Sequel Structure According to Swain

Last time, I started breaking down scene structure according to Dwight V. Swain, as found in his book, Techniques of the Selling Writer. In my previous article, I talked about the components of scene: goal, conflict, and disaster. Today, I’ll explain what Swain calls "sequel." A sequel is what connects scenes. It also has three components: reaction, dilemma, and decision. 

But first, let’s review Swain’s components of scene, because they directly affect sequels.

Goal—the focal character of the scene should have a measurable, scene-level goal, and this should (usually) be clear to the audience at the beginning of the scene. The audience needs to know what the goal is, so they can measure progress and setbacks—otherwise, they are just watching (or reading) stuff happening. It also helps them get invested in the story.

Conflict—the focal character runs into opposition on their way to the goal. This opposition can be obvious and direct, or it can be less obvious and more indirect. Whatever it is, it needs to pose opposition to achieving the goal. This creates conflict. Conflict is the rising action of a scene, and should develop and escalate to a climactic moment or turning point.

Disaster—the conflict leads to an outcome. Either the character reaches the goal or she doesn’t. Whatever the case, something unanticipated—a “disaster”—enters the story and gives the character a new problem. (This is essentially the “No, and . . .” and “Yes, but . . .” technique.) Not all disasters need to be earth-shattering; they just need to be significant (have ramifications). But nearly all scenes should end on a "disaster," though Swain acknowledges that some scenes don’t.

Now we get to sequels.

Part Two: Sequel

"A sequel is a unit of transition that links two scenes. . . . It sets forth your focal character's reaction to the scene just completed, and provides him with motivation for the scene next to come." - Dwight V. Swain

The sequel will transition from the disaster to a new goal. In sequel, we follow a natural chain of logic. 

Reaction

Our character just encountered a disaster. Naturally, the first thing he’s going to do is react to it. This is another great opportunity to reveal character. Is he angry? Crying? Self-defeating? Getting drunk? How does he cope with the situation? As the focal character tries to make sense and deal with what happened, we convey to the audience his state of mind. This is a moment to focus on the character's emotions. 

In the story's timeline, this reaction may be brief--especially if the character doesn't have much time to react. Or, it may take place over days, months, or even years--maybe he just can't move on after the disaster. 

Sequels are often where summary comes in handy. If a character is reacting to a disaster for weeks, the reader doesn't really want a play-by-play of that, and getting a play-by-play of that probably isn't important to the story (because there are no legit goals or conflicts during the reaction phase usually). And sometimes what the character does physically doesn't actually really matter, what matters is his reaction. So maybe the text summarizes him going to the bar every night to drink away his pain, but the summary is more focused on conveying his state of mind than anything that happens at the bar.

It's also worth mentioning that the focal character may not be the only person reacting to what happened. Swain says that not only is the reaction about the state of the mind, but about the state of affairs. For example, if a love interest died at the disaster, then the reaction segment may also lay out how that affects other characters, society, or the setting. Maybe now her child is going to have to move to another city with his other parent, and the focal character is never going to see him again--maybe they were developing a strong bond. Maybe the love interest's will needs to be dealt with. Or maybe with her dead, no one knows how to defeat the antagonist, since she was a key player on their journey. Maybe it looks like they've already lost to the antagonist. 

What is the character going to do now? This leads us into "dilemma."

Dilemma

The character needs to consider what to do next. Often none of his choices sound promising. And as the character goes through different options, the reader also gets to consider which road she'd probably take if she were in that situation.

While the reaction phase is more focused on emotion, the dilemma is more focused on logic. The character tries to work out logically what the best course is forward. It's usually a good idea if there is a stake in play that prevents him from quitting the situation altogether--I mean, we still want to have a plot for the story. 

Basically, the character is considering different paths to take and their potential outcomes, so this is a place for him to recall or recognize different stakes. What does he have to lose, and what does he have to gain? And which path is most feasible and likely to best balance that? Depending on the character, the situation, and the length of the sequel, he may turn to other sources to help him make up his mind. For example, he might get advice from friends or do some research online. 

