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Write regardless!

Great stories come in threes

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THREE'S A CROWD The climactic scene of Thelma & Louise (Production stills: Roland Neveu).
THREE’S A CROWD The climactic scene of Thelma & Louise (Production stills: Roland Neveu).

THE three-act structure is essential to the toolkit for that great misunderstood 20th century phenomenon: the Screenwriter.

Truncated to suit a 90- 120-minute session at a cineplex, the three-act storyline is undoubtedly the one most people are most accustomed to, so it’s probably in a writer’s interests to know how it works.

The good news is that it’s simpler in one way, because there is less to it. The bad news is that it’s reportedly much harder to get right, but we’ll look at why.

Act One

Broadly, this act must encompass an exposition (explaining who is who, particularly the relationship between the protagonist, or ‘hero’, and the antagonist, or ‘villain’), remembering that with screenwriting, dialogue must work effectively alongside onscreen action. Film is a visual and aural medium, so screenwriters must write what the viewer will see and hear.

This act generally also contains a point of no return, which propels the characters forward on their journey. Here’s where the 3-act structure differs from the five-act structure more commonly employed in novels, where the point of no return is generally in the second half of the story.

TURNING POINT Things escalate quickly in Thelma & Louise.
TURNING POINT Things escalate quickly in Thelma & Louise.

You can see where this difference arose – producers sitting in screening rooms, shouting: “Get to the point faster!”. Think Louise (played by Susan Sarandon) gunning down the rapist in the car park in Callie Kouri’s screenplay for Thelma and Louise, around 15 minutes into the movie.

Act Two

This act is the longest in the three-act structure, akin to the rising action of the five-act structure, where the protagonist struggles to rise above the point of no return, but often digs their way deeper into challenges set up by the antagonist.

Around the halfway point, or ‘midpoint’, something significant happens to the protagonist, which might be so sudden as to change the course of the story. In Thelma and Louise, this occurs with the appearance of Louise’s boyfriend, who might just convince her to give herself up, especially when he asks her to marry him. The protagonist’s response to the midpoint decides what happens for the rest of the story.

WHERE TO FROM HERE? One of the finest movie examples of a surprise ending.
WHERE TO FROM HERE? One of the finest screen examples of a surprise ending.

Act Three

Purportedly the hardest-fought scenes of every successful Hollywood screenplay, and the most difficult for writers to get right, this act contains the climax of the storyline, at a point significantly later than the five-act structure, where the tension comes to a head.

In Thelma and Louise, the climax is the most visually and emotionally dramatic scene of the movie, and the one where the protagonists commit their first willful crime – blowing up the truck driven by a hapless and offensive driver who has bothered them along their journey. Previously, they had committed crimes out of self defence or need. The climactic truck explosion signals their graduation into true outlaws.

No movie executive wants much time between the climax and the end of the film – everything has been said, seen and felt, and so the storyline must wrap up pronto. True criminals by then, Thelma and Louise drive to a speedy conclusion which could never be defined as a denouement, but rather a surprise ending.

The Verdict

Screenwriter Callie Khouri, who won an Oscar for her first screenplay, got it so right that the studio: “Didn’t come in and re-shoot four times” (Susan Sarandon, in a 1991 interview).

Khouri set this up with a coincidental moment, when Louise waits for Thelma to rob another gas station, and sees an old woman sitting at a window, a bundle of contained compromise and regret. In that fleeting moment, the writer foreshadows her ending without the need for a single word of dialogue. Another reading of the dramatic structure might place this moment as the climax.

Thelma and Louise works in three acts, and it works in five, depending on how deeply you want to analyse it. The three-act structure is, to me, just nifty shorthand for non-writers (e.g. producers) to define the ‘big moments’ they feel all scripts need.

WRITE REGARDLESSIf a writer can craft a five-act storyline, which hits these ‘big moments’ of the three-act structure, they’ll probably have an excellent script.

© Michael Burge, all rights reserved.

An extract from Write, Regardless!

Write regardless!

Short Cuts

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ShortstoryEVERY writer I know has written at least one short story in their time.

As I writer, I don’t think there’s any mystery as to why: the short story medium provides an accessible, immediate writing experience.

And so it was for me. After fifteen years’ ‘writing’ myself off for having any fiction writing abilities, I eventually found my voice and pumped out ten rather long short stories in late 2009.

I’ve been editing them ever since, primarily by reading them and researching what makes a great plot structure. As a result, I’ve observed a few interesting things about how to effectively edit short stories.

Read it

Sure, there are editors in the world (I am one by trade), many of them highly skilled and ready to edit any writer’s material. Take it from me, every editor will know when you haven’t read your own work. They’ll accept your money (they’ll deserve it, as your first audience), but things could get very sticky between you, and it won’t be all the editor’s fault. Print out your story, sit with it as you would a published title, and read it from beginning to end. Your gut will tell you where to start reshaping your story into what you envisaged when you first began to write it.

Don’t delete, adjust

It’s my assertion that editing is like a multiple choice examination: the answer is somewhere on the page. It’s tempting but dangerous to start ad-hoc cutting. After you’ve read, and reread your own work, decide on some method of ruminating on it – take a long walk, do your exercise session, use your commuting time. As you turn your characters and plot over, ideas will come to you. You may find yourself writing more instead of cutting. If you do cut (and there is nothing wrong with cutting), always keep what you cut somewhere where you can retrieve it if needed.

