Years ago I sat in on a writing class at a local community college with a friend. She’d raved about the professor, a well-published poet and literary novelist.
I quickly saw why. He was a dynamic speaker, clearly engaged in his students’ work and eager to help them shepherd the story in their head onto the page. His passion was infectious.
So when he turned to the class meaningfully, it was no surprise that everyone eagerly snatched up their pen. Once he had their full attention, he told them that in every novel worth its salt, the hero must cross a body of water. He paused for dramatic effect. Even, he said, if that body of water is only a gutter he leaps over as he crosses the street.
I grinned to myself as the students scribbled down every last word, waiting for him to say, “Hey, just kidding!” Or even, “Metaphorically speaking, that is” — which would have made it only marginally better.
He didn’t. He meant it. Literally. And then he spent the rest of the class enumerating the step-by-step series of events every hero has to go through, as prescribed by The Hero’s Journey – you know, like meet the mentor, approach the in-most cave, magic flight, and return with the elixir.
[pullquote]No problem, no plot, no story, it’s as simple as that.[/pullquote]
My heart sank. I couldn’t help thinking, “Here’s one of the big reasons so few of the manuscripts I’ve spent my career reading are compelling.”
In fact, it’s often why the manuscripts weren’t stories at all. They were just a bunch of things that happened.
Why? Because they were written plot-first to hit the high points as prescribed by some external story structure model – as if it’s the “structure” itself that creates the story, rather than the other way around.
What is story structure? It’s simply the sequence of external events that occur in a story. Yep, the plot.
But here’s the secret: While all stories have a plot, no story – from a literary novel to a potboiler – is about the plot.
And that’s why focusing on the plot – the events – in the hope that a story will then somehow magically emerge, is a fool’s errand. Think of it as a textbook example of putting the cart before the horse.
So the question is: why do writers make this mistake, and, more to the point, how can you avoid it?
To that end, let’s correct at three major misconceptions that can derail your novel faster than dropping your laptop into a flooded gutter.
1. It’s not about the plot.
It’s so damn easy to mistake the plot for the story. Why? Because it’s so visible – it’s right there front and center for everyone to see. It’s what happens, and stories are about things that happen, right?
Nope. Stories are about how the things that happen affect someone. Here’s the key: story is internal, not external.
The story is about what the protagonist has to learn, to overcome, to deal with internally in order to solve the story question that the external plot poses.
[pullquote]The story is about what the protagonist has to learn, to overcome, to deal with internally in order to solve the story question that the external plot poses. Story is internal, not external.[/pullquote]
If you don’t know what your protagonist wants, and what internal belief, misconception or fear is standing in her way, how on earth can you construct a plot that will force her to deal with it?
The plot’s job is to relentlessly back the protagonist into a corner that she’d really rather avoid, thank you very much. The story is in how the protagonist makes sense of it, and what she does as a result.
It’s just like in life: we don’t simply want to know what a person does, what we really want to know is why. That’s the arena story lives it.
The plot is the “what.” The story is the very revealing, oft surprising “why.”
The takeaway:
When you’re writing, the why comes first. The what follows. So before you begin mapping out your novel’s external events (aka your hero’s journey), ask yourself: Why will this matter to my protagonist? What does she want? Why? What’s holding her back? Why? Armed with the answers to these questions, you can begin dreaming up the external events that will give her no choice but to act.
2. All novels have a plot, even when “nothing” happens.
If you’re thinking, Hey, I’m writing a literary slice-of-life character-driven novel so I’ll just sit this one out, think again.
All stories have plots, period. It’s the plot, after all, that personifies the problem the protagonist faces. No problem, no plot, no story, it’s as simple as that.
Why? Because what defines a story is its ability to stimulate our curiosity. What grabs us is the biological desire to know what happens next.
[pullquote]To hook us, what happens next must bring with it a consequence that makes a difference.[/pullquote]
And that “what happens next” can’t be any old thing, like, Gee, Fred moved his right foot, wonder if he’ll move his left foot too? To hook us, what happens next must bring with it a consequence that makes a difference. Read: something that matters a whole lot to someone hangs precariously in the balance. Because that someone — usually the protagonist — is whose skin we’re in as the story unfolds. What would it feel like to go through that? we wonder. What should she do, how will she try to solve the problem? And we read forward to find out, even when nothing much on the surface is happening.
Look at Richard Linklater’s Before Sunrise – a movie in which the entire “plot” consists of two strangers getting off a train one afternoon and talking till the next morning. While on the surface not much happens, beneath it, tons happen. By the end we know what each claims to want, what’s holding them back, and what they truly want, regardless their protestations to the contrary. Talk about a lifetime hanging in the balance! So at the end, when they’re about to part and it looks like they’ll never see each other again, we’re on the edge of our seat as surely as if the mothership was about to beam one of ‘em back to Planet Goneforever.
The point being: Not only do all readable literary feats have a plot, but said plot is harder to create, and takes way more work, than that of a potboiler. It’s kinda like what they said about Ginger Rogers, “Sure, Fred Astaire was great, but she did everything he did . . . backwards and in high heels.”
The takeaway:
Literary novels depend just as much on plot as do commercial novels. Both have plots, and – here’s another surprise – both are ultimately character driven. All stories are. It’s never the surface plot that enthralls us, it’s how the plot pokes at, aggravates, soothes and stirs up the protagonist that catapults us into their world and holds us fast.
Yes, literary novelists have it rough, there’s no denying it. After all, it’s just plain harder to convey the earth-shattering tragedy of a single, misunderstood glance than the horror of a stampeding herd of giant spiders. Here’s to waltzing backwards!
