The Difference between a Plot Turn and a Plot Twist

Most writers are familiar with the terms "plot turn" and "plot twist," but a lot of writers have a vague understanding of which is which. Some may wonder if there even is a difference, and if there is, what is the difference?

Sometimes "twists and turns" is used to describe a plot, even if the plot doesn't actually have a twist. This only makes things foggier. (And by the way, every story has a turn, but not every story has a twist.)

On the other hand, some people can sense the difference when consuming a story in the "wild," but can't verbalize the difference. They know a good twist on sight, but explaining it? "Well . . . uh . . . it's something like . . . um . . ."

Yeah, I get it. I used to have all those same problems. 

And when I went looking online for help back then, I couldn't find any articles that simply explained the difference.

So today, I've written one.

Let's talk about the difference between plot turns and plot twists . . .

What is a Plot Turn?

A plot turn is also called a "plot point" or a "turning point," so we have three terms for the same element. It turns the direction of the story. The story was going one way, and then information is revealed or an action is taken and the story is now going a new way.

I like to use the metaphor of a railroad to explain it. Simplistically speaking, your protagonist is a train engine pursuing a goal, on a railroad. The tracks lay down a pathway, a trajectory, to get there. A plot turn (or plot point or turning point) is like that train track that switches the direction of the train. The character was on trajectory A, but is now on trajectory B. 

As Robert McKee points out wisely in his book, Story, a plot turn can only happen one of two ways (well, or both of them): 

- A revelation (information is dropped)

- An action (which may also show up as an event)

For example, in Star Wars IV, Luke learns (info) that the princess is on the Death Star. This changes the direction of the story, because now Luke's goal shifts to saving Leia. His trajectory changed.

Likewise, when Luke destroys the Death Star (action) at the end, it changes the direction of the story. He succeeded in his goal, and the story now drops into falling action (it's time to breathe a sigh of relief and celebrate). 

After a turning point, the goal and/or the plan to get the goal, should have shifted in some way. If it didn't, it wasn't a true plot turn, because it didn't carry meaningful consequences. And the revelation or action needs to carry consequences in order to turn the trajectory. (Yes, I know I'm talking in circles a little bit.)

The biggest, most recognizable plot turn of any story, is the climax.

Notice that in basic structure, it visually turns the direction of the plotline. It turns the story from conflict to falling action. 

Luke destroying the Death Star is the biggest turn of Star Wars IV, because it definitively stops the antagonists and saves the "good guys" (at least until the next installment). Luke succeeds in getting the goal, and life as we know it changes for the characters.

But the climax shouldn't be the only turning point in a story. If it is, the story will feel monotonous and repetitious (and likely predictable), because we are on the same pathway from beginning to end.

In reality, each structural unit should almost always have a plot turn. Each act should have a plot turn. Each scene should have a plot turn. The difference is that the plot turn of an act will be smaller than that of the whole narrative arc, and the plot turn of a scene will be smaller than that of an act.

Commonly Act II is split in half.

Luke learning Leia is on the Death Star (after discovering Alderaan is gone and the Millenium Falcon gets pulled in by a tractor beam) is an act-level turning point, because it shifts his goal (in fact, all those things shift his goal and could frankly be dissected in more detail but let's keep it simple) to rescuing Leia, for the next quarter of the story.

And when the gang is in the trash compactor, Luke getting R2D2 to successfully shut down the compactor is the turning point of the scene.

Worth noting is that the term "plot point" commonly references act-level turning points. "Plot Point 1," "Midpoint," and "Plot Point 2" from 7 Point Story Structure are all act-level turning points. Technically though, you could call turns of smaller units a plot point, and the climax certainly is a plot point (the plot point of Act III, as well). It's just useful to know that when you hear the term "plot point" in the writing community, it's likely referring to act-level plot turns.

Every successful story needs regular plot turns. 

In contrast, not every successful story needs plot twists.

What is a Plot Twist?

A good twist will also contain a turn (though technically it can exist without one, it's just usually not very effective that way). A twist will turn on information being revealed, but it's more than that. The information being revealed has to change the audience's interpretation of what they knew or assumed to be true prior to that moment. It "recolors" their understanding of what came previously. It changes the context. The audience looks back at what happened earlier, and now they have a new interpretation of it, a new understanding of what was meant or what was really going on.

For example, in Star Wars V, Darth Vader reveals he is Luke's father. This is a twist, because until that moment, the audience thought Luke's father was dead. That was the context the audience was provided, the lens they had viewed the story through, what they had believed since the beginning. But it wasn't the whole truth. It was missing a piece. That piece is the fact that others were speaking of his death figuratively. Luke's dad didn't literally die, but he figuratively died, because he transformed into Darth Vader.

The twist is even more shocking because the audience had heard how Luke's father was a great Jedi--someone on the light side of the force. Darth Vader is on the dark side. He's the one who supposedly killed Luke's father.

Confused, the viewer's mind races back through earlier parts of the story, and realizes this new interpretation fits--it's been foreshadowed right under his nose. He just misinterpreted it.

He misinterpreted it because he didn't have the whole truth. He also made inaccurate assumptions about the information that was given.

Unlike turns, twists must work off ambiguity (which is not to be confused with vagueness)--there are at least two interpretations for the same moments (but the audience didn't realize there was a second interpretation). It's like this optical illusion. The viewer may only see a vase at first, and if we wanted, we could tweak this picture so it emphasizes the vase more. But in reality, it may truly be a picture of two faces staring at each other. When we point out the faces, it changes the viewer's interpretation of the picture.

That's what a plot twist is.

Which I realize, sounds rather different from a plot turn.

But as I mentioned, a good plot twist will also contain a plot turn. 

Because a good plot twist should carry meaningful consequences that shift the direction of the story. If it doesn't, it's probably just put in for shock value. If you can take out the plot twist, and the plot is the same, it's probably just gratuitous.

Consider Luke learning Darth Vader is his father. How does that alter the pathway of the story? Well, now Luke has to choose whether to join his father or continue fighting him, and each option carries more personal consequences than before. Can Luke kill his own father? Will he become like his father? This revelation has personal ramifications for Luke that will affect the whole trajectory of the next installment. It's what leads to Darth Vader's redemption at the end of the trilogy.

A plot turn should always affect the future of the story.

A plot twist should always affect the audience's understanding of the past.

