I wish I'd known so many things as a beginning fiction writer. . . . 

Recently, I was teaching and mentoring at the Storymakers Conference, and I got into a conversation with a fellow editor and writer about such things, and I've sort of been thinking about them off and on ever since. Thus, this post. But I'll keep this intro brief. . . . 

Here are seven things I wish I'd known when attempting to write my first novel.

1. Nearly Every Scene Needs a Goal

I consider goals to be the first element of plot. Without a goal, you can't have a true antagonist--because the antagonist is what opposes the goal. And without that, you can't have conflict. Or consequences. Or a true story.

But not only does your protagonist need an overarching goal for the act or whole narrative arc, but there should almost always be a little goal for nearly any scene. Often what happens, is the big goal will be broken up into scene-level goals. So, while Katniss's overarching goal is to win The Hunger Games, her scene-level goals may be to impress the Gamemakers, nail her interview with Caesar, or find Peeta in the arena. And of course, if there are multiple plotlines, as is often the case, there may be goals related to other plotlines beyond the main external one.

Admittedly (and unfortunately) though, even if someone had told me that 10+ years ago, I would have been very skeptical, and my mind would have immediately gone searching for scenes where there isn't a goal present.

I now realize, I had a very narrow view of what a goal was. See, when I heard the word "goal," I only thought of obtaining something. Thankfully, that is only one type of goal. Avoiding something can be a goal. And wanting to maintain things as they currently are can also be a goal--it just needs an antagonistic force (just as they all do).

So, at the most basic level, there are three types of goals: obtain, avoid, or maintain.

The goal can change. It can even be achieved or abandoned. In which case, a new goal needs to come into play.

Some scenes don't start with a goal, but usually one comes in as the scene progresses, and goals may not be a big component of sequel scenes.

There are, of course, some rare situations where there isn't really a goal at all, but when that happens, there is often still directionality--a sense of where the story is going.

Goals help tighten up the story by giving the audience a sense of direction, and if you don't have a goal in play, then you need to come up with another way to do that, such as playing with dramatic irony (the audience senses that the direction the story is going, is that the characters will eventually figure out what they already know).

Until a goal is in play, the audience can't really measure if what is happening is progress or a setback, and they can't get a strong sense of why what is happening matters (because the characters aren't trying to get anywhere specific). 

Goals are super important in the overarching plot. They are equally important, if not even more important, within scenes.

2. Scenes and Acts Should Follow Basic Structure

Most of us are probably familiar with basic story structure: rising action, climax, falling action.

But many of us weren't taught that this is also the basic structure of acts and scenes.

The difference, is that, in acts and scenes, it's smaller and less impactful.

This shape is a fractal that repeats itself within the narrative arc. It's like a Russian nesting doll, with the smaller structures of it fitting into the larger ones.

This means most of your scenes should actually have a climactic turning point.

This also means that the story should have changed at least a little because of the scene. How the story was at the beginning of the scene, should be at least a little different from what it is at the end of the scene. If it's not, the scene is probably just exposition and/or filler.

There are, of course, some exceptions to this. For example, sometimes the point of the scene is to show how things haven't or aren't changing. But if most of your scenes don't follow this structure and aren't changing the story at least a little, they probably aren't progressing the story, and are just filler (unfortunately!).

3. Know Your 4 Basic Character Arcs and Which You are Writing

Some writing advice doesn't work well for all stories, and that can be especially true when you get into character arcs. There are four basic types of character arcs: positive change, negative change, positive steadfast, negative steadfast. Any other character arc should fit into one of these four.

In brief, a change-arc protagonist will do, more or less, a 180-degree flip about a belief system or worldview. They go through a big change or transformation. If this is positive, the protagonist flips from an inaccurate worldview to an accurate one. If negative, the protagonist flips from an accurate worldview to an inaccurate one.

In a steadfast arc (also called a flat arc), the protagonist will stay, more or less, the same at the end of the story as they were at the beginning of the story. They will uphold the same worldview. A steadfast story is about the protagonist holding true to who he was in the beginning, despite other forces testing or tempting him to bend or quit. If this is positive, the protagonist is holding steadfast to an accurate worldview. If negative, the protagonist is holding stubbornly to an inaccurate worldview.

Of the four types, the most popular one is the positive change protagonist, which means there is a lot of great advice for that type. Unfortunately, that advice doesn't always translate well into the other three types.

This is where I ran into one of my biggest stumbling blocks when I was a "beginner" storyteller. I  wanted to write a flat-arc/steadfast protagonist story, but I didn't know about those terms and I couldn't articulate what I was trying to do nor find resources to help me do it. I kept trying to apply change arc advice to a steadfast protagonist. It didn't work well and caused so many problems! Eventually, and unfortunately, I turned my steadfast protagonist into a change-arc protagonist in the process. Yikes.

While positive change arc protagonists are the most popular, they aren't the only type, and you don't have to write that type. So know what type you are writing and be discerning about what advice does and does not apply to it.

4. Character Agency Actually Makes the Character More Sympathetic

Let me admit something. While I think I'm somewhat of a natural at dissecting stories, I've learned I'm not a natural storyteller. After college, I could write pretty lines with a great style, but I really struggled with actual story elements. I don't think I'm natural at story. It seems I have had to learn everything the hard way in that regard. But I can't feel too bad about it, because trying to figure out why what I was doing didn't work has spurred much of this blog.

Anyway, when I started taking writing seriously, my protagonist did not exercise much agency. Bad things were just happening to him and he was just reacting, and he was really rather passive in plot (in part because I didn't understand the importance of goals nor that I could pick from three not just one type (see #1)). He wasn't making many choices or demonstrating his agency.

I wanted him to be really sympathetic because of his difficulties, and on a subconscious level, I thought that the lack of agency and control over his situation was doing that.

In reality, as counterintuitive as it sounds, the opposite is actually true.

Agency makes characters more sympathetic.

Here is an example I like to give when teaching others about this concept.

Imagine a story where a mother's daughter goes to the store and gets shot and killed by criminals.

It's sad, of course, but it seems random. Bad things happen to everyone.

Now, imagine a story where the mother didn't want to go to the store, and so chose to send her daughter instead. Then the daughter got shot and killed by criminals.

Most of us would say the second one is sadder.

Why?

Because the mom now holds some level of responsibility and accountability for what happened. If the mom hadn't sent her daughter, she wouldn't be dead.

Now, don't get me wrong, obviously the criminals are the real ones to blame, and the daughter also exercised agency by deciding to help out her mom (which makes the daughter a more sympathetic character too--she was just trying to help).

But in the second scenario, there is a stronger sense of cause and effect, where the mother's choices led to negative consequences.

And now, she may be haunted by the choice she made. What if she had chosen differently? Maybe she should have gone to the store herself. Or maybe she should have just used a delivery service. Or maybe . . . (I think you get the point).

This makes her more sympathetic. Not less.

And one way to make a character particularly sympathetic is to have her make choices with the best intentions and then have them lead to painful, costly consequences.

I could do a whole article on character agency in the future . . . or maybe I'll just save it for my online course. 😉

For now, this should give you a little something to think about regarding it: exercising agency makes characters more sympathetic, not less.

5. The Antagonistic Force isn't Only the Main "Big Baddie"--Your Story Should be Loaded with Them

In the writing community, we often talk about THE Antagonistic Force ™ in a story. We get very focused on THE MAIN Antagonistic Force ™--which makes total sense, I mean, duh! It's the biggest opposition.

But I sometimes feel like this leads to limiting perspectives that hurt our stories. (It certainly did for me and mine when I was learning.)

In reality, an antagonistic force isn't just some scary entity. An antagonistic force is anything that opposes the goal (see #1). It is the obstacles and resistance in the way of the goal. It's not something that is just heckling or annoying the protagonist. It's blocking, resisting, or pushing the character away from the goal.

And if (nearly) every scene should have a goal and should follow basic story structure, naturally that means there should be lots and lots and lots of antagonistic forces in a story--even if that particular antagonist only lasts for one single scene. Even if that antagonist isn't THE Antagonistic Force ™.

We need antagonists to have conflict (or even just tension--there is a difference) and meaningful consequences in our stories. That means an ally may step into the role of an antagonist if only for a moment, even if the ally isn't what we think of as a "baddie." (It may just be she has a different idea of what to do next, and that opposes the protagonist's current goal.)

And the antagonistic force isn't always "bad." It's simply something that opposes the goal. That's it.

So even if you have a main antagonistic force, make sure your story has lots of lesser antagonistic forces along the way--things that oppose the current goal. They may be temporary antagonists, but they are antagonists nonetheless.

6. Create Side Characters with Lead Characters in Mind

Once upon a time I brainstormed and ironed out a whole character who I, of course, thought was great. But when he finally got on the page with one of my main characters, the scene was terrible. The two did not go together well at all. It was some of the flattest most boring character interactions I'd ever written.

You see, while I liked both characters and worked a lot on each, they did not work well together--or perhaps, rather the problem was, they worked "too well" together, which was why it was so flat and boring. My main character in the scene was pretty nonchalant. The new side character I inserted was relaxed and lazy. Ack! What was I thinking? Because I had created each of them individually and because there were so many other features to them, I didn't realize how terrible they would be on the page alone together.

Rather than create each character as an "island," it's better to create supporting characters with the leads in mind. What kinds of qualities and attitudes are going to challenge and test your lead characters? What does your lead need to learn from this person? Or, what can the lead teach this person? What kind of person will uncover a new side to your lead? These are useful questions to ask when creating side characters.

In my story, in addition to being nonchalant, the main character valued honesty so much that he was often blunt (read: borderline rude). So I made the supporting character someone uptight who valued politeness. It took much less work on my part and the scene was much better for it.

7. Pretty Lines and a Nice Style Will Only Get You So Far (Which is Not Very Far at All)

As I already mentioned, when I got out of college, I could write in pretty lines and I had a nice style. In fact, style was one of the things I'd often get complimented on. But guess what? That doesn't matter if your story stinks.

There was an adage I would hear floating in writing communities around this time. Its basic idea was that if your lines are good enough, it doesn't matter what the story is, the reader will keep reading.

Today, I think this is a dangerous thing to be telling people, and when my story wasn't working out, I'd sometimes get stuck on that idea, thinking, Well, I have a good style, and if I just write this clever enough, witty enough, interesting enough, beautiful enough--X enough--the reader will keep reading!

Let's just say I wasted a lot of time doing that.

It didn't matter how beautiful or funny the lines were if the plot, characters, and structure were broken.

And ironically, I've learned that, actually, if you can figure out the story first, the lines will often come more easily. (This is because you aren't trying to make a pigsty look like the Taj Mahal. 😉)

Well, there you have it. And yet . . .

. . . with all that said, I also recognize I was not ready to learn and understand all these things when I did start writing seriously. And some things you can only truly learn and understand by diving into the craft. I mean, if you wait to know everything to start writing, you will be waiting forever!

But what about you? Is there anything you wish you'd known as a beginning writer? Let us know in the comments.

A character tag is a word, phrase, description, trait, or concept repeatedly associated with a specific character.

Purpose of Character Tags in Fiction

1. Tags help define a character, making him more distinct, more individualized from other characters in the story.
2. Tags work as identifiers--they make it easier for the audience to quickly identify a character.
3. Tags help with recall. When used appropriately, a character tag allows the reader to immediately recall the character, his traits, personality, and mannerisms.

Character tags can be particularly useful for flat characters and characters with small roles, who are often only defined by a few features, but tags can also be useful for round characters and characters with major roles.

They're especially important when working with a large cast of characters, because they allow the audience to easily keep track of who is who. 

But in order to better understand them, let's look at some examples.

Examples

Harry Potter is loaded with characters, but almost every character is tagged, making him or her more distinct and easy to identify, as well as recall.

From Harry's jet-black hair, green eyes, and lightning bolt scar, to Ron's freckles and long nose, and to Hermione's bushy brown mane and big front teeth--all of the lead characters are tagged. But so are many others.

Dumbledore is regularly noted as having half-moon spectacles, and eyes that can seem to x-ray others on occasion. Professor Trelawny wears shawls and usually smells of sherry. McGonagall is strict. Hagrid speaks in an eye dialect and has an enormous stature. Snape has his greasy hair and hooked nose. Cornelius Fudge frequently runs the brim of his bowler hat through his fingers. Collin Creevey has his camera. And Umbridge has the face of a toad with bows in her hair. 

Even Ernie Macmillan, a character with a very small role, is repeatedly associated with the word "pompous."

Despite the series having literally hundreds of characters, the writer's use of character tags helps the audience keep track of them with little effort.

Other books and series use character tags too, of course. In The Hunger Games, Katniss has her bow, braids, and Mockingjay pin, Peeta his blond hair and lashes, Gale his fiery eyes and personality, Haymitch his drunkenness and affinity for the word "sweetheart," Effie her wigs and politeness, Cinna his gold eyeliner, and Rue her regular stance of looking like a bird about to take flight.

Some more examples are, Olaf and his unibrow and shiny eyes in A Series of Unfortunate Events, Smeagol and his distinct voice in The Lord of the Rings, and Augustus with his cigarettes in The Fault in Our Stars.

A character tag can be almost anything: a physical description, a scent, a distinctive way of speaking, a mannerism or gait, a stance, a specific word.

But there are some dos and don'ts when it comes to working with them . . . 

Tips for Choosing, Using, and Writing Character Tags

- Avoid selecting generic and forgettable tags for your characters. For most stories, regularly mentioning that a character is in a white shirt is about as effective as not mentioning her shirt. It's too generic to be memorable. 

- Instead, choose a tag that is distinct and easy to recall--after all, that's kind of the point of having a character tag! So make sure you choose the right details to turn into tags. And honestly, human beings usually notice the most distinct features of a person first anyway, so your POV character should as well. Don't settle for a white shirt, when the character has a music note tattooed on her neck.

- At the same time, make sure the tag can be conveyed succinctly. If it's too long and complicated, it's going to slow pacing, since you have to refer to it repeatedly. It will probably also get annoying to your readers.

- Generally speaking, the smaller the character's role, the more succinct the tag should be. Out of the Harry Potter characters mentioned above, Ernie Macmillan has the smallest role. Notice his tag is one word, "pompous." Characters with bigger roles can have longer and more detailed tags, and more tags in general (that you can switch between). With that said, all tags should be somewhat succinct.

- If possible, mention a character's tag(s) when she first comes "on stage." This will help individualize her as audiences get a first impression, and will help audiences recall her and their experience with her later. This can be particularly important for supporting characters with small roles. Obviously with some major characters, like a POV character, it may not always work well to introduce the tags straight away, but you should have the character's voice to pull from at least.

- If the character has a small role, it becomes more important to repeat or reference the tags when she comes back "on stage"--that way the audience can quickly recall her. If the character has a major role, you don't need to repeat the same tags every scene he is in--don't overuse the tags. That could become annoying. Just refer to them often enough to be memorable and effective. It also helps to have multiple tags to switch between.

- Avoid using the same tag for multiple characters. If you've tagged Chelsey with the scent of rosemary, don't tag Olivia with the scent of rosemary too. This will make it harder for the audience to individualize the characters. However, if that's the point--that Chelsey is similar to Olivia, and that Olivia reminds the POV character of Chelsey--then that might be a justifiable rule break. Just know what you are doing and the effect it will have on the audience.

- It's nice when the tag communicates something more about the character than what is directly on the page. The reason Professor Trelawney often smells like sherry is because she drinks sherry when upset. It's her go-to coping mechanism. But this is more an added bonus than a rule--not every character tag needs subtext.

- Generally speaking, concrete tags (such as a music note tattoo) are more effective and memorable than abstract tags (such as "cute"). But abstract tags can be useful in keeping things succinct (i.e. Ernie being "pompous.") So while it's best to lean toward the concrete, it's okay to use the abstract on occasion.

- It can be helpful to write down a character's tags in their character bible, so you can easily recall and use them as a writer.

- Choose the tags you want the audience to remember the character by. What dominating qualities and characteristics best define this character?

- Not every single character needs a character tag. Your protagonist's one-time taxi driver might be a background character not worth tagging.

Other Kinds of Tags

Character tags can be used in other forms of storytelling, in films, plays, or comics. In The Office, Kevin Malone usually speaks in monotone and has a dull manner, while Dwight almost always wears a mustard-yellow button-down shirt, and Angela is surrounded by cats and baby pictures.

However, with that said, tags are particularly important for novels and short stories, because the audience doesn't have visuals to help them remember the characters.

Character tags are not to be confused with dialogue tags--which are used to identify the speaker of a line of dialogue. Examples include, "he said," "she whispered," "Mack complained," and "Savannah yelled." You can read more about dialogue tags and which to use in my article on them.

Finally, while tags are associated with characters, you can technically use them to tag places and experiences. What would the Gryffindor common room be like without its cozy fireplace and four poster beds? And every time Harry apparates, he gets a tug behind his navel. Such tags help the audience identify and recall other things in the story as well.

Related Articles:

3 Methods that Keep Details Interesting

Working with a Large Cast of Characters

What You Need to Know Most about Character Voice

Dos and Don'ts for Writing Your Viewpoint Character's Voice

Breaking Writing Rules Right: "Only Use Said"

Writing the RIGHT Details

Hello everyone, there were some technical issues with the blog post that I was trying to get up today (and I'm still working with the platform on that). Please disregard my previous email--I wasn't going to send a follow-up, but I started getting questions about it. I apologize for multiple emails, and hope to get this issue resolved and this week's blog post (about Character Tags, not Harry Potter, haha) up soon. I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience or annoyance and ask for your patience.

Thank you for your interest, understanding, and support.

All the best,

September

In storytelling structure, people use the term “act” rather broadly and vaguely. Most in the writing community break stories down into three acts: beginning, middle, and end. But if you asked many writers what an act actually is, they would probably give you blank stares. 

Despite acts being key structural units in stories, they don’t get a lot of attention. 

And when they do, they are often treated simply as containers to fill with beats from a beat sheet.

Luckily, the basics of acts aren’t too hard to grasp, if you already know the basics of structure.

And once you grasp acts, your whole story will have not only better structure, but better pacing and better direction.

So let’s unpack the act.

It has a rising action, climax, and falling action. (Note: The climax is also known as a major "turning point.")

If we zoomed in a little more, there would be an inciting incident. This is the turn in the beginning of the story that kicks off the main plotline–it often appears as an opportunity or a problem for the protagonist.

- Charlie Bucket finding a golden ticket.

- Peter Parker getting bit by a radioactive spider.

- Boo coming into Monstropolis in Monsters Inc.

These are all examples of inciting incidents.

From there, the story escalates, more or less, until it gets to the climax, where the main conflict between the protagonist and antagonist hits a peak and gets resolved. This creates a turn that then leads to the falling action.

That’s basic structure.

Basic Structure and Structural Units

But it’s not only basic structure for a story as a whole, it’s also basic structure for just about any solid structural unit. Ideally, scenes should have this structure, sequences should have this structure, and yes, acts should have this structure.

Each unit fits inside the bigger unit, like a Russian nesting doll, or a fractal.

The difference is that, the smaller the structural unit, the smaller the impact.

So the climax of a single scene will be smaller than the climax of a sequence.

The climax of a sequence will be smaller than the climax of an act.

And the climax of an act will be smaller than the climax of the overarching story.

Basic Act Structure

In any case, other than the story as a whole, the act is the biggest structural unit. This means each act should crest into a big turn in the story.

It’s not just that the story has one major peak–a turning point–at the end.

It should have several big peaks along the way.

It should also have several “valleys” along the way.

While the overarching story is escalating in general overall, it still has rises and falls in each act.

Most commonly, people view stories as having three acts.

This means the structure will look somewhat like this:

It’s also equally common to split the middle act in half. Frequently, in the middle of the second act, there is a major turn, called the midpoint (you may have heard of it). If this moment is major, it’s often more helpful to picture the structure with the second act split into two, something like this:

One may arguably call this a four-act story, but to keep with the most commonly used terms, it’s probably better to call these pieces, Act II, Part I & Act II, Part II. 

When you look at this structure, you may realize something . . . there is no saggy middle! There is also no boring beginning, or lackluster end.

This is because there is a rise, peak, and fall within each act (and arguably two in Act II).

Frequently, people divide these act pieces into quarters. Not every writer likes using percentages, but it’s the best and easiest way to indicate when and where something in a story should typically happen–so we’ll use them.

Act I: 0 – 25%

Act II, Part I: 25 – 50%

Act II, Part II: 50 – 75%

Act III: 75% – 100%

Please note that the percentages aren’t laws; they are more like guidelines. But we need the guidelines to even have a proper conversation about acts. Once we understand the guidelines, we can play with variations for different effects, but we need to lay a foundation first to get anywhere.

The beautiful thing about this, though, is that you know you need to hit a peak in each of these quarters.

Now, occasionally, writers will cut some or all of the falling action off the structural unit. This is rare for the overarching story (but it does happen!). It is more common for smaller structural units. So don’t panic if all your units don’t have the “fall” into the valley.

Acts and Structural Pacing

The point is, you have peaks and valleys.

And it’s helpful to have them in the proper places. Why? Because this is what controls structural pacing.

Pacing is more than word count. In fact, pacing more closely links to structure. When the structure of any given unit is solid, the pacing will almost always be exactly what you need. The exception to this is when you are looking at the lines themselves–that’s when things like word count become more important.

Generally speaking, solid structure = solid pacing.

This is why when you understand acts, you’ll be less likely to have pacing problems in beginnings, middles, or ends (no saggy middles!).

Pacing gets tighter the closer it gets to the peaks, simply because the plot itself is becoming more intense.

Then it gets more leisurely and loose in the valleys, as we fall and/or begin the next climb.

Each Act’s Climax

Act I

So, when you are writing the beginning, you know you need to be climbing toward a big turn, which will hit before the middle.

What is this Act I climax?

Well, depending on what approach you are using, people will call it different things. (This is where those of you who are familiar with beat sheets pull yours out.)

- In Save the Cat! This is the “Break into Two” beat.

- In Vogler’s Hero’s Journey, this is “Crossing the Threshold.”

- In 7 Point Story Structure, this is “Plot Point 1” (sometimes alternatively called “Plot Turn 1”).

If you aren’t familiar with any of these terms, that’s fine, but know Act I has a climactic turn. 

This climactic turn works by locking the protagonist with the main conflict. It is typically marked by the protagonist’s choice to step forward, through a “Door of No Return” (i.e. Crossing the Threshold) or a “Point of No Return” (i.e. plot point). It’s what “breaks” the story into Act II.

The protagonist definitively chooses to go forward on the journey of the primary plotline. This is then usually followed by a transitional segment, that takes us into the “valley.” . . . There is a lot more I could go into here, but it’s beyond the scope of this article, so let’s move on.

The falling action is often a reaction segment–where the character is reacting to what just changed at the peak. Once the character has at least some sense of their situation, they usually start “climbing” toward a current goal (rising action).

Act II, Part I

Near the halfway mark of the story, you typically hit a climactic peak again. A big turn. People most frequently call this the “midpoint.” It usually involves the protagonist gaining new, important information that helps him move forward more aggressively, or rather, actively, against the antagonist. But it may be marked by a big victory or failure for him too.

The point is, there is a turning peak.

. . . which leads to “falling” into a valley . . . 

And again, the falling action is often a reaction segment to whatever big change–revelation or action–just happened.

Act II, Part II

Once the character gets some sense of the situation, you know what she’s going to do? Start the climb toward the current goal. Rising action.

And of course, the climb is never easy. Every climb has conflict and stakes–that’s the only way to escalate the story (in other words climb the rising action).

She hits another major turn.

- In Save the Cat! this moment coincides with the “All is Lost” beat.

- In Vogler’s Hero’s Journey, it’s “The Ordeal” beat.

- And in 7 Point Story Structure, this is (arguably) Plot Point 2 (but there is some ambiguity on how that term gets used in the writing community).

If you don’t know those terms, that’s fine, but just know that this is the major climactic moment of Act II (Part II).

And, most frequently, it leads to the biggest “fall” of the story–a big lully drop to a low, low valley. It’s usually the largest reaction segment of the story.

Well, guess what happens next?

Act III

After the character has taken some time to wallow in his failures, he’ll find his footing and start the last climb–to Act III’s climax, which is (almost) always simultaneously the climax of the whole story.

And that’s the basic structure of the story, through acts.

Dealing with self-doubt can be an important skill to learn as a writer. While doubt often feels like a negative experience, it's actually arguably a natural, healthy one. Once you properly understand doubt, the trick is to keep it from becoming toxically unbalanced.

Quite a while ago at this point, a follower asked me a question that related to self-doubt. 

Now, I'm certainly not a psychologist or a therapist or anything like that. But I've certainly been plagued by self-doubt as much as probably any writer--and when I was starting out, likely even more.

I definitely don't know everything on the subject, and if you are dealing with legit trauma, you'll probably want to go to a professional. 

With that said, I think my views on it may be useful to some people. (They are also useful for me to revisit.) And I know there will be some people who disagree with what I say--and that's okay. No one has to agree with me on everything.

But maybe you will learn something new.

Because we all deal with self-doubt on occasion. 

And if you are a person who literally never experiences self-doubt, while many would likely envy you, I personally would be a little worried for you, for reasons that will make sense by the end of this article.

You see, contrary to what our culture seems to want us to believe, experiencing some form of self-doubt is a natural--and I'd even argue--healthy thing.

It only truly becomes a problem when it is so unbalanced, that it becomes toxic, that you let it stop you from doing anything, from living the life of your dreams.

If you can't tell yet . . . my take on this topic will likely be atypical.

But I do think it will be helpful.

First, however, I want to lay out some important groundwork. . . .

2 Types of Thoughts: Passing vs. Intentional

Every once in a while, I hear a writer (or other professional) get asked, "Did you ever think of quitting?"

What seems like a simple question, is actually, rather complicated.

Because realistically, the thought of quitting should naturally pass through everyone's minds. The question is how long it stayed there and how seriously that person thought of it.

So, the questioner is actually asking: "Did you ever seriously consider quitting?"

You see, we all have at least two types of thoughts: passing thoughts and intentional thoughts.

Passing thoughts are thoughts that naturally pass through your head--they may come up because of your current environment or circumstances, because of your biological needs, because of your personal tendencies, or because of whatever problem you are mentally trying to work out. For example, I may be at self-check-out and notice a man bagging his items without scanning them. A passing thought that would probably naturally come up is, That guy is stealing.

Might be true. Might not be true.

But it's natural for that to pass through my mind.

Intentional thoughts are different. They are thoughts we intend to think. They are thoughts we have more control over. I may choose to think about food because I'm a chef, and I like to come up with new recipes (not really). Or I may choose to think about the next scene I want to write because I love writing (really). Or, I may choose to either refute the idea this guy at self-check-out is stealing, reinforce the idea, or consider both sides of the argument.

Often passing thoughts lead to intentional thoughts.

That guy is stealing, may lead me to intentionally be on the lookout for signs that he is.

But it's also possible that intentional thoughts lead to passing thoughts.

For example, if I'm trying to intentionally solve a problem I'm having with a friend, I might have the passing thought of She'll never forgive me.

That may or may not be true. Depending on the situation and relationship, it may be completely probable or completely improbable.