3. The Hero’s Journey is a Tourist Trap.
And here’s why you want to avoid The Hero’s Journey as surely as you want to avoid those costly roadside attractions that are big on promise and short on payoff: it – and all external story structure models for that matter – mandates that certain external events (hello: magic flight) must happen at certain specific points in a story. As a result, writers craft plots in which these events occur, rather than crafting protagonists whose internal progress depends on said events occurring.
Such stories are written from the outside in: writers throw dramatic obstacles into their protagonist’s path because the timeline tells them to, rather than because they’re part of an organic, escalating scenario created to force the protagonist to confront her demons. In other words, the dramatic events aren’t spawned by the story itself, but by an external one-size-fits-all, by-the-numbers story-structure formula.
The promise they make is: copy this structure, and by definition you’ll create a compelling tale. After all, it worked for all those myth writers.
But did it? Ask yourself: the creators of those gazillion myths that Joseph Campbell analyzed in order to extrapolate “The Hero’s Journey” – do you think they used said model to create the myths?
[pullquote]None, zip, zero of those myth creators created a single myth based on this structure. They were just doing what comes naturally — telling stories.[/pullquote]
Of course not! They never even heard of it. They didn’t have some external model they were following.
Here’s the big point: none, zip, zero of those myth creators created a single myth based on this structure. They were just doing what comes naturally — telling stories.
Which is exactly what you want to do.
The takeaway:
Focus on the story first, then worry about structure – that is, if you have to. Truth is, story structure is the byproduct of a story well told.
In closing…
And sheesh, speaking of stories well told, do you really think there’s even a case to be made for the proposition that the hero must cross water?
I mean, why? To what end? What, exactly, is the point?
[pullquote]We’re born to story. We’re wired for it. Trust your inheritance, and as you write, just keep asking why.[/pullquote]
‘Cause if you don’t know, then sure as shooting your hero won’t either. And, most importantly, neither will your reader. And so because it won’t have a single thing to do with the story you’re telling, it’ll do what all meaningless digressions do: stop the story cold.
The antidote? It’s simple: it begins and ends with asking, “Why?”
You know what that means? A two-year-old who relentless asks why?, why?, why? knows way more about how to get to the heart of a story than The Hero’s Journey’s rote and rigid GPS.
We’re born to story. We’re wired for it. Trust your inheritance, and as you write, just keep asking why.
What do you think?
About Lisa Cron
Lisa Cron is the author of Wired for Story: The Writer’s Guide to Using Brain Science to Hook Readers From the Very First Sentence and Story Genius: How To Use Brain Science to Go Beyond Outlining and Write a Riveting Novel (Before You Waste 3 Years Writing 327 Pages That Go Nowhere). Her video tutorial, Writing Fundamentals: The Craft of Story, can be found at Lynda.com. Her TEDx talk, Wired for Story, opened Furman University’s 2014 TEDx conference, Stories: The Common Thread of Our Humanity. A frequent speaker at writers conferences, schools and universities, Lisa's passion has always been story. She currently works as a story coach helping writers, nonprofits, educators and journalists wrangle the story they're telling onto the page; contact her here.
What do I think? I think you’re wrong.
Sure, it’s idiotic to say a protagonist has to cross some body of water in every story – but that’s a false straw man argument, because it has nothing to do with the Hero’s Journey kind of structure. It makes as much sense as an English teacher saying (as a high school teacher of mine told our class) that every time a woman in a story wears a red dress, that symbolizes that she’s a whore. (OK, maybe that’s not exactly the wording she used, but that was the meaning.)
So, yeah, teachers can be wrong. Big shock.
And here’s where i think you’re wrong: you’re essentially saying if you use a structure such as a Hero’s Journey idea, you are using ONLY that structure to write your story.
C’mon, please give writers a bit of credit.
What’s funny is that you actually mentioned the reason the Hero’s Journey structure can work for writers.
You said: “We’re born for story. We’re wired for it.”
The way I understand the Hero’s Journey idea is that there is a tradition of storytelling, done a certain way – at least in our Western society. Since we are “wired” for story, we tend to tell them in that certain way. We may think it’s intuitive, but there are influences that make some work better than others. (Think of jokes – the same joke told by a comedian and by an amateur can have a completely different result.)
The Hero’s Journey points out what those “intuitive” story telling points are, bringing them from the subconscious level to the conscious one so they’re easier to see and understand – and utilize. (And maybe those myth makers didn’t use this exact method, but do you really think they NEVER sat around with other story tellers and discussed how best to craft their tales?)
As a writer, the Hero’s Journey is simply one more tool to have in your toolbox. If you don’t have enough tools, then maybe that’s really the problem with your storytelling. As they say, to a hammer every problem is a nail.
The Hero’s Journey is a way to take a look at that intuitive storytelling we do and elucidate why we tend to do it in a certain way. It is not an unalterable form, a one-size fits all jigsaw that makes all the puzzle parts look the same.
Maybe your story’s not working because there’s no return with the magic elixir – and you’d never know if you hadn’t stumbled across the Hero’s Journey ideas. Or maybe it’s not working because your characters have no inner life and come across almost as interesting as they cardboard they’re made from. (Which might mean you need other tools to fix that.)
So, sure – a title like Why the Hero’s Journey is a Tourist Trap is nice and witty … but there’s no reason to take the screwdriver out of the writer’s toolbox just because the crosscut saw has worked for you before.
There are a thousand ways to tell stories, which may be why – as Joseph Campbell said – the hero has a thousand faces.
What’s interesting is I responded well to the post because I found it quite insightful. Yet your point is valid.