Decision

Eventually, the character comes to a decision. Sometimes he logically or rationally works his way to a new path--maybe by himself, or maybe with advice from others. Other times he has a revelation that makes the decision clearer. This might come as an epiphany, or it might be that his research uncovers something. Anyhow, new information enters, and he now knows what to do. 

His decision, of course, needs to be somewhat believable. This is why we spent time with reaction and dilemma. Even if he chooses something ridiculous, the audience needs to believe--given his emotions and thought process--that he'd make that decision. 

This decision gives him a new goal, which takes us into the next scene.

Example: Chihiro passes to the spirit world in Spirited Away

Reaction: Terrified that she's turning transparent and spirits are appearing, Chihiro runs away to a dark, lonely area, and begins rocking back and forth in shock, crying.

Dilemma: Haku arrives and offers some options of action. He says she needs to eat this berry, so she doesn't disappear. She resists at first, unsure if she wants to go that route, but it's either that or disappear. She wonders about her parents and what to do about them. We get a glimpse of an antagonistic force, and Haku explains that the antagonist is looking for her, and she can't stay here (stakes). 

Decision: Chihiro eats the berry and returns to normal. She stands to follow Haku to the bath (admittedly, he sorta pulls her along, but she does choose to stand). Haku explains Chihiro must get a job at the bathhouse (new goal), and lays out more stakes. 

Some Points to Keep in Mind with Sequels

- Sequels help control pacing. In a fast-paced sequence or story, the sequels will typically be shorter. To slow down the overall pacing of a story, make the sequels longer.

- Swain points out that sequels help reinforce plausability. I think this is in part because you are taking time to render the emotions and logic that lead to the next goal (motivation). Stronger or longer sequels generally lead to more plausibility (within reason).

- In many stories, the longest sequel happens at the "Dark Night of the Soul" beat. 

- A sequel may be extremely brief, as a character may be forced to make a quick decision. She might not even have time to fully react to what just happened or really think out her choices. Her emotional reactions may be addressed more later, and she might think back on the decision she made and wonder if it was the best choice. This will happen when she has the chance to "catch her breath."

- I've regularly seen beginning writers try to start a story with sequel. While it can be done, this is rather tricky. Since the sequel is about reaction, this means the story starts with the character reacting to something that happened in the past, off page, which is rarely as interesting as following a character about to hit conflict. 

- Passages of introspection, characters recalling past incidences, and (mild 😉) dumps of info usually fit best in sequels rather than scenes. In scenes they risk slowing pacing too much. In sequels, the audience doesn't mind a slower pace--they are still recovering from the scene.

Scenes & Sequels and Basic Structure

Some in the industry feel that scenes and sequels are actually two types of scenes. I know, it sounds confusing. But basically the SCENE as a structural unit can be either Swain's "scene" or Swain's "sequel." Swain doesn't actually say this in his book. However, I don't think that the claim is wrong. Like many things in structure, it depends on how you slice and dice it and what angle you look at it. I also think it depends on the story itself. 

A sequel can be very brief, or it can be rather long. If it's brief, it might be tagged on to the end of the "scene." If it's long, it may seem to make up its own SCENE. 

Most people define SCENE as a unit of action that takes place in a single location and continuous time. With this definition, a sequel could follow a scene without a break in time or a change in location, and thus it could be argued that together the parts make up one SCENE.

Alternatively, the sequel could happen in a different time and place, and by that definition, would be its own SCENE.

This is one of the reasons why learning about Swain's approach can be confusing to so many people. The sequel may or may not be a continuation of time and place, and it may be extremely brief or it may be rather long. It may be mostly summary, or it may be rendered in real time.

How you slice and dice and categorize it isn't super important though--what matters is that you understand each and their (usual) order: goal, conflict, disaster; reaction, dilemma, decision. 

We started this discussion with basic structure, so let's end this article by looking at that again. 