If you don't know the difference between passing and intentional thoughts, it can lead you toward some misconceptions. When I've mentioned this to people, on more than one occasion, someone has said, "I used to think I was a terrible person, because of my passing thoughts." In reality, it's your intentional thoughts and what you choose to do with the passing thoughts that matter most.

I think some of us are more predisposed or are in environments to have certain passing thoughts more than other people. And I also think it's not always easy to discern which category every thought fits into. Thoughts are weird.

But some types of passing thoughts are natural for any healthy human mind.

And that includes thoughts of doubt.

This leads me to my next foundational topic . . .

Befriend Your Negative Feelings--They're Natural

As I observe the world around me, I notice that many people's problems come from them not wanting to experience negative feelings. (And I'm probably no exception.)

On the one hand, this is completely understandable and good--not wanting to feel fear will motivate you to avoid life-threatening danger. On the other hand, this is rather ridiculous because real life entails experiencing negative feelings regardless of what you do. I mean, even someone who literally does nothing will have bad things happen to them, or will have to experience boredom, or may have to live with the pains of what could have been.

Yet so many people try to run from negative feelings.

So many people are so terrified of experiencing negative feelings that they will go to great lengths and take bizarre, illogical paths to avoid them.

However, contrary to how they make you feel, negative feelings aren't always bad.

In fact, they are often very natural.

Now, this isn't to say we need to run amok and make a huge point to experience negative feelings--use common sense.

But rather than try to eradicate negative feelings altogether, it's often actually more beneficial and more effective (in my opinion) to learn to live and work with them. Befriend your negative feelings. (At least at first--it's great if you can let them go when they aren't serving you.)

Sometimes trying to eradicate negative feelings is, actually, the same thing as trying to run away from them . . . because some types of negative feelings and logical processes will never go away--and they shouldn't. And if you have a problem with them, then maybe it's because you're trying to uproot them altogether. (Remember--doubt only truly becomes a problem when it is so unbalanced, it's toxic.)

Depending on the situation, that can lead you on a dangerous path. 

Imagine brainwashing yourself to the point that you literally no longer felt any doubt.

Imagine the terrible problems and situations you might get yourself into. What if you spent all your savings on lottery tickets because there was no question in your mind that you wouldn't win--it never even crossed your mind (passing thought)? What if you wreaked havoc on your relationships because you were always 100% sure the other person would immediately agree with you, or do whatever you wanted, or feel exactly as you felt about something? What if you quit your job because you never had a moment of doubt that you could feed your kids while living your life as a beach bum?

Doubt is good.

Doubt is logical.

Doubt is a natural, healthy part of our thought processes.

It allows us to foresee problems, live in reality, and prepare for negative outcomes.

This is why if you never experience doubt--about writing or otherwise--I'd be worried about you.

Rather than try to run away from doubt--which will lead us to do nothing--or try to eradicate doubt--which will lead to frustration (or worse things if you are somehow successful)--it's best to learn to live with and manage doubt.

The point isn't to get rid of it completely.

The point is to live with it.

The point is to manage it and keep it from becoming unbalanced and toxic.

With that in mind, let's talk about some common writing doubts that naturally come up.

Common Writing Doubts

If you are a writer and are interrupted by the following doubts, guess what? You are probably normal!

Because, at least some of these will likely naturally come up in any healthy, functioning human brain--at least as passing thoughts.

Here are some sets of doubts that most of us deal with:

Doubts about Mortality

Am I wasting my time/life with writing? Is there something better I should be doing? Is there something more meaningful I should be doing that will help more people? If this doesn't pan out, will I have wasted years? My life?

Doubts about Skills and Status

What if I'm not a "real" writer? What if I'm a terrible one? What if my story is dreadful? What if I'll never be great?

Doubts about Outcomes and Reception

What if no one wants to read my story? What if people judge me for it? What if my loved ones hate it? Then hate me? What if I make no money at this? What if others don't support me? What if I'm a disappointment to them?

Doubt's job is to prepare us for negative outcomes.

When passing thoughts of doubt come up, it's just doubt doing its job.

It's nothing to be scared of.

We just want to keep it in check.

In Dramatica Theory (you didn't think I'd be throwing out storytelling theory today, did you?), archetypes are determined by the natural functions of the human brain. The archetype that represents doubt is called "The Skeptic." If the voice of skepticism isn't expressed in a story, something will feel off to the audience, because a natural thought process is missing in the piece. If a character doesn't voice doubt, the audience will--this often manifests as the audience losing their willing suspension of disbelief.

But The Skeptic is balanced out by "The Sidekick," an archetype that represents and voices confidence. The Sidekick is a loyalist who is completely faithful to who or what they believe in. Their job is to be supportive.

We all have passing doubt. But if we don't balance it out with The Sidekick--faith and confidence--we'll find ourselves sinking and swirling in a vortex of despair. We'll find ourselves toxically unbalanced.

Tell Yourself a Better Lie

The Skeptic and The Sidekick are complete opposites, but they do have one thing in common: They are used to predict outcomes.

The Skeptic expresses what could go wrong.

The Sidekick expresses what could go right.

Doubt prepares us for negative outcomes.

Faith prepares us for positive outcomes.

When you are dealing with self-doubt, often you are dealing with perceived negative outcomes.

And while they maybe could happen, they haven't happened yet, so aren't necessarily real.

There is an online therapist I like to listen to named Marisa Peer, who created what's called "Rapid Transformational Therapy." She has worked as a therapist for highly successful people. When an actor in Hollywood was having a mental breakdown, she'd be called in to address the issue so that moviemakers could keep filming (they have expensive deadlines to meet after all).

I like a lot of Peer's approaches and perspectives. One of the things I've heard her explain multiple times that I find interesting, is that she says a lot of our expressions of toxic self-doubt are actually lies.

Think about it.

You may tell yourself, "Well, I'm not a real writer," even after you've spent days, months, or years writing. (Imposter syndrome, anyone?)

Or you may say, "No one will buy this book. Everyone will think it's terrible." But you don't know for sure if that is true. You don't know if that's reality.

Or you may say, "I am just sitting here wasting my life!" But that may not be correct. It may be that you write something as impactful as Harry Potter.

And yet when I say something like that, The Skeptic naturally comes in and says, "No way. Never gonna happen. Do you know how many people haven't written something that had that impact?"

The Skeptic is just doing its job.

But guess what? The Sidekick can "lie" just as effectively.

So, as Peer suggests, tell yourself a better lie.

Instead of intentionally thinking and dwelling on, "I'm not a real writer," intentionally think and dwell on, "I'm an amazing writer! People line up clear down the street just to get a book signed."

That may not be true. But neither is the statement, "I'm not a real writer." If you write, you are a real writer.

If you are going to be "lying" to yourself anyway, you might as well tell yourself a better lie. One that actually serves you. 😉

Don't mistake me--I'm not saying we should live in a non-reality. Remember what I've been saying much of this time: Doubt is a natural, important part of the human mind.

I'm not saying you need to throw it clear out the window.

But if it's toxically unbalanced, you need to counter it by utilizing your Sidekick thought processes. "Everyone loves this book." "This is gonna be a bestseller." "I'm one of the best writers." "I work harder on and utilize my time the best with this book."

You will go further and be more successful with the voice of The Sidekick in your mind. If you believe in yourself and are moving forward, you can improve. If you don't have any faith or confidence at all, you'll never do anything or go anywhere. 

So don't hate The Skeptic, but don't neglect The Sidekick.

The more The Skeptic threatens to overwhelm you, the more you need to call upon and utilize The Sidekick (generally speaking).

As Marisa Peer also talks about, your mind often believes what you tell it to. You can imagine a fresh, crisp, juicy lemon, and your mouth will start watering. (As fiction writers, we know this, I mean . . . we're trying to create an experience for the reader all the time.) If you intentionally think with The Sidekick, your body and behavior will generally follow (or at least improve).

You can be shaking in your boots about an upcoming task, but if you tell yourself, "I'm an amazing X, and everything I touch turns to gold," you'll feel (and act) more capable.

Of course (you know me), there are always exceptions, such as if you literally have a chemical imbalance beyond your control. Or some of us really are fighting figurative dragons in our lives right now, which makes it all more difficult. Generally speaking, though, I think it can help nearly everyone (and maybe even, to some degree, the person with the imbalance or dragons).

A lot of doubts and insecurities are rooted in the belief that you aren't enough. Start saying and trying to believe you are enough, just the way you currently are, and you may be surprised by what follows.

How I Personally Deal with Overwhelming Self-Doubt

Probably like most of you, I've had experiences with overwhelming self-doubt--the kind of stuff that cripples you and makes you want to crawl into bed with the lights off. I could go into some anecdotes, but I don't really see the point.

If we don't want to eradicate doubt, how do we manage it? We feed The Sidekick and reign in The Skeptic.

Here are some things I do to personally do that:

Intentionally Think Positive Thoughts

Doubt will naturally come in as a passing thought, and that's okay. And it's even okay to intentionally consider it. But if it isn't helping or serving me, I need to intentionally think good thoughts as I feed myself lots of positive self-talk. 

Some people reading this will roll their eyes at this, but one of the phrases I've been saying to myself lately, is "Everything I touch turns to gold." Not magically--I have to put in that effort--but it's the idea that I have the capacity to turn anything I cross into metaphorical gold. Everything will become better because of what I do. Is it true? Well, is telling the opposite to myself true? (No.) Whether or not I actually better everything that comes my way, I will likely come closer to bettering it, by thinking I can. 

Another phrase that is helpful for me, that I learned from a dear neighbor is, "I can do hard things." And because coping is a big deal, I sometimes add "while coping constructively" (not destructively).

If it's helpful to you, maybe come up with a few go-to phrases you can intentionally think when self-doubt threatens to overwhelm you.

Guided Meditations

Meditation is a great way to calm a fearful, doubtful mind. But because my writer brain always has a gazillion things it enjoys thinking about, when the going gets tough, I do my best meditations with some guidance. Honest Guys on Youtube is my favorite (and they even have fantasy-themed meditations, like The Hobbit 😉.) I also like Jason Stephenson. Beyond those, there are a few popular apps to consider, like Calm and Headspace (but I like Honest Guys and Jason more).

And I know I said I wasn't gonna get anecdotal, but I guess I lied. I'll keep it short though. I once had to regularly teach a Sunday School class that I was terrified to teach--I was the second youngest person in the class and probably the second least experienced. I couldn't eat anything within two hours before church because I got so nervous. For a long time, every Sunday I taught, I'd find a relevant guided meditation (like one for fear or about confidence) from Honest Guys and do that in the morning, and it would work wonders in calming me. 

Recording Kind Words

Giving yourself positive self-talk is great, because no one can take that away from you. But when I'm really fearful or have toxic doubt, it's sometimes equally helpful to recall kind words and good things other people have said to or about me. These days, it's easy to write them in your phone and pull them out whenever The Skeptic threatens to overcome you. When I feel like I need more than positive self-talk, I have the positive words and compliments of others to help bolster me. And back when I was young, and lacking much experience, when I felt like I couldn't fully rely on myself or my own judgment, I had real words from those outside of me.

Along those lines, just recalling positive memories and experiences can help me balance out the negativity washing over me.

Prayer and Spiritual Guidance

As you probably guessed from my anecdote, I'm a spiritual and religious person. Turning to God in prayer, as well as turning to the scriptures, definitely helps me. Many programs for those who are struggling in life, perhaps with addictions, talk about how exercising belief in a higher power can lead to more success. I know not everyone believes in such things, but this is what works for me. Even if you don't believe in a God god, turning to some kind of higher power may be helpful to you.

Replenish Your Motivation (and Yourself)

When dealing with doubt, it's helpful for me to recall why I started this writing journey and what I hope to get out of it. I do this by looking at the past and remembering the (good) reasons why I'm presently here (as well as maybe reflecting on how far I've come). But I also look to the future and imagine what success appears and feels like.

Now, I have the tendency to burn myself out--or at least, get mighty close to it--and the closer I get to doing that, the more I have to consciously bolster The Sidekick. If I'm being honest, fatigue often leads to me feeling more insecure. So sometimes the best thing I can do is take time to recharge and refill my creative well. Watching one of my favorite shows is one of the quickest ways to do that for me. Listening to some of my favorite music and treating myself to a delicious meal helps too. Getting proper sleep and exercise can be key also. 

It's harder to bolster The Sidekick when you are burned out or unwell.

In closing, there is one more thing I think is important to acknowledge. Assuming you aren't irrationally unbalanced, doubt is more likely to be an issue in areas where you have little experience. The less experience you have with something, the more doubt will naturally be invited in. Why? Cause you haven't done X enough times yet to grow confident in what you are doing. But that relates to another article and another article.

It's normal and healthy to have doubt, but hopefully this post has helped you come up with ways to manage yours. It should never go away completely. But it also shouldn't overwhelm you to the point you're crippled. 

As much as you hear your inner Skeptic, it's just as important (and in some situations, more important) to hear your inner Sidekick. Make sure you give it time and space to speak.

And if all else fails, don't let doubt stop you from living your dreams. While it's not fun, even if you are plagued by immense self-doubt, you can still choose to move forward in spite of it. You can still take the next steps on your journey. Good feelings aren't a strict prerequisite to doing that.

So go forth and live your best life.

Conflict is key to writing great stories. And while writers may categorize conflict differently, I categorize conflict into eight types:

Person vs. Self 

Person vs. Person 

Person vs. Nature 

Person vs. Society 

Person vs. God 

Person vs. Fate 

Person vs. the Supernatural 

Person vs. Technology 

In today’s modern times, the Person vs. God conflict often gets left off lists or is combined with or even replaced by the Person vs. Fate conflict. But because fate conflicts don’t necessarily have gods, and god conflicts don’t necessarily include fate, I put them in separate categories.

Out of all the conflict types, Person vs. Fate is often the most misunderstood.

Many of us were introduced to the concept of Person vs. Fate through classic tragedies where the protagonist was foretold a future that led him to a dreadful end (like in Oedipus Rex or Macbeth). This has led some to proclaim that the Person vs. Fate conflict is unpopular or even outdated, and has also led some writers to shortchange this conflict type (if they even give it much thought). In reality, a fate conflict happens whenever a character is struggling with a destiny–something is predetermined or foreordained, and the character somehow opposes that. What is foretold need not always be tragic or lead to a dreadful end. Arguably, it need not always even be otherworldly.

In fantasy, fate often comes from a prophecy. In Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince, Harry struggles with the prophecy that neither he nor Voldemort can really live while the other survives. In horror, this may be a kind of curse. In Final Destination, the characters are trying to cheat their deaths–they are fated to die. It can even play into the concept of the universe having an order or law that must be upheld or fulfilled. In The Lion King, Simba must embrace his destiny as the one true king to bring order to the Circle of Life. And if we broaden the concept a little more, we can find foretold fates in the normal world; in The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, Hazel is fated to die from terminal cancer. 

Person vs. Fate conflicts are very effective because they get the audience to anticipate a future event, which creates convergence. "To converge" means to meet at a point, incline toward each other, or to come to a common conclusion. In crafting our stories, we often want a degree of convergence. Convergence is about getting the audience to look ahead to a specific moment that promises a (potential) outcome. This draws the audience in because they have to keep reading to see if what is expected to happen actually does happen, and they need to see how it happens. Introducing a Person vs. Fate conflict instantly brings that into the story. 

Many fate conflicts are rendered as teasers. Some characters have premonitions in dreams or visions that only reveal a snippet of fate. Prophecies are often worded in ambiguous or metaphorical ways, giving rise to multiple interpretations. Teasers don't tell us a lot about the plot, but they do usually promise an emotion, and they always promise the audience that they'll understand the teaser better if they keep reading, which motivates them to keep turning pages.

If the promised fate and how it is to come about is ambiguous, this can bring in a sense of mystery. Characters, or simply the audience, may try to work out who the "chosen one" is, or what is needed to defeat the villain. Often a fate conflict works as a type of riddle.

Usually Person vs. Fate conflicts explore free will within strict limitations. While some writers choose to ultimately emphasize a lack of free will, others choose to emphasize the power of free will. In Oedipus Rex characters try to change fate and end up bringing it about. In Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince, Harry eventually realizes he has a choice to accept his role or not, and chooses to rise to the occasion. Characters destined to die, may have a moment where they decide how they will face that death.

How the character chooses to deal with the fate is often just as (if not more) interesting than the fate itself. The character may openly fight against fate like Oedipus Rex, or the character may have more of a personal struggle with accepting the fate and its costs, like Simba. The audience may be invited to consider whether it’s worth the cost. In Dr. Faustus by Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus sells his soul to the devil to gain all knowledge. Was gaining all knowledge worth a fate in hell?

Commonly characters who fight against fate are punished (and the fate portrayed as inevitable), but it's possible to write a story where that is depicted positively and/or where they succeed in altering fate. With this conflict type, consider whether or not the fate is altered, whether that is a good or bad thing, and whether the character ultimately embraces or rejects fate. Are they punished or rewarded for that? Was the effort worth it?

Typically, people think of fate conflicts coming from some force beyond the character’s power, but sometimes it’s interesting when the character makes a choice that leads to an inevitable fate, such as Dr. Faustus, or even Jack Sparrow, who makes a deal with Davy Jones in exchange for the Black Pearl in Pirates of the Caribbean.

Fate conflicts traditionally come from the supernatural: prophecies, premonitions, curses, fortunes and predictions, a universal law, magical debts, or the will of otherworldly entities. But the concept can be broadened to include real-world fates: terminal illness, death row and other court sentences, forced marriage, being made a scapegoat, or forced labor. Admittedly, some conflict types can overlap with others, but looking at conflicts from a fate angle may open up your stories to new possibilities.

A few more examples of fate conflicts:

Curses, like in The Ring, where a video is promised to kill the viewer in seven days.

Deals, like in Pirates of the Caribbean, where Jack is in debt to Davy Jones and must join The Flying Dutchman or be taken by the Kraken

Fortunes and predictions, like in The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater, where Blue is told that if she kisses her true love, he will die

Supernatural entities, like in A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, where a ghost tells Scrooge of his coming death

For ideas on possible resolutions and stakes for the Person vs. Fate conflict, check out "The 8 Types of Conflict."

Because this conflict is so often misunderstood, I simply wanted to do a post broadening our perspectives of it. Do you use Person vs. Fate conflicts?

***

LAST CHANCE: My Writing Course Starts Next Week!

Craft your best book by focusing on what matters most: The “bones” of story.

This content-focused course will help you:

- Brainstorm better and more relevant material

- Evaluate what ideas most belong in your story (preventing you from writing hundreds of pages that need to be scrapped), and

- Craft a page-turning plot with compelling characters that sticks with readers long after they’ve closed the book (. . . and hopefully leads them to preorder your next book).

- And more

If you’ve found yourself writing and rewriting the same scenes, acts, or arcs, only to make them marginally better; or have struggled creating complex characters who are engaged in meaningful plots; or if you’ve been experiencing writer’s block over what you need to write next and how… The Triarchy Method will show you how to write a stronger, solid story by focusing on the “bones” of the story.

Character

Character is represented by the rib cage—it houses the heart of story. It’s how the audience gains emotional experience from the narrative, through (to some degree) empathy.

Plot

Plot is represented by the backbone—it holds the story upright and together. It’s the curvature that makes up the narrative arc, the spine that runs from beginning to end.

Theme

Theme is represented by the skull—it hosts the intellect of story. It’s how the audience gleans meaning that sticks with them long after the narrative is over. It’s why the story matters.

This live, online class is limited to 10 students and will focus on the core principles of each of the “bones” and how to structure them. Classes start March 7 and run Tuesdays and Thursdays at 6:30 pm Mountain Time (8:30pm EST) for a total of 23 classes. Classes ends on May 25.

For more information, visit https://mystorydoctor.com/the-triarchy-method-of-story/

Writing strong character relationships is critical for any author to master. Nearly every story, in nearly every genre, will feature a relationship for a plotline--whether that relationship is for the primary, secondary, tertiary, or quaternary plot, and whether that relationship is positive or negative, for allies, friends, love interests, coworkers, rivals, enemies, or what have you. 

Set up the relationship dynamics right in your story, and any relationship will be easier to write.

Authors often use relationship plotlines because they fit exactly between the external plot and the internal plot. They aren't as broad and far-reaching as the external plot, but they aren't as deep or personal as the internal plot. This makes them a perfect fit to add dimension to any story.

Hello, everyone! I'm officially finishing up my relationship series (for now) with an overview of what we've covered. This page will work well to refresh you on the topic and help you find and recall any info you may need to come back to later. I hope this journey has been helpful to you, and I hope this page will help anyone new here, looking for a guide to writing relationships.

Please note for below: "Character A" and "Character B" may refer to either character in the relationship.

A Guide to Writing Relationships: 7 Comprehensive Steps

1. Identify the Characters' Relationship Arc

There are several basic types of relationships . . . 

A relationship arc is how a relationship grows or changes through a story. Every significant character relationship can be broken down into four basic arc types:

Positive Change Relationship Arc

The characters start the story distant from each other. They are often strangers meeting for the first time, or they may even be downright enemies. But through the story, they grow closer in love and respect.

Examples: Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, Sulley and Boo in Monsters Inc. Mulder and Scully in The X-Files.

Positive Steadfast Relationship Arc

In this relationship arc, the characters start already close and already have love and respect for each other. But through the story, their relationship is tested by the obstacles of the plot. They may have their rough patches, but ultimately, at the end, they stand by one another. They typically grow in their love and respect for one another.

Examples: Frodo and Sam in The Lord of the Rings, Harry and Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Peter Parker and his love interest in some of the Spider-man installments.

Negative Change Relationship Arc

The characters start the story close, with love and respect for one another. But they are ultimately pulled apart and become distant, as strangers or enemies. Often they grow in dislike or disrespect for each other.

Examples: Anakin and Obi-wan in Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Katniss and Gale in The Hunger Games, Mike and Will in Stranger Things (Seasons 1 - 4)

Negative Steadfast Relationship Arc

In this relationship arc, the characters start distant--often as strangers or enemies--and end distant. They may be close for a time, through the middle of the story, but at the end, they don't stand by one another. Often their dislike and disrespect will grow by degree.

Examples: Winston and Julia in 1984, Angier and Borden in The Prestige, Estella and the Baronness in Cruella.

Beyond the basic relationship arcs, there are at least six variations. 

It may be helpful to use more specific labels when mapping out your characters' relationship arc. For example: strangers --> enemies --> friends --> lovers

Your characters' relationship arc is one of the most important features to know in order to write a strong plotline for them. Know what direction they are growing, so you can write a great one. 

Read more about Relationship Arcs

2. Turn the Relationship Arc into a Plot, through a Goal, Antagonist, Conflict, and Consequences

Having an entertaining or fiery relationship that arcs isn't enough to create a solid plotline. In order to be a plotline, the relationship needs a plot.

The primary principles of plot are goal, antagonist, conflict, and consequences. You can't have a strong plot without them.

Relationship Goal:

In a relationship, at the most basic level, there are only three goals: draw closer, grow apart, or maintain the relationship as is.

While other plotlines may influence the relationship plotline, when considering only the relationship one, ask, "How does my character feel about this other person? Does he want to draw closer to, grow apart from, or maintain things as is, with this other person?" That's the basic relationship goal.

However, it is likely the goal will change throughout the story.

Relationship Antagonist:

The antagonist is a form of opposition that is in the way of the goal. The antagonist can come from something external (outside the relationship), from within the relationship (the characters have differences that create obstacles), or from within a character (the character has internal conflict that is affecting the relationship).

At the basic level, the antagonist usually works like this:

If the character wants to draw closer, the antagonistic force is what's keeping them apart.

If the character wants to grow apart, the antagonistic force is what's pushing them closer.

If the character wants to maintain, then the antagonistic force is what's disrupting normal.

* Sometimes the antagonistic force is the other person in the relationship.

Many (if not most) weaknesses in relationship plotlines stem from weak antagonistic forces. Find the right, strong one, to make the characters' struggle believable (i.e. a simple misunderstanding that can be solved by a phone call probably isn't going to cut it).

Conflict:

The relationship goal and antagonist lead to conflict. There shouldn't be an easy, foreseeable way to fix this situation (if there is, the goal and/or antagonist isn't strong enough). 

The more the characters want the relationship goal and the stronger the antagonistic force, the more powerful the conflict. How the characters address the conflict will usually create the arc. As the characters overcome, or are overcome by, the obstacles, they will draw closer or further apart.

Always remember the other plotlines may affect the relationship plotline.

Consequences:

Conflict without consequences is just cleverly disguised filler. Conflict should change outcomes. Consider: What do these characters have to gain (and/or lose) in overcoming the conflict? What do they have to lose (and/or gain) in being overcome by the conflict? What are the stakes and ramifications?

Ideally, the consequences of the relationship plotline will bleed into other plotlines. For example, if the characters can't work together, then the external plot goal can't be achieved. This is a common setup, but it's not the only setup. Likewise, consequences of other plotlines may affect the outcomes of the relationship plotline.

Read more about Relationship Goals, Antagonists, Conflicts, and Consequences

3. Strengthen the Relationship Plotline with Progress, Setbacks, Costs, and Turning Points

The secondary principles of plot are progress, setbacks, costs, and turning points. Make sure the relationship journey contains these.

Progress & Setbacks:

The audience dislikes when there is no sense of direction. To keep a relationship plotline from feeling aimless or like it is circling or stagnant, make sure there is progress toward the relationship goal and setbacks coming from the antagonistic force.

The relationship needs to be going somewhere, changing, as the characters are pushed closer or pulled apart. We want to create an ebb and flow, a zig-zag in the relationship. This is more impactful.

Costs:

Costs are what the character has to "pay" to move forward with the goal. The most meaningful costs come out of conflicts and consequences. 

If a relationship has no costs, the characters didn't really have to struggle and sacrifice to be together (or, alternatively, apart). Costs are needed to show what the relationship actually means to the characters. As the plotline progresses, the costs should escalate.

The best dialogue, interactions, emotional responses, and physical descriptions will mean next to nothing if there is no proof or action behind them. Don't just tell us what the relationship means. Show us.

Turning Points:

In a relationship, a turning point happens when it becomes impossible for the relationship to go back to what it was previously. This will happen through an action (event) or a revelation (information). 

Almost always, a relationship turning point will be marked with a moment of vulnerability, which is then accepted, rejected, or neglected by the other character:

Action or Revelation --> Character A's Vulnerability --> Accepted or Rejected (or, Neglected) by Character B.

The vulnerability may be voluntary or forced, and there are different types of vulnerability (psychological, professional, physical). Most relationships will have both positive and negative turns. 

Escalate the turning points--the biggest turning point will happen at the climax of the relationship plotline.

Read more about Relationship Progress, Setbacks, Costs, and Turning Points

4. Reinforce the Relationship Plotline with Plans, Gaps, and Crises

The tertiary principles of plot are plans, gaps, and crises. 

Plans:

Having a plan reinforces the goal and a sense of progress. If the character truly wants something, they will have a plan to get it. 

The character has a relationship goal. . . . How does the character plan to achieve that? 

Gaps:

The gap is that space between what the character expects to happen and what actually does happen. The character has a goal and a plan and takes action, but sometimes reality delivers an unexpected outcome.

In relationships, look for situations where the character takes an action toward a relationship goal, but it backfires. For example, he may try to draw closer, but unknowingly pushes the other character away in the process (or vice versa). 