I think it may be a matter of interpretation. I didn’t interpret Lisa as saying that nothing can be learned from the hero’s journey. I saw it more as a reaction to the “You absolutely must do x, followed by y” catechisms that can lead authors astray from the root of their story.
You both given me things to ponder as my day gets started. Thanks.
I totally agree. Jazz is both rigorously structured, yet one of the most intuitive art forms we have. In fact, its the discipline of structure that gives it such freedom and range to be improvisational.
What do I think? I think you’re a perceptive and articulate dudette, Lisa. Although Shakespeare said, ‘the play’s the thing’, I think you have one better in ‘the affect’s the thing’, at least for a writer. Consciounsness raising. Well done.
“The play’s the thing,” yes. But as Peter Brook said, “If you just let a play speak, it may not make a sound. If what you want is for the play to be heard, then you must conjure its sound from it.”
Okay, maybe ‘consciousness raising’ would be more to the point. I obviously need a reply editor. Sigh.
It could be my lack of sleep last evening, but I don’t think so. This is one of the most comforting insights I’ve read on the art of writing. It also describes my method of writing better than I have ever been able to convey. Perhaps I’ve been tapping into that story instinct we all carry all along, without fully appreciating it.
I particularly like your zeroing in on the importance of continually asking “Why?” To me that’s the key to getting to the heart, to the real emotion. “Why would my protagonist do that?” “Why would his lover react that way?” “Why would they put up with that?”
As a reader, or a movie-goer for that matter, stories that engage me with those kinds of questions are the ones that grip me. It’s how I’m wired, I suppose, so I’m driven to write those types of stories myself.
Don’t get me wrong. I love a good thriller on occasion, eagerly following the action. But the tales that linger are the ones in which I’m with the character, walking beside them, carefully watching as they find their way.
Thank you for a wonderful lesson.
Very exciting posts here today. Campbell’s point in so much of his writings is basically that we need to be acquainted with the “literature of the spirit.” I remember this phrase because it speaks to writing so directly when working in fiction and creativity. And this goes to Lisa’s point that we need to write from the character’s deepest spirit to find our plot, drama, action. But if plot comes ONLY from the character, we limit ourselves. Sometimes external events do happen to us in real life, why not in fiction? Jim has a point that the myths are a valuable tool to writers as an example of intuitive storytelling, metaphors, and important to learn about if we are to be true to the truth in our stories.
I’ve taught Vogler’s book, The Writer’s Journey (adapted from The Hero’s Journey), and the first thing I learned was that not every step has to be followed to the letter. Rather, it’s a handy method of discovering steps that may help a writer keep the action flowing. In my own case, I don’t consciously try to follow a template, yet when I look back over my seven novels (all published or under contract and in publication), I usually find that I’ve incorporated most of the scenarios, although not consciously.
I agree with some of your advice, but, although it’s catchy, I think your title is open to misinterpretation, as well as taking attention away from all the other things you say in the post. In the end, there are lots of things writers can use to make their writing better. That’s just one of them.
Lisa-
It’s raining in New York today. I’ve crossed a lot of water. Under my arm was a pizza box. I got many strange looks.
I hate carrying stuff. It goes back to train rides to Connecticut with my ex, schlepping mule-pack bundles of her clothes to and from her parents’ basement. The blond, tanned yuppies from Darien traveled carefree, nothing but tennis rackets in their hands. My ex and I staggered like refugees from West Haven, sweating.
It was humiliating. I swore to go hands free for the rest of my life. Mostly I do. But this morning…pizza box.
At Starbucks the young woman with the earpiece and microphone who took my order asked, “Is that a *pizza* box?”
Obviously it was. I turned to her. “Tall dark roast,” I said, then added, “I always have coffee with my pizza in the morning.” She laughed.
Then I explained: “It’s my son’s last day of school. In this box is his kindergarten art portfolio. It’s not a pizza box…well, it is but it’s an archival carton. I’m going to keep it forever.”
At age three, my kid couldn’t hold a crayon. He’d grip it in his fist and make angry scrawls. A refugee, he’d been severely neglected. Today he’s an artist. His aliens in rocket ships are masterpieces–to me.
I’ve never been prouder to carry something in my hands. Tonight I’ll carry that pizza box home from the office and my wife and I, our son’s curators, will look at every piece and praise him.
So…what matters in the the story I just told? The rain, the burden, the gate keeper with her trick question, my quick witted answer–?
Or is it the inner transformation? Once I hated carrying things in my hands, for a good (back story) reason. This morning I’m the opposite: proud to carry a pizza box…because inside is the precious evidence of a child’s healing?
The story is not the plot; that is, what happens. The story is inside. The events are important because they occasion and make visual the invisible inner journey. But you are right, Lisa. The story is in me.
And you.
Your spot-on perspectives always give me an “aha” moment and then another and another. Thanks again for that.
DM, I love your example. I have been telling people how much I appreciated novel writing prompts you’ve shared, for exactly this reason. It’s not just the action, not just the conflict, but the journey created inside the protagonist that makes a story transformative. For ex, you posted a prompt once asking if there was a pet/animal in a scene, and here is a post that shares the excitement of conflict it brought to that day’s writing (in other words, thanks!): http://elissafield.wordpress.com/2013/01/12/morning-writing-odd-triggers-inspire-new-insight/
I was actually reading your Writing the Breakout Novel this morning, as the writing group Wordsmith Studio will be using it for our discussions of writing craft starting July 1st at 9, hashtag #wschat.
But your son’s crayon story is not exactly Moby Dick or The Odyssey.
