There’s a problem with story structures.
If you’ve written a narrative story, you’ve probably come across one. The Three-Act structure. The Save the Cat beat sheet. The story circle. Freytag’s pyramid. The hero’s journey.
They come in all shapes and levels of complexity. Some date back centuries; some are modern inventions. Story structures can be quite helpful. I often use them to plan my books before I start writing and guide the plot as I’m writing.
But there’s a hidden danger to using story structures. Here, I’ll show you what that is, how you can avoid it, and the best way I’ve found to use story structures.
But first: the problem.
I. The Problem
It comes down to narrative flow. How your plot moves, whether it feels alive or stagnant, organic or robotic. In some ways, story structures can have a positive effect on a story’s flow. They’re designed to guide a narrative along a track, following a proven succession of plot points to create a well-rounded experience for the reader. Story structures, broadly, work. And they work for a reason. Though each method has slight differences, they’re based on fundamental storytelling principles that can be found in almost every successful, well-regarded story.
But if you’re not careful, relying heavily on a story structure or contorting your plot to fit one can result in a narrative that feels hollow, predictable, stretched too thin or overstuffed.
I like to think of storytelling as guiding someone through a forest. You, the writer, are taking your reader along a path in the woods, showing certain things and bypassing others, taking one route and not another, to craft a cohesive and satisfying journey. It’s the unique combination of decisions you make as the guide that differentiates your story from everything that’s already out there.
A story structure gives you markers along the path. It can show you where to go next if you’re lost. But it’s not the guide. It shouldn’t be the one making all the decisions. If you cede all control of the narrative to a formula, you’re doing your reader a disservice. Often, the most enjoyable and memorable parts of a story are when things don’t go as expected, when you take an unplanned but worthwhile detour on the path.
Following any beat sheet or narrative structure to the letter can result in a story that feels robotic, amateurish, either oversimplified or cluttered with unnecessary scenes. At best, this kind of story might be described as ‘workmanlike.’ At worst, ‘soulless.’
II. Unplanned Detours
No template should completely direct the flow of your story. There’s a reason so many story structures exist. You can write a story in three acts, or four, or five, or seven. Ultimately, these are all variations on a central concept. And there are always exceptions to the rules. You can find some truly great stories that don’t follow any existing story structure.
This becomes further complicated, often to wonderful effect, when multiple plots are layered within one story. Or when a story is told non-linearly.
The point is, story is fluid. It always has been. You can find a vast array of story structures from different regions and eras, reflecting the ideals of the cultures that created them. You can find stories that break the mold, whether successfully or unsuccessfully, to rebel against the status quo.
Story structure can be quite useful. But it should be used as a tool, not imposed as an unquestionable set of rules. If conventional story structure tells you to take your story one place, but your instincts tell you to go in the opposite direction, don’t immediately contort your story to fit the mold. Give your story the freedom to be unique.
In my experience, a story never follows the plan exactly. Things you expected to fit just don’t work. New scenes, characters, or even entire subplots emerge from the ether while writing. If you’re dedicated to never straying from your outline, these organically arising elements appear out of place. You might be tempted to remove them, like pulling weeds from a painstakingly planned garden you’re planting. But these unexpected ideas might just be the best parts of your story. My favorite chapter I’ve ever written wasn’t part of the book’s outline. At first glance, it might seem structurally irrelevant. But it taps into something that a plot-centric structure might overlook—the emotional core of the story.
If you feel like your story should slow down for a moment when your story structure tells you to speed up, listen to yourself. Maybe it won’t work. Maybe it’ll be an unneeded moment. But maybe, it’s what your specific story needs. Maybe that unplanned detour will be the most true and resonant moment in the plot.
Or maybe not. Maybe it’ll be a complete waste of time. But you can always delete it. That’s what editing’s for.
Just remember that no story structure or writing methodology is one-size-fits-all.
III. My Approach to Story Structure
So. What are we to do? Do we abandon story structures completely, let the story go where it wants? Well, that might work for some people. And in my experience, it depends on the story. If I’m writing something just for fun, and it’s not a very complicated or long story, I don’t need much of a plan. But when I’m writing a novel, or any story with a complex plot like a mystery or a non-linear narrative, I find it quite helpful to have at least a simple outline.
My approach, especially for complex stories, is to use multiple story structures. Different outlining methods have different strengths. Some are more thorough and detailed, like Save the Cat’s 15 story beats, while something like the Three Act structure is simple and sparse. One can help plot out individual moments and pacing, while the other is better at getting an overarching view of your story’s narrative arc. Plotting out the same story with several outlines can illuminate blindspots in one story structure, or present different paths for the story to go down. It’ll also make you deeply familiar with your story. It’ll highlight any flaws or gaps, and any elements that stay the same across every outline.
The story structures I use most often are Blake Snyder’s Save the Cat beat sheet, the Three Act structure, and the 22-step plot from John Truby’s The Anatomy of Story.
This is just my method, and it may change. Whenever I hear about a new story structure that interests me, I try it out. And maybe it feels too detailed and rigid, but maybe there’s a specific beat that I want to incorporate into my outline. You can take bits and pieces from various sources to develop your own approach.
In all likelihood, even if you’ve found something you think works perfectly, your process will evolve. The best writers are always learning. Reevaluate your writing process from time to time and see what’s still working and what no longer helps. I’ve gone through phases over the course of my life as a writer—sometimes, I resisted outlining at all; sometimes, I used only the simplest of outlines; sometimes, I outlined everything down to the scene.
There is no right way to write a book. There’s just your way. And that way will naturally evolve as you gain more experience. At a certain point, you might not feel the need to outline at all; story structure can start to feel like an instinct, something that naturally emerges as you write.
IV. Is There a Perfect Story?
I often get the sense that some writers want their writing to be right. They want to check all the boxes, follow all the guidelines, do things the correct way. And it makes sense. In a lot of ways, we’re taught to believe that there is a correct way. You get grades in school, you get quantifiable ratings online, you get ranked awards for your work. But grades, star reviews, and awards are poor methods of judging art. They’re not inherently bad; they can be quite helpful. But they fail to capture the subjectivity and complexity of art.
There is no such thing as a perfect story. When writing a book, you’re faced with an infinite number of options. There is no limit to the number of paths you could take your story down with any given sentence. On an even smaller scale, you’re faced with the choice of what words to use. Don’t get me wrong; it’s good to strive for excellence. But the pressure to write something structurally perfect can lead to creative paralysis. You can end up spending so long tweaking and polishing your outline that you never write the book.
The idea that there is a correct answer to every question you’ll face in writing is false. At a certain point, you just have to make a decision and hope for the best.
Story structures can help you make those decisions. Think of them not as a code of law that must be followed, but as a guidebook to turn to when you start to feel lost. Maybe their directions will help, or maybe you’re more confident finding the trail yourself. It’s your story. You’re the guide through the forest. Don’t be afraid to take a few unexpected turns.
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– Grayson Taylor
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