One might say that the sequel is really the falling action of the structure--especially if it is tagged on to the scene. In Techniques of the Selling Writer, Swain speaks as if sequel is the "valley" and scene is the "peak," but yet doesn't actually say that.

Alternatively, if the sequel seems to be its own SCENE, one may view it as having its own basic structure, with the climactic moment being the decision; the sequel is building up to that moment, and that moment turns the story. 

And of course, if this is all confusing to you, feel free to throw it out the window and just focus on the parts themselves and their order. I'm just explaining some things I wish someone would have explained to me when I was trying to learn this (and I still have more to learn).

Like any writing advice, don't get married to this. It's possible to take it to an extreme. Some pieces can get skipped or rearranged or may even overlap, depending on the needs of the story. (And I mean, to some degree, the character is constantly "reacting" to what's happening as it happens, and making small "decisions" along the way to the disaster). Swain says that as you learn the order and gain experience, you'll be able to "break the rules" to the right effect. Nonetheless, his approach can certainly come in handy when working on a scene . . . or SCENE--it all depends on how you look at it.

Read more articles on Swain's scene and sequel:

Writing Patterns Into Fiction: Scene and Sequel

How To Write A Gripping Scene

The Basics of Scene Structure: Action and Reaction

How to Structure Scenes in Your Story

Read More

Scene Structure According to Swain

While I've talked about scene structure on here before, I haven't covered one of the most famous approaches to scene structure, which comes from Dwight V. Swain, who categorizes the unit into "scenes" and "sequels." I've been introduced to this approach from various resources, but I wanted to wait until I read it straight out of Swain's book, Techniques of the Selling Writer, before covering it on here.

In the past, I've talked about how all structural segments really fit into this basic shape:

Whether it's a scene, sequence, act, or whole story. Nearly every scene should have a climactic moment, which is also called a "turning point." The bigger the structural segment, the bigger the turning point--meaning an act's turning point is going to have more ramifications than a scene-level turning point.

This is a great place to start understanding scene structure. 

But I've found that sometimes it doesn't feel specific enough to meet my needs. That's when I turn to Swain's approach.

The term "scene" can be a bit ambiguous in the writing world--people define it in slightly different ways (something worth keeping in mind whenever someone talks about scene structure). Typically, a scene is defined as a unit of action that takes place in a single location and continuous time. But this definition is certainly not perfect and the boundaries can get blurry fast with the right examples. However, I think most can agree that a scene is one of the smallest recognized structural units in a story. 

In his book, Techniques of the Selling Writer, Swain recognizes two types of the smallest structural unit. The first he calls "scene" and the second he calls "sequel."

"Scene" is where action takes place.

And "sequel" is where reaction takes place. 

And if you are already confused, don't fret. I'm going to break down each part. And if you don't get everything the first time, you're probably normal. I had to revisit this approach several times before it finally clicked. 

Let's talk about Swain's "scene."

Part One: Scene

"A scene is a unit of conflict lived through by the character and reader" - Dwight V. Swain, Techniques of the Selling Writer

Earlier I talked about how a scene changes the direction of the story with a turning point. Swain echoes this assertion by saying the purpose of a scene is to move the story forward. 

He then breaks scene down into three pieces: goal, conflict, and disaster. 

Goal

Everyone pretty much wants something all of the time, and so does your character. We usually think of our character's goal as being overarching and taking the whole story to achieve--and while that's often certainly the case, the character should also have scene-level goals. Often the scene-level goal fits into the overarching plot goal. 

For example, in Spirited Away, Chihiro has the plot goal of saving her parents and returning to the human world. But within that goal, there are smaller goals along the way. In order to succeed in doing that, she has to get a job at the bathhouse first. After she gets hired, she has to prove herself worthy to stay. And to do that, she must succeed in cleaning a bath and serving a client. In order to clean the bath, she has to get an herbal soak token.

Sometimes the scene goal isn't obviously linked to the overarching goal, and a character may want multiple things. For example, in a later scene, Chihiro has the goal of remembering Haku's real name. While that's important to the relationship and thematic plotlines, it doesn't really affect her main goal of saving her parents and getting home, but it is another want she has.

