Tag Archives: three-act structure

11.18.25
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Wrap-up

Being the seventh part of a seven-part series based on Your New Favorite Writer’s recent WWA workshop “A Bulletproof Beginning: Five Ways to Anchor Your Story in Urgency from Word One.”

I can’t tell you how to write a great beginning. But here are FIVE BIG IDEAS—three Dos and two Donts—that ought to help quite a bit:

1. Engage the reader immediately.

2. Do not drown the reader in information. 

3. Introduce important characters and plots early. 

4. Do not let INFORMATION bog down the profluence of the narrative. 

5. Shape early action toward later plot points.

In recent weeks, we’ve looked closer at each of these five big ideas. I hope you’ve discovered ways to write livelier, more compelling beginnings for your novels, short stories, or screenplays.

But can we say anything, in general, that summarizes these five big ideas in a way that’s true to the reality of writing fiction or, for that matter, narrative nonfiction?

Structure is King

As you may have surmised already, Your New Favorite Writer believes we all need a working knowledge of the universal story template that seems built into the human psyche. The five big ideas all rely, ultimately, on knowing what can happen within the space of a manuscript or screenplay that logically exploits our craving for dramatic and narrative order. So the concepts of beginning-middle-end or Act I-Act II-Act III and the major plot points are essential equipment in the writer’s toolbox.

Not Each But All

It’s also important to note that the five big ideas—or any other valid ideas you may be offered for making your work sing—do not operate one by one. You need to make them all work with each other. You must not only introduce important characters early, you must avoid awkward information dumps while doing so. Furthermore, they must be introduced in ways that presage plot developments to come along later in the story. It all has to work together.

This is really hard to do. That is why we big-league writers are so highly paid. 

Let the Protagonist Protag

One thing I have probably under-emphasized in this series of posts is the central importance of the protagonist. In the last analysis, the story is always about the protagonist. The more active the protagonist, the more story there is to tell. And the rule is, the protagonist must protag. (That’s what we in linguistics call a back-formation, kids.) 

To protag is to act. To protag is to be unpredictable. To protag is to have big things at stake. To protag is to take hold of the story, turn it upside down, and shake it till all the loose change falls out of its pockets.

You can be cute. You can tell the story from the viewpoint of a secondary character, but it will be the secondary character talking about the protagonist, like Watson and Sherlock. Unless you have a very good reason for doing so, why bother?

You can tell the story from the viewpoint of the antagonist. But still, it will be the chief opponent talking about, or more likely scheming about how to counter, the actions of the protagonist. Of course, the antagonist, if worthy, may be very active as well. But here’s a thought: The moment you catch your antagonist protagging, you really ought to ask yourself if you have a protagonist disguised as an antagonist. In that case, may the good Lord help you, because I can’t. You’re going to have to turn everything around. But you may have to do that. Remember, a bad guy can be the protagonist. Anyone who has ever read the works of Patricia Highsmith can attest to that.

At some point, preferably early in the process, you’re going to want to ask yourself, “Whose story is it?” And if you can bring yourself to answer honestly, you have identified your protagonist. Make sure he, she, or it protags. 

It’s best if the protagonist is active, or at least mentioned, early in the narrative. Remember, this little series is all about beginnings. 

So What?

When you understand basic structural concepts, when you realize all your tools must work together, and when you come to grips with the vital activity of your main character, you have an opportunity to build the beginning of the story toward what will happen before the end. You will be more likely to include only those actions, events, and speeches that make the story flow with a decent profluence from beginning to end.

If, Dear Reader, you will trouble yourself to re-read the preceding paragraph, you will find it is a nice, pretty, nearly irrefutable, paragraph. I’m very proud of it. 

But if you are an experienced writer, you already know that no matter how well you master structure and all the other elements that must work together, your story may astound you with all the twists and turns it takes before you type “The End.” 

Try not to be disappointed if you have to go back, once you thought you were finished, and write a new beginning to match the middle and end that actually showed up for work.

But having at least thought about the general principles discussed here, you may recognize the contours of your work for what they are. And this should make it easier to rewrite the beginning.

Next week: Something completely different.

Blessings,

Larry F. Sommers

Your New Favorite Writer

11.11.25
by

Plot Points

Being the sixth part of a seven-part series based on Your New Favorite Writer’s recent WWA workshop “A Bulletproof Beginning: Five Ways to Anchor Your Story in Urgency from Word One.”