And a good plot twist will also affect the future of the story, because it will also be a turn.

Of course, there are always variations and exceptions, but this is generally how it works.

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What Exactly is Conflict? Conflict's True Form

When we think of the word "conflict," we often think of battles, arguments, or big chase scenes. But just as we would often do well to broaden our view of what an antagonist truly is, we will often benefit from broadening our understanding of what conflict truly is.

As I've talked about previously, your protagonist should have a goal (to obtain something, or to avoid something, or to maintain something), and the antagonistic force is what is opposing that goal. It will block, push away, or create problems as the protagonist pursues the goal.

This is what creates conflict.

And it doesn't have to be a shouting match or fistfight.

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The Secondary Principles of Plot: Progress, Setbacks, Costs, Turning Points

Plot is more than "stuff happening." At the most basic level, a plot should have these elements: goal, antagonist, conflict, and consequences. In this article, we will go over the secondary principles of plot: progress, setbacks, costs, and turning points.

But first, let's briefly review the primary principles. Without these things, the storyline will always feel weak or even "broken."

The protagonist has a want (which may be abstract) that manifests in a goal or even goals (which should be concrete and measurable--in that the audience knows what reaching the goal looks like). Not all protagonists start the story with a clear goal, but nearly all protagonists should have one by the end of Act I. Furthermore, not all protagonists have the same type of goal--for example, some goals may be aspirational, others goals may be simply to stop the antagonist, others may be to return balance to a previous lifestyle. It's possible the goal may change, and in such cases, it may be helpful to view the story as having act-level goals, rather than one, grand overarching goal from beginning to end.

Something antagonistic is in the way of that goal. The antagonistic force is a form of opposition--it is something in the way of the goal, not just something annoying or heckling the protagonist. In some cases, it may be more helpful to think of the antagonistic force as the resistance or obstacle in the way of the goal, and there will probably be more than one. Not every antagonistic force that appears in a story will be the "main bad guy" (or what have you), particularly in scenes and sequences. Nonetheless, if it is something obstructing the way, it is an antagonistic force.

The protagonist and antagonist want conflicting things. There isn't an easy, foreseeable way for them each to have their desires. This leads to conflict. The protagonist needs to somehow outsmart or overcome the antagonist. The more the protagonist wants the goal, and the tougher the antagonist, the bigger the struggle. This helps create meaningful conflict, not conflict that is cleverly disguised filler.

Conflict only really matters in that it affects what happens next, or in other words, it has consequences. This is where cause and effect come in. A strong plot follows a sense of cause and effect. In most stories, the effect will be both internal and external, but it's possible to be only one (internal emphasizes character more, external emphasizes plot more). When we project the cause and effect trajectory forward, we create stakes (what is at risk in the story). Stakes = potential consequences. Ramifications = actual consequences.

Next, we will dive into the secondary principles of plot: progress, setbacks, costs, and turning points.

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The 5 Commandments of Storytelling According to The Story Grid

The Five Commandments of Storytelling come from The Story Grid approach to writing, which was created by Shawn Coyne, who has worked in the publishing industry for over thirty years now and has edited hundreds of books. Drawing from the influence of Robert McKee (best known for writing Story) as well as from his vast experience, Coyne came up with concrete ways to measure and understand story. His work has helped thousands of writers find success, and I've personally turned to his approaches several times.

Which brings me to today's article. I recently had some questions that led me back to his work, and specifically to The Five Commandments of Storytelling. Now, I admit, I don't love the name "Five Commandments of Storytelling" because all five elements have to do mainly with plot and structure, and not the other elements of storytelling. But as I've talked about time and again on here, what we call it doesn't really matter, as long as you understand the concept. Coyne also says on his site that it's comparable to the ten commandments Moses got, in that, when boiled down, these are the five things you absolutely need to guide you when getting started in storytelling. 

Some of these items will sound familiar because we've talked about them from other angles before, but I'm covering them from Coyne's angle today, while also throwing in my own thoughts and approaches (don't worry, I communicate which is which).

First off, these five elements are structural elements, and like most structural elements, they work within any structural unit: scene, sequence, act, or the global story. Each of these units really have the same basic parts. For an explanation of how that works, read my post, "Scene vs. Sequence vs. Act."

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The Steadfast, Flat-arc Protagonist in Story: The End

Hello everyone! Today we are finishing our breakdown of story structure, according to the positive steadfast, flat-arc protagonist--protagonists who don't change drastically in their worldviews (and instead usually inspire change in others). 

Here are the previous posts in the series:

Debunking 6 Myths about Steadfast, Flat-arc Characters

Principles of the Steadfast, Flat-arc Protagonist

3 Categories of Steadfast, Flat-arc Characters

The Steadfast, Flat-arc Protagonist in Story: The Beginning

The Steadfast, Flat-arc Protagonist in Story: The Middle 

Just as a recap, there are three categories of positive steadfast protagonists.

1. One that experiences little to no doubt, such as James Barrie in Finding Neverland. (Because they experience no doubt, there isn't much of an internal journey plotline, so another type of plotline will be emphasized in its place--likely the world/society or the Influence Character plotline.)

2. One that doubts applying the truth (his or her accurate worldview) in one of these ways:

- Doesn't know how to actually do what he needs to do (i.e. We all believe no one should go hungry, but how do we actually solve world hunger?), such as Ashitaka in Princess Mononoke.

- Doubts his capabilities. Does he have what it takes to claim victory? Can he survive the costs? This is where Peter Parker is at in the beginning of Spider-man 2.

- Doubts her role or worthiness. Should she be the person taking this journey? This is what happens in Moana. 

3. One that entertains doubt concerning the truth, the accurate worldview. Could the opposing worldview (the lie, the misbelief, the anti-theme) be the right one? Diana does this in Wonder Woman.

And just to have everything together on the same page for reference, here are the stories we have been dissecting as examples:

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The Hero's Journey Explained: The End

For the last couple of weeks, I've been talking about the Hero's Journey (the beginning and the middle), and today I'm back to talk about the ending of the story structure.

Reward: Seizing the Sword

During The Ordeal, the protagonist faced a trial that pushed them to the brink; they died, perhaps literally or, more often, figuratively (the old them died). Almost always this comes from having to confront some inner demon, a weak characteristic and/or a greatest fear (which plays into the theme). Now that they have faced such a crisis, they will be rewarded for it as they are reborn into something greater.