In any case, I'll say that the goal should have significant stakes. This means that obtaining or not obtaining the scene goal affects the direction of the story--it has ramifications. It shouldn't be a goal whose outcome doesn't really change anything (generally speaking, as all rules have exceptions). Because Chihiro is able to remember Haku's name, Haku is able to leave the bathhouse himself. So meeting that goal still has significant consequences. However, if remembering his name didn't help him or change any outcomes, then it wouldn't be important and would probably be cut from the story.

Goals are important because they give the audience context for the plot. If there isn't a goal, then the audience can't measure whether what happens is progress or a setback. They are just watching things happen. Or, perhaps as the Cheshire Cat says, if you don't know where you want to go, then which way you go doesn't really matter. 

Because of this, almost always the audience should have a sense of the character's goal in the beginning of the scene. In some cases, the goal may be implied, because of what happened in previous scenes. Of course, there are situations where you may want to break this rule, such as when you want to write a teaser or create a sense of mystery, but let's keep this simple today.

Goals should almost always be concrete and specific. For example, cleaning a bath and getting an herbal soak token are things the audience can "see," and therefore measure the success of. If the goal is abstract, it should (usually) have concrete manifestations. For example, if a character wants to prove he loves someone (abstract), he may decide to send flowers and write a love letter (concrete). Successfully doing this is a smaller goal within a larger goal.

Conflict

Now that the character has a goal, he'll run into some form of opposition, which creates conflict. This makes up the middle or rising action of the scene. I emphasize "opposition" because the conflict isn't just any problem, it's something in the way of the goal.

The opposition may be obvious and direct. For example, Wonder Woman may be confronting Ares, who is fighting directly against her goal of saving humans. Or perhaps, Frodo may be trying to escape the Ringwraiths, who want to take the Ring.

Other times it may be unobvious and somewhat indirect. It might be that a character wants to confess his love, but keeps getting interrupted by phone calls, his dog, or a wild wind that seems to steal his words. The opposition isn't necessarily trying to make him fail; it's just something in the way. But notice that it's still something that impedes his goal.

There are eight types of conflict, and any of them can be used to create opposition: person vs. self, person vs. person, person vs. society, person vs. nature, person vs. god, person vs. fate, person vs. the supernatural, person vs. technology. (Though of course, you need to use good judgment and pick what best suits your scene.) 

Because this makes up the rising action of basic structure, it's usually best if the conflict escalates. There needs to be complications and developments. Have the opposition get bigger and stronger as the scene progresses. Rehashing or lengthening the exact same thing isn't interesting. In our example of a character trying to confess his love, having his phone disrupt him the exact same way over and over gets boring (and annoying). Instead, it's more interesting if his phone disrupts him, then his dog jumps up and starts kissing his love interest, and then when he finally starts breaching the confession, a wild wind blows away his words, so he has to bring himself to say them again. Escalation.

Swain points out that conflict is important because it tests the character's dedication to the goal. It shows the audience how bad the character wants the goal. If the character gave up right away, he obviously doesn't want it very badly. But if he's willing to fight and struggle for it--that's much more interesting. And whatever is that important to him, is usually important to the story--it helps make up the plot. 

Disaster

Eventually, the conflict comes to a close (if only on the scene level), and disaster strikes. 

While it's called "disaster," it need not always be earth-shattering. It just needs to be significant (i.e. the potential to change important future outcomes, meaning it has stakes). This is (almost) always something unanticipated. 

I admit that the way Swain himself describes "disaster" sounds a little vague. While his book is amazing and I recommend it, he has the tendency to explain concepts primarily through examples rather than by giving actual explanations. In any case, the disaster part is essentially what others refer to as "No, and . . . " and "Yes, but . . ." If you've never heard those terms, let me explain.

The character has a goal.

He faces conflict.

Does he get the goal?

If the answer is "no," then we add to the problem.

If the answer is "yes," then we add a new problem.