I can’t tell you how to write a great beginning. But here are FIVE BIG IDEAS—three Dos and two Donts—that ought to help quite a bit:

  1. Engage the reader immediately.
  2. Do not drown the reader in information. 
  3. Introduce important characters and plots early. 
  4. Do not let INFORMATION bog down the profluence of the narrative. 
  5. Shape early action toward later plot points.

This week, let’s look at the fifth Big Idea: Shape early action toward later plot points.

When you write the beginning of your story, it is very helpful to know what the middle and end are going to look like. The beginning establishes the conditions under which the rest of the story is revealed. If you don’t know what’s going to happen in the middle and end—or if you do think you know, but it changes when you actually write it—then you may have to go back and rewrite the beginning to match the rest. Do not be alarmed. This is actually pretty normal.

It’s all because every story has a structure.

Plot Points

As we mentioned in the first installment of this series, every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. This seems obvious, but it can help us understand the dynamic aspects of story structure. 

And structure is vital. If you have no structure, you have nothing. This becomes alarmingly obvious when you’re trying to write a screenplay. Movie scripts are all about structure. If the structure does not follow good, long-established storytelling traditions, chances are it will not be filmed. If it is filmed, it will quickly find a niche in obscurity.

Beginning-middle-end is also what we know as a “three-act structure”:

Act I: The main characters and situations are introduced. An inciting incident gets the story rolling. A challenge is issued, or arises, that cannot be ignored, and we know this is what the story will be about. The emergence of this Big Question or Main Challenge, in its true dimensions, kicks us into the main part of the story. Therefore, it’s often called the Act II break—that is, the break into Act II from Act I. That, and the inciting incident, are plot points.

Act II: Complications arise. The protagonist—let’s call him hero for short, though not all protagonists are heroes, and not all heroes are protagonists—meets obstacle after obstacle and overcomes them or is defeated by them. If an obstacle defeats the hero, he or she must make a new attempt to overcome it, or else find a way around it. These actions reveal the hero’s character and add meaning to the story. Act II is twice as long as Act I or Act III, but there is an interesting structural trade-off. Halfway through Act II—which is also the midpoint of the whole story—something happens that works dramatic, almost magical change in the story. It goes from light and sunny to dark and forebidding. Or vice versa. Maybe something happens that reveals new vistas of meaning. Whatever it may be, a striking change of color—of meaning, of urgency—occurs at midpoint. After midpoint, Act II continues, building more tension as the hero faces higher and higher hurdles until at last everything is set up, or stripped down, for the Final Confrontation, the payoff of the whole story. The gears shift as they did at the Act II break, only now we are thrust into the last part of the story. Therefore, this movement becomes the Act III break. The midpoint and the Act III break are plot points.

Act III: The chips are down. The hero has removed his mask of timidity and incompetence, the villain is at his evil maximum, and the Battle Titanic begins. The outcome of that battle is the action climax of the story. The main dramatic question is answered and the final situation arrived at. Usually a few loose ends need to be tied up. This is called the denouement, a French term that means “untying.” So the untying ties it all up. Very satisfactory. (See also “ravel/unravel.”) At any rate, the denouement ought to be as brief as possible. People can usually see what is accomplished by the climax. There’s little need to belabor the point. The action climax and denouement are plot points. The term “action climax” suggests there may be other kinds of climax. And there are: internal climaxes, moral climaxes, emotional climaxes. But only the action climax is a plot point. The others are more in the nature of thematic material.

As Usual, So What?

The reason Your New Favorite Writer mentions plot points is this: The plot points tend to give the story its emotional punch or dramatic force—especially the midpoint and the action climax. And this punch or force is greatly increased if those plot points recapitulate themes already present—foreshadowed—at the beginning of the journey. It’s like in Scripture or folk tales, when certain events are seen to be the fulfillment of earlier prophecies. The prophecy adds weight to the actual event. 

Therefore, when you write the beginning, it’s good to have in mind the things that are going to happen in the middle and the end, so that speeches or actions prominent in Act I can come back to haunt the reader in Act III. 

So, once you have told the whole story, it’s a good idea to check the beginning and see if it includes elements that suggest the end. If not, maybe you can work some in.

Next week: The grand summation. Stay tuned.

Blessings,

Larry F. Sommers

Your New Favorite Writer

02.18.25
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Huzzah!

I may have mentioned before now, Dear Reader, that the writer’s life is a lonely one.

Oh, sure, we are celebrated among our friends . . . if we have friends who are kind enough to celebrate us.

Gerrit Dou, Scholar Sharpening a Quill Pen. Public Domain.

We also confer among ourselves at writers’ conferences. We sit at the feet of masters and learn, if we can, a kind of self-mastery. We even may tip a tumbler or two, on such occasions. 