Size might matter

Everyone will tell you what the word length of a short story is. A rule of thumb suggests that if your reader can complete your story in one sitting, it’s a short story. If you’re entering a competition, stick to their guidelines, but if you have more to say than 1000-1500 words allow, you can generally call your story “short” if its upper word length is anywhere between 7500 and 20,000 words. Longer than that and you’ve written a novella or a long story. Flash Fiction is generally anything under 1000 words.

The dramatic arc still applies

The good news about short story plotting is that you can land your reader right in the climax of your storyline! However, plotting a short story does not mean dispensing with a dramatic arc, rather it’s about framing parts of your plot with windows that focus the reader on certain sections: the rest of the plot should still be there, it’s just not seen from your windows. Many short stories have gone on to become great novels, once the author expands on their existing storyline, but the short story version often remains the punchier experience of the writer’s inspiration.

Rule benders

I’ve already written about the five-act dramatic structure widely purported to be the benchmark for good writing, but in my short story editing process I’ve discovered the ways I’ve bent these rules for the sake of the short story medium. The antagonist of one story was born moments before its exposition ended, for example. The protagonist of another story did not ‘win’ the battle of the story’s climax, the antagonist conceded victory: turns out there’s a big difference. If, like me, you find a ‘rule’ missing, have fun working it back in. I added a three-line climax which made a problem story work in just five minutes, preceded by four years of rumination, of course, but who’s counting?

Keep it simple

WRITE REGARDLESSAlthough a dramatic arc is needed for a short story, it’s probably unwise to layer it too much. Subplots are not a common ingredient in short story plots – there’s often just no time. Short stories, by their succinct nature, generally limit character numbers, locations, time periods, and other ‘luxuries’ that longer formats allow, but don’t let that prevent you writing Gone With the Wind in 1500 words.

An extract from Write, Regardless!

© Michael Burge, all rights reserved.

Write regardless!

Rewriting rites

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CRITICAL EYE Virginia Woolf (1882-1941) edited and published her novels independently (Photo: George Charels Beresford).
CRITICAL EYE Virginia Woolf (1882-1941) edited and published novels independently (Photo: George Charles Beresford).

ONCE I finish the first draft of a book, and I’ve left it alone for at least a month or two while spending time reminding myself what makes a great plot, there’s no more excuses: it’s time for me to read my own work for the first time.

I take great comfort and inspiration from writers like Virginia Woolf, who edited and published most of her idiosyncratic and enduring novels independently.

Embarking on the first edit of a manuscript could be seen as an insurmountable problem, or it could be seen as an inspiring fact-finding mission.

Read your manuscript like a reader would

I sit and read my work as though it was created by someone else. If I’m bored with the writing, I’ll acknowledge it, and find out why. This is crucial in the first twenty pages or so. If I’m engaged, I’ll analyse what sparked my interest.

Don’t over-read just yet

I’m going to be working on this manuscript for months to come, so I don’t want to get bored with it too soon. I’ll leave some of the alterations until another edit and just enjoy the fruits of my labour. I’ll also seek to understand the structure of my work before I decide anything needs fundamental alteration.

Keep tabs on your characters

Have I been consistent? Did I just use inserted names, like “A Policeman” when I didn’t want to upset my writing flow by looking-up the name I’d given this character earlier in the book? Have my characters evolved across my first draft so that certain things need to be altered? I jot these issues down in another place for addressing later, or adjust them as I read through.

How is the plotting?

This is the big one at this early stage. Usually, I’m afraid to embark on my first edit because I am worried I may have either stuck too closely to ‘the rules’ or lost touch with them altogether. What I am looking for is whether I’ve got a decent exposition that will benefit from some cutting down the track, several serviceable and intriguing rising actions, a great climax, and a battle between my protagonist and antagonist. I also looking to see if I’ve bent the plotting ‘rules’ in ways that stand to make my work different to others.

Rewrite when it’s easy to do so

I resist getting bogged down in major structural changes – I don’t know my work well enough yet to make those kinds of calls. However, when something quick and obvious comes up, such as a small set of paragraphs that can successfully bridge a missing plot point, I just write them in and will polish during another draft.

Check the blows are landing

When things happen to my characters, do they express the impact to other characters, or to me, the reader? This is a big one for scriptwriting especially. The blows must land, be felt, and registered, otherwise it’s like nothing’s really happening.

The final act is the hardest to get right

Just about every piece of writing advice I have come across maintains that most writers can write great set-ups and climaxes, but our plotting often falls over in the third act. I recognise this and will always read my dénouement anyway, right through, before I decide if I’ve got it wrong.

Practice good housekeeping

WRITE REGARDLESSI never delete original work, or rewrite over my original computer files. Sometimes things need only be moved, not cut. Design yourself a filing system for all your subsequent drafts, archive them, and back them up onto a memory stick. I’ve done this ever since I wrote an entire film script and accidentally deleted the only copy!

An extract from Write, Regardless!

© Michael Burge, all rights reserved.