If they did die, literally, they will somehow come back to life--maybe through CPR, a prayer, or a magical item. If it was figurative, they'll be revived through a sudden realization, new information, a heightened level of determination, or perhaps something else.

The Reward may be something concrete--maybe the protagonist literally seizes a magical sword that will make her a more powerful fighter. But it can also be more abstract, like the personal revelation that brought him "back to life." Typically the Reward is what the protagonist truly came to the Special World for (whether or not she was fully aware of it at the time). In Star Wars, Luke rescues Princess Leia and gets the plans of the Death Star. In The Hobbit, the heroes regain the mountain and get treasure. In The Lion King, Simba finally realizes on a personal level who he is--the son of a king and true heir to the throne--as he gets to speak with his father one last time.

In a lot of stories, the Reward may be multiple things, something concrete and something abstract.

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Story Structure Explained: Climax, Denouement, Epilogues, and Endings

Endings tend to be a bit easier to write, because you've already set everything up and now you're resolving conflict after conflict, but the story can still blow up in your face if you don't handle it right. Or maybe you are one of the more uncommon writers that really struggles with endings. In either case, this article will help you structure the last portion of your story right.

Here is the (hybrid) structure I'm following, with the pieces we've talked about over the last few weeks now filled in:

Beginning ("Orphan" State)
(Prologue)--primary function is to make promises to the reader
Hook--draws the audience in by getting them to look forward (in openings, contrasts work well in particular)
Setup--establishes the current sense of "normal" while introducing key story elements
Plot Point 1 (or "Inciting Incident")--disrupts the normal and sends protagonist in a new direction.

Character arc and theme are introduced. Usually at this state, the protagonist believes in (or illustrates) a "false" thematic statement.


Middle ("Wanderer" State)
After Plot Point 1--the protagonist is reacting and responding to what's happening, while perhaps accumulating friends, mentors, love interests, etc.
Pinch Point--The antagonist applies pressure to the protagonist and is shown to be a formidable foe
Midpoint--Something new enters the story or the context shifts and the protagonist moves from reacting to acting. She becomes more proactive.

The theme is questioned, explored, and tested, usually through multiple characters. The character is confronted with and illustrates his weakness.

Costs and stakes escalate by either getting bigger or more personal or both.


Middle ("Warrior" State)
After the Midpoint--Now empowered, the character is more proactive in trying to defeat the antagonist
Pinch Point 2--The antagonist applies pressure to the protagonist and is shown to be an even stronger, formidable foe
Plot Point 2--Made up of two parts: "The Darkest Hour" and "The Final Puzzle Piece." Protagonist moves into a "martyr" state.

The characters struggle with their inner demons, testing the thematic statement.

Costs and stakes continue to escalate.

Ending ("Martyr" State)
Climax
Denouement/Resolution 
(Epilogue)

These parts belong in the ending, which is what I'm talking about today. 

Ending

We've grabbed the audience and setup the story in the beginning; disrupted the protagonist's sense of normal with the inciting incident; hiked up stakes and costs; questioned, explored, and tested the thematic threads; applied pressure through pinch points; and moved our hero from a warrior to a martyr as they experienced the "Darkest Hour" and put together the "Final Puzzle Piece."

To be fair, that last bit sometimes happens during the climax. During the final battle, the protagonist may experience the darkest hour and put together the final puzzle piece, completing their character arc, and finally reaching the "martyr" state.

Nothing in writing is purely black and white. And there are always variations and exceptions. And when it comes to story structure, some of it depends on how and where you decide to slice and dice it.

Climax

In the climax, the protagonist faces the antagonistic forces head-on, ready for the final battle that determines who (or what) wins the established conflicts.

Remember all those conflicts, stakes, costs, arcs, and themes you setup?

Now it's time to test, prove, and resolve them in the showdown.

It's hard to be exact on what needs to happen in the climax, because a lot of it will depend on what came before.

There might be a twist, surprise, or devastating cost.

But to be most effective and most successful, whatever is in there, needs to have been at least foreshadowed prior to this moment in some degree. It can be twisted. It can be shifted. It can be bigger or worse than expected. But it usually needs to be at least alluded to prior. If not, the audience may feel cheated; if it's something that helps the hero win, it's likely a deus ex machina.

Promises made (almost always) need to be kept. So if you promised a battle with a dragon, it better be there.

If promises aren't kept, whatever happens needs to be just as significant or more significant than what was promised. For example, maybe the monster is actually something worse, more terrifying, more formidable than the promised dragon.

In great climaxes, the story exceeds the expectations.

Stakes and costs will be escalated yet again. This is it. Everything is on the line.

Additionally, the climax is a great place to cross opposites--cross the broadest conflicts with the most personal conflicts for maximum impact. Character arcs are usually finished by the end of the climax, proving the thematic statement.

Often during the climax the protagonist will ultimately have to face the antagonistic force alone. The hero should ultimately be the savior, or in rare cases, if she can't literally, makes a final sacrifice that allows the others to deal the death blow.

For a more in depth look at some of these mentioned elements, see my article "How to Write Exceptional Endings."

In Spider-verse

The climax begins when the heroes confront the villains at the collider in the final fight. The heroes hope to return to their dimensions and Miles hopes to save Brooklyn. The antagonist, Kingpin, is set on seizing his wife and son from another dimension no matter the cost. He's willing to kill heroes, civilians, and destroy his own dimension. Those conflicts must now be resolved.

Stakes and costs are escalated. This is the moment where the protagonist could die, something he is reminded of when Kingpin taunts, "Not even the real Spider-man could defeat me. Why do you think you'd be any different?" The cost is the real deal.

The stakes are escalated in that multiple dimensions are coming into Miles's dimension.

Character arcs. Usually by the end of the climax, character arcs have been completed. The most personal, internal conflicts cross paths with the broadest conflicts. And the ugly inner demons may raise their heads one last time in the final fight. Peter B. Parker reveals he wants to stay in this dimension and die so that he doesn't have to go home to face his failures with Mary Jane. When attacking Kingpin alone, Miles gets brutally beaten and struggles to get up. Gwen comes to terms with making friends again.