Crises:

A crisis happens when a character has to make a choice between two opposing paths forward. They can't take both paths, and the choice is often difficult because there are stakes (consequences) tied to each path. The crisis is almost always sandwiched between two mini-turning points. For relationships, this is where it's usually found as well.

In a relationship turning point, something leads to Character A being vulnerable. This puts Character B in a crisis about how to react. If B accepts, then X will happen. If B rejects, then Y will happen. If B neglects, then Z will happen. It usually looks like this:

Action or Revelation --> Character A's Vulnerability --> Crisis --> Accepted or Rejected (or, Neglected) by Character B.

What Character B chooses will reveal true character and also arc the relationship.

Read more about Relationship Plans, Gaps, and Crises.

5. Structure Your Relationship Plotline Correctly

Now that you know the arc and plot elements, it's time to organize them into a structure.

Because relationship plots can take so many different forms, it's important to understand the foundational principles behind their structure. This will allow you to properly structure any relationship plotline.

Some relationships start in Act I, while others start in Act II. You can have a relationship plotline that stretches over three acts, two acts, or even one act. But if it is the most prominent plotline, it (likely) needs to stretch through all three acts.

Each act should have a major turning point in the relationship. This major turn will either push the characters closer or pull them further apart, usually in an irreversible way. Map out the push and pull of the acts through your story. (Keep in mind the relationship plotline may be influenced by other plotlines.)

Between each major turn, there is a journey that can be thought of as a three-step dance: two steps forward and one step back OR one step forward and two steps back. Dance the characters between each major turn. Note: Act-level inciting incidents are what kick off this dance.

If you used specific labels (ex. strangers --> enemies --> friends --> lovers), each of these will likely be separated by a major turning point. 

Make sure the biggest relationship moments are the act-level turning points!

Read more about Structuring Relationship Plotlines.

6. Familiarize Yourself with Common Key Beats

Most relationship plotlines will include six key moments. When you know them and understand their functions, you can use them or adapt them for your relationship plotline.

The Meet Cute:

The Meet Cute is the first time the audience sees the relationship characters on the page together (whether they already know each other or are meeting for the first time). Use this moment to convey where the characters stand currently with one another. Ideally, you should individualize your Meet Cute to introduce the central relationship.

The Meet Cute may or may not be the relationship plotline's inciting incident, depending on how it affects the story.

The Adhesion:

Something locks the relationship characters together in an irrevocable way. This can be external, within the relationship, or within one of the characters. 

At this point, there will be both an "adhesive" and "repellant" in play--a force of push and a force of pull. The relationship goal and antagonist officially set up the main conflict.

The Token:

This is a moment where the characters draw real close, and it is often marked by a token of love and/or trust (such as a first kiss, sharing a secret, or a rescue). This moves the relationship closer than it has been before in the story.

Usually, Character A will have an intensely vulnerable moment, that Character B will then accept and often even reciprocate.

The Breakup:

More or less the opposite of The Token, The Breakup pulls the characters further apart than before. Often one or both characters will be personally hurt (frequently from a form of rejection) and push away to protect themselves (or the other person).

Occasionally, in stories where the relationship plotline isn't the main plotline, the characters may simply be physically separated. 

The Grand Gesture:

At the climax of the relationship plotline, Character A will have her most vulnerable moment. This will then be accepted or rejected or neglected by Character B in a defining way that completes the relationship arc.

This is often a moment where Character A lays it all on the table and stands figuratively naked before Character B. Like The Token, it is often marked by a grand gesture of either love/trust or hate/distrust.

The Denouement:

Use this beat to validate how the relationship has changed and/or remained the same--validate the completion of the relationship arc. Hint at a new normal for these characters. Show how the relationship changed or didn't change each individual character.

Read more about Key Beats in Relationships.

7. Flesh Out the Relationship

With the most important pieces in place, you can further flesh out the relationship.

A. Familiarize yourself with the role of the Influence Character--this is often the person the protagonist has a central relationship with.

The Influence Character has power based on influence (or in some cases, is the one being influenced by the protagonist). Usually the Influence Character will embody a different kind of arc than the protagonist. If the protagonist has a change arc, the Influence Character will have a steadfast arc. If the protagonist has a steadfast arc, the Influence Character will have a change arc (generally speaking).

The protagonist and Influence Character are often somehow linked together in the plot or are on similar journeys. However, because they have different worldviews, they have different methodologies, so they may argue about how best to move forward.

B. Check out some of the key features that make relationships irresistible.

Great relationships have a sense of history. And usually, the characters know each other too well. The participants should be opposites in some way that is relevant to the story. And they should probably show some form of affection (assuming they don't hate each other for the entire story).

If you are writing about a relationship that is already established before the story begins, you might want to employ these methods: communicate what's normal, imply an off-page history, have one character predict how the other will behave, give a sense of how the relationship has changed, round out likeness with foiling and opposition with likeness.

BONUS: Structure Your Relationship Arcs & Plots Through a Series

If you are writing a series, you may be wondering how to handle relationship arcs and plots through multiple installments. 

You have a few ways to view relationship plotlines through a series:

1. Each installment has a self-contained relationship plotline . . . that progresses an overarching series relationship plotline.

2. Each installment essentially has a "standalone" relationship plotline.

3. There is one relationship plotline stretched over the whole series.

It's also possible to have some situations that seem to fit in between these.

One of the first questions to ask yourself is, "Are you plotting about the same character relationship?"

It's possible to write about a different relationship for each installment.

If you are writing about the same relationship, you may have a few restrictions and challenges. You might be limited on what arc you can choose, and you'll need to find a way to keep the push and pull in the relationship believable and interesting.

It's also possible to pull relationships from the background into the foreground, or push relationships from the foreground to the background. 

Read more about Structuring a Relationship in a Series.

With all these things to explore, you'll be writing strong character relationships for any story, any genre, and any pair of characters.

Happy Shipping ;)

More Recommended Resources

The Relationship Thesaurus at Writers Helping Writers

Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes

***

Special Reminder: I'm Teaching a New Writing Course!

Craft your best book by focusing on what matters most: The “bones” of story.

This content-focused course will help you:

- Brainstorm better and more relevant material

- Evaluate what ideas most belong in your story (preventing you from writing hundreds of pages that need to be scrapped), and

- Craft a page-turning plot with compelling characters that sticks with readers long after they’ve closed the book (. . . and hopefully leads them to preorder your next book).

- And more

If you’ve found yourself writing and rewriting the same scenes, acts, or arcs, only to make them marginally better; or have struggled creating complex characters who are engaged in meaningful plots; or if you’ve been experiencing writer’s block over what you need to write next and how… The Triarchy Method will show you how to write a stronger, solid story by focusing on the “bones” of the story.

Character

Character is represented by the rib cage—it houses the heart of story. It’s how the audience gains emotional experience from the narrative, through (to some degree) empathy.

Plot

Plot is represented by the backbone—it holds the story upright and together. It’s the curvature that makes up the narrative arc, the spine that runs from beginning to end.

Theme

Theme is represented by the skull—it hosts the intellect of story. It’s how the audience gleans meaning that sticks with them long after the narrative is over. It’s why the story matters.

This live, online class is limited to 10 students and will focus on the core principles of each of the “bones” and how to structure them. Classes start March 7 and run Tuesdays and Thursdays at 6:30 pm Mountain Time (8:30pm EST) for a total of 23 classes. Classes ends on May 25.

For more information, visit https://mystorydoctor.com/the-triarchy-method-of-story/

***

Special Reminder (x2): I will be at LTUE this Week!

I'm heading to Provo, Utah this week to be a panelist and moderator at LTUE. If you are going and would like to see any of my panels, click this picture to see it bigger: 

***

Special Announcement: I will be Teaching at Storymakers this May

I will also be at Storymakers this May--the class will be both in-person and available online. It is called: "Be Ye Steadfast and Immovable": Writing Protagonists without Change Arcs. 

Learn more about the Storymakers Conference here.

Whew! That is like . . . three more special announcements/reminders than I usually do. ;)

Structuring relationship arcs and plots throughout a series can sometimes feel a little nebulous and daunting. Plenty of writers have messed up such attempts. Luckily, plenty of others get them right, and so can you. Just like everything else in this relationship arc and plot series though, there is . . . a lot of room for variation. Nonetheless, this article will give you foundational guidelines to help you get it right in your series.

Hello, everyone! I thought I was basically done with my relationship articles, but I have been asked a couple of times how to handle relationship arcs and plotlines in a series. Well, in some ways, it is similar to how you handle character arcs in a series, which means . . .  there is more than one way to do it.

Structure in a Series

When it comes to looking at a series, I find it helpful to view each volume the same way you would view an act in a single volume. 

Scenes fit into sequences, sequences fit into acts, acts fit into global narrative arcs, and each global narrative arc makes up a volume, or installment, in a series.

This isn't a 100% accurate view for all series, but these days, I think it works for most series.

So, generally speaking, each of these units still follows the basic story structure. I've talked about this several times, most notably in "Scene vs. Sequence vs. Act," but for convenience here are some visuals:

Often, people divide Act II in half, at the midpoint, in which case, you may view the story more like this:

Because this shape is like a Russian nesting doll, or a fractal, there is no reason why you can't extend it beyond a single book into a series as a whole.

So the series as a whole may have this shape, while each installment has this shape. Each installment is getting us closer to the climax of the whole series. Therefore, each volume in a series is like, more or less, an act within one.

But this doesn't work for everything.

In a serial, there may not be an overarching plotline. It may be that each installment is, more or less, a standalone, that the audience could arguably read (or watch) in any order. In that case, you'll likely view each installment as its own thing.

Then, on the opposite side of the spectrum from that, you may occasionally find one big story that has simply been cut into pieces, like The Lord of the Rings. This trilogy was actually originally one book, but Tolkien was told it was too long, so he essentially just sliced it into three. This is why the installments can sorta feel like . . . well, they are just sliced. If you watch the movies, though, the filmmakers worked to try to make them each fit typical structure--which is one of the reasons why Shelob's lair was moved from the second book to the third film.

Keeping all this in mind, you have a few ways to view relationship plotlines through a series:

1. Each installment has a self-contained relationship plotline . . . that progresses an overarching series relationship plotline.

2. Each installment essentially has a "standalone" relationship plotline.

3. There is one relationship plotline stretched over the whole series.

It's also possible to have some situations that seem to fit in between these. . . . And it often gets complex. For one . . . 

. . . the above numbers don't have to necessarily match up with how you view the series structure in general. 

It's possible to have a serial series that stretches a relationship plotline over the whole series (such as Jim and Pam in The Office). Or, it's possible to have a "nesting doll" series where each installment simply has a standalone relationship plotline.

This is admittedly, one of the reasons why I've struggled with organizing this post.

With the third option, it's likely the relationship plotline isn't a dominant focal plotline for much of the series, but instead a lesser plotline or something more on the sidelines. For example, Jim and Pam's relationship isn't the primary plotline of most episodes of The Office. It may be an important component of most episodes, but if it were literally the primary plotline, the focus, it would have needed to progress faster. Otherwise, audiences would have banged their heads against their walls with how slow the story was going. Same goes for The X-Files.

Now, with that said, you can break both The Office and The X-Files down by seasons and see progressions within these relationships in the seasons. Episodes fit into seasons. Seasons fit into the series.

Rule of thumb: If you pick option three, you will (likely) need other more prominent plotlines, while you inch that one forward in the background or on the sidelines. 

For much of the rest of this article, I'll be focusing on the first two options.

Reminder: Relationship Arc vs. Relationship Plotline

While we may sometimes use the terms "relationship arc" and "relationship plotline" to mean the same thing, if you get really technical, they may not be the exact same thing. Every relationship plotline needs a relationship arc. But not every relationship arc needs a plotline.

For example, say I have a story about a young man going on an adventure (I know, so original!). Before he leaves, I may show that he has a poor relationship with his mother. He leaves, goes on his adventure and has no contact with or influence from his mom. Perhaps, because of the adventure--the external and internal journeys--he realizes how to improve his relationship with his mom. At the end of the story, he returns home, and the two make up.

The relationship between the mother and son arguably has a relationship arc, but it's not really a relationship plotline.

If the mother and son had to go on the adventure together and work out their differences, which drew them closer together, it would be both a relationship arc and a relationship plotline.

See how that works?

Now that I've laid out some groundwork, let's get crafting . . . 

Are You Plotting about the Same Character Relationship?

This is perhaps the first question to ask yourself.

Most stories will feature a relationship plotline. 

But just because one relationship fulfilled this in a previous volume, doesn't mean it needs to for the next volume.

Using Different Relationships for Different Installments

The first, quickest example of this that comes to mind for me, is the Diary of a Wimpy Kid films. Each installment focuses on a different relationship. The first one has a plotline about the protagonist and his best friend. The second has one about the protagonist and his brother. The third about the protagonist and his dad. And the fourth about the protagonist and his mom. These are the relationship plotlines for each installment.

Notice, however, that this doesn't mean that the protagonist's relationships with the others have disappeared from the story. No one died, and no relationship ended. It's just that Greg's relationship with his best friend is no longer the prominent relationship plotline after the first installment. You can argue it's a positive steadfast relationship arc through the second, third, and fourth films, but it's not the main relationship plotline. That relationship takes more of a backseat, so the others can have their chance to shine.

In this sense, the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series is structured so that each volume has, more or less, its own standalone relationship plotline, even if there are still other relationship arcs.

Diary of a Wimpy Kid leans more toward being a serial, and this works fine. 

However, as I touched on above, you don't have to only do this for serials.

For example, I'm working on a YA fantasy series that has an overarching plot, and each installment takes the readers closer to the series climax. The prominent relationship plotline in my first installment is not the same one for the second installment. In the first installment, the prominent relationship is between my protagonist and his friend's sister. In the second installment, the prominent relationship is between my protagonist and his enemy. 

The first relationship is still very much there, and still important, but it takes more of a backseat.

It arguably even still has a plotline . . . but it's not the prominent relationship plotline. Instead, it's the relationship with the enemy that gets the biggest turning points and the most focus. That's the one I zoom in on for major events. The other still has antagonists and conflict but it's all more understated.

See what I mean about this all getting complex?

Using the Same Relationship through Installments

If the same relationship that was used in the prior installment's relationship plotline will be used again in the next installment's key relationship plotline, things will be a bit different . . . though not as much as you would expect. What's mostly different is that the audience has already seen the relationship, conflicts, and costs. The audience already knows how this relationship has gone previously. 

As a writer, you'll need to think of believable antagonists to push this relationship into conflict again. You'll need to think of believable ways to test, change, or turn it.

I'll be talking about this more below, so I won't go into detail here.

Using Multiple Relationships in the Same Installment

I touched on this earlier, but I want to make sure to clearly acknowledge that it's also possible to have multiple relationship plotlines in a single installment (or even throughout a series).

It is possible there are two (or more) relationships that get plotlines and attention. In Revenge of the Sith, while the most prominent relationship plotline is between Obi-Wan and Anakin, another very important one is between Anakin and Padme. In fact, the latter gets some of the key relationship beats I talked about last time. But because Obi-Wan and Anakin's gets the most attention and is what's featured in the climax, it's the most prominent relationship plotline. 

Likewise, in Monsters Inc. Sulley and Mike also have a relationship plotline, which also has key beats. But it's not the most prominent relationship plotline. That goes to Sulley and Boo.

Remember: How prominent the plotline is will determine how developed and fleshed out the plotline needs to be. It will also influence how it is structured. The more prominent the plotline, the more it needs to hit the right turning points at the right percentages. The less prominent, and the less it needs to hit those at those times, and the less fleshed out it can be. Generally speaking.

In the second installment of my WIP series, the protagonist and the girl still have a plotline, but it's less dramatic and detailed.

Determine the Relationship Arc for the Installment

If your sequel features a different relationship than the prior installment, then, just like the prior installment, you'll need to consider how it will arc. In my WIP, volume one is a positive change relationship arc . . . and volume two will probably be a negative steadfast relationship arc.

If you are featuring the same relationship, depending on how the series is handled, there may be less options available to you. 

For example, if volume one features a positive change relationship arc, you probably can't use that arc again, because the characters are already close.

But the reason I say "probably," is because it's possible quite a bit of time and a lot has happened between the installments. In that case, it may be that the characters have become distant or even enemies (again). If so, you need to fill in the audience as to how this believably happened. (Please, don't use a weak antagonist to explain it! Make it believable.)

Let's say no time has passed between installments, and volume two picks up right after volume one. This only gives you two options: positive steadfast, or negative change. The plot will test the relationship, and if that relationship survives, it will be a positive steadfast arc. If it doesn't, it will be a negative change arc.

See how this is different, and yet, not that different, from featuring a new relationship?

When we view each installment similar to how we view acts, we can push the characters together or pull them apart in similar ways. Either, by the end of the volume, they are pushed closer together, or, they are pulled further apart (generally speaking). If the next installment starts with the relationship, more or less, in the same place, we then pick up where we left off.

Let's imagine we are working on a series that features the same relationship, and the relationship doesn't change drastically in the time between volumes. Here are some possible ways this can play out:

Volume 1: Positive Change --> Volume 2: Positive Steadfast --> Volume 3: Positive Steadfast --> Volume 4: Positive Steadfast

In this series, in each installment, the characters are getting closer. They may have fallouts in the middle of each sequel, but ultimately, their relationship is overcoming, surviving, or maybe even thriving, despite the conflicts brought on by antagonistic forces, and they are growing closer and closer and closer together.

While not the perfect example of this (because I think you can argue it's not always the prominent relationship plotline), this is similar to the trio's relationships with each other in Harry Potter. They all become friends in the first volume, and while they definitely get in fights (some of which threaten to ruin their relationships for good), they ultimately all draw back together by the end of any given volume.

Here is another option.

Volume 1: Positive Change --> 2. Positive Steadfast --> 3. Negative Change --> 4. Negative Steadfast

And more . . . 

Volume 1: Negative Change --> 2. Negative Steadfast --> 3. Positive Change --> 4. Positive Steadfast

Volume 1: Negative Steadfast --> 2. Negative Steadfast --> 3. Positive Change --> 4. Negative Change

Volume 1: Positive Change --> 2. Positive Steadfast --> 3. Negative Change

Volume 1: Positive Steadfast --> 2. Negative Change

Volume 1: Negative Change --> 2. Positive Change

. . . I think you get the picture.

Again, because most frequently structure is like a Russian nesting doll, we can zoom out. We can look at how the relationship begins and ends in the series, to categorize the overall series relationship arc.

As a series, the trio in Harry Potter has a positive change relationship arc, because they all started as strangers, and ended as friends (or really, family). 

Similarly, if I looked at the Star Wars prequels, I may say that, ultimately, as a trilogy, Obi-wan and Anakin have a negative steadfast arc, because they started as strangers and ended as enemies.

Yet within a single installment (Revenge of the Sith), they have a negative change arc.

Back to looking at acts in relation to volumes: Recall that each act will end with a major turn in the relationship that either draws the characters closer together, or pulls them further apart.

This is what we are doing in a series, on a bigger scale.

In the Star Wars prequels, we draw together, and together, then pull apart.

Though, Obi-Wan and Anakin aren't the major relationship plotline for the whole series, which brings me to my next point . . . 

Foreground vs. Background Relationships

As I mentioned earlier, your character will likely have more than one relationship. Some relationships may be brought to the foreground, and others may be pushed more to the background. 

I've used Katniss and Gale as an example of a negative change relationship multiple times. It's negative change in the series, but not every installment. It's also not the prominent relationship plotline in every installment.

The main, prominent relationship plot in the first volume, is between Katniss and Peeta. The second volume showcases each relationship (with more emphasis on Gale first, and Peeta later), and I would argue, that in the last volume, Katniss and Gale make up the main prominent relationship (Peeta is gone for a good portion of the book, and even when he comes back, he's not himself).

So Suzanne Collins brings Katniss's relationship with Gale from the background in volume one, to the foreground by volume three. While her relationship with Peeta takes, to some degree, a backseat in volume three.

Nonetheless, we can still map out the relationship arc with Gale, even if it's not always a prominent plotline.

Volume 1: Positive Steadfast --> 2. Positive Steadfast --> 3. Negative Change

Because they start close and end distant, overall, they ultimately have a negative change relationship.

But it's not that way for each volume.

We can also map out Katniss's relationship with Peeta, but this is a little tricky, because it contains some gray areas and variations. But I'll try to keep it basic.

Volume one draws them from distant to close, so I'd say that is a positive change relationship (although Peeta has loved Katniss from a distance, and they know one another, they aren't close in the beginning.)

Volume two is tricky. Between the end of one and the beginning of two, they've become more distant. Then they have to pretend to be close, but in actuality, their relationship has gone cold. By the end of this volume, Katniss loves Peeta, but now Peeta is pulled physically distant. I think you could argue this is another positive change arc, but it's not super clear-cut.

Volume three is, from Katniss's POV, positive steadfast. She loves Peeta already, but that love is tested by his mental state and behavior. But again, it's complicated, because Peeta, not in his right mind, doesn't like Katniss when he comes back and sees her as an enemy.

So this is an example of a relationship with a lot of variation, that makes it complicated and complex (and in some ways, difficult to categorize).

In any case, both relationships have arcs through the trilogy, but Collins moves them in and out of the background. Sorta like how, in my WIP, I moved the relationship of volume one more to the backseat for volume two. And likewise, the relationship of volume two I actually pulled forward from the backseat of volume one.

Handling the Ongoing Push and Pull of the Same Relationship

In a "Russian Nesting Doll"

If you have a series that features the same relationship as a prominent plotline in each installment, and the relationship plotline itself is very prominent, one of the main challenges will likely be how to keep the push and pull of it interesting and believable. How much can you really push the same characters together and pull them apart?

If you only do it the same way, it will probably become repetitious and will feel inauthentic. 

One of the most annoying things with relationships in sequels, happens when the writers have the relationship characters simply repeat a conflict that was already resolved in a prior installment.

If Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy already overcame their individual pride and prejudice to be together, we don't want to repeat the exact same thing for a sequel.

One--it's already been done.

Two--by doing it again, we suggest to the audience that the characters overcoming that conflict in the previous installment "wasn't real." It undoes the work of the previous installment, which means the audience already feels disappointment. Which means, it's going to be extra difficult to satisfy the audience. It's a bad way to start the story.

Instead, you need to search for something that is bigger or different, but that could still believably threaten and put pressure on the relationship.

I actually think Shrek 2 does a good job handling this. In the first movie, Shrek has to overcome his misbeliefs that he can't be loved romantically as an ogre, and he has to learn to open up to Fiona.

Both he as a character and the relationship itself have positive change arcs.

So how do we believably threaten their bliss?

If the writers redid the same thing with the same characters to the same degree, it would be annoying and disappointing. We wouldn't believe the antagonist as a real threat, because we already saw the characters overcome the situation the first time.

So instead, the writers widened the scope and strengthened the threat. It's not Farquad they have to deal with, but Fiona's dad (something more personal) and the deal he made with the Fairy Godmother about who will be prince over Far Far Away--a bigger and more relevant kingdom than Duloc. 

Instead of Shrek having to simply relearn Fiona can love him again, the writers used external antagonists to ultimately argue that Fiona deserved something better. And that if he truly loved her, he'd let her go, so she could have a better life. It's only when this is fully argued, that the relationship itself is at serious risk.

But this is all generally speaking. For example . . . 

In a Serial

In a serial, characters often end up in, more or less, the same place where they started--they often have to, because each installment needs to work as essentially a standalone. This means if you are writing more of a serial relationship (so to speak), it will likely have a steadfast relationship arc for each installment. Or, alternatively, if there is a change arc, things are back to "normal" by the start of the next installment.

Because of the nature of this approach, characters may overcome antagonistic forces and have a personal character arc, but it may not be as . . . longlasting or transformative. In a sense, you can argue the arc didn't go as deep as it would in another approach.

In a serial, rather than a character definitively arcing into or out of something, the writer is often working with a character who wavers between two things. Sometimes the character believes and does X and other times he believes and does Y. X and Y are opposing worldviews or pathways. 

For example, in The Office, Michael Scott is often torn between being a friend and being a boss. Sometimes he chooses being a friend over a boss, and other times he chooses being a boss over a friend. He never really, definitively, arcs to a single worldview. He simply wavers.

When applied to relationships, we could say that there are some recurring issues in the relationship, but they don't get 100% definitively resolved, so instead, the relationship is regularly wavering between smooth sailing and rocky road. In such a case, it's more likely to be okay to bring up previous antagonistic forces, because the characters didn't 100% definitively overcome that.

Because they didn't 100% definitively overcome that, it doesn't leave audiences groaning.

Regardless, exact repetition of something is often annoying and kills narrative drive. So even in a serial, you need to find some variation--different concrete manifestations of the same underlying issue. (Michael Scott doesn't try to be a friend in the exact same way over and over again; this desire manifests in different concrete ways. So you could say with "serial" relationships.)

. . . And that just about covers it for relationship arcs and plots through a series.

My guess is that most of you will be doing a sort of "Russian nesting doll" approach with your relationship plotlines, or, you'll be featuring a different relationship in the installments . . . in any case, I hope this has been helpful to you.

P.S. In case you missed it last week, I will be teaching a new online writing course called "The Triarchy Method of Story." I'm so excited to dig deep into the "bones" of story and help others strengthen their own stories. For all the info, go here.

So, I've been working on a secret project: a live, online writing course. Yay! 🎉 I'm teaming up with My Story Doctor to bring forth a nearly 30-hour class all about developing solid content for stories. And now? It's open for enrollment.

The Triarchy Method of Story: A New Writing Course by September C. Fawkes

The Triarchy Method will help you craft your best book by focusing on what matters most: The “bones” of story. This content-focused course will help you brainstorm better and more relevant material, evaluate what ideas most belong in your story (preventing you from writing hundreds of pages that need to be scrapped), and craft a page-turning plot with compelling characters that sticks with readers long after they’ve closed the book (. . . and hopefully leads them to preorder your next book). The Triarchy Method will illuminate your way to a stronger, solid story.

But only under one condition: You must do the work.

Whether you are in the brainstorming stage, writing stage, or revising stage, and whether you prefer to pants or plan your first draft, strong bones lead to strong stories. So, what are the bones? I call them “The Triarchy of Story,” and they are as follows:

Character

Character is represented by the rib cage—it houses the heart of story. It’s how the audience gains emotional experience from the narrative, through (to some degree) empathy.

Plot

Plot is represented by the backbone—it holds the story upright and together. It’s the curvature that makes up the narrative arc, the spine that runs from beginning to end.

Theme

Theme is represented by the skull—it hosts the intellect of story. It’s how the audience gleans meaning that sticks with them long after the narrative is over. It’s why the story matters.

While some stories and genres may (rightfully) emphasize one bone over the others, it’s the progression of these elements that turns ideas into stories. 

And if any of this sounds a little familiar to you, it's because I've talked about the triarchy on here before--as the "trinity of storytelling" (but, ya know "bones" and "trinity" don't really work the greatest for branding and marketing, for obvious reasons ✝️🙃).

Nearly every scene, every chapter in your story should be progressing one of these three things. If it’s not, it’s likely filler (even if cleverly disguised filler (painful, I know)). Ideally, the majority of scenes in most stories will actually be progressing all three simultaneously. Don’t worry—I will be digging deep into each element to help you unbury your own story’s bones to accomplish this.

