the protagonist stand in the way?

As the scene stands, how does it play into the overall goal?

Did I stray from the heart of the scene?

Did I reveal character or story?

 *****

Next up I get into truly, truly murky waters—turning points. They are a little more understandable than beats of a scene, but these are wily suckers. And, we're back to epically long posts. This might be the longest one of all of them combined. Yeah...

Tip: For those really organized souls, you can create a simple spreadsheet to keep track of scenes. You can include the scenes protag, antag. A short description of the heart of the scene and the result.

As usual I'm more than open to questions or outright disagreement. Do so in the comments.

Brick by Brick: Scene

In Sandra Scofield's The Scene Book, she defines scene as, “ . . . those passages in narrative when we slow down and focus on an event in the story so that we are in the moment with characters in action."

She goes on to say, "It's not a summary of what happened." That's the key: Something has to happen in a scene, in real time.

Simple structure of a scene

Protagonist wants A.

Antagonist wants B.

The protagonist/antagonist gets what they want or they realize something else stands in the way of getting A/B, or both.

That's the mystery of a simple scene structure, but, of course, that's not what makes it complicated. There's a scene protagonist and a book's protagonist. Often they are one in the same, but you can have a scene antagonist that is not the book's antagonist. The best examples for this concept are stories that involve solving a mystery.

Jayne Ann Krentz's Smoke in Mirrors is a romantic suspense about Leonora Hutton and Thomas Walker uncovering the truth about the mysterious deaths surrounding the Mirror House. These two characters share an antagonist (for the book), an unknown person. Yet in the first chapter Leonora is the scene's protagonist and Thomas is the scene's antagonist.

Simple Structure of this Scene

Protag wants A: Leonora wants to pack up her half-sister's house and finally put the memory of her sister to rest.

Antag wants B: Thomas wants Leonora to help him find the money her half-sister stole from an endowment fund.

In this particular instance, Thomas literally stands in Leonora's way until she agrees to consider his proposition. He blocks the door, uses threats and speculates about her half-sister's death. The last part brings up more questions (more wants)for Leonora. By the end of the scene you know the protagonist doesn't get what she wants: to put her half-sister to rest.

You can write a novel in this episodic way. Someone wins or someone loses. What makes all the scenes cohesive for a novel is the overall goal. The first scene weaves it all in. Leonora and her half-sister have been friends since college. Her death bothers Leonora because of the manner—suicide.

Thomas needs to find the money to protect his brother. Also, his brother's wife died in the same mysterious and out of character way. Both Leonora and Thomas want to find out what happened. Both of them have separate needs and that's the seamless thread in every scene.

I'll admit, it's easier to find a scene's protag and antag when two people are arguing. What about when two people want the same thing?

Example:

Protag: Heroine wants to have sex with hero.

Antag: Hero wants to have sex with heroine.

If they both want the same thing what stands in the way? In Sophie Kinsella's The Undomestic Goddess this is the exact set up for a scene between Samantha and Nathaniel. Now what gives this scene conflict is that it shoots to the need of the book's protagonist.

Samantha needs to stop and smell the roses per se. In an earlier scene she says to the hero it'll only take them six minutes to get the deed done. The hero is not having it, but he doesn't say no to sex all together. Nathaniel simply wants her to help him garden later. By knowing the character's need I can change the simple structure of the scene.

Protag: Wants to have a quickie just to get the deed done because that's all she knows.

Antag: Wants to take the scenic route.

What the hero wants stands in the way of what the heroine wants, even though, in the scheme of things they want the same thing—to have sex with each other. The details can be the contention. In this example the hero embodied the need that directly conflicted with the heroine's want.

Finally, this last thought is debatable within fiction. In a scene the protagonist can be their own antagonist. This concept comes up when a protagonist is alone in a scene or even a book/movie. Castaway comes to mind. Who or what is standing in their way? The simple answer can be the classic theme of man vs. self, man vs. nature, etc.

So let's just say my opinion is that as long as there is something preventing the protagonist from getting what they want then it can work.

The Heart of the Scene

The heart, you can say, is like the overall goal except it’s the scene’s core. The next example comes from my second book, See Megan Run. The heroine, Megan, left town 12 years ago. She also left behind her high school sweetheart Aiden. Before this excerpt Megan is pulled over for speeding. She’s doing her best to get out of town as fast as she can. Yet, the purpose of this scene is to see Aiden’s unexpected reaction, which of course creates more wants. (I should say SPOILER!!!! All through these blog posts. Sorry!)

*****

His day had been going pretty good until he saw the silver Camaro pull out of Dead Man’s Curve at eighty miles per hour.  He stared down into Megan’s eyes, dark as chocolate, keeping all her secrets from him like they always did. His stomach clenched when he noticed that her skin, smooth and radiant, had darkened, which made her seem much more beautiful than the eighteen-year-old girl he remembered. The same one he’d given his heart to and the same one who’d left him. Yup, it was turning out to be a crappy day.

His hand tightened into fist in his pockets. Aiden figured he could handle this two ways: play it cool and let her off with a warning, or–a smile tugged at his lips–give her hell.

*****

Exacting a little revenge on your ex who broke your heart into a million little pieces is not the core of the scene, but it definitely made my character feel better. The next part comes at the end of the chapter when he’s decided it’s best to ditch the plan for revenge and just get away from her.

*****

Out of instinct he reached to stop her and knew it was a mistake the moment his fingers brushed her forearm. He snatched his hand back, but Megan eyes widened, and he knew she’d felt it too. His day was getting worse by the moment.

“You need to drive careful. If Shep had stopped you, he’d have had your car towed, just to make a point.”

A smile pulled at her plump lips, making his gut twist again. She shouldn’t have been able to get that reaction out of him. He crossed his arms to keep them from doing anything else on their own. He had to do some type of damage control.

*****

Within the next few passages Aiden finds out that Megan isn’t aware of one fact: her mother is marrying his uncle. Forced proximity will ensue and he can barely keep it together as is. The heart of the scene shows Aiden isn’t over Megan as he should be.

Protag: Aiden wants to exact a little revenge on his ex-girlfriend.

Antag: Megan wants to get out of town.

Megan get’s what she wants. Aiden is left with the knowledge he’s not completely over her. He’ll have to find a way because soon she’ll be back in town.

Questions to ask yourself to get the simple structure of a scene:

What do the characters want to happen?

What does/could the scene reveal about the character?

What does/could the scene reveal about the story?

In the end, what happens?

*****    

This ends today's long-winded lesson on simple scene structure. Yes, there is tons, and I mean tons, more you can learn about scene structure. This is just the tip of the iceberg. But, this is what I use to write my scenes when I'm stuck. It's simple but helpful to know where I'm going when I've lost my way or I have no idea what comes. The thing is a big portion of writing is instinctual. Without thought you probably set up your scenes in a similar way. So, I'll say if it ain't broke don't fix it.

Anyway, next up I'll show you how to use simple scene structure to revise. As usual, I'm more than open to questions or outright disagreement. Do so in the comments.