Themes. After having been explored and questioned through the middle, the themes are finally tested and proven. Miles does get back up after getting knocked down. Peter B. Parker does return to his dimension to face his personal problems. Gwen Stacy does make friends with each of them. But the theme is also refined. Is there really any garantee that if you always want to get back up that everything will work out? Not necessarily. After all, the Peter Parker from the beginning, who was the epitome of the thematic statement, died despite having it all. Prowler, who at one point says, "You know me, sir. I never quit," didn't follow through when he realized the person he was trying to kill was his nephew, and Prowler died from that choice. Even Peter B. Parker remarks at one point, "Not everything works out." Which is why the sub themes of choice and faith come in.

Peter: How do I know I won't mess it up again?

Miles: You won't.

Peter: . . . It's a leap of faith.

So Peter chooses to go back and take that leap of faith.

However, as the ending continues it's shown that not quitting will get you further than you ever thought possible, as is exemplified when Miles says, "I'm doing all sorts of things I never thought I'd be able to. Anyone can wear the mask. You can wear the mask," which finally extends the theme to the audience. YOU can do all sorts of things you never thought you could do, as long as you always get back up.

Everything in the final showdown is foreshadowed in some way prior. 

Promises are kept. Miles and the other Spider people face off Kingpin and the villains in a battle over the collider that could destroy Brooklyn.

Expectations are Exceeded. In this story, other, seemingly insignificant elements are brought back in during the final battle to help exceed our expectations. That ridiculous shoulder touch thing Aaron teaches Miles? Miles uses it defeat Kingpin. The stupid cartoony stuff about the pig? He's literally using cartoon elements to fight, dropping anvils and pulling out items that are way to big to fit in his pockets. Everywhere during this fight scene, elements that have been present elsewhere are coming back into play for a stronger impact. Remember that, find ways to resonate with what happened earlier in the story.

Protagonist faces antagonist alone. After sending everyone to their proper dimensions, Miles faces Kingpin alone for one final fight, where his character arc and newfound abilities are proven. Some of the best elements of this moment come from the writers playing the concept of the "orphan" state. Remember how most heroes start in a literal or figurative orphan state? This whole time, Kingpin has been trying to get his family back--he's in an "orphan" state too! What does he say in the final fight to Miles? "I'm going to make sure you never see your family again!" What does Miles say? "I'll always have my family." And to top it off, the person Miles was most "orphaned" from, his father, is there watching and now supporting him ("Get up Spider-man! Get up!"). Miles is no longer alone. He has friends and family. And he gets back up and defeats Kingpin.

Martyr State 

During the ending of the story, the protagonist is in a "martyr" state, which I talked about last time.  Like all the other states, it can be literal or figurative. But at this point in the story, the heroine has sacrificed or is willing to sacrifice her "life." In some cases, this is literal. Frodo in Lord of the Rings and Harry in Harry Potter, are literally willing to sacrifice their lives in order to defeat the antagonist. In many cases, it is figurative. Christopher Robin in Christopher Robin is willing to sacrifice his lifestyle. Hamilton is willing to sacrifice his most extreme characteristic: his resolve to never throw away his shot.

In the ending, we must see that the protagonist is truly ready to sacrifice or give up whatever has been holding him back from success.

This change will then be validated in the denouement.

In Spider-verse

Miles enters the marytr state when he truly commits to give up giving up. It turns out that's what has been holding him back this entire time, even in his personal life, and in school. He doesn't want to work hard. He doesn't want to be amazing. He doesn't want to deal with expectations. He wants to quit. Quitting is easy. Getting up over and over and over again is hard. But when he truly sacrifices his natural tendency, he starts being successful. And the ending proves that it works.

Denouement

The antagonist has been defeated, so now that means we need to hurry and end the story right? Wrong. Partially. Denouements are another element in storytelling that I feel are often misunderstood. It's not just about ending the story quickly. It about validating everything that has changed.

Remember all the crazy things we've just dragged the audience through? Well, we need to validate that all those things actually happened and that the sacrifices paid off (in some rare endings, you may be validating that those sacrifices didn't pay off, but let's stick with the general for today). In a romance, you need to validate that the couple are actually together and in a great relationship--this might be done with a marriage or marriage proposal. If anyone died, we need that validated--we may need to see the protagonist attend a funeral. If the antagonist has really been defeated, we need to see that their power is gone from this world.

What we do not want to do is end the story by undercutting the entire experience we just created. This is just another reason why a story that ends with "it was all a dream" is so horrific. It undermines everything. Another example of this is Lost, where audiences found out at the end that the characters had just been dead the entire time. This doesn't mean you can't ever have loose ends, but you should not undermine everything you just slaved so hard to make.

The denouement also complements and foils the setup. While the setup works to establish a current normal, the denouement works to establish a new normal. So often in a lot of stories (and this relates to the Hero's Journey story structure), you'll see direct similarities between the setup and the denouement. At the beginning and end of (almost) every Harry Potter book, Harry starts at his aunt and uncle's and ends there, and yet things have changed.

If there are any loose ends or unresolved conflicts, they will typically be addressed and handled in the denouement. 

In a series, the denouement may function a little differently. You will be validating the major changes of the story, but may leave or suggest loose threads that will play a part in the next story.

Never forget Mickey Spillane's sound advice: "The first chapter sells the book; the last chapter sells the next book."

This is true for any book, series or not. If it's a series, it sells the next installment. If it's not, it leaves people wanting to buy the next book you write.

In some stories, the denouement may actually be one of the most powerful parts, because you are validating one change after another after another in a short amount of space, so it has a profound emotional impact. (Almost) Never skimp out on it.

However, like the setup, you don't want it to be too long either. Remember, they complement each other. Just like you don't want to give a play by play of "normal" in the setup (super boring), you don't want to give a play by play of the new normal in the denouement. Validate and convey what you need to and then move on. Keep it short enough to stay interesting but long enough to cover the important parts. 

In Spider-verse

The denouement succeeds in all these ways. It validates all the changes. Kingpin is officially caught (Miles shows him stuck in a web). The relationship between Miles's dad and himself (even as Spider-man) is repaired and at least tolerated. This is further validated by Miles saying, "I love you," when in the setup he refused to say it unless he had no choice. Now he means it and wants to say it.

Peni is shown safe in her own dimension repairing her robot. Spider-man noir is shown safe solving the Rubik's cube (one of his struggles). The pig is back in his dimension. Gwen Stacy is staring at a picture of her new friend. And Peter B. Parker, despite the fact he at one point would literally rather die, brings flowers to Mary Jane, in an attempt to repair their relationship.