We will be focusing on core principles of each.

For characters, we will talk about your protagonist’s internal wants and backstory, the four basic types of arcs, how to build a balanced cast and make characters complex. We will also talk about agency, archetypes, relationships, and more.

For plot, we will cover the importance of goals, how to pick the right antagonistic forces, how to make conflicts meaningful, and why stakes are critical to keep the pages turning. We will also cover how to create a sense of progress and setbacks, escalate costs, craft turning points, write reveals and twists, and more.

For theme, we will discuss its often misunderstood components, and how to show them effectively through the story. We will also discuss how to replicate the human experience so that your reader comes away wiser, better, and more intelligent—with the story sticking to them long after The End.

We will always keep in mind these are principles, not laws, so there is room for variation (which we will talk about).

Of course, though, simply having a rib cage, backbone, and skull isn’t usually enough—you need to organize them into a coherent structure. They need to be arranged into their proper places, so they look “human” to other humans (i.e. like a “story” to other humans).

This is where structure comes in.

After digging up the bones, we’ll structure them in a way that is familiar and understandable to the audience.

We will structure not only the plot, but the character cast and theme as well. We will cover basic story structure, scene structure, act structure, and narrative arc beats.

Near the end of the course, we will workshop one of your scenes in class. And your final assignment will be to turn in a guided outline of your story for feedback.

Ideally, once the bones are strong and in place, your story will be—more or less—writing itself.

Not only can The Triarchy Method help you with your current story, but it can help you with all future stories.

I’ll give you the tools, you bring the dream—roll up your sleeves for some digging, because together we’re gonna make your story bone-solid.

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This is a live, online course that will be limited to 10 students.

Classes will be every Tuesday and Thursday at 6:30 pm Mountain Time (8:30 pm EST), starting March 7th and ending on May 25th. If you miss a class, there will be links to the recordings and material so that you can review them later.

Nearly every lesson includes a developmental assignment, which I will give basic feedback on.

Also, if you desire, you can be added to a brainstorming/writing group or partnership to meet with outside of class.

For a full description, details, tentative schedule, and registration, head over to My Story Doctor.

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I love sharing my enthusiasm for writing, and I think it's no secret I like thoroughly dissecting the craft. I also enjoy teaching. So this will be an exciting new venture. If you've been following me for a while, you'll likely notice the course covers some familiar concepts I've talked about on my blog. I'm excited to dig deep into those concepts and cover new ones, while also explaining how they all connect (which is certainly too difficult and massive to fit into a single blog post (or blog series)).

Whether you register or not, thanks for being here and sharing this special milestone with me--it's kind of a big deal to me. (I'd also appreciate it if you spread the word 😉) May all your writing dreams come true🙏

- September C. Fawkes

Beat sheets are valuable tools for structuring and writing a story. They can be just as valuable when structuring and writing a relationship arc. In reality, I could write up a beat sheet for each relationship arc. Today, I've decided to go over the key beats, in the order they most frequently appear (which usually applies to positive change relationships). 

In my previous article, I laid out a foundational approach to structuring your relationship plotlines. That will likely be more useful to you in structuring your relationship arc, than following these beats in the presented order. Once you understand the foundational principles, you can successfully manipulate any beat sheet to suit what you are writing. This is why I titled this post "key beats" and not "beat sheet." There are plenty of relationship plotlines that don't adhere to these exact beats or this exact order.

Nonetheless, knowing what is most common can help you discern how to handle yours. Your relationship plotline can follow this exactly, or you can vary it (which I'll talk about more at the end). 

So far, we have covered relationship arcs, relationship plots, and the foundational approach to relationship structure. Let's finish this up with the common key beats.

In this ongoing relationship series, I intentionally picked relationship arcs that appear quite different from each other, to show variation. For this reason, I'll be using Monsters Inc. as a main ongoing example below, while simply referencing some beats in my other ongoing examples; Monsters Inc. follows these beats, in this order, exactly. (Many of my other examples, do not.)

(Note for below: "Character A" and "Character B" can be either character in the relationship.)

The Meet Cute

The term "meet cute" comes from romance, and it's essentially what it sounds like. It's when the love interests meet, usually in a memorably cute way. Common (and cliche) tropes of this include Character A dropping all her papers so Character B can help her pick them up, or Character A being clumsy and/or tripping in front of Character B.

I've talked about meet cutes before, and have related it to other types of relationships, so here, I'm going to expand it to that. When I read Romancing the Beat, I was happy to see that Gwen Hayes was fine with expanding the definition as well. Hayes talks about how, even if the characters already know each other before the story starts, the Meet Cute beat is the first time the audience sees them on the page together. 

Regardless of what the relationship is or how long it's been going, we want to use this beat to convey where the characters stand with each other. Are they strangers meeting for the first time? Sworn enemies and rivals? Siblings turned best friends? If you are working with a relationship that started before the story, you can check out "How to Convey an Established Relationship Quickly" for some tips.

As long as the Meet Cute conveys where the characters stand, some feel that it does not need to be fancy or original. It can happen when one character hails a taxi. It can happen when Character A accidentally shuts the door on Character B.

While this surely can fulfill the Meet Cute function fine, I sometimes feel that settling on something trite is a missed opportunity (unless, of course, triteness is the point). Just as we want a strong characteristic moment to introduce our protagonists, we should--ideally--aim for a strong, individualized Meet Cute to introduce the central relationship. Consider: What makes this relationship special? What makes these characters unique? 

I like it when the writer goes beyond a "stock" Meet Cute. When Sherlock and John meet, Sherlock uses his classic reasoning of deduction to figure John out. That's a meeting only Sherlock can have. It's not a stock meeting. It also does double duty by showing off Sherlock's character. 

In Monsters Inc., Sulley and Boo have their own unique Meet Cute. Sulley is terrified of her, and she's only a happy, excited toddler. We immediately know where the characters stand with each other.

Is the Meet Cute the Inciting Incident?

There is some debate as to whether or not the Meet Cute is the inciting incident of the relationship plotline. I think this depends on how the Meet Cute goes.

Let's remember that an inciting incident is a (medium-sized) turning point that disrupts the established normal, sending the plotline in a new direction.

Does the Meet Cute do that?

If the answer is "yes," then it's also the inciting incident.

If the answer is "no," then the inciting incident probably comes later.

In relationships, a turning point is often marked by a vulnerable moment (i.e. Character A tripping, Character A dropping all her papers, Character A having the door slammed on her), followed by Character B's reaction to it (accept, reject, or neglect). If your Meet Cute has that, chances are it's the inciting incident (especially if Character B's response is something that hasn't happened before).

With that said, sometimes a writer can use a vulnerable moment to convey where the relationship currently is, so it doesn't really change any major trajectories. . . . There are definitely some gray areas. 

The inciting incident is usually seen as an opportunity or a problem (or both) for the protagonist. If a character wants to draw closer to another character at this point, then it's an "opportunity." If a character wants to create distance, then it's a "problem."

So, if your Meet Cute is disrupting normal and sending the relationship plotline in a new direction, it's probably the inciting incident. Even if the characters already know each other. 

For example, in The Lord of the Rings, Frodo and Sam have a Meet Cute when Gandalf finds Sam and accuses him of eavesdropping (notice this puts Sam in a vulnerable position). Rather than ultimately turn him away, Gandalf and Frodo accept and partner him with Frodo--this kicks off their relationship plotline in a new direction. They are linked more closely, in a new way.

If the Meet Cute simply illustrates the relationship, it's probably not the inciting incident. For example, Ralph Breaks the Internet opens with a long Meet Cute of Ralph and Vanellope's current relationship. In this montage, we may sense that Vanellope is looking for something more externally (and internally), but within the relationship itself, nothing is kicked onto a new trajectory.

More Writing Tips on Meet Cutes

Just as your protagonist's characteristic moment in the opening should set the tone for his plotline, so should the Meet Cute set the tone for the relationship--at least what the relationship is like at the beginning of the arc.

Since the Meet Cute is meant to convey where the relationship currently stands, use it to help set up the relationship arc. Consider: Are these characters close or distant? Do they have mutual feelings toward each other? You may be able to foreshadow what lies ahead. Maybe Character A dislikes Character B right away, but notices how attractive he is. Or maybe Character A isn't as invested in the relationship as Character B. Or maybe Character A wonders if this relationship is toxic.

Relay the POV character's impression of the other character. If this is the first time the characters are meeting, this is obviously a first impression. How is it wrong? Or how is it right? It may be that Character A gets the completely wrong first impression. Or it may be that Character B is even more crazy/attractive/clever/mean than Character A first realized. If the characters already know each other, then relay how the POV character views the other person.

With a strong relationship plotline, the audience often likes to look back fondly (or ironically) on how the relationship started. If the Meet Cute is the characters' first meeting, make it memorable. If the characters already know each other, consider filling in how the characters first met or started the relationship. It doesn't have to be in the Meet Cute beat, but I recommend filling it in somewhere. The moment where the relationship begins often feels special--not necessarily because the moment itself was amazing, but because the relationship it has grown into is meaningful.

The Adhesion

This beat most often happens near the 25% mark of the story (Plot Point 1), especially if the relationship plotline is the A Story. Out of all the beats, I feel like this moment can appear with the most variation, and so I almost left it off this article. But it is a key beat, and almost always a critical one.

Simplistically speaking, at this moment, something locks the relationship characters together in an irrevocable way. Usually, they've met, we've established how they feel about each other, and then something happens that binds, ties, or cements them together definitively, for their relationship journey.

Most frequently, one character (or both) wants to be distant, but something external glues them together. They are in a new "world" or situation and will have to figure out how to work together or get along. They may be stranded in the desert, assigned partners for a project, forced to fake a relationship, or what have you. As Gwen Hayes puts it, the story needs to be crafted so that they can't walk away from each other.

This adhesion can come from something completely external, as is the case in the above examples, or it can instead come from within the relationship itself. Perhaps the characters actually do want to be together. In 1984, Winston and Julia are cemented together in a definitive way after their first rendezvous. They want to keep seeing each other.

The Adhesion can also come from within one character. For example, a student may commit to learning from a specific mentor, no matter what. Signing up for a class from this person could be The Adhesion.

An important thing to note is that at this point, there should also be a "repellant" in play. The characters may find each other repellant, but The Adhesion forces them externally together. Or, the characters want to adhere to each other, but an external force, like the Party, threatens to pull them apart. Or one character determines to adhere, while the other character determines to repel. Or perhaps one character internally experiences both the push and pull, so makes a move to adhere, while experiencing a repelling doubt within.

Basically, to build on what we've talked about previously, the goal and the antagonistic force are both locked in, somehow. If the goal is to draw close, the antagonist is what threatens to pull apart. If the goal is to grow distant, the antagonistic force is what pushes them together. As with other plotlines, this is what officially sets up the main conflict.

The Adhesion will create a significant turning point in the relationship. This also makes the relationship somehow more personal. 

And again, this can manifest in a lot of different ways.

In Monsters Inc. The Adhesion happens when Sulley is unable to return Boo to her room. After trying to do this, he goes to the bathroom to only realize she's on his back. When he enters the scare floor, Randall is putting her door away. Sulley wants to be distant from Boo (repellant), but she is now stuck with him in Mostropolis (adhesion).

In The Prestige, The Adhesion is the death of Angier's wife. Since Borden's actions are what led to this, Angier's relationship with him takes a significant turn. Angier hates Borden for it (repellant), but is also cemented to him by it (adhesion)--it's what leads him to want to exact revenge. Even if they dislike each other, their relationship becomes more personal. The drowning is what ties them together. It's what sets up the main conflict between them.

The Adhesion can happen right after the Meet Cute, as it does in Monsters Inc. Or the meet cute and The Adhesion can be spread out over a whole act, as is what happens in The Prestige. And if you want to really make your head spin, it's technically possible The Adhesion happens before the Meet Cute. 

For example, a student may commit to learning from a specific mentor and sign up for his class, but may not actually meet the mentor until she attends the first class. In such a case, the inciting incident may be the initial disruption that led the student to first consider the mentor and/or class (which is another example of why the Meet Cute isn't always the inciting incident).

The Token

This beat commonly happens near the 50% mark of a story (the midpoint). This is typically a moment where the characters draw real close. In the screenwriting world, there is a saying, "sex at sixty." Page 60 is the midpoint of a typical screenplay. And that's when the love interests get intimate. But stripped of the romance (and sex), this is really a token of love and/or trust. 

Character A has an intensely vulnerable moment--Character B is seeing a deeper, more vulnerable layer of Character A than he has ever seen before. This is normally accompanied by a token, or gesture. It could be a first kiss. It could be Character A sharing her ghost story. It could be a moment where Character A has to swallow her mountain of pride to, embarrassingly, ask Character B for help. It could be Character A confessing a secret. Or even feeling safe enough with Character B to fall asleep.

As you can probably tell, this is another significant turning point in the relationship.

Normally, this moment will be accepted (and often even reciprocated) by Character B. Character B kisses back. Character B shares his ghost story. Character B agrees to help. Character B confesses a secret. Character B tucks her in.

In Monsters Inc. The Token happens when Boo goes to bed. She's scared a monster is going to get her, and Sulley decides to stay in the room with her. She falls asleep. Sulley realizes that Boo isn't dangerous; he doesn't need to be afraid of her.

In Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, The Token happens when the boys take on a mountain troll to rescue Hermione, whose life is at risk. When the boys' educational standing is at risk, Hermione responds by taking the blame.

In The X-Files: Fight the Future, The Token happens after Scully reveals she plans to quit the FBI, feeling that all she's ever really done is hold Mulder back. This leads Mulder to share how much she means to him, both professionally and personally. They're both being vulnerable, to the point that even Scully is about to cry, and they (nearly) kiss for the first time.

There is, of course, room for variation. For example, in Pride and Prejudice, this is when Mr. Darcy proposes. That's his token of love and trust. Unfortunately for him, Elizabeth rejects it . . . but it still arguably makes their relationship more personal.

Typically, though, The Token brings the characters really close--it may even give them a high. Everything is going to be fine in this relationship. Or even, Everything is going to be amazing, and we'll be happy together.

How it will manifest will depend on your story and the relationship.

The Breakup

This beat is--more or less--the opposite of The Token. The Token usually draws the characters real close. The Breakup pulls them apart. While The Token is one of the most intimate beats, The Breakup is one of the most distant. Think of this as the "All is Lost" or "The Ordeal" beat of the relationship plotline. It usually hits at or near the 75% mark (Plot Point 2).

The characters have been together long enough to have shared vulnerability and build trust, but there have also been costs, doubts, and antagonistic forces. Pain-free relationships are easy. Pain-full? That is the refiner's fire.

At this point, one or both characters may be personally hurt, and in an attempt to protect themselves (or the other), push further away. There was probably a vulnerable moment nearby where someone got rejected (this may be exactly what led to The Breakup). This may have been done deliberately, but it also may have been a matter of priorities, or a "blind spot." The internal and external plotlines may also be influencing what's going on.

In relationship plotlines that are predominant in the story, we usually want to show that the characters have a choice whether to stay together or not . . . and at least one of them chooses not to. This normally connects the relationship plotline more closely to the internal plotline.

However, it's also possible that the characters still want to be together, but an external (antagonistic) force pulls them apart--the Party separates Winston and Julia. Scully (or Mulder) is abducted by aliens. This connects the relationship plotline more closely with the external plotline.

And of course, you can have some of both.

However this manifests, the point of this beat is to pull the characters apart significantly--to a degree greater or more painful than what has happened before in the story.

In Monsters Inc., Boo becomes scared of Sulley after witnessing his scare tactics, and she rejects his attempts to comfort her. Soon after, Waternoose banishes Sulley and Mike to the Himalayas. Randall and Waternoose plan to keep Boo indefinitely to extract more screams from her. All seems lost.

In The Lord of the Rings, after tension over whether or not to trust Smeagol, Frodo and Sam separate. Frodo has chosen to follow Smeagol, and has rejected Sam in the process.

In Harry Potter, Harry is physically separated from Ron and Hermione in the Forbidden Forest. 

It's often effective if The Breakup comes after a high. 

Typically, the characters draw real close at the midpoint, and are working very well together after--but at the same time, there are cracks of doubt and setbacks in the relationship (think of the dance). You may hit a big high that is then undermined by a big low. It's also possible to hit both more or less simultaneously.

In The X-Files: Fight the Future, after Mulder and Scully (nearly) kiss, Scully gets infected and abducted and Mulder takes a bullet and has to be hospitalized. He has no clue where she is, and the physical distance between them is at its greatest in the film.

And as you've likely noticed the pattern, The Breakup is another significant turning point in the relationship.

The Grand Gesture

The relationship plotline will have a climactic turning point (the climax), just as other plotlines. In a positive relationship arc, this beat is like The Token, but bigger. In a negative relationship arc, this beat is like The Breakup, but bigger. (Generally speaking, of course.)

Character A is even more vulnerable than before. This is (almost always) Character A's most vulnerable moment. In stories that feature a positive relationship plotline as the A Story, this should often be voluntary. Have Character A risk it all, or lay it all on the table. If the relationship is the A Story, this is for the relationship. If it's not, this may be for the external and/or internal plotlines. It may be that the other plotlines lead to Character A's vulnerability.

If this is a negative relationship plotline for an A Story, often the two characters will have a faceoff (of one sort or another). It's more likely Character A's vulnerability will be forced by Character B. If it's not the A Story, again, the vulnerability may be influenced by other plotlines.

However it plays out, this is the moment where Character A stands figuratively naked in front of Character B. This is the moment where Character A needs Character B's mercy the most.

Character B will then accept, reject, or neglect Character A in a defining way--a way that completes the relationship arc.

There are usually high stakes, and a significant gesture of love/trust or hate/distrust from at least one character.

It's also possible for both characters to be "naked" in front of each other, and then accept, reject, or neglect one another. This may happen at the same time, or Character A may have this moment, then Character B.

What matters is that this climactic turn is there, and that it is a defining beat.

In Monsters Inc., Sulley races to rescue Boo from Randall--risking not only his career and further punishment, but his life. In the final fight, Randall tries to drop Sulley to his death. Sulley is in his most vulnerable state, but Boo summons her courage to attack Randall, saving Sulley.

In The Lord of the Rings, Frodo collapses just short of the Crack of Doom. Sam carries him the rest of the way. (In contrast, Gollum attacks him.)

In The X-Files: Fight the Future, Mulder arrives in Antarctica to cure and rescue Scully, which entails sneaking into enemy territory, freeing her (note, she is, in this case, literally naked, unconscious, and freezing), and carrying her to safety when surrounded by lethal aliens.

In Revenge of the Sith, Anakin lies limbless and catches fire, but Obi-wan leaves him for dead.

In The Prestige, Borden and Angier discover the truth of each other, and Borden finishes the relationship with a bullet.

In Mockingjay, Gale tearfully apologizes to Katniss about Prim's death. Katniss bids him goodbye.

Always, you can find variation. In 1984, the relationship characters aren't near each other because they have been separated by the main antagonist for torture. At the peak of the story, Winston rejects Julia to save himself (simultaneously losing himself to brainwashing), and the relationship with Julia ends (while a new relationship with Big Brother begins).

Find the climactic moment that works best for your story and your characters' relationship. Make at least one character vulnerable like never before. Deal acceptance or rejection like never before.

The Denouement

The purpose of a denouement isn't to simply tie up loose ends, but to validate what has and has not changed because of the story--especially because of the climax. It also establishes, or at least hints at, a new normal.

If the relationship ended positively, show it to us. Give us Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy happy together. Show us Scully recommitting to the X-Files and to Mulder.

And even if the characters have to go different ways because of external or internal reasons, show that they still love and trust each other. Frodo gives Sam a meaningful goodbye.

If the relationship ended negatively, show it to us. Give us Winston running into Julia and having none of the passion he had before. Show how Katniss and Gale have become essentially strangers. At least convey the lack of relationship--like we have with Anakin and Obi-wan.

Some relationship plotlines may require variation. If one character died, this obviously changes things. But you may still convey the living character's feelings about the other person. He may carry an object or picture to remember the other, visit a grave, or take action on the other's behalf. Or, he may burn a love letter, desecrate the other's space, or act against the other's will.

Show how the relationship changed or didn't change the character. Sometimes it's nice to include a callback, particularly of the Meet Cute.

In Monsters Inc., Sulley believes he will never see Boo again, but keeps a piece of her door with him at work. Secretly, Mike fixes Boo's door for Sulley, and it is implied he visits Boo.

Structure Variations

In this relationship series, I've emphasized a lot that there is variation. When you know the rules, you can bend them to your will. When you're a true chef, you can make your own recipe.

While I've discussed which beats are included and when they are usually included, they aren't law. In fact, they have a lot of flexibility. For example, the Meet Cute often happens in Act I (and usually must if it is the A Story), but it just as often happens in Act II (when it's a B Story). Most often the midpoint is The Token, but it's theoretically possible to put The Breakup at the midpoint instead. It's also possible to put The Grand Gesture around the 75% mark, with Act III being about the external plotline. 

In a story where the relationship plotline isn't the A Story, you have more wiggle room with the percentages of major turning points. For example, in The X-Files: Fight the Future, The Token technically comes after the 50% mark--the midpoint of the A Story (the external plot) happens at 50%. Since the relationship isn't the A Story, and the midponit of the A Story can't really bee romantic (the fans will get my joke), The Token can't really happen until later.

Sometimes you can hit the major turns in a relationship at the same time as the A Story's (especially if the characters are together), but sometimes you'll hit the major turns in the relationship just before or just after the A Story's. It's fine, because it's a secondary plotline.

Instead of zig-zagging the relationship from apart to close, you could technically zig-zigger it from close to closer, or zag-zagger it from distant to more distant. 

If you follow the above beats, however, you will almost never get the structure wrong.

At the most basic level, just remember that each act should include a major turning point in the relationship. 

Hope this has been helpful to you.

Happy Writing! (or shipping . . . )

Articles in this Series:

The 4 Basic Types of Relationship Arcs

Turning Relationship Arcs into Plots, Part 1

Turning Relationship Arcs into Plots, Part 2

Turning Relationship Arcs into Plots, Part 3

Structuring Your Relationship Plotline

Read What Others are Writing on Relationships

Vulnerability: The Key to Compelling Romantic Relationships by Angela Ackerman at Writers Helping Writer

How to Write a Meet Cute for Romance by Lindsay Elizabeth

Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes

How to Write a Swoon-Worthy Sweet Romance Novel by Victorine Lieske

Hello writers!

I don't do light, simple posts very often--too many deep craft topics I'd rather spend my time on 😅, but with my next article technically scheduled for Dec. 26th, I decided to delay it and instead sign off early for the year by wishing you a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

If I'm being honest, it has been a rough year for me in my personal life, but I'm looking forward to a fresh start in January. Thank you for sharing this writing (and editing) journey with me.

We have covered some big topics this year, such as pacing, voice, and plotting.

Here are my most viewed articles from 2022, should you want a little something to review in the meantime.

#1 Pacing within the Narrative Arc

#2 The 4 Basic Types of Character Arcs (with Examples & Variations)

#3 What is a B Story? 6 Key Qualities of B Stories

Know that you are loved!

Best Wishes,

September

A relationship plotline will be present in most stories. It will have a relationship arc and follow the principles of plot (according to relationships), but like any plotline, it also needs a sense of structure. It needs to be organized in a coherent way for the audience, so they can follow and appreciate the progression or deterioration of the relationship.

This article will help you structure the relationship plots you're writing--whether the relationship features love interests, friends, family, allies, rivals, or even enemies (and everything in between).

Now . . . I admit, I've been debating a lot about how to write this article, if I should put forth a general foundational approach to the structure, or if I should get more specific and offer a beat sheet. The more I thought about it, the more I realized the latter would be pretty complicated, since each relationship plotline can be affected by the external and internal plotlines and could have a different relationship arc. It also seems I'd need a beat sheet for each relationship arc type, and even within those, there can be variations.

That might be a project for later down the road.

Plus, when you understand the foundational principles first, the beat sheets make more sense and you know how to stray from them for the effect you want.

When you understand the foundational principles, you're more likely to be a chef, not a cook.

So, with that said, I've opted for the former today . . . but next time, I will have an article on key beats  (and how they are most frequently structured) that you can manipulate to suit your relationship plotline.

Here are a couple of things for you to keep in mind . . . 

- How much you develop your relationship plotline may depend on how prominent the plotline is in the story. A relationship that works as an A Story must be developed enough to carry the narrative and all the critical moments must happen on page. A relationship that works as the C Story will be more understated and may have more happening off page. There are a lot of ways to play with the relationship plotline (as I've discussed), so how much attention you give it and how it is interweaved with the other plotlines will depend on your story.

But regardless of how prominent the plotline is, if it's a plotline it still needs the basic elements of plot and it still needs to be delivered to the audience through structure.

- Where the relationship plotline starts may depend on how prominent the plotline is. This brings me to the next section.

Does the Relationship Plotline Start in Act I or Act II?

Some approaches to structure (such as Save the Cat! by Blake Snyder) state that the relationship plotline starts at the beginning of Act II. In fact, in many stories, the beginning of Act II is marked by the protagonist meeting the central relationship character. 

The protagonist falls from the high of Act I, enters a "new world" (literal or figurative), and meets someone there. Examples include:

Pixar's Soul

Elf

A Quiet Place, Part II

But this is clearly not how all stories go. If you have a relationship plotline for the A Story, it may be unrealistic and unwise to wait until Act II to have the characters meet. It's the primary plotline! So you probably need to have them meet in Act I. Some examples of this include:

Pride and Prejudice

My Big Fat Greek Wedding

The Fault in Our Stars

And even if the relationship plotline isn't the A Story, it's not unusual for the protagonist to meet and begin interacting with the central relationship character in Act I. 

Then, of course, in some stories, the protagonist already has a relationship with the other character when the narrative opens.

So what's going on here? Where should you start your relationship plotline?

Well, if it's the A Story, you probably need to start it in Act I. But sometimes you can dance around this by having two key relationships. You could also, theoretically, start with a strong internal or external plotline in Act I, and then pull up the relationship plotline for Act II and make it the most prominent. But that can be pretty tricky.

There are so many different ways this can all manifest, that it can make any head spin if you try to be too rigid.

Just know that the relationship plotline can start in Act I or Act II--pick what is best for your story. If it starts in Act II, you are writing a "two-act relationship plot." And if it starts in Act I, you are probably writing a "three-act relationship plot." And, theoretically, you could have a relationship plotline that only lasts one act (likely through the middle).

. . . see why I decided to keep it general and foundational?

Relationship Turning Points within Acts

Recall previously that I gave a lengthy explanation on turning points for relationship plotlines. If you missed it or are new here, I recommend you go read at least that one section before continuing this article, so you can better understand what I'm going to be talking about.

But in case you don't want to or just want a very simplistic reminder, a turning point is an action or revelation that changes the direction of the plot. In a relationship plotline, a turning point changes the direction of the relationship, often in ways that can't be undone.

If you've been in the writing community for a while, you are probably familiar with some key structural beats, such as . . . 

Plot Point 1, Crossing the Threshold, Break into Two (all different terms for--nearly--the same moment)

Midpoint

Plot Point 2, The Ordeal, All is Lost (all different terms for--nearly--the same moment)

Climax

Guess what?