This raises a question. When you are giving your pitch to an agent face-to-face (20 seconds), do you tell them the plot or ‘what the story is about’?
Think I’d go with Donald and Lisa.
I am a firm believer in following story structure. It’s been proven again and again, and so many stories can be made better by it. New writers don’t have the story “born” within them. We have to learn it! Why is everyone reading blogs and books about writing, anyway? We are learning how to craft a good story, and we have to learn how to craft a great plot. When you have an interesting character to explore within the structure of your plot, that’s when you have a brilliant story. The best stories aren’t the ones where the writer just sits down and writes, with no road map at all. The best stories are planned.
If I plan a story, my brain considers it already told and I lose interest in writing it. I write the same way I read–because I want to find out what happens next. There are any number of writers who approach writing this way, and it doesn’t mean our stories are aimless and unstructured. It’s perfectly possible to write a good novel without a plan or an outline.
Just wanted to add one more thing. New writers don’t necessarily have to learn structure from books, articles, and forums; they may already have learned it from reading. Those who read widely and frequently from an early age stand the best chance of absorbing the rhythms and patterns of storytelling so that it becomes instinctive.
I read most of or some of The Hero’s Journey, or maybe it was a book that wrote about the book of the hero’s journey – in any case, I thought it interesting, but knew I couldn’t write my books in such a structured way as suggested. Wouldn’t matter if writing a book in that way was the best danged thing I could ever do, it’s just not how I work. I have a character, the character usually wants wants WANTS, oh how she/he wants! And then I go from there to find out what she wants or how she’ll get it, or not get it but find some kind of peace with it or blah blah blah blah etc.
Love the post!
In the past, I’ve had a lot of trouble with the concept of structure, and this is one of the reasons why. In trying to explain how to do it, a lot of writers/instructors overcomplicate it, and quite unnecessarily. I’m a pantser, and one of the things I ran into was when people said things like, to get structure you have to have a big plot point here, I ended up plunking a plot point there and writing to it. It doesn’t make for good storytelling. The result is that I ended up with a bunch of things happened, but not really connected. Once I got away from trying to make it fit structure, I actually did better!
Just wanted to say I really enjoyed this post, and the discussion. The world isn’t black and white, and reminders about the grey are welcome.
Hey, thank you Lisa for this moist, insightful, and inspiring post. It’s a rainy day in New York town. I’m about to get back into Amanda’s world. And I just know she’s going to be kicking through a puddle. I’m listening to what Amanda has to tell me.
This was a great post–as much for the comments it provoked as for itself. I remember when I finished the first draft of my WIP and thought it wasn’t “IP.” I started trying to craft queries and pulled out all my English teacher tools to force my story into the hero’s journey. What a fool this mortal was! Many revisions later and close, I hope, to the end of my own journey, I still see those archetypal mileposts, but I know now that it’s the twists and turns of my protagonist’s inner life that will get my novel to its destination.
The water thing was sounding kind of good to me. Because my protagonist has to cross a flooded creek on a makeshift bridge floating on whiskey barrels. Thankfully, there’s a really good reason “why” she is on the bridge and has no choice but to cross it.
Lisa, your posts are always a guiding star and a gentle reminder to stay on track.
“The story is about what the protagonist has to learn, to overcome, to deal with internally in order to solve the story question that the external plot poses.”
Sherlock Holmes would disagree.
The correction here is that the story has to matter to someone, not necessarily the protagonist. It’s that fear / anger / lust / quest to heal that the reader is vampirically digging.
Holmes wants to uncover the mystery of the Speckled Band, but it doesn’t affect him personally. His power comes from his arrogance: He’s not going to let a mystery go unsolved, and he’ll do anything to achieve his goal. Instead, it’s Helen, who is dominated by Grimesby Roylott, who is being terrorized nightly, who saw her sister die horribly.
Great post. Rarely have I seen “plot” and “story” so clearly explained.
My one quibble would be that I think many writers (though for different reasons, as illustrated by the opening anecdote) misunderstand the Hero’s Journey. No, writers shouldn’t write a story based on a rigid template (“this is where I’m supposed to introduce the Mentor” etc) because you’ll likely end up with something that’s mechanical and soulless, a similicrum of a real story but without the animating factors.
But. The Hero’s Journey itself is not a GPS map to storytelling. Rather, it’s best used as a diagnostic tool, an x-ray, if you will, to show the inner workings of a story. People have instinctively known what makes a good story for thousands upon thousands of years. All Joseph Campbell did was notice and describe the patterns, which can combine in many ways. Not every story has a Mentor, or a Trickster. Sometimes the two are the same character. Sometimes the Hero is her own Mentor. Some Heroes don’t resist the Call to Adventure. Some visit the Inmost Cave more than once. Some find the Elixir but leave it behind.
IOW, the Hero’s Journey is not prescriptive; it’s descriptive.
I like that, Beth, the Hero’s Journey as an x-ray. Lisa’s “why” at the beginning and the end is also a good tool.
That’s exactly what my buddy Chris Vogler would say and he, author of The Writer’s Journey, should know.
I have Vogler’s book, and found it most helpful not only in explaining the inner workings and subtle shadings of the Hero’s Journey, but also to help me study the structure of the novel I’ve already (mostly) written.
absolutely loved this piece! esp liked,
“Focus on the story first, then worry about structure – that is, if you have to. Truth is, story structure is the byproduct of a story well told.” –
needed that re-inforcement, thanks so much :-)
Hmm. What do I think? I haven’t gotten that far yet. I’m still absorbing. “I’m here to learn.”
I’ll start thinking in about two days.
That’s how long it will take me to reread this post about 7 times.
