Rethinking Plot Structures

The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know. I thought I knew something about story plot structures, and even blogged about the subject a couple of times—here and here.

Then I watched a webinar on March 2, taught by writer Madeline Dyer, titled ‘The Art of Narrative Structures.’ She referenced a blog by Kim Yoon Mi, who’s made a thorough study of how to structure stories. One post, in particular opened my eyes.

Like many people, I’d taken my cues from Aristotle, with ideas later expanded on by Gustav Freytag. Those ideas resonated, since they comported with the types of stories I’d read all my life, and the TV shows and movies I watched. Between Aristotle and Freytag, they’d pretty much nailed down the way to structure any story.

Nope. Not even close.

Kim Yoon Mi lists 26 different story structures. These include many I hadn’t heard of, such as the Bengali Widow Narrative, Bildungsroman, Crick Crack, Griot, Hakawati, Jo-Ha-Kyu, Karagöz, Robleto, and Ta’ziyyah. She admits there are even more she hasn’t studied yet.

It’s clear there’s more than one way to tell a story. Kim Yoon Mi asserts that the Aristotle/Freytag methods over-emphasize conflict. I’ll have to study and think more about telling a story without emphasizing conflict.

Her main point is that a story must evoke an emotional response in the reader, or make the reader think. There are many ways to do that. A writer can choose from numerous story structures to achieve that end.

Down through the ages, people in different times and cultures came to prefer stories adhering to certain structures. They came to expect things a particular way, and writers in those cultures delivered. These preferences became unwritten standards, then firm rules.

If the ‘rules’ established in the Greco/Roman/European culture seem so pervasive, it’s not because they’re the one, true way. It’s because they’re the rules passed down to us, but there are many other ways.

The whole idea of making rules for story structures now seems wrong-headed. It puts the focus on the path, not the destination. If the goal is a reader’s emotional response, and many paths lead there, why limit yourself to one?

In theory, a writer could think more about maximizing the reader’s emotional response, and select the best story structure from the dozens available to achieve that end.

In theory. As the philosopher Yogi Berra said, “In theory there is no difference between theory and practice. In practice there is.”

A writer who feels free to pick any story structure faces two obstacles—editors and readers. Editors and readers belong to whatever time and culture they’re in. As stated before, they’re used to stories being written a certain way. An editor may not accept your story if it strays too far from the norm—the rules. If it does get published, readers might not enjoy it.

Still, rules are meant to be broken. Traditions get challenged all the time. Editors and readers sometimes become fascinated with the new and different, or something old that seems new to them.  

Nothing wrong with trying out a different plot structure. Learn something new. Never assume that the font of all knowledge is—

Poseidon’s Scribe

What? I’m Supposed to Learn Structure, Too?

Yes, you should know about short story structure to be successful in selling your tales.  Luckily, it’s not difficult.  To learn about structure, I mean.  The actual writing of successful short stories takes some effort, but so does anything worthwhile.

Let’s start with the basic structure of any story.  This structure is true for novels, movies, plays, even comic books.  We’ll then see how the structure applies to short stories in particular.

1.  The Hook.  This is an opening section meant to grab the reader’s (or viewer’s) interest.  I’ll have a few things to say about hooks in a future blog post. The hook needs to introduce your protagonist and his or her conflict.  It should set the story in a particular time or place.

2.  The Middle.  Here the protagonist tries several times to end the conflict, but fails.  It can even be the case that his or her attempts actually make things worse. In any case, the protagonist is tested in some way, either to physical limits or emotional ones, or both.

3.  The Resolution (or Dénouement).  In this section the conflict is resolved.  This usually involves the protagonist learning something, perhaps something about himself or herself.  The conflict could also be resolved by the protagonist’s death.

Aristotle called these parts the protasis, the epitasis, and the catastrophe.

 

 

The novelist Gustav Freytag later introduced the concept of the dramatic arc containing five parts: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and dénouement.  Essentially Aristotle’s epitasis includes the middle three elements of Freytag’s dramatic arc, though the falling action could be part of Aristotle’s catastrophe.  For simplicity here, I’ll stick to a three-part structure and use my titles for them.

 

In many story forms there will be no breaks or signposts separating these sections.  Even so, a reader who is looking for these sections will find them.  If you think back to novels you’ve read or movies you’ve seen, you’ll be able to recognize this structure.

With short stories, everything gets compressed.  The main feature of short stories is, in fact, their shortness.  This benefits the reader, since she or he can enjoy the story in a single sitting, thus remaining immersed in the world of the tale without interruption by the real world.  However, this brevity becomes the driving constraint for the writer.  The writer has to convey all three elements of story structure, but in very few words.

A short story needs a hook, like all stories.  However, an author of such tales cannot include a long description of the protagonist, other characters, or the setting.  Short stories have bare-bones hooks that just (1) introduce the protagonist, (2) introduce the conflict, and (3) set the story in time and place.

The middle section of a short story is likewise compacted down to the bare minimum.  There are fewer characters to interact with, few or no subplots, not even very many protagonist-testing events.  To keep the middle section short, some events or actions can be implied, letting the reader fill in the gaps in his or her mind.  This implication technique seems to contradict the “show, don’t tell” commandment, but it’s different, and it’s something with which I still struggle.

A short story’s resolution section also is a trimmed-down version, in comparison with longer works.  The section needs to resolve the conflict, possibly by having the protagonist learn something or otherwise grow as a person, or defeat the antagonist.  Nearly all the loose ends of the story need to be tied up in this section.  I say nearly all because it’s okay to leave some things unresolved or open to question–that’s life.

Throughout the writing of the short story, the author must take pains to keep a laser-like focus on the theme of the story.  Delete anything not directly supporting that theme, or necessary to having a meaningful story.

As you read more short stories by authors you enjoy, you’ll see how they employ the three-part structure I’ve described.  Soon you’ll be using it in your own stories, too.  As always, please send a comment if this has been useful to you, and address it to–

                                                                      Poseidon’s Scribe