Stripped away of all their fanciness, these are actually all just turning points. They are major turning points, true, but at the most basic level, they are turning points.

They are actually all act-level turning points.

Each act should follow basic story structure:

This means each act should have its own climax (aka, major turning point).

Now, many people split Act II into two parts, at the midpoint. While I think you can argue this actually makes the story four acts, to keep things from being too confusing, I try to stick to popular terminology. So I call these Act II, Part I & Act II, Part II. 

With this in mind, you can view your story like this:

The climax of Act I is . . . Plot Point 1, Crossing the Threshold, Break into Two

The climax of Act II, Part I is . . . the Midpoint

The climax of Act II, Part II is . . . Plot Point 2, The Ordeal, All is Lost

The climax of Act III is . . . the Climax

These are the major turning points of your story.

On the basic level, the relationship plotline is no different.

You will have a climactic turn in the relationship for each act (and two for Act II).

Recall that in a relationship turning point, the characters will either draw closer to each other or be pulled apart.

This often includes a moment of vulnerability that is either accepted or rejected (or in some cases, neglected) by the other character. 

(Again, I'm not gonna repeat everything I said on relationship turning points, so please read about them in depth here.)

At these climactic moments, that's what's gonna happen.

There will be a significant (i.e. something that has deeply personal or far-reaching consequences) moment that results in being closer or more distant.

Mr. Darcy proposes to Elizabeth at the midpoint of Pride and Prejudice. This is a vulnerable move that Elizabeth rejects, pushing him further away. It's a major turn in the relationship, because their relationship can never truly go back to what it was previously. 

It also sets us on a new course for the relationship for the next quarter of the story.

Anakin accepts that Obi-wan needs to die. This is a major turn in the relationship that pushes the characters further apart, putting them on a new course.

In 1984. Julia and Winston meet up for their first secret rendezvous and draw closer together. This sets them on a new course in Act II.

Because the relationship plotline fits between the internal and external plotlines (it's not as personal as the internal plotline but not as broad as the external plotline), it is often influenced by those plotlines. This may influence what those turning points look like.

For example, Anakin agrees Obi-wan must die because he has externally joined Palpatine and has internally stepped into the dark side.

In The X-Files, Mulder and Scully are most often distanced because of external forces (alien abduction, for example). And in Spider-man, Peter and his love interest are often pulled apart because of his internal conflicts (such as not wanting to put her in danger).

As I mentioned in my relationship plot series, essentially, at the basic level, there are two types of forces at work: one is pushing the characters together and the other is pulling them apart. This creates an ebb and flow, a zig-zag, a dance, in the relationship.

These forces can come from within a character.

Within the relationship itself (the characters want different things)

Or from external elements.

Act-level turning points push together or pull apart the characters in ways that can't truly be reversed.

Mapping the Push and Pull of Act-level Turning Points

After a significant turning point, the relationship can't go back to what it was previously.

This means, at the basic level, you have just four options for turning points:

Apart --> Close

Close --> Apart

Apart --> Further Apart

Close --> Closer

Some in the writing world say that each major turning point needs to flip to the opposite value (apart --> close OR close --> apart) and that you need to alter them for each turn.

So, if the midpoint moved the characters from apart --> close, then Plot Point 2 needs to move them from close --> apart.

This creates a zig-zag through the whole narrative arc.

You may be familiar with this concept if you've heard the idea that, if the midpoint is a victory, then Plot Point 2 needs to be a failure (Blake Snyder talks about this in Save the Cat!). Following that, the climax is then a victory. Zig-zag. + --> - --> +

This is a great rule of thumb, and you can see it play out in many relationship plots, particularly in romances. The characters are resistant to each other at Plot Point 1, are in love at the midpoint, break up at Plot Point 2, and get back together at the climax.

This back-and-forth zig-zag can be really effective.

But it's not the only option. 

You can technically push close characters closer. And pull distant characters further apart. 

It doesn't always need to be a zig-zag. It can be a zig-zigger or a zag-zagger 😉

For example . . .

In Revenge of the Sith, at Plot Point 1, Anakin and Obi-wan, who start close, are drawn closer simply by the fact Anakin saved Obi-wan's life. At the Midpoint, they are pulled apart by Anakin accepting Obi-wan needs to die. At Plot Point 2, they are pulled even further apart as they decide they may need to kill each other. At the climax, their relationship is ruined as Obi-wan leaves Anakin for dead.

So it looks like this:

Plot Point 1: close --> closer

Midpoint: close --> apart

Plot Point 2: apart --> further apart

Climax: apart --> further apart

In Monsters Inc. Sulley and Boo start as strangers and as she wreaks havoc in Monstropolis, Sulley wants to get rid of her (but the situation forces them physically together). At the midpoint, Sulley realizes that Boo isn't dangerous and cares for her. At Plot Point 2, Sulley scares Boo and then Waternoose physically separates them. At the climax, Boo overcomes her fear of Sulley and helps him. Together, they defeat the antagonists.

It looks like this:

Plot Point 1: apart --> further apart (just in the sense that Sulley wants to get rid of her)

Midpoint: apart --> close

Plot Point 2: close --> apart

Climax: apart --> close

Notice that each major turn starts with (essentially) the value of the previous turn. So really . . . 

Revenge of the Sith: close --> close(r) --> apart --> (further) apart --> (further) apart

Monsters Inc.: apart --> (further) apart --> close --> apart --> close

This will be important in the next section.

But first, I want to acknowledge the fact I'm simplifying here. What is what may not always be obvious, because there are so many factors. Plot Point 1 in particular tends to be tricky because often the characters want to be apart but are forced together. Or, want to be close, but are forced apart. It can often appear to have both a push and a pull. This can make it harder to label. That's fine, just know what is happening and how. 

You also may have one character wanting to draw close while the other wants to be apart--but still, usually the turn will end with the relationship either closer or further apart. Either the one succeeds in getting them closer together, or the other succeeds in pushing them apart. If your characters want different things and you get confused about who to focus on, focus on the protagonist.

And in some stories, particularly where the relationship plotline isn't a predominant plotline, the characters may simply be physically pushed together or pulled apart. (However, if there is a significant, emotional push and pull present, it's usually best to focus on that.)

Just map the turns to best serve your perspective of your story--this is meant to help your work, not hurt it.

Journeying Between Turning Points: The Dance

In relationship plotlines, just as with other plotlines, the turning points may be viewed as "destinations" and the space between those turning points as "journeys."

The turning points shift the trajectory of the plotline. This is like flying somewhere and having to take multiple planes. Each airport is a turning point--you head in a different direction (at least a slightly different direction) with each flight, until you get to the final destination (the final turning point). Once you board a plane, you can't go back to the airport--it's in the sky. There are no returns.

Between each act-level turning point is a flight, a journey.

And each journey has progress and setbacks.

Meaning, each journey has moments that push and pull the relationship.

This is what I think of as "the dance" (term courtesy of Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes).

The characters are dancing to the next turning point, and it's generally a three-step dance:

Two steps forward and one step back

Or

One step forward and two steps back

While this idea was originally intended for romance writers, Romancing the Beat has plenty of concepts you can borrow and adapt for other relationship arcs. The dance is a great way to look at the journey between turning points. 

And both the journeys and the turning points keep the relationship from circling in the plotline. The audience doesn't want to feel like they have no clue where the plotline is going--they don't want to get dizzy trying to sort it out. 

When you have a destination (turning point) and a journey (the dance of push and pull), the plotline has a direction. It might turn into a zig-zag, or a zig-zigger, or a zag-zagger 😉.

But it's still going in a direction. 

While the turning points are a major shift (points of no return) . . .

. . . the journey is made up of small back-and-forth steps that aren't as dire.

Anakin and Obi-wan are close at the beginning of Act II, but cracks are starting to come between them. Because of this and Anakin's external and internal plotlines, it becomes, more or less, a one step forward, two steps back dance, until WHAM! At the midpoint, we need to make sure Obi-wan is dead! (For what it's worth, I feel like the film could have handled the dance better, so the jump didn't feel so drastic--and I think a lot of people feel like that film could have handled a lot of things better, but I think you get the point).

Likewise, after Mr. Darcy's proposal, Elizabeth engages in a two steps forward and one step back dance--falling for Mr. Darcy more and more. . . . 

Generally, the idea is that if the dance is one step forward and two steps back, then the next turning point is a major shift that pulls the two apart. And if the dance is two steps forward and one step back, then the next major turning point is a major shift that pushes them together.

But this is just a metaphor, and all metaphors are imperfect.

While I think this is a good rule of thumb, I don't know that that is how I always see it in the wild. Sometimes one step forward and two steps back prepares us for a major shift that pulls the characters apart, but then the story actually delivers a major shift that pushes them together. It might be a little more shocking and disorienting, but it's still an option.

So don't get too rigid.

Let's be chefs, not cooks.

The idea is that there is a small ebb and flow on the journey. If it's helpful, you may think of these as mini turning points--scene-level turning points. Not as drastic, but still bringing the characters closer or pulling them apart, scene after scene after scene. Then we have a major turn at a destination.

The major turn sets us up for the next journey--the next quarter of the story. And the next dance starts.

Inciting Incidents: The Medium Turning Points

You've probably heard of the story's inciting incident.

Well, guess what?

It's a turning point.

It's the turning point that kicks off the plotline.

It's bigger than a scene-level turning point, but not as big as an act-level turning point.

Just as there is an inciting incident for the whole narrative arc, there are, arguably, inciting incidents for each act. 

It's the medium-sized turn that kicks off the next journey. It's when the characters board the next plane. It's when the music starts and the characters get into position.

Returning to our ongoing Pride and Prejudice example . . . 

At the midpoint, Darcy proposes to Elizabeth--this is a major turning point (specifically of Act II, Part I), and she turns him down:

Apart --> Further apart

Okay, so what gets Elizabeth to start thinking differently about Mr. Darcy?

It's his letter.

Mr. Darcy sends a vulnerable letter explaining himself to her. This leads Elizabeth to question her judgments of him.

The letter is the inciting incident of Act II, Part II--it kicks off the journey of Elizabeth's two steps forward and one step back dance . . . until she's completely fallen for him by Plot Point 2.

In Romancing the Beat, this (roughly) aligns with (or at least leads to) what Gwen Hayes calls "The Inkling." If the characters want to be apart, but will end up close at the next destination, then the inkling is one character (or both) thinking, Maybe we could be close . . . 

Or, if the characters want to be close but will be pulled apart at the next destination, then the inkling is one character (or both) thinking, Maybe we should be apart . . . 

Of course, you can use this approach with the other options as well. If the characters are apart, and end up more apart at the next destination, then the inkling is one character (or both) thinking, Maybe we should be further apart . . .

And if the characters are close and end up closer at the next destination, then the inkling is one character (or both) thinking, Maybe we could be closer . . .

Naturally, though, something leads to the character thinking this in the first place (inciting incident, more or less). It could be the other character. It could be an external force. It could be an internal force. It could be a vulnerable moment. It could be a letter from Mr. Darcy.

Whatever it is, it kicks off the next journey.

Elizabeth receives the letter (external information), which leads to the inkling . . . Maybe Mr. Darcy is better than I thought he was. . . .

And, just as a reminder . . . another way to look at the back-and-forth of the relationship is through the lens of trust vs. distrust. So, the character may think (on some level) . . . Maybe I can trust him. Or . . . Maybe I can't trust him. Or . . . Maybe I can trust him a bit more. Or . . . Maybe I should trust him a bit less.

At the beginning of the journey, the character may be resistant to the inkling (think: "Refusal of the Call" or "Debate"). Could Elizabeth have really misread Mr. Darcy so completely? It just can't be so! she thinks.

And with these principles in mind, you are ready to get more specific with structuring your relationship plotline . . . . just promise me you'll remember they are principles, not laws.

* Note: After writing this out, I just wanted to come back and add . . . in Save the Cat! Blake Snyder has a beat called "B Story" that he sees as the introduction of the central relationship. I think perhaps, from an abstract view, this is actually the (relationship plotline or B Story) inciting incident for Act II, Part I, but I'll need to ponder on that.

Mapping Relationship Plotlines with Specific Labels

At the beginning of this series, I mentioned you could get more specific with relationship arcs by labeling them in more specific terms. For example:

Strangers --> allies --> best friends

Enemies --> friends --> enemies

Strangers --> colleagues --> best friends --> lovers

Lovers --> exes --> lovers

Family --> strangers --> enemies

It's likely that each of these is separated by a significant turning point, with a journey in between.

For example, say we wanted to write a story like this: 

Strangers --> Enemies --> Friends --> Exes --> Lovers

In the beginning, the characters are strangers who then meet and have to work together, but get the wrong first impression of one another, and they decide they totally hate each other by Plot Point 1. At the beginning of Act II, Part I, they have the inkling that maybe they can trust each other and make this work. They do a two steps forward and one step back dance. At the midpoint, they have a significant vulnerable moment that draws them together, and now? They're friends.

But at the beginning of Act II, Part II, they have the inkling that maybe they can't trust each other--maybe this friendship can't work. They do a one step forward and two steps back dance. At Plot Point 2 a vulnerable moment leads to a rejection and a break up. They separate, but have the inkling that . . . maybe they could have been more than friends . . . if they had handled things differently. 

They do a two steps forward and one step back dance and at the climax, hit their most vulnerable moment--where they lay it all on the table and stand figuratively naked in front of each other. They love each other, and they both accept. They kiss and everything is happily ever after.

That's how many relationship plotlines go.

Your job will be to figure out the destinations, the boarding, and the (turbulent) flights for yours.

Make sure the biggest moments are the act-level turning points.

Next time, I'll cover some of the key beats you'll find in almost any relationship plotline (they just might be in a different order, based on your destinations).

Articles in this Series:

The 4 Basic Types of Relationship Arcs

Turning Relationship Arcs into Plots, Part 1

Turning Relationship Arcs into Plots, Part 2

Turning Relationship Arcs into Plots, Part 3

Structuring Your Relationship Plotline

Upcoming: Structuring Your Relationship Plotline, Part 2: Key Beats

Read What Others Have Written on Relationships

How to Build Powerful Character Relationships by Angela Ackerman at Writers Helping Writers

5 Tips for Writing about an Established Relationship by R. E. Stearns at Writer’s Digest

Writing a relationship between characters into a strong plot, requires understanding the principles of plot . . . and how to apply them to a relationship journey.

So far, we have covered the four basic types of relationship arcs.

How the primary principles of plot apply to relationships (goals, antagonists, conflict, and consequences).

And how the secondary principles of plot apply to them (progress, setbacks, costs, and turning points).

Today we will finish up with that by going over the tertiary principles: plans, gaps, and crises.

I've already covered these topics in depth for plot in general. In this series, I'm specifically applying them to relationships. So, if you need more explanation on any of them, please see . . . 

The Primary Principles of Plot: Goal, Antagonist, Conflict, Consequences

The Secondary Principles of Plot: Progress, Setbacks, Costs, Turning Points

The Tertiary Principles of Plot: Plans, Gaps, Crises

With that said, let's jump in!

Plans in Relationship Plots

Having a plan to get the goal not only reinforces the goal itself (because it shows the character wants the goal), but it also reinforces a sense of progress. When the audience knows what's supposed to happen, they can tell whether what is happening is bringing the character closer to, or further from, the desired outcome. And every setback feels sharper.

Plans make the plot feel more specific, and less vague.

Now in some stories, the plan may be more subtle and implied, while in others, it may be more blatant and spelled out. Regardless, the audience typically benefits from knowing how the character intends to move forward (though all rules can be broken for the right reasons).

You can read more about plans here.

In a relationship plotline, the plan is not so complicated.

Earlier we talked about how at the basic level, the character is trying to draw closer to or push away from the other character. (Or in some cases, maintain the current situation.)

How are they going to do that? 

That's the plan.

Sam is going to follow Frodo, carry supplies, and cook to support his friend on the road to Mount Doom. (In contrast, Frodo may secretly get on a boat and try to leave Sam behind.)

Elizabeth is going to make sure Darcy isn't around before she goes to Pemberly, so she has no chance to run into him.

Scully is going to have her gun out for backup, so she can shoot someone dangerous before they can shoot Mulder.

Obi-wan is going to track down Anakin to confront him and put an end to things.

Will is going to make Mike a present and help him with Eleven. 

Winston is going to find a secret place where he can be with Julia.

Estella is going to make a mockery of the Baroness by destroying her fashion.

There are a million concrete things a plan can be.

How much of the plan needs to actually be on the page will depend on how much of it is common sense, how prominent the plotline is, and how accurately things go according to plan (the more accurate, the less the audience needs the plan ahead of time). 

In The X-Files, the fact Scully is going to have her gun out to protect her partner is common sense, but it's still a sign of preparation--of planning--for what could happen. Other times, her plans are more specific, particularly when the relationship plotline is more prominent. For example, she may need to locate evidence and meet up with an antagonist to get Mulder back safely.

In 1984, moving the relationship closer must always have a plan, because the Party is constantly on the watch and may separate the couple at any moment. So if Winston and Julia want to spend time together, they have to decide on when, where, and how. 

If Sulley wants to send Boo away from him, he needs to get her back to Monsters Inc. and find her door. At the same time, though, he's subconsciously growing fond of her, and so wants to make sure she's safe. So he needs to dress her up like a monster and find the right door. (There is room for complexity, depending on what part of the arc and structure you are at.)

And always remember the external and internal plotlines can influence the relationship one. So it may be they influence the plan.

The plan doesn't always need to be obvious on the page (and in relationships, may sometimes even be somewhat subconscious), but it's usually best if there is one.

Gaps in Relationship Plots

The gap is that space between what the character expects to happen and what actually does happen.

In a plan, the character thinks they know what they need to do to get the desired outcome. So the character takes an action, but when reality delivers something different than anticipated, it creates a gap.

Will makes Mike a present, but when Mike comes to visit, he is blind to Will. This works as a gap.

Winston thinks he has found a trustworthy landlord to allow him to keep seeing Julia, but the man is actually in league with the Party. This creates a gap. Winston actually brought Julia and himself right to the Party.

In regards to relationships, I don't know that there is much more to be said than what I've already said on gaps.

Look for opportunities where the character takes action toward the relationship goal, but it backfires. Peter Parker makes plans to propose to Mary Jane, to bring them closer together, but as the dinner goes on, his behavior is actually pushing her further away, until she dismisses herself.

In another situation, a character may be trying to push the other away, but it's actually making that person want to draw closer.

Whatever it is, it's different than what the character expected.

Crises in Relationship Plots

In the writing community, a crisis is also called a "dilemma." Two terms for the same concept.

A crisis is when the character has to make a choice between two opposing paths (cause-and-effect trajectories). And she can't have both.

The choice is difficult because each path has significant stakes. 

The crisis is a moment where we lay out the different pathways a plotline can go, depending on what the character chooses.

In structure, the crisis is often sandwiched between two mini turning points. The first pushes the character into a corner, and the second happens when she chooses her path.

In relationships, this is where it typically fits as well.

Recall my lengthy explanation of relationship turning points, which can be more or less summed up with this:

Action or Revelation --> Character A's Vulnerability --> Accepted or Rejected (or, Neglected) by Character B.

When Character A is vulnerable, there are at least two pathways for Character B:

1. Accept and/or draw closer.

2. Reject and/or push away.

A third option is neglect, which often works as a sort of lesser rejection, but may happen out of blindness, insecurity, and internal conflict, in addition to simply not wanting to accept.

At some turning points (particularly at the scene level, early in the story), the decision may be obvious, without major ramifications. But when you want a CRISIS (all caps), each option has significant stakes and costs tied to them.

If Sulley accepts Boo, then he's at risk of losing his job and being banished. If he rejects her, she'll be kidnapped and abused by Randall. Both paths have significant stakes, and neither sounds great.

If Winston accepts Julia, then he's putting them both at risk of being imprisoned and brainwashed. If he rejects her, he faces the horror of living life out as a pawn of the political machine, and never experiencing the pleasures of attraction.

If Scully accepts Mulder, she's at risk of losing her career, personal dreams, and life. If she rejects him, they'll never be able to uncover and reveal the truth of the government's cover-ups--they can't take on the antagonists.

If Obi-wan accepts Anakin in the end, Anakin will become a dangerous Sith Lord. If Obi-wan rejects him, he has to leave his "brother" to die.

So often it will look like this:

Action or Revelation --> Character A's Vulnerability --> Crisis --> Accepted or Rejected (or, Neglected) by Character B.

To take it a step further (or rather, backward), Character A's vulnerability may come from a prior crisis.

In our Harry Potter mountain troll example, the boys are only vulnerable to discipline because they chose to try to rescue Hermione. Before that, they had two options: rescue Hermione and risk danger and discipline, or turn a blind eye and risk her dying.

Similarly, when Mr. Darcy realizes he loves Elizabeth, he has two options: say something and risk rejection or say nothing and never have the chance to marry her. 

For these characters, it may not have really been much of a CRISIS in that they didn't have to think too long and hard about what to do, but it proves the point, and still works as a type of crisis in that there is a choice between two paths forward and each has stakes. And what they chose still reveals character. It's better to risk danger and death than let a peer die. It's better to say something and have the chance of marrying Elizabeth.

So it might be that you find both Character A and Character B experience a crisis (of one sort or another) near, or part of, a major turning point.

In that case, it might arguably be something like this:

Action or Revelation --> Crisis for Character A --> Character A's Vulnerability --> Crisis for Character B --> Accepted or Rejected (or, Neglected) by Character B.

But don't take this as a commandment. Not everything will work this way.

And that's about as far as I'm gonna go in relationship plots in regards to plot principles. Hopefully this has been as helpful to you as it has been to me! In a future post, I will talk about structuring them. Until my next article, 

Happy Writing! 

(Or shipping?)

Related Articles

The 4 Basic Types of Relationship Arcs

Turning Relationship Arcs into Plots, Part 1

Turning Relationship Arcs into Plots, Part 2

The Tertiary Principles of Plot: Plans, Gaps, Crises

What is a B Story? 6 Key Qualities of B Stories

Writing the Influence Character

Read Other Resources on Relationships

The Relationship Thesaurus Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi at Writers Helping Writers

Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes

How to Write Three Types of Friendship Arcs by Mythcreants

Developing a relationship plotline requires more than the relationship itself. It requires more than a relationship arc. It needs the proper elements of plot in place, otherwise it's not really a relationship plot. 

Whether the relationship plot in your story is about love interests, friends, coworkers, mentor and mentee, rivals, or even enemies, and whether it's the A Story, B Story, C Story, or even D Story, it needs to have the proper pieces to be a real Story.

The primary principles of plot are goal, antagonist, conflict, and consequences. Last time, I covered how to apply these to relationships.

The relationship goal will be one of three things: draw closer and/or get along with this person, push away and/or cause dysfunction with this person, or maintain the relationship as is.

The antagonistic force will be what is in the way of the goal. If the character wants to draw closer to the other person, the antagonist pushes them away. If the character wants to be apart from this person, the antagonist pushes them together. If the character wants to maintain the relationship as is, the antagonist is what's disrupting "normal." In some cases, the other character in the relationship is the antagonist.

With the goal and the antagonistic force, the relationship plotline will have conflict. How the characters choose to address the conflict will usually create the arc.

And the conflicts only matter in that they have consequences. What do these characters have to gain or lose in being close? Or in being distant? Often the relationship consequences will affect other plotlines, or vice versa.

Today we will continue talking about relationship plot elements, by covering the secondary principles of plot: progress, setbacks, costs, and turning points. 

For a more in-depth explanation of these elements in general, check out my article on the secondary principles of plot.

Below, we will apply these elements to relationship plots.

Progress & Setbacks in Relationship Plots

Once upon a time, I was reading a very popular series, and when I got to the last book, the central relationship started driving me crazy. Every time the heroine was with her boyfriend they argued and argued and argued, but it didn't feel like they were getting anywhere. Their situation was, more or less, the same as it had been from the first argument. This created a circling sensation, which I've talked about before. It happens when a plotline isn't really progressing in one direction or the other (experiencing setbacks). I got to the point where I wished they would just break up. At least then things would be changing and evolving (or devolving).

In short, the relationship plotline wasn't experiencing any real progress or new setbacks. It was just hitting the same conflict over and over. If this has happened to you, don't fret--I've had the exact same problem in one of my manuscripts. Unless you write romance, most of us haven't been taught how to actually write a relationship plotline. And not knowing how to move a plotline forward is exactly what creates this circling sensation.

Remember what I've said in the past: Conflict without consequences is just cleverly disguised filler.

Just as with other plotlines, the relationship plotline needs to be changing, at least a little. As the characters are facing conflicts, they should either be growing closer or apart. And as with any plotline, there should be some of both (progress and setbacks).

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone has a great, simple example of this that stands out. Neither of the boys really likes Hermione at first, and Ron outright dislikes her. But the conflict of the mountain troll, and Hermione taking the blame after, cements the trio together. As Rowling simply writes: "There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them." Because of the conflict and what happens after, the characters grow closer together.

But anyone who has read the series knows they also experience a lot of setbacks--whether that's Ron and Hermione, Harry and Ron, or Harry and Hermione. At one point or another, each pair thought their relationship might be over.

What "progress" and "setbacks" look like in your relationship plotline will depend upon the goal, relationship type, and plotline itself. For most stories, though, ultimately drawing closer together appears as progress and being pushed apart is seen as a setback. Yet in a negative arc where the characters are genuinely trying to get away from each other, growing apart may be seen as progress, while being forced together appears as a setback.

Because what each character wants in the relationship can change, this can get complex. For example, if Ron doesn't want to be in a relationship with Hermione, isn't the mountain troll incident a setback? But it's the conflict itself that changes his want. Keep in mind: Every conflict has the chance to alter the goal. So it could be that one character decides from the conflict, that he now wants to be close to the other (or, alternatively, apart from her). If the antagonistic force is formidable enough, it will test the character's commitment to the relationship goal--in some cases the character will stay steadfast to the original goal, and in others, he will change that goal (like Ron does).

It's also worthwhile to point out that the audience may have a different point of view. In an enemies-to-lovers romance, the audience will see the enemies drawing closer together as progress, even when the enemies don't want to.

And if this is enough to make your head spin, let me simplify: The point is the conflicts and consequences are creating an ebb and flow of some kind, a zig-zag, through the story. We are going one direction. Then the opposite. Back and forth.

In contrast, circling isn't a zig-zag. It's repetitious, stagnant, and/or vague. The audience isn't sure what direction the relationship is going (or what the point is). Or worse, they don't discern the relationship going in any direction.

The zig-zag can even appear in unusual ways, with The Prestige being our ongoing atypical example. Because the negative steadfast relationship arc is also the A Story, and the participants in the relationship are opponents for each other, the ebb and flow manifest in whether or not one successfully outdoes the other. Sometimes Angier wins, and sometimes Borden wins. But it's a back-and-forth dance. It's a zig-zag.

We'll talk more about this zig-zag and dance in the future when structuring the relationship plotline.

Costs in Relationship Plots

Costs are what the character has to "pay" to move forward on the journey toward the goal. This may be physical and mental well-being, time, money, resources, or what have you. The most effective costs come out of the conflicts and consequences of the plot (as opposed to being random bad luck). This reinforces character agency and responsibility, which makes these costs more meaningful (and painful). (Read more about that here.)