For example, say our character tries to confess his love. The wind steals his words, and in fact, it gets so wild that it completely ruins the moment, and they have to seek shelter. The character doesn't get the goal, and now he has another problem--a "disaster"--which is he needs to find shelter for himself and his love interest. 

Alternatively, say the wind steals his words, but he succeeds in his next attempt, confessing his love and winning the person of his dreams. Suddenly, the love interest's ex pulls up, gets out of his car, and aims a gun at him. New problem. Disaster. 

These might not sound like the most amazing examples, but they prove the point. A disaster throws the character toward a loss. The audience wonders, What will the character do now? Translation: The audience will want to keep reading. 

The disaster is essentially the outcome. But whatever the disaster is should (once again) have stakes/ramifications. In my "success" example, a wild wind may not be the greatest choice unless the wind actually threatens a serious outcome. Maybe it threatens to ruin something valuable that the love interest needs to deliver. Now getting out of the wind becomes more important. Obviously, an ex pointing a gun at the character has big stakes.

Swain acknowledges that not every scene needs to end in disaster. Sometimes the potential or promise for a disaster to come, is enough. He also says it's possible for the character to end the scene on a positive note . . . to set her up for a disappointment that's coming next. However, the tricky thing with doing that, is that the audience is now waiting for the antagonistic force to make its move, rather than anticipating what the focal character is going to do next. And waiting for something to happen isn't as interesting as having to deal with a new problem.

The main idea is that you want the conflict to end with a hook--something that makes the reader look forward to a near-future point in the story (probably the next scene) and keep reading.  

Example: Chihiro passes to the spirit world in Spirited Away

Goal: Chihiro must get across the river before nightfall (or she'll be stuck in the spirit world). 

Conflict: Chihiro runs back to her parents, but only finds pigs. Confused, she begins running around trying to find them, but the spirits are starting to come out. She tries to go back toward her car as the sun is setting, but the river has seemingly flooded.

Disaster: With the river flooded, she has no way to get across, and night falls ("No . . . ); she looks at her hands and realizes she's turning transparent ("and . . .")

Next we will talk about the second part of this, what Swain calls the "sequel." It also has three pieces: reaction, dilemma, and decision. Read about it here.

Read more articles on Swain's scene and sequel

Writing Patterns Into Fiction: Scene and Sequel

How To Write A Gripping Scene

The Basics of Scene Structure: Action and Reaction

How to Structure Scenes in Your Story

Read More

The Most Important Part of Sequels and Retellings

You've probably noticed like the rest of the world that we are living in a period of entertainment where everything is or has a sequel, a reboot, a remake, an adaptation, or a familiar story source (fairy tales for example). People in the entertainment industries, especially Hollywood, have finally caught on to the idea that making an addition to an existing story or franchise is not only safer, but smarter--you are guaranteed to make money--because it already has a ready-made audience, and when marketing your material, you don't have spend money and energy educating the audience as much on what story you are selling. You make the tenth Peter Pan movie (too late, it's already in the works), and people already know what sort of plot they are getting. An added bonus (read: draw) is that it resonates with what audiences are already familiar with.

If you are like me, you are starting  for the 4th year continuing to wish Hollywood would put out more original stories and more standalones, even if you love series and fairy tales and superhero movies. I mean, wouldn't it be so refreshingly great to go to an amazing movie with a brand new story you haven't heard before? And then something like the Nutcracker is announced and you repent of your complaining, because I mean, oh my gosh, did you see the trailer?

Now that Hollywood and much of the world have discovered the power and (monetary) benefits of resonating closely with previous works (whether it be another installment or retelling) and the ease of having a ready-made audience, I don't think we are going to see an end to this phase any time soon, if ever.

And while I'm tired of the market being saturated with sequels, remakes, and reboots, the truth is, I love a story that stretches over several installments, and I even love retellings of stories I'm familiar with (though a little less now than previous because of saturation).

With all of these sequels and retellings (and me watching the new season of X-Files), I've been thinking a lot lately about what the most important part is to get right when writing one. After all, some of the remakes can seem widely different than their predecessors--different plot, different characters, maybe even different setting--and yet still be hugely successful. Others may still have those same components and fall on their faces.