Then we have the protagonist, Miles. What is he doing? He's attending school and applying himself. He's putting up his art with his dad. (See how these things directly complement the setup?) Which, in the process, validates the death of his uncle. He's being Spider-man. And he's no longer an orphan. "Whenever I feel alone, I remember my friends out there who get it." And best of all, he's overcome his internal weaknesses and embodied the true thematic statement: "I'm doing all sorts of things I never thought I'd be able to. Anyone can wear the mask. YOU can wear the mask."

All of us can do things we never thought we could do, as long as we get back up.

Do you see how powerful a properly crafted denouement can drive home the point?

Then at the very last second, we see that somehow Gwen Stacy is talking to Miles from her dimension. This creates a thread of a loose end. In other words, Spider-verse is one of those magic things that agents love to hear: a standalone story with series potential.

From another perspective, this moment simply shows the audience that all these characters may somehow be able to communicate with each other despite being in different dimensions. They aren't alone.

(Epilogue)

Like a prologue, your story may or may not need an epilogue, and some stories can work in either case. Epilogues function mainly in two different ways.

1. They offer additional needed closure. In some stories you may not be able to tie everything up in the denouement. You may need an epilogue to finish it out. This can be especially true if it seems "too soon" to close some unresolved components in the denouement. 

2. They start more loose threads. If you have another installment planned after this one, an epilogue can promise that there is more to the story. This works well when you want a lot of closure for the current installment, but want to signal to the audience that there is more. You tie up everything in the denouement, but then start some new threads in an epilogue.

In a lot of ways, the epilogue complements the prologue in type and structure. It may be a bit theatrical. It may be a short teaser. It may close out the story in two different ways (one component is dealt with in the denouement and another is dealt with in the epilogue). It may provide an alternate viewpoint that didn't belong in the main story. It may be displaced in time. Or it may give additional information. Check out my article on the different types of prologues, and you'll see that it is so. 

In Spider-verse

Whether or not the after credits scene functions as a true epilogue is debatable. In some ways it does, and in some ways it's just a fun after credit scene to make people laugh. I'm leaning more toward the latter. But let's talk about it.

Of the two purposes above, it mostly fits into the second. It starts something new. We're introduced to another spider character who now has the ability to intentionally travel to other dimensions, successfully. What does that mean? Perhaps it's similar to Gwen talking to Miles at the end. These spider characters will interact with each other again. There is more to the story.

But as the scene plays out, it ends more as another opportunity to get one last laugh out of the audience. That's fine, for a superhero movie.

Or maybe that ending is intentionally ambiguous. One interpretation works better for a series, and the other works better for a standalone. Maybe the writers intentionally wanted to have it fit for either, as they wait and see if they can get funding and support for another film to happen.

Whatever the case, you can watch or read other epilogues and see how they either add more closure or add more loose threads.

And that's story structure explained.

Now what? Do you need to follow all these components to write a good story? Not necessarily. Heaven knows there are plenty of writers who are successful without knowing about these things at all. However, I will argue that whether it's intentional or not, most writers who write successful stories will hit the majority of these components in some way, even if it's completely done subconsciously. We've seen and been fed this story structure so much, from such young ages, that if we don't follow it to some degree, something will feel off or wrong, even if we can't pinpoint or communicate what it is exactly. In fact, we may even misdiagnose the problem. But if this has been helpful to you, go ahead and use it. If you feel like it's paralyzing you, don't worry about it so much. This is meant to help, not hinder. Do what works for you. And there are other sliced and diced forms of story structure you can look into.

In the future I want to grab some other stories and break down how they fit these elements, briefly, so you guys have examples of how it works for vastly different narratives.


Resources:

This article series was influenced by Story Engineering by Larry Brooks, the Seven Point Story Structure, Million Dollar Outlines by David Farland, The Hero's Journey, and even the basics of Freytag's Pyramid.

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Structuring Satisfying Scenes

Last week I was going through some old scenes and reading through them rather quickly but still tweaking them here and there to be more effective. While some I thought were good, they didn't have the same zing to them, and I realized it was because they didn't fully follow a satisfying structure.

You can find a lot of articles about structuring scenes, and I won't have room to cover everything here (though maybe over time I can get them all on my site), but I wanted to start with same basics that can be helpful to everyone.

When we talk about overall story structure and strip everything away to the bare, bare bones, it should follow Freytag's Pyramid.

This was posted online a while ago, and I saw someone commenting and laughing how it was out of date and that for the modern audience, Freytag's Pyramid isn't going to work. This is like saying that because we now have hip-hop, dance doesn't work. But hip-hop is dance. All satisfying story structures embody Freytag's Pyramid even if they add more elements. 7-Point Plot Structure, the Hero's Journey, whatever. All of them follow Freytag's Pyramid because it's the most basic unit of story structure. Just as hip-hop adds more specificity, but is still dance.

And when you start working with scenes, you'll notice that most successful scenes also follow this structure, on a small scale. Like everything, there are exceptions. But as you actually genuinely work at writing a satisfying novel, you may realize that we use this simple structure everywhere--plotting, character arcs, dialogue exchanges, sometimes even within a paragraph. Never underestimate the power of the basics. As Leonardo da Vinci once stated, "Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication."

With that in mind, let's talk about how satisfying scene structure actually mimics overall story structure, which may include elements that are often added to Freytag's Pyramid.

Preliminary

Before worrying about scene structure, it's helpful to identify a few key elements of the scene.

Purpose - What is the purpose of the scene? It should be moving the story forward in some way. This might be obvious, like having the protagonist confront the antagonist, but other times it might be a little less obvious, like introducing the audience to a rule in a magic system, revealing a character trait, or stating a theme. But the point is that the scene has a purpose and it's not superfluous. Ask yourself, what is the audience getting out of this scene?

Goal - The main character (of the scene) should have a goal of some kind, something he or she wants. As a beginning writer, it can be easy to want to skimp out on this, but it's very effective in writing a good scene and practically a necessity. It may be something immediately obvious and direct, like defeating the antagonist. Other times it might be more personal or even indirect, like Bilbo Baggins wanting to be left alone in his Hobbit hole--that may not be the main purpose of the scene, but it's there. This is why "purpose" and "goal" are two different categories.