While costs are important in any plotline, they can be particularly important in a relationship plotline. If a relationship has no costs, the characters didn't really have to struggle and sacrifice to be together (or, alternatively, apart), and it's the struggle and sacrifice that leads to a powerful relationship arc. The relationship isn't deep, meaningful, or personal without that. It's just surface-level. And the more difficult the journey, the sweeter the triumph. 

Generally speaking anyway. (Yes, as I always say, there are always exceptions.)

In any case, we don't want this journey--this relationship--to be built on nothing. Only by showing costs and sacrifices do we truly convey what this relationship means to the character. Pain-free relationships are easy. Pain-full? That is the refiner's fire.

So, what is the cost of the relationship in your story? What do these characters have to "pay"? What are they willing to sacrifice?

In many romances, this is nothing short of everything. The heroine may give up her career, her home, and her old life to be with the person she loves. But this can be true of non-romantic relationships as well. Sam is willing to risk drowning to be near Frodo. Sulley is willing to risk his career--which has meant everything to him--for Boo. Angier is willing to "kill himself" a hundred times to exact revenge on Borden.

Depending on the story you are writing, this may not be the case.

As I pointed out before, Katniss will not bend or accept Gale's worldview that innocent people are worth sacrificing for your own victory--that's the anti-theme of the whole series, so how could she? In some sense, to accept that is to ruin the theme and whole point. In this case, sacrificing the relationship is the cost of maintaining her own internal journey, her own character arc.

As the plotline progresses, the costs should become greater. The steeper and more personal, the more intense.

This is one of the reasons why I'm such a big Mulder and Scully fan. Their journey costs so much. Ironically, the characters never really have a true, typical "love confession," where they confess how deeply and irrevocably they love each other. But they don't need to. Because they show it. It's in the accumulation of costs. They risk careers, personal lives, safety. They lose loved ones. And surrender whole future trajectories, even very personal dreams. By the end of the original run, they've sacrificed just about everything to the X-Files and each other. They have something so much deeper than words or chemistry. They have years of action. They have proof.

Don't skimp out on costs. The most well-written dialogue, emotional responses, and physical descriptions will mean little to nothing if there is no proof--no action--behind them. Don't only say it. Show it.

* Just want to note that while not having the typical "love confession" trope worked for The X-Files, I'm NOT necessarily saying you should do the same thing. Depending on your story, genre, and relationship plotline, leaving that out could be a big no-no, making the reader feel cheated and frustrated. Always use good judgment. (And in fact, some criticize The X-Files for never really relieving the sexual tension on screen.)

Turning Points in Relationship Plots

I've said this a lot on my blog, but just in case you are new around here, I'll say it again:

A turning point works by (you guessed it) turning the direction of the plot.

This can only happen one of two ways (well, or both of them): a revelation, or an action. 

These are the only two ways to turn a plot.

Another way to look at them though, is . . . 

Revelation = Information

Action = Event

Sometimes that is more helpful.

In a relationship plotline, think of this as a "Point of No Return."

Let me explain.

At the most basic level, the character is either growing closer to this other person, or apart. (And if they want to maintain, something will disrupt that, so they will still be either drawing closer or further apart to try to get back to "normal.")

In a relationship, a turning point happens when it becomes impossible for the relationship to truly go back to what it was previously. The characters may try to go back, but it's never really the same. You can't undo a reveal. You can't undo an action.

For example, in Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Darcy shares he's in love with Elizabeth and proposes to her. This is both a revelation and an action that can't be undone. It's a moment where Mr. Darcy moves closer to Elizabeth. In response, Elizabeth creates distance. She will never see Mr. Darcy the same way. Their relationship will never truly go back to what it was. It has become more personal.

Harry and Ron rescuing Hermione from the troll and then Hermione taking the blame? It's a turning point that draws them together. "There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other."

Scully approaching Mulder as she's struggling with infertility to ask if he'll be the donor for in-vitro? Whew! You don't come back from that one.

Let's go negative.

Palpatine saying that Obi-Wan Kenobi will need to be killed, and Anakin accepting? I think their brotherly love is on its way out. . . .

Gale being somewhat responsible for Prim's death? Goodbye Gale.

Angier sabotaging Borden's magic trick so that his fingers get shot off? Time to exact revenge.

Most relationship plotlines will actually have both positive and negative turning points--this is what helps create the zig-zag effect I talked about above. One turning point draws them closer together, and later, another one pushes them apart. Or however you like to look at the zig-zag for your story. For example, Hermione's tattle-telling on the boys pushes them apart, but then her taking the blame for the troll incident draws them together. We want both progress and setbacks.

Because the other plotlines can affect the relationship plotline, it gets a little more complicated than that, but I'll explain that more in a future post.

Relationship Turning Points: Vulnerability and Reaction

The turning point usually includes a moment of vulnerability. Mr. Darcy is being vulnerable by proposing to Elizabeth. Hermione opens herself up to punishment by covering for the boys. Scully has to risk the awkwardness or pain that might come if Mulder rejects her plea. Saying Obi-wan needs to die puts Obi-wan at more risk. And Gale has to tearfully apologize to the woman he loves.

Notice, too, that the reaction to the vulnerability moves the direction of the relationship. Elizabeth pushes Darcy away. Harry and Ron are shocked, pleased, and accepting of Hermione's sacrifice. Mulder agrees to Scully's offer (I mean, can you get much closer than being a possible baby daddy?). Anakin concedes Obi-wan must die. And Katniss rejects Gale.

When it comes to thrillers, Shawn Coyne talks about an obligatory scene called "Hero at the Mercy of the Villain." I think you know what it entails based on its name. While not the exact same thing, I like to think of the vulnerable moments in relationship plotlines as "Character A at the Mercy of Character B."

The moment works like this:

Action or Revelation --> Character A's Vulnerability --> Accepted or Rejected (or, Neglected) by Character B.

Because of an action(event) or revelation(information), Character A has a vulnerable moment. Character B gets to decide to accept it, reject it, or in some cases, neglect it (that last one isn't usually as powerful--I also think you can argue it's still a form of rejection, but I decided to mention it since it is a little different). That (often) creates the relationship turning point.

Let's look:

Mr. Darcy realizes he's in love with Elizabeth and consequently wants to marry her --> Sharing this, he proposes --> Elizabeth turns him down and pushes him away (rejected).

Scully learns she might have an opportunity to be a mom, but she needs a donor --> She asks Mulder to help --> Mulder agrees, drawing them closer (accepted).

If you want to get super technical, you can view these as two smaller turning points--one from each character: Character A becoming vulnerable because of an action or revelation is the first turning point; it puts the relationship in a crisis. Character B accepting or rejecting it will be rendered in an action(event) or revelation(info), creating the second turning point.

Generally speaking anyway. There are exceptions and variations. 

For example, at one point in Monsters Inc., Sulley scares a fake child for a simulation, and Boo has the revelation that he's a scary monster. Her fear makes her vulnerable. Sulley responds by trying to draw closer, but Boo doesn't want to be around him and pushes him away--she's scared of him. In this situation, the vulnerable person is doing the pushing. That can happen, particularly if the characters want different things (one wants to be close and the other wants to be apart). 

So, don't get so technical that you never allow room for exceptions and variations. The turning point is meant to turn the relationship--that's the main function.

We talk about rules of thumb in order to lay a foundation to allow us to see and understand what's common, as well as what's a variation.

Also, just as a note "Character A" and "Character B" can be either character in the relationship. Sometimes Scully is the vulnerable one, and other times Mulder is. For most relationships, each will have vulnerable moments. 

However, that may not be appropriate for all relationships, and so it may lean one direction. Boo, a toddler, is going to be more vulnerable and need more help from Sulley, than Sulley is going to be vulnerable and need Boo's help. And the turning points with her are more likely to function a little differently, because she's so young, naive, and oblivious.

Voluntary Vulnerability vs. Forced Vulnerability

In my earlier examples, Mr. Darcy and Scully are willingly vulnerable in front of Elizabeth and Mulder. They chose to put themselves on the line.

But vulnerable moments can be forced upon Character A, by external forces, other people, or even Character B.

Frodo didn't want to be attacked by a giant spider. Shelob forced him into a vulnerable state.

Obi-wan didn't offer to die for Palpatine's plans. Palpatine made him vulnerable by making him a target.

Likewise, Borden didn't want a gun pointed at him, but Angier (Character B) points one at him, forcing him into a state of vulnerability.

Often (though not always) in romances, there is a forced vulnerability in the meet cute, where Character A looks weak or like an idiot in front of Character B. Common meet cute tropes are that Character A trips or accidentally scatters a bunch of papers in front of Character B.

Worth noting is that Character A doesn't always need to be physically present, as we see with Obi-wan. This will (obviously) look slightly different in the scene. (For example, Anakin is agreeing that Obi-wan needs to die, but by doing that, he's rejecting Obi-wan's vulnerability). It's also possible that Character B reacts one way in public and another way in private--this brings in some complexity. Though, what happens in private is usually the most accurate tell of what direction the relationship is going. 

Types of Vulnerability

The vulnerability need not always be psychological, like it is for Mr. Darcy and Scully; it can simply be physical, like it is for Bordon. 

The point is, one character is made vulnerable and is now at the mercy of the other.

It's helpful to turn to James Scott Bell's three types of death to look at options for vulnerability:

Psychological (emotional, intellectual, identity, one's old self . . . )

Professional (vocational)

Physical (this is obviouly the risk of literal death or physical harm 😉, but for relationships, I might would add literally taking off clothes--being naked, or closer to it, is often a vulnerable thing (whether or not there is sexual attraction), depending on how it is handled. Being in a state of physical rest, like sleeping, or healing, is also a form of vulnerability.)

In the troll incident, Hermione taking the blame risks professional death--she may be disciplined or expelled as a student (her vocation). 

And in the above example, Obi-wan is at risk of physical death.

Escalating Turning Points

The turning points influence the relationship arc and should get more intense as the story progresses. At the relationship plotline's climax, just like in the thriller, one character should be at (arguably) his most vulnerable state, and be either accepted or rejected (or in some cases, simply neglected) by the other character.

You've seen this a gazillion times in romance. One character makes a final climactic grand gesture to lay it all out on the table, to stand (figuratively) naked in front of the other person, who will then accept or reject (spoiler: it's romance, so she will accept) the person.

In another story, this moment may be simply physical, where one character is dying and needs the other character's help or mercy, such as Anakin dying after the final battle with Obi-wan. Obi-wan neglects (and in that sense, rejects) helping him, ending the relationship for good. (And in comparison, Palpatine accepts, saving him, and that fully cements their relationship.)

In a positive relationship arc, it's often more effective if the climactic vulnerable moment is voluntary. It must be in the romance genre, because the positive relationship arc is the primary plotline, so needs to be driven by choice. So, typically, Character A voluntarily risks psychological death by dropping all shields and standing "bare" before Character B (and maybe others).

And even if the vulnerability is physical, it can still be rendered voluntarily--such as Character A choosing to make a sacrifice that results in injury or potential death.

Exactly how the turning points will manifest concretely in your story, will depend upon the genre, the prominence of the plotline, the relationship, and the arc.

In an enemies-to-lovers relationship arc, you may start with involuntary vulnerability that gets rejected, then end with voluntary vulnerability that gets accepted.

The main idea is that there is an overall escalation. At each major vulnerable moment (turning point), one character is seeing another side to the other character they haven't seen before, or, at least, a deeper layer of the same side, and they've never seen that deep before. They haven't seen that type of vulnerability, or, they haven't seen it to that extent. The layers are coming off as they get to know this person to the core. And this makes it impossible to go back to "normal."

This can even be true of rivals or enemies--Angier is even more obsessive and revengeful than Borden ever imagined.

That's how it usually works anyway. It's not the only way to do things. For example, theoretically, you could have the character put more and more layers on and become more and more of a stranger--but even from that perspective, one character is likely seeing "another side" of the other person they haven't before--a fake, inauthentic, "public" side, that must be a sign of a deeper, more personal motive.

This is where I channel Brandon Sanderson again and say, we are chefs, not cooks. But we need to understand how a recipe works before we get fancy with our own.

One last thing I wanted to mention here, is that you can also look at turning points and escalation as a zig-zag of trust vs. distrust--by the end, positive relationship characters trust each other more (because of the acceptance of vulnerable moments), while negative relationship characters trust each other less (because of rejections of vulnerable moments).

Multiple Moments of Vulnerability

While turning points often have one character vulnerable, it's also possible to set them up so that both characters are vulnerable and both react to each other. It's also possible that there are multiple types and points of vulnerability. 

In my earlier troll example, Hermione is first physically vulnerable because the troll is attacking her. The boys can decide to help (accept) or not (reject). By accepting to help, they become vulnerable, and then are at risk of getting disciplined or being expelled. Hermione helps (accepts) by putting herself on the line for them and taking the blame--a professional vulnerability--and this cements their friendship together (the boys accept her).

Relationship Arc Labels and Turning Points

If you labeled the progression of your relationship arc as I mentioned at the start of this series, it's likely that each phase is separated by a significant turning point. For example, at the very first turning point, they became enemies, but at the next major turning point, they became friends, and at the next major turning point they became lovers, etc. 

Creating Mini-twists in Turning Points

You can create a mini-twist in turning points by making it seem like Character B will react one way, then have B act the opposite. For example, in danger of dying, Character A may look to Character B for mercy . . . only to have Character B stab her. Character A expected acceptance, but received rejection. This creates a gap. Alternatively, Character A may reveal she loves Character B, and expect a rejection, only to have Character B move in for a kiss.

You can also play up both options prior to make Character B's potential reaction more ambiguous, increasing the tension and suspense. The audience doesn't know which reaction B will choose.

A Quick Note on Rejections

We often see rejection as a bad thing, especially in relationship arcs. While it can certainly feel bad, it's not necessarily innately bad. Everyone has boundaries that shouldn't be crossed and people shouldn't be disrespected (or even abused).

Rejection might be the right thing, because it means staying true to personal beliefs, like when Katniss rejects Gale. It might be the best thing, because it's what's necessary for the health and safety of society, like Obi-wan rejecting Anakin. It might be the right thing because Character B has a bigger external or internal journey to take, and needs to choose responsibility over a relationship.

A Quick Note on Neglect

While not as "zig-zaggy" in a relationship plot, neglect may likewise be the best option. Neglecting vulnerability is, in a way, a form of rejection--but it's a lesser form. It may be that Character B still cares and respects the person, but can't accept them. Character B may not necessarily want to push A far away. So instead, B does nothing. It could be for the same reasons listed in the above section. There are some lines Character B just can't cross. 

Alternatively, it may even just be that Character B is blind, insecure, or conflicted, so doesn't accept or reject, only neglects. Again, there are a lot of options.

Turning points will change the trajectory of the relationship. They also keep the relationship from feeling stagnant or repetitious ("circling"). This is because they will lead to progress or a setback. 

They also connect into costs, as the vulnerability is often a cost, or comes from a cost, and how the other character responds may imply a cost.

We'll talk about turning points and all of this more as we go on.

And for what it's worth, please keep in mind this is a discussion of relationships in stories. I'm not an expert on real relationships, and would hate if I caused some kind of damage by having people try to apply these principles to real life. I'm not saying they don't overlap--they do! But at the same time . . .  stories aren't real life.

Next time, I'll finish up the plot elements for relationships (See? I promised you I wouldn't redo my entire Principles of Plot series.). 

Until then . . . keep your protagonist's friends and enemies close . . . or not . . . I'll let you decide ;)

Related Articles

Turning Relationship Arcs into Plots, Part 1

The Secondary Principles of Plot: Progress, Setbacks, Costs, Turning Points

The 4 Basic Types of Relationship Arcs

Writing the Influence Character

Read Other Resources on Relationships

The Relationship Arc by Ross Hartmann at Kiingo

Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes

Most stories will feature a relationship arc as a key plotline. But in order for a relationship to be a plotline, it not only needs an arc, it needs a plot. 

Showcasing an amusing friendship or a fiery rivalry, or throwing in a love triangle or family feud here and there doesn't make it a plotline any more than having an entertaining protagonist doing random things makes a plotline.

You can have ideas for a riveting relationship, but if it isn't arcing because of the story, it's probably just cleverly disguised "plot" filler.

We usually don't want a protagonist without an arc doing random things. That's not really the protagonist's story.

The same is true with relationships.

Now, real quick, not all relationships in a story will need a plot--that would be near impossible, overdramatic, and would read as soap opera.

This is one of the reasons why there is a difference between a relationship arc and a relationship plotline. 

Recently I did an article on the four basic relationship arcs. For convenience here is a quick recap:

Positive Change Relationship Arc: 

The characters start distant--they may be strangers or downright enemies--and grow closer in love and respect.

Ex. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, Mulder and Scully, Sulley and Boo

Positive Steadfast Relationship Arc:

The characters start close--already having some love and respect for each other--and have their relationship tested through the obstacles of the plot. Ultimately, they stand by one another at the end; often their love and respect grow by degree.

Ex. Frodo and Sam, Harry and Dumbledore (in book 7), Peter Parker and Mary Jane (depending on the rendition)

Negative Change Relationship Arc:

The characters start close with love and respect and are ultimately pulled apart and become distant, as strangers or enemies. They grow in dislike or disrespect for each other.

Ex. Anakin and Obi-wan (in Revenge of the Sith), Mike and Will (Stranger Things seasons 1 - 4), Katniss and Gale (in The Hunger Games).

Negative Steadfast Relationship Arc:

The characters start distant--as strangers or enemies--and might be pushed together through the plot, but ultimately won't stand by one another at the end. In the end, they are strangers or enemies. Often their dislike and disrespect will grow by degree.

Ex. Winston and Julia in 1984, Angier and Borden in The Prestige, Estella and the Baronness in Cruella

These are just basic relationship arcs and there is room for variations, so don't panic if yours doesn't fit any description perfectly. However, it should, more or less, be able to fit into one of them, which can be useful to get started.

Now we need to take some time to address plotlines, because how much you develop your relationship plotline will depend on how prominent it is. And the more prominent, the more it needs to be on the page. So hang with me as we cover some bases.

Relationship Plots for A Stories, B Stories, C Stories & More

Usually a relationship plotline is a key plotline, but where it fits in priority isn't the same for every story or even every genre. 

Most stories, specifically long stories (a novel as opposed to a short story), will have at least three kinds of plotlines. The most popular combo is this: the protagonist's external journey, the protagonist's internal journey, and the protagonist's relationship journey (with the Influence Character). This is a great combo, because it has a broad conflict (the external journey), a deeply personal conflict (the internal journey), and something that fits between those (the relationship journey)--giving the story clear dimension.

However, with that said, you can create other combos as well. For example, sometimes there is a world/society plotline, and no internal journey. So while a relationship plotline is key to most stories, I'm not gonna say it's key for every single story (despite what some say in the community).

If you are reading this article, you obviously want to learn more about writing relationship plotlines. At this point, it's a good idea for us to take our usual pit stop and talk a little bit about terminology in the writing industry.

Some in the industry actually lump together the protagonist's internal and external journey and call the weave the "A Story," or the primary plot. 

With this in mind, often the relationship plotline is considered the "B Story, " meaning it's the secondary plot that unfolds, more or less, alongside the A Story.

Some people in the community use the term "B Story" synonymously with "relationship plotline." In truth, not all B Stories are relationship plotlines, and not all relationship plotlines are B Stories. That's just what is most common.

In some narratives, the relationship journey is the A Story--the main plotline. This happens when the story is primarily about a relationship. The most obvious examples of this would come from the romance genre. Pride and Prejudice is primarily about Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy's relationship journey. 

But this doesn't mean you have to write a romance novel to write a relationship A Story. In The Prestige, the whole story is driven by Angier and Borden trying to undo or outdo each other. The A Story is a relationship plotline about a negative relationship.

So there are a lot of options in regard to plotlines.

But whether the relationship journey is the A Story, B Story, C Story, or what have you, it still needs to have an arc and plot to be a Story. It's just that the less prominent the plotline, the less you need to develop it and show it on the page.

In contrast to a romance, The X-Files is more about the external journey and the internal journeys of each of the leads, than it is about Mulder and Scully's relationship. That doesn't mean their relationship journey isn't impactful (far from it). But less of that plotline makes up screen time . . . with the relationship arc stretched out over nearly a decade. If it had been the A Story, it wouldn't have been The X-Files, and it wouldn't have survived as perhaps the slowest burn in television.

Whether your characters' relationship journey is the A Story, B Story, C Story, or what have you, that's ultimately what we want: something impactful.

So let's dig into plot.

How Do You Write Relationship Plots in a Story?

Some of the problems that can come up with relationship plotlines stem from the writer not understanding that even though this journey appears quite different than the external or internal journeys, it still follows basic principles.

But if you don't write romance, this may be difficult to wrap your head around . . . because there are almost no resources to teach you how to do it! 

People will mention relationship plotlines, but they'll be vague or general about it--or say it has to be a romance or that it must be a positive change relationship arc. It doesn't. But for this reason, this plotline has often felt vague to me, personally. If I'm not writing romance--what am I supposed to be doing here? And how?

Let's start with the basics and feed the relationship journey into them.

I already did a long and lengthy series on the principles of plot, so I won't be repeating the details of each element (nor will I be going through every element for this). This means if you are confused or need more information, you should look through the series, starting here.

Keep your relationship arc in mind as we go through the pieces, and soon it will become clearer and clearer how to write a relationship plot.

The Goal in Relationship Plots

Plot starts with a goal. This is because a goal provides context for plot. Until there is a goal, what happens doesn't really matter, since no one is trying to get anywhere. And the audience can't measure whether what happens is progress or a setback.

We know characters should have external, measurable goals. And even if they have abstract wants, they should manifest in concrete goals.

Not all characters keep the same goals for the whole story. In fact, some characters will have a different goal for each act (I'm looking at you, Star Wars IV: A New Hope). And some will have both an overarching goal and act-level goals inside it.

This can be applied to relationship plotlines. In fact, it's highly likely the relationship goal will change through the story (and often on the act level).

At the most basic, abstract level, there are only three goals your characters can have in a relationship, and they may not be the same as the other person's.

The 3 Basic Relationship Goals:

1. Draw closer and/or get along with this person

2. Push away and/or cause dysfunction with this person

3. Maintain the relationship as is

Worth noting is that the last one will likely turn into one of the other two, because something will disrupt "normal," and the character will either be trying to draw closer or push away in order to get "normal" back.

At this point, some of you may already be confused. My characters want to get along to get the plot goal, but they also hate each other and want to push each other away! you may be thinking.

Don't panic.

The relationship plotline is usually intimately woven with the external and internal plotlines. 

Remember what I said earlier? It fits below the external plotline and above the internal plotline.

This means what happens externally will trickle down and complicate the relationship, while what happens internally will bubble up and complicate the relationship.

This is one of the reasons the relationship plotline can feel tricky and vague, especially if it's not the A Story.

Just focus on the relationship itself. Does the character want to draw closer to this person? Or does she want to be distant from this person? Or does she want to keep things the way they already are?

Relationship Goal Examples (Basic):

Elizabeth judges Mr. Darcy unfavorably--she wants to be distant from him through more than half the book.

Scully wants to get to know Mulder, despite his poor reputation in the FBI.

Sulley is afraid of Boo. He wants to send her away from him and Monstropolis.

Sam wants to follow, be near, and support Frodo.

Peter wants to be in a relationship with Mary Jane.

Will hopes to maintain a close bond with Mike . . . and maybe draw even closer.

While attracted to Julia, Winston thinks she's a spy and hates her (this one is a little more complicated, and that's okay).

Estella wants to work for and be like the Baroness.

Notice that the other person in the relationship may not have the same want. . . .

Mr. Darcy falls for and wants to marry Elizabeth.

Frodo doesn't want Sam to bear his burdens, so tries to create distance.

Mike isn't interested in maintaining a relationship with Will and is blind to Will's efforts (also a little more complicated)

Julia wants to be involved with Winston (which changes his relationship goal).

And sometimes the participants do have the same wants. . . .

Mary Jane wants to be close to Peter.

Despite being suspicious Scully is there to spy on him, Mulder is ultimately fine with opening up to her--after all, his purpose in life is to reveal the truth.

Angier and Borden are trying to push the other further away by outdoing each other and creating more dysfunction.

Gale and Katniss would prefer to be close (though at some parts, Katniss is only interested in maintenance)

As you can already see at the basic level, things aren't always simple, and again, wants can change, but we are just getting some basics down to build from.

You'll also notice that while the goals will play into how the relationship arcs on the page, they aren't determined by the relationship arc. Strangers can want to get close. Enemies may want to mend their ways. Friends may want to draw close or part ways. And each person may want something different.

The basic goals are the characters' desires. And the arc is what happens in reality.

Just as with external plotline goals, it's helpful if we get more concrete and specific. This will make the plotline stronger and allow the audience to better measure progress. So, consider, what does "success" in this relationship look like to the character? Darcy wedding Elizabeth? Boo being thrown back to where she came from? Mike accepting Will's gift and playing D&D with him? Winston and Julia having a secret rendezvous? Keeping Sam away from the Ring? Angier besting Borden in magic? Scully making sure Mulder makes it back in one piece to D.C. (and vice versa)?

It's important to realize that what success looks like may be influenced by the external and/or internal journeys. The external journey informs Scully what success in her relationship with Mulder looks like. It determines what Sulley's goal is for Boo. The internal journey informs Will what success looks like with Mike. It determines why Frodo wants to keep Sam away from the Ring.

So, look at each participant in the relationship--do they want to grow closer or apart? (Or maintain?) What does "success" look like in this relationship, to each participant?

The Antagonistic Force in Relationship Plots

The antagonistic force is a form of opposition. I emphasize "opposition" because the antagonistic force is something in the way of the goal. 

We know what the characters want. And we know what success looks like. 

What is keeping the characters from simply getting that? (Or, in some cases, maintaining that?)

That's the antagonistic force. And just like the goal, it doesn't need to be one thing, and it doesn't need to be the same thing throughout the whole relationship plotline. If you think of the antagonistic force as the obstacle in the way of or resistance to getting the goal, you'll have both a broader and more accurate understanding of what an antagonistic force really is. Or likely, forces. 

For relationships, the antagonistic forces can come from several places.

The 3 Sources for Relationship Antagonists:

1. External: What's happening externally may trickle down and get in the way of the relationship goal. For example, two characters may wish to live their lives separately (or may even be enemies), but external circumstances force them together. This is common in the enemies to friends/lovers arc. In these situations, often there is a shared external plotline goal that the characters have to work together to achieve.

In contrast, you may have two characters who want to be close, but external forces are pulling them apart. In 1984, Winston and Julia want to be together in Acts II and III, but the Party wants them separated. You can see a similar thing in Romeo & Juliet.

And just as a note, even if the characters have different relationship goals, you can still have external antagonistic forces--it just gets a little more complex.

2. Within the Relationship: Antagonistic forces may come from the relationship itself. The characters may have opposing goals or methodologies or worldviews or mannerisms that clash.

Sam wants to be near Frodo. But Frodo tries to lose Sam. (Opposing goals.) Sam wants to ditch Smeagol, but Frodo wants to use him as a guide. (Opposing methods.) Untempted by and unexperienced with the Ring, Sam doesn't share compassion for Smeagol. Frodo, who suffers from both, pities him. (Opposing worldviews.)

