Back when I was a baby writer I thought all books were born out of the ether. Yup, I was a product of the writing machine known as the College English Major.
We read a lot – classics by white men, mostly – and analyzed these tomes for theme and language, but there wasn’t a whole lot of craft talk in my classes, and certainly nothing about writing across cultures, and absolutely nothing about writing for children because the latter was considered a lesser skill suitable for, ahem, some women.
I wrote after college while I did this job and that and pursued other careers and had a couple of short stories published (heaven knows how) and wrote three novels.
Those novels are full of gloriously elevated (okay, bloated) prose but otherwise are utterly meaningless.
When Structure Doesn’t Work (For Me)
When I finally found that writing for children could be both rewarding and challenging, and was suddenly a marketable niche as well, I began to study the art and craft of writing and found my knowledge sorely lacking.
By that time I was also embedded in my organic writing process, known to all as “pantsing”, which has nothing to do with pants, but comes from “writing by the seat of one’s pants”. So when I first encountered plot structure, it reminded me of high school outlining and I completely rebelled.
But.
I realized that one reason my first three novels would never see the light of day was that they had no arc of story. The characters wandered around in a vaguely floral landscape falling in and out of love, fighting, dying, and sounding like they were acting in a bad soap opera.
I needed to at least understand plot structure, even if I didn’t want to plan my stories to it.
I studied Martha Alderson, and Robert McKee, and Joseph Campbell, and Christopher Vogler, and Syd Field. Combining their observations of the universality of structure made sense to me. Yes, I realized – there’s a reason for structure, even if it’s not the way I like to create.
When Structure Can Work
I still don’t write to a structure, or an outline, or a template, but I’ve learned to apply them to my hairbrained ideas before I get in too deep. I thought I’d share some of my tricks with you, in the event that you’re a pantser, too, and tend to write yourself into confusion (or worse – meaningless prose) as a result. These are pretty simple starters, but essential to keep you from muddling into a mess.
Know that there is a story arc, and it begins with character. If nothing else, have a good idea where your main character begins in their struggle in your story, and where they end up, which should reflect an irrevocable change in the world of the story.
Map your external story goal in terms of struggle. Your main character needs to have an external goal and must bump up against obstacles to reaching that goal, obstacles mainly set there by the antagonist.
Map your character’s internal desire, which they may not even be aware of. Your main character needs a long-standing internal need, longing, or desire that must be dealt with during the course of the story, even if not fully resolved at the end.
Understand why you are writing this book that’s set in this time and place and features these characters. Have a point or purpose to your story. What are you trying to say about something that’s important to you – and thus to your main character?
Need More Help?
If you’re aching for a quick start to your writing with lots of craft and publishing tips, I have created a short course, Six Day Story System, that’s built for that. You can find it (and my other courses) here.
If you’re looking for more community, content, and support, I’m building a mentorship program that opens in early 2024 – but it’s limited enrollment, so please let me know if you’re interested and I’ll send you an application.
I would also love to know what else you’re looking for so contact me with questions or suggestions here.