Lisa’s point, “While all stories have a plot, no story – from a literary novel to a potboiler – is about the plot,” hits the nail on the head. Plot is artifice. Writing novels is not about following artificial rules but about telling an engaging story. And someone smart said about stories: “Good stories float. People love good stories. We love telling them. We love hearing them. We love sharing them. Having a good story to share is a wonderful commodity.” I spent two years writing a novel with John Grisham coaching me and I learned how challenging it is to come up with a story that holds up for 350 pages. And while you can look down your nose at popular fiction, John’s stories have engaged millions of readers. Because they are involving and hold up.
Love the phrase ‘good writing floats.’ That’s so true. It’s weightless and effortless and always finds a place to settle in the reader’s mind. Thanks for that.
This post is exactly what I needed to read. Thanks, Lisa, for such spot-on advice. I’ve been struggling with a novel idea for this very reason: trying to impose a plot on the story (the result of workshop advice). I need to back away from that and ask the WHY questions. So I’m back to the drawing board, but this is so helpful!
I love this post. You know why? Because you totally converted me. When I first started reading, I thought, “Yes, but of course a hero has to cross a body of water.” But I guess I was reading that as “A hero has to travel a distance INTERNALLY.” I didn’t take it literally, although — ironically — my protagonist DOES cross a body of water in my novel BABY GRAND. A hero goes on a journey for sure, sometimes crossing bodies of water, other times crossing from afternoon to evening (or Before Sunrise). And what’s funny is that when I decided I was going to become a screenwriter in my twenties (long, long ago), I bought all those “how to write a screenplay” books that said, “Plot Point #1 goes here and Plot Point #2 goes there,” and I thought, but, wait, I don’t want my plots points here or there. My stories never fit the formula. So here I am. A novelist. Still plugging away and putting my plot points wherever I damn well please. :)
Upon reading this insightful post, I’ve realized that I invariably have problems with my first drafts because I try to plot too much instead of thinking more organically about the characters. In my case – I’m not saying this is a rule for everyone – maybe the case is to start with the character’s internalisms rather than trying to over-construct the road he’s on. The road comes later, the internal struggle comes first.
Love the post as usual. I find the hero’s journey an interesting creature. It works well to analyze a specific type of plot, but I’ve never found it useful to help me write a novel.
I use the three act structure loosely to make sure my story is heading somewhere. I’m a plotter so I need to know what’s coming as I write the first draft.
As to starting from story, I think that’s not quite the answer. It all depends on what kind of writer you are. In the final draft, a good book needs all three aspects: good plot (even if not much happens), great story, and engaging characters. It doesn’t matter what you start with, it matters what you finish with.
I found your posting self affirming in both the way I write and the way I read. I facilitate book groups from time to time, and I love watching eyes open wide as we move (with some stealth) from plot to story because as readers none of the recipes matters. Just that we’re engaged and invested and that we care, and it’s always the why, even when we are so sure it was some wonderful plot twist, that keeps us reading. I had to stop working with a writing teacher after he outlined the hero’s journey for me (with page counts) and made it clear that the only way my writing would succeed was if at page twenty-five my hero set forth on his journey. It was funny, because as I searched through all my favorite books to see if what he was teaching held forth on the pages I held near and dear, I realized I needed a new teacher. It was not so much that he was utterly wrong but that clearly we were reading different books!
I’ve always believed that storytelling is the most important aspect of fiction writing. Characterization is a close second, with plot a distant third. There are great storytellers, great writers, and great storytelling writers. The first can be commercially successful, but eventually fade away. The second never gain a large audience. The third become immortal. Raymond Chandler wrote, “all art at some time and in some manner becomes mass entertainment, and that if it does not it dies and is forgotten.” The secret to mass appeal is engaging stories. Fiction may be art or craft, but it is certainly not engineering. Good article.
“There are great storytellers, great writers, and great storytelling writers…Fiction may be art or craft, but it is certainly not engineering.”
Well said. This is very much the way I see it.
Lisa has it bang-on with ‘Why’ being the nucleus/reason of the story, and with Who, What, When, and Where (The W-5 principle of investigation) being the supporting evidence or plot.
My background is in homicides and forensics. Doing real-life investigations is all about determining ‘Why’ something happened – the motive or cause – not just how the new crime fighting tools are used, nor how cool or weird the characters are.
I think the reason crime thrillers are so popular is that they center on the ‘Why’ which triggers our biological (dopamine release) need to know what happens next. We can’t help being curious. We’re hard-wired for that.
Hey Lisa, I’m giving a spoiler for your book ‘Wired For Story’ of which I’m a huge fan. I urge every writer to read it and understand the science behind story telling.
Enjoyed the post! I’ve read The Writer’s Journey, though not The Hero with a Thousand Faces. I’m a pantser, though am trying to get into the habit of planning a bit more thoroughly before hand so that I’m not writing four times as much as what I can actually keep.
In any case, I found TWJ helpful in recognizing features of my plot and considering how I might enhance them, but I’ve never felt the urge to use it as a formula. It’s a tool in my toolbox that I pull out if I feel it’s applicable.
This post also helps explain why, in my current WIP, I’ve been gravitating toward writing the scenes that more so detail my character’s development and change–the “why” story scenes–than the plot “what” scenes. They must feel truer to me on some unconscious level. Will have to delve into whether even my “trying to plan more so than usual” has resulted in too much rigidity.
Thanks again!
Thanks again.
Thanks for this insightful post and esp. “Focus on the story first, then worry about structure – that is, if you have to. Truth is, story structure is the byproduct of a story well told.”