This is because the most important part of continuing or revisiting a story is hitting the right emotional draws.

What were the original emotional draws in the previous installment(s)? If you are writing a sequel you need to hit those same emotional beats. If you are retelling a "classic," you need to hit the same emotional beats of that classic.

What are emotional beats and draws? They are the emotions that the story hits on. In a romance story, you need to have romance beats. In a horror story, you need to have horror beats. In a comedy, you need to have comedic beats.

It's obvious when we talk about them that way. But not all stories are as clear, and if you want to write a successful sequel, you need to go beyond generalities and hit the right kind of romantic beats. The right kind of comedic beats. All stories have more than one emotional draw. They may have one prominent one, but it will have others in it. Some have two, three, or four prominent ones, and still others.

There are some sequels that have different characters or settings (harder to pull off, but it can be done), but are still successful. Why? Because they hit the same emotional beats of the original.

If there is ONE thing that is MOST important about writing a sequel, it's including the same emotional beats.

Let's look at one of the highest grossing sequels of all time: Jurassic World.

You've probably seen it and will recall that the plot and characters were so-so. In fact, both the plot and characters were criticized and made fun of. But Jurassic World nailed its emotional beats. Nailed them.

The primary emotional draw for any speculative fiction, is a sense of wonder--that feeling of being enthralled and captivated, that sense of curiosity over potential possibilities, that sense of what if ____ could happen. Jurassic Park inherently has that, because of the subject matter: dinosaurs. But the film amplified it by having specific moments and shots that hit that exact beat, like meeting the Brachiosaurus. There is a lot of sense of wonder going on in that scene.

The secondary emotional draw for Jurassic Park is horror--something goes wrong and characters have to try to survive and outwit carnivorous dinosaurs. Whether it's the T-rex trying to get into a car, or the raptors getting through closed doors.

Then there are less prominent beats. Most horrors (there are some exceptions) tap into our primal need to survive. So Jurassic Park also has the same beats survival stories have. Likewise, a lot of wonder feeds into beats of wish-fulfillment. At on point or another, most of us have probably wished we could actually see a real dinosaur, and even if you take out that, most of us have wished at one point or another that we were on vacation at a theme park. Then it breaks down to even more beats, to a few comedic concepts and a few moments that relate to relationships between the characters. Then there are the intellectual beats that ask us to consider morals.

Jurassic Park has an extra oomph of power, because it's two primary emotional draws, wonder and horror, are actually opposites. And when you cross opposites in storytelling (as I explained in this big fat post 2 1/2 years ago), you get amplified emotional power.

Okay, so then Jurassic World came out. It's easy to be skeptical because this is the fourth movie in the franchise--I mean, what else can you do with it that won't be dumb? (Thankfully, they changed it up a bit (and amplified that sense of wish-fulfillment) by having the park be open and functional).

It was a huge success. Why? Because it nailed the same emotional draws of the originals: wonder, horror, survival, wish-fulfillment, a few comedic concepts, relationship moments, moral questions.

If Jurassic World did not hit wonder and horror, survival and wish-fulfillment, it would have not been successful.

This is why in some series you can even change characters, settings, or (to some degree, plot)--it's harder to pull off and not recommended for the majority--but what matters most is hitting the same emotional draws.

Look at Chronicles of Narnia. If I asked the average American who the main character is, most people would probably tell me Lucy--a few wise people might say Aslan, which goes into a different tangent for another post (main character vs. protagonist vs. viewpoint character). But if any of you have read the whole series, Lucy and her siblings aren't even in all the books. Lucy is only a principal character in three of the seven books, and a minor character in two others. You can argue that the books are all about Narina, I mean, it is called the Chronicles of Narnia, right? That may be true, but the first book The Magician's Nephew seems to take place in other worlds that are just as important as Narnia. It may be "about Narnia," but Narnia as we know it doesn't even exist until the end of the volume. Is it a failure?