Let me give you another example. The opening of Harry Potter has the purpose of teasing the audience about the Wizarding World and Harry himself from a Muggle perspective. But the viewpoint character, Vernon Dursley has the goal of having a normal day via dismissing all of the peculiar things happening around him

Conflict - What kind of conflicts or potential conflicts (a.k.a. tension) will be present in this scene? Is it the physical wrestle between the protagonist and antagonist? Is it Vernon Dursley being bombarded time and time again with peculiar happenings and people? And him being afraid to call his wife and ask about the Potters? Is it Bilbo having to deal with people wanting to socialize?

Sometimes, all these things line up in scenes, especially toward the end of the novel.

For example,

Purpose: Protagonist defeats antagonist in a sword fight
Goal: Protagonist wants to defeat antagonist in a sword fight.
Conflict: Protagonist and antagonist want to defeat each other in a sword fight

Seems simple right?

But in other scenes, it might be more indirect or sometimes not seem to match at all.

Here is one from a scene in the first Fantastic Beasts movie.

Purpose: Introduce the audience to Newt's magical case and all the beasts/elements inside, while appealing to wonder.
Goal: While Newt does heal Jacob and care for his animals, his main goal is to see which animals are missing, so he can figure out how to find them (notice that healing Jacob allows him to have Jacob tell him about places in New York and that feeding the animals allows him to see who is missing.)
Conflicts: I'm going to argue that the main conflicts center on Jacob being a Muggle--first Newt has to figure out how to heal him when Muggle biology is a little different, then Jacob doesn't know how to interact with the creatures, and finally, he almost messes with the Obscurus and Newt has to stop him.

Ideally, most scenes have more than one purpose, more than one goal, and more than one conflict. In fact, it's practically a necessity.

So in my last example, another purpose of the scene is to foreshadow and introduce the Obscurus. Newt also reveals his goal to release the Thunderbird. And he doesn't want Jacob to be obliviated. He touches on other conflicts--Frank being trafficked, the Niffler always getting out, the last breeding pair of Graphorns. There are mini-goals that I already mentioned, healing Jacob and feeding the animals. And mini-conflicts, an Occamy tries to bite Jacob, and Pickett won't get off Newt's hand.

You'll notice that even if the main purpose, goal, and conflict don't line up directly, they will naturally overlap during the scene itself in some way because they are elements that have to be present and therefore have to be interwoven to be satisfying. In order to fulfill the purpose of the last example, Newt has to go in his case, which means he needs to have a need/goal for doing that, and to show off the animals in interesting ways, there needs to be conflict for balance.

So they overlap, but they aren't directly the same thing, unlike, say the final sword fight between hero and villain.

And this is where I think some beginning writers have a problem--they don't have to all be the same thing. And in many stories, in the beginning scenes, they won't be.

Structure

Remember Freytag's Pyramid? Great. Most satisfying scenes follow that same structure, but on a smaller scale. I don't care if your scene is about a character falling in love with another, a conversation about what the antagonist is up to, or a train ride to school. If it's going to be effective, it most likely needs the setup, rising action, and climax. I should have mentioned above that some say the denouement (falling action) is optional--I strongly argue that in stories, they should almost always be included for validation, but in scenes, I think that can vary a little more, somewhat.

I'm going to add one more element. The hook. And instead of "exposition," I'm going to call it "setup." So here are the basic parts of a satisfying scene.

Hook - Grab the audience's attention in some way. This doesn't need to be clickbait, people. Hooks work on promises--they give the audience something to anticipate. Often this is something to hope for or to dread. But sometimes it's just the promise of more information--the hook communicates to the audience that they need(want) more information.

In my Fantastic Beasts example, I'm going to argue the hook is Newt and then Jacob disappearing magically into the suitcase. Since we know he keeps creatures in that case, we anticipate seeing them.

Setup - Author David Farland calls this part "grounding." We need to ground the audience. Where are we? When are we? And who is present? Give us an idea. How much you need of this may depend on the prior scene(s). In the very first scene of a book, we usually need more grounding (and setup in the large-scale sense, which is one reason why openings are so hard).

The camera shows Newt in the case in the first room with Jacob. Great, they both turned up in the same place. Then later we follow them out and get a glimpse of this case having animal habitats.


Rising Action - Once readers are invested and know where we are, it's time to build rising action. What it is depends on the preliminary elements: the purpose, goal, and conflicts.

If the main purpose is for one character to fall for another, we might cook up sexual tension. If the purpose is to figure out who the murderer is via a conversation between two heroes, the heroes may start talking about conflicts and clues, stakes and goals, and suspects. In Newt's suitcase, the rising action is checking the animals--which appeals to the purpose and goal and incorporates conflict.

Like the middle of a story, the rising action of the scene escalates. This is why it's called rising action. This is what happens in our Newt example. Newt doesn't have too much trouble curing Jacob, then he goes to the Thunderbird, where he has to he warn Jacob that Frank doesn't like strangers. When he tries to let go of Pickett, it's more difficult than the other two things. He shows Jacob the Occamies, but one nearly bites off Jacob's finger. Eventually this escalates to Newt having to stop the most dangerous outcome of all, Jacob messing with the Obscurus.

Alternative to conflicts and tension, you can see the purpose of the scene itself escalate. First we briefly glimpse the Swooping Evil, then interact with Frank, then visit three Graphorns, then four bowtruckles, four Occamies (would be five, but one is missing, but Jacob and Newt both hold one), then a montage of a whole bunch of different animals with Newt and Jacob interacting with them.

(See what I mean about Freytag's Pyramid being used everywhere?)


Climax - This is the high point, where the purpose, conflict, and/or goal reach their max for the scene. This is the moment the character falls in love in our prior example. This is the line in the conversation where the heroes realize which of the suspects is the murderer. For Newt, I actually included the climaxes in the last example to illustrate. For the conflict, the climax is when Jacob is near the Obscurus. For the purpose, the climax is when we get that montage of loads of fantastic beasts. What about the goal? It's when Newt finishes counting the beasts at the Erumpent pen. You'll notice that this climax is much more subtle. That's okay. In some scenes the character's goal may not even climax, because it changes or remains unfulfilled or gets obstructed. You don't need everything to climax, but there should usually be some form of climax.