Yup, it’s the why that matters. Still questioning my characters as I revise.
I’m so happy I found your book, Lisa. It’s why my next novel is only going to take me a few months to write instead of the six years it took me to write my first novel. I had it backwards. I tried to follow a “structure” in my first draft and I don’t remember how many years it took me to realize I didn’t understand my protagonist. Now I’m following the “why?” and it has opened up the possibilities and tension in the story times a hundred. I will lay the structure in subsequent drafts.
Thank you!
Thanks for writing this. I knew there was something wrong with the hero’s journey approach, I just didn’t know what it was. Now I do.
Plot is what? Story is why? And in between, the artist’s head explodes. Here is the plot/story: A right-brain writer wants very much to create a great book. Why? She doesn’t know. She thinks she loves writing. She begins to write but realizes she has no clue about the craft of writing a novel so she reads many instructional manuals, she begins to question her motives. She thinks, “I want to be a bestseller? I want to write compelling fiction? I want to have my life back & throw this piece of S**T in the trash? Better have a bonfire instead, in case the Feds are out looking in dumpsters?” All sorts of obstacles appear in her path, like writing classes, blogs, books, Ph.D programs, chocolate, booze. Stream after stream of metaphorical bodies of water must be crossed. She is elated when she comes across a post like this, which says she needs to be a great storyteller, not a master outliner-plotter. Maybe she can be like some writers who she might have heard of who write a synopsis then they go for it by the seat of their pants & VOILA, they succeed in producing fantastic work. But she can’t. She can’t shake the image of JK Rowling’s elaborate outline spreadsheet (it is handwritten, the only reason it resonates with our protagonist at this point). How will she overcome this battle between left & right? Will she plot? Yes! She plots & plots. Then back to reality, she gives her draft to people to read & what is the response? WHY? Why does your character care? Ugh. If only she had listened to her right-brain more? Who knows? Why not? What is she to do? At this point, probably rewrite as always. Red rum red rum red rum.
Your posts are always helpful to me, Lisa, and I don’t find the title misleading. You compared the journey to a tourist trap, not a grave. I see that choice of metaphor as saying that, if one conforms and seeks absolute safety within a structure, the resultant book will be stale compared to what might have been.
Also, this morning I read an article by Spielberg predicting a major shakeup in Hollywood. Both his analysis and the comments seemed to agree that it’s the emphasis on plot, not story, that’s the biggest threat to that industry. TV writers have their priorities straight, which is why we’re supposedly entering the second golden age of TV.
I loved this post, because it took me a long time to understand the difference between plot and story, and this encapsulates it so beautifully. My background is engineering, so I naturally embraced any structural rules I came across and applied them meticulously. NOT the best approach for novel writing. :-P
This post is one for me to stow away and bring out again later for a reminder crash course. Thank you!
Great post and discussion. Reading this post put me in mind of the movie Adaptation where the plot/story “conflict” as it were is on full display.
Very good post! But may I ask you a question? You’ve defined clearly what those words mean to you, but I think people use “plot” and “story” differently. When I was a teen, I learned Forster’s definition. He said, “The queen died, and then the king died. That’s a story. The queen died, and then the king died of grief. That’s a plot.”
In other words, I have always defined “story” as what happens, and “plot” as why it happens. You seem to be doing the exact opposite. So I’m a bit puzzled.
Thanks, Mary — and that is a great question. Here’s my totally honest answer: I’ve read that quote too, a gazillion times, and I’ve thought about it, and the truth is, I have absolutely NO idea what he meant at all, even a little bit. I don’t think “The king died and the queen died” is a story. It’s just something that happened. Nor do I think “The king died, and the queen died of grief” is a plot. If anything that’s the beginning of a story . . . what I’d want to know is WHY the queen died of grief — beyond the obvious assumption that she missed the old guy. If anyone else has an idea of what Forster meant, I’d love to hear it!
I’m so glad you didn’t mind my comment, Lisa! (BTW, I’m here from Jon Gibbs’s blog.) To me, what the Forster quote implies is that Story = action, and Plot = motive. Or, if you like, the story is what happens and the plot is why it happens. Which, it seems to me, is almost exactly the opposite of the way you’re using the words.
But your main point: that you have to let your story breathe, and let it teach you what its true structure is, is brilliant. I think Forster also said, “plot is character,” and that’s what I take from this.
It’s kind of shocking to me that anyone teaching writing would be so very mechanical about it.
Great counterpoint to what I recently read, “The Writer’s Journey” (Vogler), which was an adaptation of Campbell’s principles.
I cannot tell you how happy I was to see this post. Mythic and Archetypal structure seem to the be beloved ‘instant best-seller trick’ of the day. And while I do believe that is is important to know your archetypes and the structure of the monomyth, I do not believe that they should be directly applied to one’s writing. They are tools for analysis, not for plotting. Using such a rigid guideline of “rules” leads to stagnant, predictable writing.
This is not to say one should ignore the archetypes and the monomyth. I like to think of them along the lines of learning to play piano. You have to learn the technique and the notes in order to know how to do it. But then you move on and get a little creative. When you play a piece of music you’re not thinking about your lessons, you’re not thinking about the positioning and movement of your fingers, or the length and tone of the notes. If you do then two things can happen: 1) you get distracted and trip over yourself and make mistakes and 2), you end up playing the piece just as it is written with no feeling no energy, and no passion. When you play a piece of music it is the energy of the music which inspires and all that technique has become instinct.
The same goes for the archetypes: lean them until they become instinct, but don’t apply them directly to writing. It’s the passion of the writing which should carry you, not a set of rules and structures.