No.

It hits the same draws: wonder, danger, spirituality, morality, allegory.

Same thing with the X-Files. When they started this new season on right now (no spoilers here), I knew the kinds of episodes it would have, because regardless of changes in plot or character dynamics--writer Chris Carter knows to hit all the same beats.


-There will be an episode about the overarching plot of the whole series, that hits the drama beat, with Smokey Man and the agents, Mulder and Scully, Scully and her child.

-There will be a standalone episode about a legendary creature or monster

-There will be a lighthearted comedy episode, that reminds you not to take the show too seriously and that the creators aren't afraid to poke fun at themselves.

-There will be a conspiracy episode, about something the government is testing on people. Mulder and Scully will work with those people.

-There will be an episode that relates to aliens.

-There will be an episode about someone who has supernatural abilities.

- At least one of these will have a horror feel, another will have a relationship draw, another will have suspense or thriller beats, another will have mystery undertones, another will capitalize on being creepy, and it goes on.


And while you might point to the fact that I mostly listed types of episodes instead of emotions--each of those types have their own specific draws.

Each individual draw may not appeal to everyone. This is why among X-Files fans you may hear some people complain about the drama beats because they only want monster-wonder ones, or some who will claim that the lighthearted comedy episode is the best one of the season while others are scratching their heads at it, or why some swoon over the relationship beats between Scully and Mulder (did you know X-Files is where the term "shipping" originated?) while others are waiting to get to the government conspiracy.

When the new season started, I had couple of family members say after the first two episodes: "Oh, this is gonna be like the old X-Files."

Yes.

Why?

Because the writers understand the franchise's emotional beats. They may do some things with the plot that you may find questionable or even . . . inaccurate. They may try to bring in other characters that most people don't like. But they know what all the emotional beats of the franchise is, and they will hit all of them by the end of the season.

They could narrow in and only do a few specific draws like most successful t.v. shows do these days--such as the overall plot with Smokey Man--but if they did, they'd be axing the viewers who love the legendary creature stories the most. They need to hit all the same beats.

And they will.


X-Files is interesting because it has a lot of specific niche beats inside of its primary ones, whereas Jurassic Park has more generalized draws (a more generalized wonder and horror--and also more primal draws). But even if you look at it, you will find some that do break down more specifically. For example, every movie in the franchise has a moment where a character is trapped in some sort of vehicle with a T-rex-like dinosaur trying to get in.

Which leads me to my next point--one of the biggest pitfalls of sequels: trying to do the exact same thing as the previous installment(s). This can go really flat with comedy in particular.

As one of my friends in college once said, "The thing with sequels is they try to do the same thing that was funny in the last movie, as if it's still going to be funny."

Sequels can easily fail when people confuse plot with emotional beats--which is easy to do.

See, the plot absolutely inherently affects, helps determine, and creates your story's emotional draws--but they aren't the same thing.

When it comes to sequels and retellings, people want the same thing . . . but different.

That sounds so vague, right? What the heck does that mean?

It means they want the same emotional draws and beats, not the exact same events and lines and contexts.

I don't want to hear the exact same joke in the sequel. I want to hear the same kind of joke.

In the sequel, you can take things from the original, and twist, tweak, flip, or invert it, to make it different, but the draws 99.9% of the time need to be the same.

You can take the last joke and build and twist it to make it funny again, and hit that same humor beat, but you can't do the exact same thing over and over again. It's annoying and falls flat.
 

Sure, the Jurassic movies always have a T-rex-like dinosaur trying to get in a vehicle where people are trapped, but each situation varies somewhat, and unless you are a writer, you may not even be conscious of how often this set-up happens over and over.

Jurassic has very generalized and primal emotional draws--things all humans can relate to. It doesn't need to be as varied in its installments as other franchises do. In fact, because of the nature of the story set-up (how many different ways can you put humans and dinos together in this age?), it can't be without falling on its face. It needs to stick to somewhat of a formula. A different franchise with more primal and generalized draws may have more freedom and need to utilize it in its set-up. For example, the Maze Runner movies have different set-ups each movie, but still the same generalized, primal draws. Wouldn't it be annoying if each movie really was the exact same thing, the exact same maze, over and over?