Neither character is necessarily "good" or "bad" (though you can do that if you want). They're just different, and this creates obstacles. 

It's usually very common for the protagonist and Influence Character to have opposing methodologies.

3. Internal: One or both participants may have internal struggles, flaws, or misbeliefs that bubble up into the relationship plotline. 

In Sherlock, Sherlock's inability to be socially sensitive causes problems in all of his relationships. In Pride and Prejudice, it's pride and prejudice that often cause problems. Frodo's personal struggle with the Ring creates friction with Sam.

One familiar trope is that one character feels undeserving or unworthy of the other character, because of how he views himself--Edward does this sort of thing in Twilight.

Weaving All Three

Remember, just as the external and internal journeys influence each other, so do they influence the relationship plotline. When we weave three different plotlines, it can get complicated. Or perhaps more accurately said, complex. 

For example, in The Hunger Games, one may argue that the antagonistic forces that ultimately drive Katniss and Gale apart come from all three places. The external plotline pulls them apart by not only creating literal distance, but emotional distance, as Katniss has to leave District 12 and pretend to be in love with Peeta. 

Their relationship pulls them apart because they have different worldviews and methodologies. Gale wants to incite a revolution and overthrow the Capitol, whatever the cost. Katniss wants to survive and keep her loved ones safe. 

In the internal sense, Katniss has so much going on inside her, that she doesn't have the time or wherewithal to focus on her relationship with Gale. And Gale is moving closer and closer to the anti-theme.

With that said, please don't give yourself "paralysis by analysis." You don't need to overthink the relationship plotline. The point is that you need antagonistic forces to create a relationship plotline. Those forces can come from any of those three places, or a combination of them. So if you need more (or don't have any), those are the areas to go looking. This can be especially helpful when both participants want the same "success" for the relationship--you'll need to look at external or internal obstacles.

It's Complicated

Certain setups are more complex, or at least more uncommon, than others. And I just want to acknowledge and illustrate that, so we don't get stuck thinking everything in writing needs to fit a specific mold.

In The Prestige, the A Story is a negative arc relationship between Angier and Borden. They don't want to be pals. Angier's goal is to undo Borden and best him in magic. This is informed by Angier's internal journey of obsessive revenge (also a negative arc). But Borden is also the antagonist--because he doesn't want to be undone and have his life ruined, and so fights back. They are the main obstacles for each other.

This is an atypical situation, but you'll see it has the same parts: a relationship goal and an antagonist, and of course, a relationship arc.

As Brandon Sanderson likes to say, as writers, we want to be chefs, not cooks. We want to understand the parts, and be able to arrange them in different ways to create the story we want--not follow the same recipe every time. The Prestige is a great example of that, in regard to relationship plotlines.

The Relationship Antagonist Simplified

For most stories, the antagonist will work like this:

If the character wants to draw closer, the antagonistic force is what's keeping them apart.

If the character wants to grow apart, the antagonistic force is what's pushing them closer.

If the character wants to maintain, then the antagonistic force is what's disrupting normal.

* Sometimes the antagonistic force is the other person in the relationship.

IMPORTANT: Beware of Weak Antagonistic Forces!

We've all seen relationship plotlines that made us roll our eyes, or worse, want to scratch out the writer's eyes. This is most obvious in sequels. It usually happens like this:

In the first installment, the writers create a positive change relationship arc, where the participants become best friends, found family, or significant others--and we all let out a satisfying sigh.

In the second installment, the writers don't know how else to arc a relationship, so they try to undo and redo what they already did.

It usually fails.

Other times the writers understand on some level they need to create a positive steadfast relationship arc, but don't know how to really do that, so they put together one that has about as much depth and emotion as a cardboard cut-out.

And finally, there is the relationship "plotline" that could be easily resolved by something that the characters seem too stupid to do, such as make a simple phone call.

These situations stem from the same problem: weak or unbelievable(derogatory) antagonistic forces.

If Sulley and Boo overcame all the adversity of Monsters Inc. and then we did a follow-up where they had an argument about bedtime, and we used that as a driving force to pull them apart (so we can push them back together again), it'd be stupid. The audience already watched them survive way worse. They know their bond is stronger than that.

Now, if the argument about bedtime was really subtext for deeper issues and those are going to be the driving force, and the issues are going to manifest in a lot of different ways, then maybe something like that would work.

Otherwise? The audience doesn't buy it.

The antagonist needs to be a real, powerful threat. If the characters already have a strong relationship that has been through the wringer, what could believably fray that? (And the answer can't be a simple misunderstanding.) It needs to be greater than what they've already overcome. Or, it needs to be different and just as difficult. Or, it needs to be long-lasting but still as significant. Look at the different places antagonistic forces can come from--that might help you find something you hadn't considered before. Or maybe, you need a combination of antagonistic forces to create a worthy threat. 

Often (like I touched on above), rather than think of one thing or one moment that is causing problems in the relationship, it's better to find something abstract that manifests in different concrete ways. For example, in Pride and Prejudice, both pride and prejudice are abstract concepts, but they manifest concretely in different ways throughout the story to create problems. The issue isn't so much that the ladies have no one to dance with, and that Mr. Darcy should be dancing with one. The real underlying issue is the pride Mr. Darcy seems to have.

Whatever the story, it's helpful to remember that the antagonistic force should be big enough to test the characters' commitments to the relationship goal (which will lead them to either change the goal or hold steadfast to it). This can be particularly important for positive steadfast relationships. Sulley and Boo arguing about bedtime isn't a "test." It's a disagreement.

The Conflict in Relationship Plots

The relationship goal and the antagonistic force lead to conflict. These characters hate each other and want to be apart, but the external antagonist locks them together. . . . and when they finally decide they want to be together, the external antagonist yanks them apart. Or maybe one person wants to draw close and the other wants to push away. Or maybe they both want to be together, but one is crippled by a sense of unworthiness.

There are a lot of directions you can go with this, but I think you get the idea.

There shouldn't be an easy, foreseeable way to fix these situations--because the antagonist should be a real threat (see above). So we get conflict.

The more the characters want the relationship goal and the stronger the antagonist, the bigger the struggle. And struggle is often what creates a powerful arc. As the characters face worthy opposition in conflict, we illustrate how bad they want the relationship goal. We confront them with difficult situations--choices--that require sacrifice of one kind or another. How devoted are they to their relationship goal? What costs are they willing to pay? Is he willing to risk drowning to follow Frodo? Is she willing to sacrifice her career reputation and give up personal dreams to get her FBI partner back safely? Is he willing to risk torture and brainwashing at the hands of the Party to be with Julia? 

How the characters choose to address the conflict will usually create the arc in the plotline. Ultimately, nothing stops Sam from helping Frodo--this leads to their positive relationship arc. We know, Sam is in it 100%. On the other hand, Katniss won't agree that sacrificing innocent people like Prim is worth a victory for the self, so she ends her relationship with Gale. This leads to their negative relationship arc. Notice, however, this doesn't mean Katniss is a "bad" person by any means. It simply illustrates that upholding the thematic argument means more to her than this relationship.

And never forget that other plotlines weave in. An external plotline victory may mean sacrificing a relationship goal. Or it may mean succeeding in the relationship enables success in the external goal. And internal victory may mean success or failure in a relationship goal. There are so many different combinations, I fear listing them may create more confusion rather than clarity. 

But just to show how this can be done in an atypical way, in The Prestige, the relationship goal is to undo, best, and push away the other magician, who is resisting and fighting back (as the antagonist). This leads to powerful conflict. What is the character willing to do to succeed? Angier is ultimately willing to frame his enemy, get him hanged, steal away his daughter, and kill "himself" a hundred times to possibly succeed in this negative relationship arc. But he fails in an internal way: He's so obsessed with revenge, so unwilling to change internally, that he failed as a human being and missed out on developing new meaningful relationships. (. . . and this all starts to bleed into the want vs. need concept . . . . and I think I'll save that for another day, in regards to relationships (I promised not to get confusing)).

The point is the conflict creates struggles that show what the characters are willing or unwilling to do for the relationship goal, and their choices will ultimately arc the relationship in the plotline.

The Consequences in Relationship Plots

In order for there to be a strong plotline, there need to be consequences to the conflicts' outcomes. Otherwise, it's just conflict for the sake of conflict.

Now, with that said, conflict for the sake of conflict can sometimes work in relationships for things like banter and disagreements. Those can be effective and fun, but remember, they aren't what make up a strong relationship plotline. Don't confuse banter or disagreements as the sum of a relationship plotline. It may be part of a plotline--the banter may stem from antagonistic forces within the relationship that the characters need to overcome--but it's not the plotline itself. In order to be part of the plotline, it needs to have significant consequences, like any good conflict should have.

Plot isn't just random stuff strung together. It has a sense of cause and effect.

So, what do the characters have to gain (and/or lose) in overcoming the conflict? What do they have to lose (and/or gain) in being overcome by the conflict?

If we are strictly focused on the relationship plotline, this may seem rather simple, as it is often the relationship or relationship goal itself. If Elizabeth overcomes the obstacles between her and Mr. Darcy, they can get married. If she doesn't, she won't be with the person she loves. If Sherlock and John can work through their differences and struggles, they can be best friends. If Katniss and Gale can't, they will become strangers. If Angier succeeds, he successfully punishes Borden.

But ideally, the consequences will bleed into other plotlines. If Harry's relationship with Dumbledore is ruined, Harry won't continue to hunt for Horcruxes. In Death Note, if Light succeeds in besting L, he can continue his plans of exacting justice and creating a new world, where he is the leader.

Commonly, the relationship characters need to work together to reach the external goal. In Moana, Moana and Maui ultimately need each other to right the world--neither can do it alone. Frodo and Sam's relationship needs to work to bring the Ring to Mount Doom. Mulder can't succeed in uncovering the truth of government conspiracy and experimentation without Scully by his side.

And of course, it can bleed into the internal plotline. Once Winston betrays Julia, it means that the Party has successfully brainwashed him--he is no longer a free-thinker but part of mass psychosis. 

Not only will the relationship likely affect the consequences of other plotlines, but the other plotlines will likely bring consequences into the relationship.

Just make sure the consequences are there, and that they are significant. They need to be important enough to shift the direction of the story. This will help the audience know why this relationship matters. And as a reminder . . .

Stakes = potential consequences (projecting cause and effect into the future)

Ramifications = actual consequences

Conflict in relationships without any outcomes isn't really a story.

A relationship plotline is meant to be a Story. 

We'll delve more into relationship plots next time.

Related Articles

The 4 Basic Types of Relationship Arcs

The Primary Principles of Plot: Goal, Antagonist, Conflict, Consequences

Writing the Influence Character

What is a B Story? 6 Key Qualities of B Stories

Writing Relationships Readers can't Resist

How Plotlines Add Dimension

Read Other Resources on Relationships

The Relationship Thesaurus Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi at Writers Helping Writers

Seven External Plots for Relationship-Centered Stories by Chris Winkle at Mythcreants

How Relatable Character Relationships Will Make or Break Your Story by Ruthanne Reid at The Write Practice

Much has been written about character arcs, but little has been taught about relationship arcs--despite relationship plotlines playing key roles in most stories, in most genres. Writing instructors such as Blake Snyder and Robert McKee, and approaches such as Dramatica Theory, all touch on the importance of having a central relationship in a story.

But there aren't very many resources on how to actually write or arc the relationship itself--unless of course, you are writing in the romance genre (and if you are, definitely take advantage of those resources--a great one is Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes). 

The central relationship in a story (which often involves the protagonist and the Influence Character) isn't always a romantic one though. It can be a relationship between allies, friends, coworkers, siblings, a mentor and student, or even rivals or enemies. 

So while the romance resources can help you write a lot of stories, they won't work for all central relationship types, as you'll see by the end of this article.

Because, while it's most common for the central relationship characters to become close, it's not the only option. And some characters are already close when the story begins. How do we write about them? By undoing their past and re-doing it, like so many writers have done poorly in sequels?

Plus, your protagonist (and any other key characters) will likely have important relationships with others outside the central relationship (even if they aren't a major plotline)--few relationships stay stagnant, so how do we arc those? They can't all follow the same format!

These are concerns that have been on my mind over the years, particularly because multiple writing approaches emphasize the need for a relationship plotline for the B Story (secondary plotline), but then those same approaches tend to be awfully vague on how to actually do that.

Well, several weeks ago while I was doing my hair and thinking about the basic character arcs, something clicked with me on a level it hadn't before. And a bunch of these questions I've had about relationships started getting answers! Suddenly things that had felt vague and elusive (and, I admit to some degree, unimportant) started making complete sense.

The info is more than I can fit in a single article. But the best place to start, is with the four basic types of relationship arcs.

Which is great, because arcs build off concepts you probably already know . . . 

What is a Relationship Arc?

A character arc is how a character grows or changes through the story. And a relationship arc is how a relationship grows or changes through the story.

Those familiar with my approach to character arcs, know I like to start with the most basic categories. We can build and get more complicated and specific off those categories, but ultimately when it comes to character arc, there are only four types: change positively, change negatively, remain steadfast positively, remain steadfast negatively.

Well, guess what?

This is the same breakdown we can use for relationship arcs! 

Now, this can be a little tricky and confusing at first, because we need to look at the relationship itself, and not the individuals in the relationship. The individuals in the relationship will likely have their own arcs (which play into how they interact in their relationship). But for a relationship arc, we are looking at the relationship itself.

Just as with my breakdown of character arcs, any relationship should, theoretically, be able to fit into these types at the most basic level. So let's go through them!

4 Kinds of Relationship Arcs

So there are only two directions a relationship can grow.

1. Closer, through love and respect (Positive)

2. Apart, through dislike and disrespect (Negative)

And there are only two ways this can happen.

1. The relationship changes

2. The relationship remains steadfast (strengthening in resolve)

That's it! While we can get more complicated and specific from there, at the most basic level, any relationship should, theoretically, fit into this breakdown. 

Positive Relationship Arcs

In a positive arc, the participants in the relationship will grow closer together, typically because they grow in love and respect for each other. This can either be a positive change relationship or a positive steadfast relationship.

Positive Change Relationship Arcs

Out of the relationship arcs, this is the most common, so it will likely sound and look very familiar to you.

In this arc, the relationship will largely change through because of the story, in a positive way.

Often the relationship will do a 180 flip (more or less) from the beginning of the story to the end of the story. The characters will go from being largely strangers, or even downright enemies, to becoming best friends, found family, or significant others. 

The obstacles of the journey ultimately draw them closer in love and respect.

Examples of Positive Change Relationship Arcs

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice start out as strangers, and it isn't long before Elizabeth (and others) deem Darcy as too proud for his own good--he refuses to dance with Elizabeth at the ball. Yet over the coming months, Mr. Darcy begins to fall for Elizabeth, and, to her surprise, proposes to her. She turns him down, citing his arrogance. But her feelings toward him start to take a turn--perhaps she had misjudged him. At the end of the book, Elizabeth accepts his (second) proposal.

In The X-Files, Mulder and Scully start as strangers, though Scully is familiar with Mulder's negative reputation. The division chief assigns Scully to the X-Files to debunk Mulder's work, and they become partners. Over the years of cases, they grow closer and closer, as the obstacles of the show require more and more personal costs and sacrifices. From partners, they become friends, to close friends, to essentially found family, to lovers.

In Monsters Inc. Sulley is first terrified of Boo, and her escape into Monstropolis leads to chaos. Forced to hide her in his apartment, Sulley realizes she's not a danger, and begins to grow attached to her before discovering she's the one in danger. As they navigate antagonistic forces, they soon develop a parent-child relationship.

Other examples include Joy and Sadness in Inside Out, Sherlock and John in Sherlock, and all the guardians in Guardians of the Galaxy

Often these characters are pushed together because of other forces or circumstances. Maybe they are in the same social circle or must work together toward a goal. This may not always be the case, but if the arc is for a plotline, typically it is. It is possible they want to draw closer together out of their own free will, like in Romeo and Juliet, but they might be facing obstacles.

Positive Steadfast Relationship Arcs

In a positive steadfast relationship arc, the participants are already close. 

Instead of doing a big flip or experiencing a big change, the relationship will be, more or less, the same at the beginning of the story and at the end of the story. Instead of transforming, it will grow in resolve. 

Some relationships will remain essentially the exact same through the story--in which case, it may arguably be a relationship arc, but it's not really a relationship plotline. If you want to make this into a relationship plotline, it likely needs to grow by degree. 

This means the characters will grow even closer together by the end of the story--or more accurately said, because of the story.

A positive steadfast relationship doesn't necessarily mean the relationship never wavers or never gets rocky. Only that when all is said and done, the characters will remain loyal to each other at the end.

Just as with steadfast characters, these are often relationships people struggle to know how to write well. A common lament I hear is, "What do I do when the characters are already together?" "Or already in love?"--particularly for sequels. . . . And a common mistake writers make is to try to undo what already happened--through weak antagonistic forces--and then redo it.

In reality, the positive steadfast relationship arc (like the steadfast character arc) is about testing the relationship. What can the writer (believably) throw at the characters that will threaten to wedge them apart? 

The greater the threat, the more meaningful it is when the characters choose to remain together.

Examples of Positive Steadfast Relationship Arcs

Perhaps one of the best examples of this relationship arc comes from The Lord of the Rings (and I like the film adaptations in particular). Frodo and Sam already start with a positive relationship. But the journey of the story threatens to separate them. First Frodo believes he needs to bear this burden alone. Then Smeagal and the Ring begin to chip them apart. Eventually, they go their own ways. But Frodo realizes he needs Sam, who re-realizes the exact same. They are only able to make it to the Crack of Doom by Sam carrying Frodo over his shoulders.

In a couple of renditions of Spider-man, Peter and Mary Jane fit this arc as well. They start already friendly, close, and on good terms. But their relationship gets tested past its breaking point before they come back together.

Another (atypical) example comes from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, where the central relationship involves Harry (and the trio) and Albus Dumbledore--despite Dumbledore not being present (you can actually have a relationship arc with one of the participants absent). Harry starts the story loyal to Dumbledore, but the information coming out about him begins to chip at that loyalty. Maybe Dumbledore wasn't who Harry thought he was. In the end, this loyalty is re-cemented into place and made even stronger.

Ultimately, the relationships withstand the trials, and the participants are brought closer because of it.

Alternatively, you could, theoretically, use the arc to help others have a change arc, in the same way that the steadfast protagonist often helps others or the world around them change. But we don't see that very often.

Negative Relationship Arcs

When we think of relationship arcs and plotlines, we generally think of drawing characters closer together. But it is also possible to arc relationships by pulling characters apart. Instead of growing in love and respect, they ultimately grow in dislike, disrespect, and distance. 

This will happen in one of two ways.

Negative Change Relationship Arcs

In this arc, the relationship will largely change through because of the story, in a negative way.

Often the relationship will do a 180 flip (more or less) from the beginning of the story to the end of the story. The characters will go from being best friends, found family, or significant others, to largely strangers, or even downright enemies.

This is about the deterioration of a relationship.

Instead of overcoming the challenges thrown at their relationship and drawing closer, these obstacles (or in some cases, distractions) tear the participants apart. They may increase in dislike, hate, or disrespect for one another, or simply become more distant.

Examples of Negative Change Relationship Arcs

In Revenge of the Sith, Anakin and Obi-wan begin the story as close as brothers, with Anakin going against orders to save Obi-wan twice. He would rather risk his death, the death of others, and his mission than leave his master behind. But the tension between the Jedi and Palpatine, and the seduction of the dark side being able to save Padme, starts to strain the relationship. Halfway through the film, Anakin accepts that Obi-wan may need to die, and by the climax, he's more than ready to kill his master himself, openly professing how much he hates him.

From the beginning of Stranger Things to the most recent 4th season, the audience has . . . more or less . . . watched a deterioration of Mike and Will's friendship. They started as the oldest and most trusted friends out of the group of boys, and Mike does all he can to rescue Will. But by season four, Mike doesn't even really "see" Will, even when Will is right in front of him. The relationship is more one-sided, and arguably more distant than ever, as Will is unable to truly get closer to Mike, and Mike is blind to Will's real feelings for him.

In The Hunger Games, Gale starts the story as Katniss's closest and most dependable friend. They begin hitting some rocks in Catching Fire and then it gets worse in Mockingjay, as Gale grows interested in using more violent war tactics. While they certainly have their ups, when Gale becomes willing to sacrifice others to ensure victory--which likely led to Prim's death--the relationship crashes to a hurtful end.

Negative Steadfast Relationship Arcs

In a negative steadfast relationship arc, the characters start apart and end apart. They may be strangers or enemies and ultimately end up that way.

This doesn't mean the characters never get close or never love each other for a time--they may flirt with the idea of always being together, but when all is said and done, the characters won't stand by each other.

Some relationships will stay essentially the exact same through the whole story--in which case, it may arguably be a relationship arc, but it's not really a relationship plotline.

The story may test their resolve to be strangers or enemies by offering opportunities that could draw them together. But by the denouement, they usually end up with a bigger divide. You can hate a stranger or an enemy, yes, but you usually can't hate a stranger or an enemy as much as you hate an ex. Or alternatively, you can feel distant from a complete stranger, but you will feel even more distant when parting with someone you were once close with. It's in this sense that the negative steadfast relationship grows by degree.

Examples of Negative Steadfast Relationship Arcs

In 1984 by George Orwell, Winston and Julia start as strangers. Suspecting Julia is a spy, Winston hates her, until she slips him a love note, and the two start a secret affair (in a society where individual relationships and sexual desires are forbidden). They draw closer together, to the point of Julia saying she'd do anything to tear down the Party, except she doesn't want to betray Winston. In the end, they are tortured and brainwashed to the point that they each betray each other. Despite running into each other in the denouement, they no longer share their previous affections or desires, and go their separate ways.

In Cruella, Estella has the opportunity to work for the Baroness von Hellman, but when she sees the Baroness wearing her mother's old necklace, makes plans to steal it back by creating the alter ego "Cruella" as a distraction. A feud between the Baroness and Cruella ensues, and eventually, Estella learns the truth that the Baroness is her biological mother, who tried to have her killed shortly after her birth. What should have been a loving relationship becomes a fierce rivalry of power, where one actually attempts to kill the other. In the end, the Baroness is arrested, and the relationship destroyed.

The Prestige starts with the Angier and Borden working together for a magician, but the two men aren't close. When Angier's wife dies in a water tank trick accident, he blames Borden for tying the wrong knot. The two become rivals in magic and revengeful enemies. Despite Angier being advised to move on, he becomes more obsessed with taking down Borden. Eventually, Angier frames him for murder, and Borden is sentenced to death. In a twist, however, "Borden" is able to ultimately kill Angier. Lives are lost as the relationship comes to an end.

Another example would be Mia and Seb in La La Land.

Relationship Arc Variations

Just as with character arcs, there may be variations in relationship arcs. In writing, things often aren't either-or nor black or white. We use simple categories to help us better discern and learn how to write arcs. These categories are intended to explain what exists, not police what is allowed to exist. 

Love at a Distance

The characters may grow in their love for each other, but also grow distant from each other. While this is unusual, it's not impossible. For example, one character may observe the other and love him more, while she simultaneously draws further away. 

At one point in The X-Files (in the "revival" seasons), we learn that Scully grew distant from Mulder because she loves him so much. She couldn't bear to watch what was happening to him.

Another common trope is that one character pulls away because he feels incapable or unworthy of the other person, and resolves to love that person from afar--in thought or even action.

Love Your Enemy

Sometimes the characters love each other or learn to love each other while ultimately being enemies. 

Often the protagonist will begin to see herself in the antagonist. While this can lead to more hatred (which is actually hatred directed at the self), it can also lead to love, because one character begins to more intimately understand the other.

In Ender's Game, Ender is able to defeat his enemies because he understands them on a personal level.

Keep Your Enemies Closer

As the saying goes, "Keep your friends close, and keep your enemies closer."

This is similar to the last variation, but a little different. 

One character may be drawing closer to the enemy and getting more personal with them, but may not really love them.

In fact, it's possible they hate them more.

In Death Note, the central relationship involves the protagonist, Light, and the antagonist, L. The characters draw closer together while investigating ongoing murders--that Light is secretly committing. L is the biggest threat to Light. And Light is the biggest threat to L. Ultimately, one kills the other. 

The Frienemy

"Frenemy" comes from the words "friend" and "enemy." This is a relationship that is a mash-up of the two. It may be a friend that also serves as an antagonist--such as a rival.

This may not be so much an arc itself, but can be an option to use in an arc that will bring in some variation to what I said above.

For some interesting takes on "frienemy," look no further than the Wikipedia entry on it.

Toxically Close (No Boundaries)

Typically the most toxic relationships come from the closest relationships. Loving your abuser or being codependent is ripe with dysfunction. Boundaries are a healthy part of a relationship and help individualize the participants. 

The Collective

Sometimes the character is in a relationship with a group of people that, more or less, acts as a unit. It might be there is a relationship arc between the protagonist and his football team, or the protagonist and his staff. How individualized the people of the group are may vary, but when it comes to a relationship plotline, the protagonist is in a relationship with a collective.

You can find an example of a negative relationship with a collective in Mean Girls, which largely centers on Cady's relationship with The Plastics.

I'm sure there are a lot of interesting variations to what I outlined as the basic arcs, so use the outlined arcs as tools to help you, and not standards you have to meet to a t.

Tip: Consider Specific Labels to Map the Arc

It's useful to look at generalities and the basics, but it can also be helpful to get more specific. 

One of the influences of this post, came from me running into people online who would identify tropes like this:

Enemies to lovers

Friends to lovers

Lovers to exes

. . . and I realized they were essentially describing relationship arcs.

It might be helpful to look at the relationship arc in your story, and map it out in a similar way:

Strangers --> best friends

Enemies --> allies

Allies --> rivals

Brothers --> enemies

Friend --> frienemy

Classmates --> found family

It may be more accurate to add more stages:

Strangers --> allies --> best friends

Enemies --> friends --> enemies

Strangers --> colleagues --> best friends --> lovers

Lovers --> exes --> lovers

Family --> strangers --> enemies

Not all the terms you may come up with will fit this idea perfectly. For example, earlier I used the term "brothers" . . . well, even if you are "enemies" you are still technically "brothers" in the biological sense. Use the terms that suit you best. No need to get too rigid. And again, not everything is always black and white. The point is that it helps map out the journey, which can bring more clarity. (It also helps to ensure that the relationship plotline is a plotline and not just filler--more on that in the future.)

Here are some more examples . . . 

Sherlock Holmes & John Watson in Sherlock:

Strangers --> roommates --> best friends

Fox Mulder & Dana Scully in The X-Files:

Strangers --> partners --> best friends --> lovers

Nancy & Steve in Stranger Things:

Love interests --> couple --> exes --> friends ( . . . with maybe some feelings still)

Luke & Darth Vader in Star Wars:

Enemies --> family

If you want more ideas and insight into specific relationships, check out Writers Helping Writers' relationship thesaurus. 

Why are Relationship Arcs Important?

We've covered a lot of ground with relationship arcs. Well, so what? Why does this matter? Why are we told they are usually key in a strong story? Even when the primary plotline isn't about a relationship?