Lisa-
I think the real problem here is that you pretty much set up a straw man argument to generate a catchy title – and that much of it worked, judging by the responses.
But you equate a bad fiction teacher, forcing writers to include a water crossing, to what we now call The Hero’s Journey and say that to “force” either on a story is to somehow screw it up. (And, btw, this is the first time I’ve ever heard of the crossing water thing, and I’ve taken a lot of fiction writing classes, including graduate workshops. And I agree, that’s just crazeeeeee.)
In your last note here you wrote:
A story is how what happens (the plot) affects someone (the protagonist) in pursuit of a difficult goal (the story question) and how he or she changes as a result (which is what the story is actually about).
And, y’know, that’s not really too bad a description of the Hero’s Journey. Which is not – as you used it – an outside formula to impose on a story (mostly to try and write a best seller).
In fact, Donald Maass’s anecdotal story earlier in this series of posts is also a pretty good version of a Hero’s Journey. And, yup, Donald was the hero. Returning with the magic elixir – which in his case was the art in the pizza box.
That’s because the Hero’s Journey is adaptable. It’s something you can recognize and use. If you understand it.
Here’s how Maass’s buddy Chris Vogler explains it in his book The Writer’s Journey (I’m hoping this helps clear up what you see as a “tourist trap”):
“The Hero’s Journey is a skeletal framework that should be fleshed out with the details and surprises of the individual story. The structure should not call attention to itself, nor should it be followed too precisely. The order of the stages given here is only one of the many possible variations. The stages can be deleted, added to, and drastically shuffled without losing any of their power. [which explains why his buddy Donald Maass told you a “hero’s journey” story in his anecdote]
“The values of the Hero’s Journey are what’s important. The images of the basic version […] are just symbols of universal life experiences. The symbols can be changed infinitely to suit the story at hand…”
(The Writer’s Journey by Chris Vogler, 3rd Edition, pgs 19-20)
I hope that explains why the Hero’s Journey is NOT a formula to impose on your story (or plot, if you prefer that term). It’s a tool to use, it’s part of your craft – if you decide to learn from it. To advocate throwing it out because it’s gained some trendiness – and so must be bad!!! – is just folly. To me, what you’re saying is a lot like saying an architect doesn’t need to know anything about the load bearing walls or the mathematics that makes sight lines pleasant, because all that is just a trap you don’t really need for designing a pleasing building.
So I’d say writers should take a look at Vogler’s book. Then take a look at what they’ve written and see whether they’ve already applied the principles from the Hero’s Journey (chances are, like Donald Maass, they already have). If they don’t think it’s helpful, don’t use it.
But if your building falls over, don’t go crying to Joseph Campbell.
story structure is the byproduct of a story well told
Not entirely sure I understand this. Structure is not a byproduct of anything. Structure is what a craftsman produces with intent. A story without structure is Jell-O on a sidewalk. Put it in a mold, which can come in many shapes and sizes, cool it, and you’ve got something to jiggle and eat.
I call structure translation software for your imagination. It’s what takes that story inside, the one you feel, the one you want readers to feel, and ENABLES readers to experience it. You may choose to move away from that for artistic reasons, and that’s fine. This isn’t a law. But the further you move the fewer the readers, as a general proposition.
Here’s the big point: none, zip, zero of those myth creators created a single myth based on this structure. They were just doing what comes naturally — telling stories.
But it wasn’t nature that trained them in their storytelling. It was other storytellers, who knew what they were doing. How many non-structured myths have we had passed down to us?
I fear many writers give up on structure–or move on to say it’s bogus–because it’s often hard for them to get the feel of being creative and free while having structure as their guide at the same time.
The answer is not to throw it out, but to work harder at it. Writing well is not easy. It’s art AND craft.
Ah, but you misunderstand me. I couldn’t agree more — writing is art plus craft. I was in no way implying you have to do is unleash your creativity and voila, a story! In fact, I believe the exact opposite. In spades.
Rather, my point has to do with what to focus on, craft-wise — that is, the story itself, rather than simply the plot.
Following an external story structure model that focuses on plot (which by definition they do), begets stories in which the action is fueled by an external time table, and certain prescribed external events. As a result, writers craft plots in which these events occur, rather than crafting protagonists whose internal progress depends on said events occurring.
I believe that if tell a story well (which takes an insane amount of work), it will by definition be structured well.
Does that help? ;-)
“story structure is the byproduct of a story well told”
“Not entirely sure I understand this. Structure is not a byproduct of anything.”
The way I took it is that if you’ve written a good story, it will by definition have a sound structure.
Lisa and Beth:
The way I took it is that if you’ve written a good story, it will by definition have a sound structure.
To me, that’s rather like saying, If the players play well, we’ll have a good game. Or, if we had a good game, the players played well. IOW, it’s a bit of a circle.
My quibble here is that story doesn’t just happen, nor does structure. In fact, structure brings OUT story in a way that is both holistic and accessible to the readers.
For example, true character is only revealed in crisis. If you write a novel with a compelling character, but ignore structure, you could end up with a crashing bore of a character AND a plot that drags for the reader.
But if you put that character through his paces, you are eking out of him the story that he inhabits.
I just don’t think we ought to call something like The Hero’s Journey as “trap.” In many ways it can help you find the story your character is dying to tell!
Anyway, good discussion, good food for thought. Always a pleasure to talk writing here at Unboxed.
” If you write a novel with a compelling character, but ignore structure, you could end up with a crashing bore of a character AND a plot that drags for the reader.”
Of course. But the qualifier in Lisa’s statement is a story that’s “well told.” The above would be an example of a not-so-well-told story.