We have the usual allotment of spouses and children and dogs. 

So writers, as a group, are not existentially lonely. Most of us are not, at any rate.

But when it comes to writing—when we need to plot and craft and draft and re-plot and re-craft and re-draft a novel or any large work of fiction—that we do all by ourselves, in mental if not physical isolation. We may share a work in progress with colleagues: give glimpses, get feedback, gain perspective. But the actual doing of the thing is a solo gig. It’s just you and your keyboard in a room somewhere.

Thus, any victory merits a celebration. 

So it is with pride and joy I announce: Your New Favorite Writer has reached Mid-point on his current WIP (work in progress). Sorry to burden you with technical jargon, but nonetheless—HUZZAH! Please feel free to huzzah along with me.

What’s the Big Deal?

Thanks, I thought you’d never ask.

Aristotle. Public Domain.

Mid-point in a work of fiction is not merely halfway. It does not mean fifty percent of the work has been done. Perhaps the second half of the book will be much easier to write, or much harder, than the first half. 

Syd Field. Photo by thedemonhog, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.

Rather, the Mid-point, which always falls very near halfway through the pages, is where Something Momentous Happens. There is a major plot turn, visible or invisible, that makes the whole thing deeper and more important. The story shifts, the way a batch of fudge changes color in the pan just before it sets up into a new, delicious thing. 

This is not my imagination, Gentle Reader. You could look it up. Any number of gurus have told us about it, from Aristotle onwards. Pick up a copy of Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting, by Syd Field (1935-2013). Mr. Field was one of the first to put the how-to of screenwriting into a book, so that anybody could do it. 

Charles Dickens. Public Domain.

Well, not just anybody. You have to also be a certifiable lunatic.

Actor-director Roberto Benigni, creator of Life Is Beautiful. Photo by Harald Krichel, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

But I digress. The point is, there is a fundamental dramatic structure that almost all good stories have. A beginning, a middle, and an end. Sometimes we call them Acts I, II, and III. There are vivid plot points that kick off the action (Inciting Incident), shift it into gear (Break into Act II), change the whole picture (Mid-point), set up the final confrontation (Break into Act III), and resolve the story (Climax). There are numerous lesser turns as well.

The all-important Mid-point signals a shift in tone, emphasis, and import of the story. That shift can be quite stark, as in the Italian film Life is Beautiful (1997), or more subtle, as in Charles Dickens’s novella A Christmas Carol (1843). But it has to be there, or the story resembles an uncooked fish, several days old.

Therefore I celebrate the conquest of the Mid-point.

So What?

Your New Favorite Writer has written two novels that are currently in print, The Price of Passage and Izzy Strikes Gold! Both were very hard to write. I have been at work for some time on my third—a twentieth century historical novel that goes by the working title Brother’s Blood. It’s about two brothers who find themselves at odds but have no opportunity to fully reconcile before the Second World War sends them off in different directions. 

This one is hard to write, too. But writing the first two, as well as several unproduced screenplays, taught me a few things. Especially how important the first act is. Famed writer-director Billy Wilder said, “If you have a problem in the third act, your problem is in the first act.” What he meant is that you need to set the stage fully and exquisitely in the first one-quarter of the work (Act I), so that all kinds of situations and relationships established at the start can then pay off in satisfying ways as the rest of the story (Acts II and III) unfolds. 

Writers often talk about a character coming to life and taking the story off in an unexpected direction. It is delightful when this happens. But in a way, it’s even more satisfying when the underlying logic of the story—the line of development that flows from all the details you have packed into Act I—forces an unavoidable realignment of meaning at the Mid-point, and the rest of the story snowballs to an irresistible end from that point. 

I’ve been laboring mightily over Act I: Writing, re-writing, changing, re-adjusting to get a number of rather ordinary yet secretly powerful ingredients into the story. And I’ve launched into the wilds of Act II, grinding away at just marshaling the facts of the characters’ lives, when ALL OF A SUDDEN, SHAZAM! A major plot event, one which I did not see coming, elbows its way into the story. Right at the halfway point. It’s an event I’m not at all happy with—and you Dear Reader, may not like it either—but it shoves the invisible river of narrative into a swifter and deeper channel. There is no help for it. We must go there. 

I can’t wait to write the rest of the book.

Note: It would be very helpful at this point, no doubt, to give you a more specific idea of what happens in the book. I can’t do that. Major SPOILERS would be involved. All I can say is: look for it in a year or two, possibly by a different title, wherever fine books are sold. 

Blessings,

Larry F. Sommers

Your New Favorite Writer