In order to hit the right emotional beats, the installments or retelling may follow a close pattern or formula, but that's not always necessary. What matter most is that they hit them.

The fifth Indiana Jones movie probably can't be a spy romance that takes place in New York City because it's very unlikely you will be hitting the primary beat of the franchise: adventure. And not just adventure, but the franchise's specific type of adventure.

Other times you may even have the same characters, setting, or a similar plot, but it doesn't hit the right specific emotional draws, and falls flat.

Again, this why it's so important to see emotional draws as something different than plot. They relate and overlap, but they aren't the exact same thing.

 A couple years ago, the new Ghostbusters movie came out. I haven't seen it, I admit, so I can't give my opinion on it. But I can tell you a fact: the trailer is the most disliked video in Youtube history--1 MILLION thumbs down, and only 302k thumbs up. Some people said it was because others were sexist, which could be true, but when I started listening to what the dislikers were saying, what they were really complaining about was that it had different emotional beats. That the trailers for the new version weren't hitting the same specific beats--particularly the more serious and sinister beats--that the original trilogy hit. People were even complaining that the theme song sounded too comedic and campy and dub-steppy, and when the original had come out, it had a somewhat creepier, sinister undertone. I haven't seen any of the movies for a long time, and think I'd probably actually enjoy the new one, and I'm sure you have your own opinion, but I'm just using this as an example to teach the point I'm trying to make.

Emotional beats are where it's at. They are the reason professionals in the industry tell you to pitch your novel by comparing it to other stories (for example, "It's X-Men meets The Notebook")--which drives many readers and fans crazy. This pitch method is used to quickly communicate the sorts of beats and draws your own story has.

You can even take this all a step further and include specific emotional beats to appeal to specific audience.

A couple of weeks ago, a family member called me on the phone, and then started talking about Stranger Things. "It's reminds me of Harry Potter," he said. Then after a pause, "Even though they are completely different. . . ."

Are they completely different?

In characters and plot and setting, they definitely are.

But the reason it reminds him of Harry Potter is because Stranger Things hits most of the same emotional draws and beats. I was going to list them out, but this article is getting rather long. So instead, if you want to test yourself and you're familiar with each story, I'll leave it to you to consider: What emotional draws and beats do Harry Potter and Stranger Things share?

Is it really so surprising that Stranger Things is the most successful show to grace Netflix?

In closing, I think it's important to leave a note that some retellings (not sequels) work off slaughtering the original beats--for example, spoofs do this. Perhaps you want to write a story where Cinderella is actually evil. People will be drawn to that story because of different reasons than the Disney version. And even if you go to the original recorded fairy tales, they are very different than what we have today. So part of hitting the right beats, is going off what today's modern audience is familiar with. And sometimes going against the previous beat is blatantly intentional, but for almost all retellings, and definitely almost all sequels, you need to hit the same beats.

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Tips for Sequels and Focusing Ideas

elementrolls asked you: I'm one of those people who tends to have a lot of ideas from the get go, but I have a hard time deciding what's just a fun idea (that I might explore in a sequel or another book) and what really needs to go in the story. Any tips on focusing?

One of the pseudo-problems I run into when brainstorming happens when I get a bunch of ideas and suddenly I think I have to either pick this idea or that idea, when most of the time, I can use both ideas. So if you have a lot of ideas, try to see if you can use most of them.

With that said, there is a point where you have to stop yourself or your story will get longer than Lord of the Rings, which isn't a bad thing, but most writers aren't looking to write stories that long.

There are also times when you don't want to use all of your ideas; for example, if you are writing a medieval fantasy, you might not want to throw in time-traveling aliens after you already have a quest story for the main plot. Time-traveling aliens just doesn't fit.

For sequels, a good technique is to look at how you can broaden or deepen your storyline so that the conflict goes farther or deeper than the book before.

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