This may come down to how a writer approaches story-telling–structure first (i.e. planning) or story first (totally seat-of-the-pants). It is possible to tell a good tale with good structure without giving a single thought to structure beforehand. Not every writer is wired this way, but some are.
I do agree that the Hero’s Journey can be a valuable tool for analyzing structure and providing clues when a writer is lost.
The thing is I am NOT saying that you can “just write a story” — at all. Of course true character is revealed in crisis, but it’s the STORY (meaning the internal story) that begets the crisis, not an external story structure model.
Point being: I would NEVER say that “story just happens.” But I would say, structure does . . . ;-)
A good story is inherently well structured.
What I’m calling story COMES in the form that you’re advocating. The question we’re battling over is where the writer’s focus goes — to plot, or to story.
The plot is not the story. The story is in how the plot affects the protagonist. Just saying.
While I think you’re right about the necessity for strong internal motivations in characters, and I respect you for your insight into the human understanding of stories and storytelling, I disagree with several things you propose in this post.
First: “All novels have a plot, even when “nothing” happens.”
You could have chosen a better way to say that all good stories NEED a plot, because the way it came out is blatantly false. A story where the protagonist has a problem but decides to do nothing but ruminate about it has no plot, and is not a story. You can’t deny the importance of a clearly structured plot to hold all that motivation, striving and goal hunting of the protagonist together logically.
Second: Following a plot structure is NOT the same thing as churning out cookie cutter prose.
Negating the need for long fiction to have an internal recognizable plot structure in order to maximize its impact on readers is basically saying that all stories need to be experimental, throw-it-all-into-a-pot-and-stir-it-as-you-see-fit fiction.
This might not have been your intention when you wrote the post (and I’m quite sure you had something else in mind, and that most of this post is a confusion of “story” with “character motivation”). I can sense your need to underline that good storytelling needs character motivation and deep, underlying core problems in order to be meaningful (not just superficial boom-bang-action), and I agree with you on that 100%.
But saying that motivation and characterization is ALL a story needs, and suggesting writers avoid known structures, is simply bad advice. Structure doesn’t just happen. It needs attention and knowledge of how a story needs to evolve in order to make its meaning apparent to the reader. We can’t just rely on strong characters with complex personalities, and cross our fingers hoping the story becomes compelling and engaging (aka a page-turner) all by itself.
Geez, I feel so misunderstood, which can only mean ONE thing: I didn’t do my job right! Thanks so much for pointing it out, Veronica, let me clarify . . .
In a nutshell: What I’m saying in this piece is that STORY comes first; PLOT second. The story itself is not about the plot, it’s about how the plot affects the protagonist.
I would never ever, ever, ever say (and am horrified that I in any way sloppily implied) that all a story needs is motivation and characterization.
Here’s my definition of story:
A story is how what happens (the plot) affects someone (the protagonist) in pursuit of a difficult goal (the story question) and how he or she changes as a result (which is what the story is actually about).
In other words, story is internal, not external.
That’s why starting with an external story structure model tends to result in stories in which things happen, but nothing really matters to anyone.
Yes, character’s actions and motivation drive the plot, but there is ALWAYS a plot, and things always happen. In Before Sunrise things happen — but those things have to do with the relationship between two people — not “big” external events.
I completely agree that a clearly structured plot is exactly what holds the protagonist’s motivation, striving and goal hunting together logically. My point is that that very structure you’re talking about is the byproduct of a well-told story. And that if you start with structure — i.e. the plot — the story itself will most likely be empty.
Can structure be tweaked once the story is on the page? Of course, absolutely, no argument there! But it doesn’t come first.
BTW, here’s what got to me the most, because it is the EXACT OPPOSITE of what I’ve spent my life teaching: “Negating the need for long fiction to have an internal recognizable plot structure in order to maximize its impact on readers is basically saying that all stories need to be experimental, throw-it-all-into-a-pot-and-stir-it-as-you-see-fit fiction.”
It goes through me like a knife that I could EVER have given anyone that impression! Thanks so much for giving me the opportunity to clear it up. I feel much better now ;-)
Crossing water: Maybe that’s the teacher’s signal to himself when he reads his student’s work in the future. “Ah, the character just crossed water. They were paying attention in class!” :)
I’ve got water appearing quite a lot in my WIP, but since the characters live in the desert, water is kinda sorta important to them.
I like the thought that the hero’s obstacle can be something as simple as a puddle (small problem). What might seem small to us could be a huge giant step for him.
As long as the story has some interest in the first 3-5 pages, and the characters are interesting and believable, I’ll keep on reading. I like their names to be reasonable, too. I started a sci-fi book, but quit after a few pages. Not one of the character’s names were less than ten letters or pronounceable. ‘Grezyweblyn tried to steal the secret formula from Jazyrobtnnhn, but fell in love with Drjmlyzrrmt.’ That’s not much of an exaggeration from what was in the book, but it gives you a fair example of the problem. Frankly, I’m surprised it got published.
I usually have an idea of what my story will be about, but I don’t always have an ending. If I go ahead and start writing, the characters will often talk for me, and everything comes together.
My problem is I spend too much time editing and rewriting as I go instead of saving it for after the book is completed.
I’ve read confusing advice on that issue. One well-known author said the he liked to have each page perfect before he moved on. I didn’t like that advice because when I am in ‘the flow’ with my writing, I’m not going to stop at the end of the page. I keep writing until the inspiration is gone. Then I’ll go back and check for typos, misspells, etc.
I have no trouble writing short stories. Maybe I should pretend my novel is a short story, and see how that works out.