Denouement (Falling Action) - On occasions, some scenes will not have a denouement. But I think we sometimes misunderstand falling actions. They don't necessarily tie everything up if there is more to the story. This is the same thing with series books. The denouement may tie up the main elements of the novel, but it also keeps us looking forward to what happens next, in other words, it has a promise, a.k.a. hook, that gets us to anticipate, usually through hope or dread, what might come next.

In my hook section, I said the hook for Newt was him going into his case. Some of you might have realized that was actually the end (denouement) of the prior scene. It doesn't have to be structured like that. You can have hooks at both the end of one scene and the beginning of another--in fact, you usually should. But my point is that there should usually be some kind of hook to get us to want to keep reading.

Often naturally, in a scene, the denouement will get us to look ahead. Great, our heroine fell in love--but guess what? We know from the setup that this is a forbidden love, so now what's she gonna do? Our heroes figured out who the murderer is, great, so now how are they going to catch him? Newt knows which creatures are missing, so now how is he going to recover those?

In the overall story, the denouement may validate what happened to the reader. This may or may not happen in a scene. In our love example, we may have a few lines that validate that yes, our heroine did just fall for that guy. Or yes, that suspect has to be the murderer, because look at how this now all fits (and the heroes will be talking about that).

The falling action finishes the scene. In some cases, it may be cut to end on a cliffhanger. Just don't forget that just because you have a denouement doesn't mean you can't have the audience anticipating what happens next. Some beginning writers think you can only achieve that by axing the falling action. If you do that every time, it can get annoying, and make the story feel "gap"-ish as you never "finish" one scene before starting another.

Note - Scenes are much briefer than an overall story. Depending on the scene, these may take paragraphs or they may be as short as half a sentence. For example, you may have the hook and the setup in the same sentence. But whatever the case, they typically follow the same proportions. The rising action takes up the bulk of the scene, while the hook will be the shortest.

There are really so many ways to talk about how a scene works and other approaches, but this is a good one to start on. If any of this is paralyzing to you, relax. If you are an outliner, you can use this to help you outline scenes. If you are a discovery writer, go ahead and discover the scene, then if you are stuck or feel like it's lacking, go through these like checkpoints. This is meant to work for you, not for you to work for it.

I want to go on, but this post is getting rather long, so next week I'll be back to talk about how the character moves psychologically through the scene.


Giveaway - I'm giving away a first chapter edit for our advent calendar for writers! The great thing is, if you are already subscribed to my blog or follow me on social media, all you need to do is click a couple of times to enter. You can enter here.

Check out all the other gifts so far here. You can still enter to win them, too!

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How to Write Exceptional Endings

In some ways, endings can be the easiest part of a story to write because they simply connect and resolve one conflict after another after another until all the loose ends are tied up. Often the writer has thought about the ending for months. But other times, coming up with a satisfying ending is dreadful. Not all endings are equal. Here are six key points that will help you write a satisfying and exceptional ending.

"Always Keep Your Promises if You Want to Keep Your Friends"

In the Christmas movie Jingle all the Way, Turboman, a fictional superhero has a maxim: Always keep your promises if you want to keep your friends. Since this movie is sort of a ongoing joke between me and one of my siblings, we say this to the other to get a laugh. But it's true for writing great endings: Always keep your promises if you want to keep your readers.

When we start our story, we make promises about what kind of story this is going to be. If there is a meet cute in the opening (where a potentially romantic couple meet in a cute way), you are promising that there will be a level of romance in the story. If you open with a character called on a quest to defeat a dragon, you are promising a dragon by the end. If you open with an unsolved murder, you are promising it will be solved. Promises not only happen at the beginning of a story, but they happen throughout too, and they can happen on a small scale.

Some people in the industry advise that you should never break a promise--I actually think you can, but you have to do it right (sorry Turboman), but as a rule in general, it works fine. Unless you absolutely know what you are doing and know how to break promises right, to write a great ending, you need to keep your promises to the audience. The meet cute couple confesses they love each other. The dragon is confronted. The murder mystery is solved. If you promised there was going to be magic in this story, we need to see it present in the end.

As I said in the very beginning, the ending is where you really start connecting loose ends and resolving the story's conflicts. So in order to write a good ending, those things need to be addressed, not bypassed. Bonus points if some of them are seemingly unresolvable and can be resolved in a surprising/unforeseen way.

Deliver MORE than You Promised (Exceed Expectations)

Keeping promises is vital to writing a satisfying ending. But if you want to write an exceptional ending, you really need to deliver more than what you promise and exceed expectations. You've set up expectations as you've made promises throughout the story, now you need to push beyond those. Maybe the protagonist prepared and planned for fighting a dragon during the entire book, but when he arrives, he discovers there are actually two. Maybe your heroine confesses her love to the hero--and finds out he's actually a prince in disguise. The detective solves the murder--and it turns out the murderer is her husband.

You can exceed expectations a little bit, or you can exceed them by a lot. Just remember that it needs to fit the story and the story's context. For some surprises, this means you need to foreshadow. For example, in the prince scenario, chances are you need to foreshadow something about a prince during the story (but you don't want to foreshadow too much, otherwise it will be expected). For the dragon example, I don't think you need to foreshadow that there are two.

When you exceed expectations, you include an element of surprise. Keep in mind this very important point: If you deliver something different than expected, it needs to be just as good as what is expected or better. Ideally, you deliver some of what is expected and some that is unexpected, but whatever the case, you don't want to deliver anything anti-climactic or anything that undercuts what you've been building throughout the story.

Twists also relate to surprises and exceeding expectations. A lot of great stories shift the context of what we and the characters know at the end so that there is a twist.

Learn about the five different kinds of surprises (including exceeding expectations and twists) and how they work in this post on them.

Escalate Risks (aka Stakes) and Costs

Any decent ending has risks and costs. After all, this is the moment the whole book has been building toward. There should be more at risk now than there has been through the entire book. Costs should probably also be at their highest point.

Risks are what are "at stake" in the story. In The Hunger Games, Katniss's life is what is at stake, and the emotional (and physical) health of her sister. If Katniss doesn't win The Hunger Games, she'll die and Prim will be devastated. The costs are what the character has to do or give up to reach a goal and/or save those stakes. So in The Hunger Games, it cost Katniss some of her identity. At the very end of the book, she grows more and more confused over what part of her is real and what part was her just trying to survive. (Not to mention the physical costs of everything she went through)

Sometimes in some stories, stakes and costs seem to overlap or be the same, depending on what angle you are looking at. But the point is, they need to be there. And to really take your ending to the next level, you need to escalate them.

So at the starting of the story, we thought we just needed to defeat a dragon. But by the climax we learn that this is no ordinary dragon, but essentially a god of the dragons who has the capacity to not only take over the country as it has, but bring destruction to all of civilization, and it will if threatened. So now all human civilization is at stake.

Our protagonist was training to defeat one ordinary dragon--he's done it before. But now that there are two, and both of them are basically "gods" of the dragon race, there's a good chance it will cost him his life to save all of humanity.

See how those stakes and costs were escalated?

To escalate costs and risks, you either add more, deepen what you already have, or vastly change the odds against your character. (And ideally, you do all three if you can)

These examples are a bit epic and extreme, but in a more personal story, risks and costs will be more personal. In a typical 90's movie, a workaholic dad is at risk of losing his family relationships, but to save those relationships, it costs giving up his job. That's a more personal set-up.

Whatever kind of story you are telling, escalate risks and costs so that they are the highest they have ever been. This also means you are greatly increasing the protagonist's struggle.

Choose the Right Ending Model

I've been taught that there are really three ways a story can end in a satisfying way:

- Happily Ever After: Everything is tied up nicely and everyone is happy and whole. Risks and costs were escalated, but in the end, everything panned out, the costs won't hurt for long, and the future looks great. Example: think of Disney's movies aimed at children.

- Much is Lost, but Much is Gained: Some of those costs? They really happened. People died. Relationships were lost. A central character may be scarred for life. But it was worth it. Loved ones and important people were saved, maybe even all of humanity. Even though it took a lot of sacrifice and heartache, ultimately, it was worth it. (Usually on a personal scale, there are a lot of sacrifices, but on the large scale, much is won) Example: think Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and many epics and blockbuster movies.

- Sadder but Wiser: A lot of the big things were lost, maybe even the protagonist's goals weren't met. But oh my word, they learned so much from the process and they are a changed person because of it. They are a better person because of the course of the story. They may be wiser, or love more deeply, or gained knowledge. (Usually the large scale things aren't won, but something internal and personal is gained) Example: think The Fault in Our Stars, and many literary works.

Usually certain genres lean toward one type of ending, as you can see from my examples. There might be some that sort of waver. For example, in How the Grinch Stole Christmas the Grinch doesn't meet his planned goals (he couldn't stop Christmas), but the journey leaves him wiser and a changed person. However, ultimately the story ends on a Happily Ever After note.

Choose the ending that fits your story best, and work with it to make it powerful, not against it. This will make the ending more satisfying. 

Cross Opposites

Essentially no one talks about this in the writing world (I'm the only one I know of), but crossing opposites and using contrast is really powerful in writing. When it comes to the ending, this is often done by crossing the biggest, broadest conflict with the deepest, most personal one (which usually relates to the theme). You've seen it before, but might not realize it.

There is an overarching story plot, but then there is a personal one. The personal one often relates to an internal struggle the protagonist is having to try to overcome something, which is almost always the character arc. To write a great ending, try to get the broad conflict to cross with the personal conflict. Sometimes you can get these resolutions right on top of one another, so that the broad conflict and the personal conflict are dealt with in the exact same moment--which is so cool! But most often, the personal conflict is overcome, which then enables the protagonist to face and deal with the big one. Other times, it can go the other way.

Here, let me write this out:

- The broadest conflict and most intimate conflict are overcome at the same time.

- The most intimate conflict is overcome, which leads to the broadest conflict being overcome (probably the most common structure)

- The broadest conflict is overcome, which leads to the most intimate conflict being resolved.

But whatever the case, often the closer you can get these to relate and coincide, the more powerful the ending. Because overcoming and resolving something big, and also something personal, are both significant in and of themselves.

But crossing opposites doesn't have to start and stop there. See if you can cross other opposites in powerful ways.

The movie Interstellar is pro at this. If you look at the movie, it's crossing opposites everywhere. The biggest, broadest, most unknowable possible problem (being thrown into a black hole in the process of trying to save all of humanity) directly crosses with the deepest, most personal, most relatable problem (struggling in a parent-child relationship). Even the settings are opposites. The black hole literally crosses with a child's room. At the end, each conflict works off the other--reaching through time and space--to be solved.

It's the breadth, of being pulled from end of the spectrum to the other that infuses the story with high, sharp, power.

So, see where you can cross opposites and where you can cross conflicts (most stories have more than one conflict after all, see if you can cross two or more of them at the end)

Validate, Validate, Validate

You may have heard the three rules for writing middles: Escalate! Escalate! Escalate! For endings, there are also three important rule: Validate! Validate! Validate!

This is more of the denouement than the climax (though validation can happen in the climax). Validate what has been lost, defeated, gained, or won, by showing the audience. With a romance conflict, validate that love was found. Depending on the story and if this is a primary, secondary, tertiary or lower plot line, this might mean the couple gets married, gets engaged, is shown spending time together, kissing, or finally confessing they love each other. In my dragon example, this might mean showing that civilization is at peace, maybe even celebrating, and if the process did cost the hero's life, showing how he will be honored and remembered for centuries to come, and how grateful people are for his sacrifice. In the murder mystery, this might mean showing the murderer locked up or being sentenced. If it was the protagonist's husband, it might show her coping with now living alone. If the Grinch's heart grew by two sizes, we see him celebrating Christmas more than anyone.

Powerful validation, especially one after another, is what can often bring an audience to tears. It can also cement the story into their hearts.

Keep in mind, however, that if you are writing a series, your denouement may be a little different. For example, not everything will be resolved, and not everything may be validated if there are more books still. Instead, it may be important to build anticipation in the audience for what is to come. However, for most series books, there should be at least some validation for the characters' arcs and major conflicts that were resolved in the book.

There is a saying in the writing community, that comes from crime novelist Mickey Spillane: "The first chapter sells the book; the last chapter sells the next book."

This is true for any book, series or not. If it's a series, it sells the next installment. If it's not, it leaves people wanting to buy the next book you write.

For more on climaxes and denouements (and all the other basic story parts), check out this post on outlining.  

  

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