Well, there are a few reasons. . . .

How Relationships are Often Thematic

Several well-known sources (such as those I mentioned in the beginning) point to the relationship plotline (which includes a relationship arc) as being a crucial element of theme. In fact, some say it is where theme really happens. I definitely wouldn't take it that far. I agree it is a key element, but I think it's a bit of an error to say that the relationship plotline is where theme really happens. I've talked about this before, though, and won't repeat my whole commentary on that. I'll summarize by saying often the thematic arguments are more obvious in the central relationship plotline.

This is because the way each character arcs individually is part of what makes up theme. Usually, the relationship plotline will be between the protagonist and Influence Character. And the Influence Character helps guide the protagonist to adopt a worldview, which essentially encapsulates the theme. However, sometimes this is reversed, and the protagonist helps the Influence Character adopt the theme. (Just as a note, while less common, it's also possible one or both adopt the anti-theme, as you'll see in a second.)

More often than not, these characters will have the same goal or at least be on similar journeys, but they have different methodologies, which lead to arguments. These arguments are normally thematic--the reason the characters have different methodologies is because their worldviews differ. How they want to move forward often demonstrates the story's thematic arguments.

For more information on this, check out, "Writing the Influence Character."

For the relationship as a whole itself, it might be helpful to consider how the characters grow together or apart, and what they learn. For example, in Mockingjay, Gale grows more interested in sacrificing others in order to claim victory--which is actually the anti-theme of the whole series. The true theme is that we should be willing to sacrifice ourselves to save others, which is what Katniss has done time and time again--starting with saving Prim. It's the idea that Gale essentially sacrificed Prim in order to secure the Capitol that ultimately drove him and Katniss apart.

When you think about how Gale ultimately chose the anti-theme (though understandably), it's really not that surprising that Katniss ended up with Peeta instead of him.

With all this said, there is no need to overthink or get hung up on the relationship arc and the theme, especially for every relationship. If each person in the relationship is tapping into the theme individually, you're probably good. After all, Katniss and Gale are each on different sides of the thematic argument as individuals. But it can be helpful to see that this is why they grew apart.

Relationship Plotlines Add Dimension

Most stories will feature a big external journey and a big internal journey for the protagonist. 

A relationship plotline helps add dimension to a story by offering a third type of plotline that fits between those two. It's not as extreme and far-reaching as the external plotline, but it's not as intimate and deep as the internal plotline. Rather than adding more and more external plotlines or more and more internal plotlines, it's usually more effective to add a relationship plotline. I'll share more about relationship plotlines in a later article. 

Again, these are basics, and I know they aren't perfect, or yet perfectly refined, but they should help you understand relationship arcs better than before and direct you on the right track.

They will also help you see other options so you don't keep picking the same enemies --> best friends (positive change) relationship journey in your stories. I find I tend to pick the same type of relationship arc for the secondary plotline, not only because I love it, but because I didn't understand there were other options I could utilize.

So there you have it, the four basic types of relationship arcs (with examples & variations) 😉. I'm feeling more eager to look deeper at the central relationships in my WIPs. Hopefully you are too!

And next time, we'll delve into them a bit more. Until then, happy writing.

Related Articles

Writing the Influence Character

What is a B Story? 6 Key Qualities of B Stories

Writing Relationships Readers can't Resist

The 4 Basic Types of Character Arcs

How Plotlines Add Dimension

More Resources on Relationships

How to Write Three Types of Friendship Arcs by Mythcreants

How to Use the Romance Formula to Develop Friendships, Partnerships, and Rivalries by The Darling Axe

Weak plots are surprisingly common in unpublished writing. But if you can't identity that your plot is weak, then you have no chance to fix it. And of course, once you do identify that it is weak, you may have no idea how to fix it.

I've been teaching about plot a lot the last few months, and I have shared before how as a "young" writer, I had some major struggles with plot. 

Unfortunately, I couldn't find resources that taught me about it in a way that clicked with me. I got it, but then, I didn't really get it. As a result I have literally experienced nearly all of the signs listed in this article at some point or another. So if you experience any of them, never fear--though it took a lot of study and time for me to be able to identify these signs and learn how to strengthen plot, I did it. And you can too. (And hopefully for you, I'll be able to help cut down the time.)

1. The Protagonist Lacks a Specific Goal

Many newer writers don't give their protagonist a clear goal, and then make the character too passive in the plot to boot. The protagonist isn't trying to reach anything, and they don't have any plans to get anywhere. They then have to deal with all the problems of the plot happening to them, without trying to make anything happen on their own. They usually aren't responsible for any of the problems, plans, or decisions being made.

I think on some level (if only subconsciously) the writer is trying to make the protagonist sympathetic. 

Usually these writers still care a lot about their protagonists, and have spent a decent amount of time fleshing out their characters in most other ways. They may even still have an arc for the character (though for some reason it's not as effective as they imagined 😉).

In some cases, the writer may have actually given the protagonist wants or dreams, but . . .

- They are wants or dreams that aren't relevant to the plot. 

- Or wants and dreams the protagonist doesn't actually take any action to get.

- Or wants and dreams that seem to have no antagonistic forces in the way.

- Or wants and dreams that are never turned into specific, concrete goals.

As I stated in my principles of plot series, the first element of plot is a goal. Because until there is a goal, we can't measure what is a progress and what is a setback, and whatever happens doesn't really matter, because we aren't striving for anything. Like the Cheshire Cat says, if you don't know where you want to go, then which way you go doesn't really matter. 

Many say your protagonist needs to have an overarching goal for the whole story--that can be very helpful, but in some stories, I feel that the goal may change at the act level. The protagonist may have one goal for the beginning, but get thrown off course and then have a different goal for the middle, and then as they finally understand what is going on, they get a different goal for the end. And with that said, some stories have both--an overarching goal and act goals (in fact, probably most strong stories).

And while it may feel counterintuitive, giving your protagonist a goal to strive for actually gives him more potential to be sympathetic. The more the character wants something and the harder he tries to get it, and the more difficult the antagonistic force, the more the audience will sympathize with him (generally, and simplistically speaking). When he has to make decisions, plans, and carry them out, he bears some level of responsibility for the problems that come up because of that, and that can make him more sympathetic. (For example, it's sad if his best friend dies from beyond his control. It's sadder when the protagonist's choices unintentionally lead to his best friend dying.)

Still, many writers are hesitant or even resistant to giving their protagonist a goal. I think this is because they have a narrow idea of what a goal is and the kind of the protagonist needed to get it. Not all goals are lofty and aspirational. And not all protagonists are innately motivated go-getters. 

For more help on this, check out: "Why a Strong Plot Requires a Significant Goal" and "The Primary Principles of Plot: Goal, Antagonist, Conflict, Consequences."

2. The Antagonist has a Vague Master Plan

Writers often spend more time fleshing out the protagonist and the plot itself, than on the antagonist. If the protagonist is a "good guy" and the antagonist is the "bad guy," it can be easy (and tempting) to simply make the antagonist "evil." He just wants to "take over the world" or something. He may be a wicked villain who has this terrible, bad plan but . . . it's unclear what that plan actually is. 

And even if he does have a seemingly specific goal (i.e. become the ruler of the land), he doesn't seem to have a plan (again) of how to get there.

As K. M. Weiland states, in some stories, it works great to give the antagonist a mysterious master plan that the protagonist has to unravel. Yet, she also gives this warning:

"Too often a 'mysterious master plan' is just a filler phrase the author uses to cover up the fact that she really has no idea what the antagonist wants, why he wants it, or what his plan is for getting it. The author is just as clueless as the protagonist."

Similar to the protagonist, if we don't have an idea of what the antagonist is trying to do and how, then it's harder to measure when the antagonist is making progress or experiencing setbacks. However, it's easier to overlook this issue, because it's the antagonist, and the story is centered on the protagonist.

Even if the protagonist and his allies don't actually know what the antagonist is ultimately hoping to achieve or how, rather than keep it vague, have the characters come to a conclusion of what they think it is, and have them believe they are right. In a reveal or twist, you can then show how they had it wrong. This is almost always more effective than keeping it vague.

With that said, it's important to note that not all antagonists can think for themselves, and in such cases, this may not be so relevant, but often, even if the antagonist is something like a twister, it's helpful to know its "plan"--it's anticipated path.

Some say the story is only as good as its antagonist. Take the time needed to flesh out yours. Remember, the antagonist's goal and/or plan needs to be directly opposed to the protagonist's goal and/or plan. They can't both foreseeably succeed. And the antagonist should be pushing the protagonist to his or her limits, which helps create the character arc.

For help, check out "The Primary Principles of Plot: Goal, Antagonist, Conflict, Consequences," "The Tertiary Principles of Plot: Plan, Gaps, and Crises," and "7 Considerations for Your Antagonist's Motivations" by K. M. Weiland.

3. The Story Keeps Circling the Same Conflicts

This one may sound a little odd at first. Isn't there often an overarching conflict in stories? How can that be a bad thing?

The key word here is "circling." The second keyword is "same," which should maybe be the key phrase, "the exact same."

Many of us have been taught that conflict = plot. But this perspective can actually lead to weak plots. Conflict is only one element of plot.

In reality, conflict that doesn't actually have any consequences, is just cleverly disguised filler. 

It may seem like big and exciting things are happening--there may be a car chase, a shoot-out, passionate arguments, or tumultuous relationships, but if nothing in the story is actually changing because of them, then they aren't actually moving the plot forward. Their outcomes aren't bringing the protagonist closer to her goal, or, alternatively, pushing her further away from her goal. They aren't giving her new difficulties to deal with.

In the manuscript, this usually shows up as a sort of circling sensation. Often the story keeps coming back to the same sorts of conflict, but nothing is actually getting anywhere. For example, the character keeps arguing with her ally, but it never leads to anything--no new ideas, goals, plans, or any sort of action. We have one heated argument, and then a few chapters later, we have another heated argument, and then a few chapters later, another heated argument. But the situation is actually in the same place it was with the first argument. 

If this is something on the sidelines or banter, you may be able to get away with it. But if this is a focal conflict of a story, act, or scene, it's not going to be effective.

Conflict only matters when it affects outcomes--when who "wins" and how influences what happens next or at least what happens in the near future.

Often what is going on here, is the writer doesn't know how to progress the plotline--whether it's the primary plotline or a secondary plotline or what have you. 

To fix this issue, you need to come up with meaningful consequences to attach to the conflict.

Perhaps the protagonist and her ally are arguing. If the protagonist "wins," then they will break into a suspect's home to search for clues to a murder. If the ally "wins," then they will go to the corrupt police and ask for help. From there, we can attach more consequences. If they break into the suspect's home, and he discovers that they have, then he may try to murder them. But, if they go to the corrupt police, the police may try to make them into scapegoat suspects for the media.

Now, who wins the argument matters because it affects what happens next. It leads them on one path or another. We can't come back and circle the same conflict, because it's done and over with. And if the protagonist and ally do argue again, it will be a different kind of argument that will lead to different consequences.

But it's not circling and circling the exact same issues.

If you have this sensation in your manuscript, also double-check that your character has a goal with a plan, because conflict without those can create similar feelings. The consequences don't matter if we aren't striving to reach a specific goal in a specific way. And progress can only be measured when we lay out the plan to get there.

For help, check out "goal" and "consequences" in the primary principles of plot as well as "progress," "setbacks," and "turning points" in the secondary. And, if you want more, "crises" in the tertiary principles.

4. You Can't Answer the "So What?" Question

You have a protagonist with a goal. 

You have an antagonistic force in the way of the goal.

You have riveting conflict.

But the audience is left wondering, "So what?" and "Why do I care?" Why should they keep reading the book?

Like the last section, this is a consequence issue, and in particular, this is a stake issue.

There isn't anything at stake, or, the stakes aren't specific and concrete enough.

People often define stakes as "What the character has to lose," but I've found that definition isn't very helpful for me. It led to vague answers and me mistakenly thinking I had clear stakes in the story because it was obvious the character had a lot of things to lose, cause, I mean, just look at his life!

Instead, I think it's more helpful to think of stakes as potential consequences. It's what could happen if a condition is met, and it fits in an "If . . . then" sentence. Make sure the protagonist's and antagonist's goals and conflict have stakes tied to them.

What will happen if the protagonist gets her goal?

Example: "If Sally raises enough money through her lemonade stand, she can pay for her therapy dog to get surgery."

What will happen if the protagonist doesn't get her goal?

Example: "If Sally doesn't raise enough money through her lemonade stand, her dog can't get surgery and will die."

What will happen if the antagonist gets his goal?

Example: "If George sabotages Sally's lemonade stand, then his will make more money, and he'll be able to get a scout badge." (I'm totally just making this up)

What will happen if the antagonist doesn't get his goal?

Example: "If George doesn't stop Sally's lemonade stand, he won't make as much money and he won't get his badge, leading his father to send him away to military school." (This is getting dramatic.)

You can pile and layer on even more stakes to make the situation more intense. Suddenly a neighborhood with two lemonade stands feels like a battleground, even if the conflict doesn't involve punches, guns, or death.

I've written a lot on stakes already, so if you need help, check out "How to Write Stakes in Storytelling," "6 Tricks to Layer on Stakes," "How to Write and Raise the Stakes More Effectively."

5. Adding More and More and More and More Worldbuilding, Characters, Plotlines, Viewpoints, and Ideas

Sometimes when the writer doesn't know how to develop or progress what they already have in the story, they instead introduce new elements. Sometimes a new plotline will start, and then later, another new potline, and then later, another. Or, another viewpoint character is added, and then another viewpoint character, and then another viewpoint character. Or another . . . I think you get the point.

This is actually a similar problem to the "circling" mentioned above. Because the writer doesn't know how to further develop or progress what they already have in play in the story, instead of circling the same stuff, they try to fix it by adding more and more new stuff. 

I think in some cases, this stems from what we've been taught by some instructors. People who say things like, "If you have writer's block, just throw a bomb into the story," or "If you need to make the plot exciting, just kill someone off," or "If it gets boring, have some bad guys show up." 

This advice may be fine and well for some writers with some stories and in some situations. It may very well be that discovering there is a bomb when you are writing, is exactly what you need. Or it may very well be that a character dying will give the plot what it was missing.

But if you find yourself adding, adding, adding, without anything actually really moving forward, you have a problem. When you keep throwing in new things that don't relate to what is already in play, you may eventually find yourself with the same problem you had before, only worse. Not only do you have one concept you don't know how to progress, but a dozen. And they may not even connect, build off, or feed into each other.

This can often be fixed through the same methods discussed in the circling problem. 

6. You're Hyperfixated on Fixing Cosmetics

I think a lot of us were taught to write stories "backward." Meaning, many instructors taught us how to write great sentences and appeal to the senses and have cool similes and metaphors, and focused more on that than on what content is necessary to make a good story. But it's not all one side's fault. Often newer writers are very married to their content, and anyone who tries to tell them about story structure or theme or plot elements gets pushback. They feel it is stifling their creativity and sucks the fun out of writing. Understandable.

Or maybe I'm mostly just talking about my own past experiences. 😉

When you don't know how character (arc), plot, theme, or story structure actually work, you can spend months or even years trying to make your story better, but all you're actually doing is moving things around or changing surface elements. You may think if you can just get each individual scene to be entertaining, that the plot will be fine. It won't. You may think if you just brainstorm a ton of interesting superficial stuff about your protagonist that he will be a strong hero. He won't. You may think that if something exciting happens in every chapter that the story structure will be just fine. It won't. You may think if you just put in a few monologues or insightful passages that the theme will be moving. It won't. 

Those changes are surface level--they don't fix the bones, brains, or heart of the story.

Okay, I admit, I'm being a bit harsh. There are many storytelling things we have learned subconsciously and there are many writers who are naturals. You don't have to be an expert on absolutely everything to write a great story!

But if you find yourself trying to write a better plot by working and reworking the same lines, the same paragraphs, the same two scenes, you probably have a weak plot, or at least a plot that you don't know how to write yet.

Start with the basics, and get studying (and practicing). Try to be open to re-vision--a new vision of your story (as a fellow writer, Joshua Townshend, recently said to me). It might be painful at first (especially if you've invested months into the surface stuff, because that will likely be changing), but once you learn the bones of story, you'll find the surface stuff will be easier to write and rewrite, and everything will be stronger for it.

For plot, a good place to start is the basic principles.

7. The Protagonist Suffers No Costs or Only Passive Pain

In most stories (though I think there is room for rare exceptions), the protagonist should suffer costs on their journey to try to reach their goal. Whatever we choose to do in life, there is a cost. Doing good things is hard because it often requires sacrifice and self-discipline of one sort or another. Doing bad things is hard because it leads to moral deterioration. Doing nothing is hard because you have to live with the fact you did nothing and became nothing. Whatever you do, there is a cost.

In plot, the protagonist should be working toward a goal that has an antagonistic force she has to (try to) overcome. This conflict should naturally cost something--valuable time, resources, physical or mental wellbeing, the "death" of one's old self, for example. If the protagonist never has to pay a toll for a shot at reaching a goal, there's likely a problem.

Chances are the antagonistic force isn't a true, formidable antagonistic force. An antagonist is more than just a nuisance or heckler. It's someone or something directly in the way of the protagonist's goal. There should be no foreseeable way that the antagonistic force and the protagonist can both get what they want. One of them has to "defeat" the other.

If the antagonist is directly in the way of the goal, and there are still problems, then the antagonist probably isn't strong enough, big enough, bad enough, or clever enough. The antagonist should be a difficult challenge for the protagonist--more than a worthy opponent. A stronger adversary. It should force the protagonist to struggle for victory, to make some kind of sacrifice for a chance at victory.

"Passive pain" is a term I use to refer to random "costs" that happen to the protagonist. In reality, passive pain is more like bad luck than a "cost." It's not really a cost of the journey. For example, the protagonist's love interest may die randomly from a heart attack, or the protagonist might discover someone online stole his identity. Passive pain does have a place in storytelling, usually during the setup to help create sympathy.

But there need to be real costs in the journey. Pains that come because the protagonist has chosen to go on (and stay on) this path to the goal. It's much more interesting when the love interest dies because of a choice the protagonist made to continue this journey. It's better when the protagonist bears some responsibility for the costs and sacrifices made.

If there are no real costs in your story, chances are the plot is weak.

For more on this topic, check out the heading "costs" in "The Secondary Principles of Plot: Progress, Setbacks, Costs, and Turning Points."

8. You Don't Make Good on Threats (De-escalation)

In some stories, the writer makes big threats that turn out to be empty or simply just don't happen to the degree that was promised. I think this starts to happen because the writer wants to make the story more exciting, often by creating hooks. So they throw in dire stakes . . . but then realize they don't actually want the story to go that direction--perhaps they don't want to be that "mean" to the protagonist, or maybe this is something they added in later and don't want to revise the story to suit it, or maybe they just aren't sure how to write the consequences they promised would happen. They may lessen the blow or just not deliver on it at all. 

This may work on occasion, especially to create irony, but if this happens over and over, it creates a sense of de-escalation.

A story should follow this basic shape:

It gets more intense as it heads toward the climax, which means it should escalate, not de-escalate.

De-escalation is a disappointment.

It's like the basic structure is backward:

This is a problem of writing setups that don't have proper payoffs. The writer is making promises to the reader, putting down stakes for the reader, but then is breaking those promises or weakening the consequences.

Stakes are potential consequences. If the consequences turn out to be different than expected, they still need to be just as, if not more, effective. We want to make good on our promises. Don't make promises you can't keep. (Also, don't be afraid to be mean to your protagonist--how else will they arc?).

For more on this, check out the quaternary principles of plot.

9. It's Easy to Undo Decisions or Actions

As the story escalates, the protagonist should be making harder decisions and taking bigger actions that have more significant consequences. They should be put in crises, where they have to choose between two paths forward and each has stakes and ramifications. Does she choose to go to the suspect's house to look for clues he is the murderer and risk becoming the murderer's next target? Or does she report to the corrupt police and risk becoming a scapegoat?

Each option will entangle her more deeply into the main conflict.

Once the character decides, we need to make good on the risks. She needs to face the consequences and costs of her chosen path (generally speaking--there is room for exceptions). The consequences and costs are such, that the protagonist can't go back and "undo" them. She can't make the murderer forget she was in the house. Or, she can't make the public forget that the police are now saying she's a suspect herself. She can't go back to how things used to be. That state of being doesn't exist anymore.

If your protagonist can easily undo her decisions or actions, then the stakes and ramifications aren't big enough. Aren't formiddable enough. Or aren’t being followed through.

Some in the community call these crises and their subsequent turning points a "point of no return" or a "door of no return." Once the character steps over the threshold, there is no going back. No option to "return" to normal. Once Katniss volunteers to take Prim's place, she can't undo that. Once Allison in The Umberella Academy uses her powers on her daughter (or sister), she can't undo that.

And if the character does have the opportunity to try to undo something or make something right, it should come at a significant cost--which may lead to another crisis and turning point, or a door of no return. For example, in Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, the protagonist's goal is to right a costly mistake he made in his ghost story, but at the end of the series, he discovers the only way to do that is to sacrifice one of his most meaningful abilities, which will alter his life forever.

For more help, check out “turning points” in the secondary principles and “crises” in the tertiary principles.

10. You are Turning Context into Subtext

Context is everything the audience needs to understand what is going on in the story--where and when it takes place, who is involved, what is actually happening, and why (the motive) behind it.

Some writers try to hide one or more of these basic necessities from the audience to try to make the plot more interesting or mysterious. This usually results in there being a bunch of teasers or a lot of false tension. It also creates vagueness. 

Subtext is what is conveyed "between the lines" of the story. It's what the audience is meant to fill in and complete--something they can participate in, as they watch or read the story.

When you try to hide the basics that are necessary to follow the story, you are likely making the context into subtext. 

I'm not saying you can never do this. There are always exceptions and a time and place. But if you are doing this a lot, and for the wrong reasons, it's probably because you need a better understanding of plot.

Check out these articles for more explanations and solutions: "Context, Text, Subtext: Understand How Each Works in Storytelling," "Context Should Not Become Subtext," and "Vague vs. Ambiguous: Which are You Writing?"

Interestingly, though not altogether surprising, many of the problems listed here can be solved by making sure there are significant consequences. This is perhaps the basic element that is most often missing from plot. The other is a goal, period.

Make sure there are consequences. And make sure there are goals.

And antagonists.

And costs.

And . . . 

You get the idea.

Oh, and while you are trying to fix your plot, make sure to avoid these attempts--those things don't fix plot. (And you'll see some of them overlap with this post.)

Right now, I'm trying to fix one of my own plots. We'll see how it goes. 😉

P.S. Between the time of me writing this and posting it, I just thought of another sign: relying too much on coincidences . . . maybe I will address that in a future follow-up post.

Read Related Resources from Others

Plot: Strengthen Weak or Unfocused Plots by Dorian Scott Cole

Strong vs. Weak Plot: How to Make a Weak Plot Stronger by Go Teen Writers

5 Signs of a Strong Novel Plot by Think Written

The term "setting" refers to both time and place. Though we often focus on the place part when we talk about writing, the time part is equally important. When writing novels or short stories, we need to properly navigate the reader through the passage of time, so they never feel disoriented, and this is true for summaries just as it is for scenes.

Recently, I was asked to comment on how to handle time in summaries, but my answer was long enough to merit a whole blog post, so, here we are. And while we can certainly talk about the past and future in summaries, for this, I will be focused (mostly) on linear time.

Using Summary Within Scene to Navigate Time

First, it's worth mentioning, that summary can be used within a scene to indicate time has passed. For example, I may have a scene where a group of characters is making a pizza to eat. . . .

Don finished putting the toppings on the pizza and then put it in the oven. For thirty minutes everyone chatted about their travels. When the timer went off, he pulled the pizza back out. His mouth watered at the sight of melting cheese and the saucy aroma. "It's done," he announched.

The sentence "For thirty minutes everyone chatted about their travels" is summary that indicates time passing. 

Managing Time Between Scene Breaks

Summary is used to condense time and compress events. We often use bits of summary within our scenes, and sometimes, whole paragraphs within. Other times we use summaries to link scenes together. But sometimes you don't even need much or any of that. You can simply indicate how much time has passed in the beginning of the next scene by mentioning a time of day or a changing detail (such as a loved one coming home from work).

Sometimes all you need is one short phrase or sentence. 

. . . After letting out a big yawn, George drifted off to sleep.

***

Three weeks later, Margaret told George that their boss needed to meet with him. George quickly stood up from his desk, heart racing. Maybe this was it--he was getting promoted. George straightened his tie and popped in a breath mint. He headed to Ryan's office.

In this example, saying "Three weeks later" is enough.

In her book, Showing & Telling, award-winning writer Laurie Alberts calls such indications "time tags." You help the reader navigate the passage of time by simply "tagging" it.

You can do this with essentially any amount of passing time:

Months later . . . 

The next summer . . . 

Hours after Ms. Winfry assigned the homework . . . 

At three o'clock on Thursday . . . 

By nightfall . . . 

And you can sometimes be a little more creative and indirect:

Once the snow melted and the weather promised spring . . . 

The next thing he heard was his neighbor's rooster crowing at the crack of dawn. . . . 

When she arrived at her destination . . . 

A week before school started . . .

Once we sat for dinner . . .

By the time her roots had grown out . . . 

Now, in some situations, you may need to fill the reader in a little bit on what happened between the scenes, in the second scene. Just slip in some summary at an appropriate time (and make sure it's clear when X happened). For example: 

. . . After letting out a big yawn, George drifted off to sleep.

***

Three weeks later, Margaret told George that their boss needed to meet with him. George quickly stood up from his desk, heart racing. Maybe this was it--he was getting promoted. George straightened his tie and popped in a breath mint. He headed to Ryan's office.

Every day since the company had started running their new ad, people had complimented George on his work. Surely Ryan felt the same way. He reached the door, steadied his breath, and knocked.

Worth noting, is that often when you fill in this way, you need to change the tense. Because this is written in past tense, we then move into past perfect tense ("people had complimented"), but that could be a whole other post. It's also worth pointing out we can use summary to talk about the past (and past vs. future could also be another post).

Managing Time in a Passage of Summary

Now sometimes, though, you want or need to use a whole passage of summary--to link scenes, or even within a scene. Not everything that happens to characters is important enough to be a scene. Sometimes the audience just needs to know the fact something happened, and doesn't need to experience it happening. You can learn more about scenes and summaries in my article, "Scene vs. Summary & When to Use Which."

When you do this, make sure to use time tags to indicate time is passing--again, this can be very direct (ex. "Over the next month, Tiffany struggled with insomnia") or very indirect (ex. "When the roots of her hair grew out . . . )

In many summaries, it's helpful to use a time tag first (or at least early on), and then summarize what happened during that time. 

Over the next month, Tiffany struggled with insomnia. She used every remedy she could think of: long salt baths with lavender essential oil, calming herbs sipped an hour before she retired, guided meditations that promised she'd be out within twenty minutes, and also melatonin.

Nothing worked.

She often found herself out of bed at 2 a.m., watching Family Feud reruns. 

If the passage needed to be longer, from here, I could go into more detail about this experience, talk about what else happened during this time, or talk about the next segment of time.

For example:

. . . Nothing worked.

She often found herself out of bed at 2 a.m., watching Family Feud reruns. 

To make matters worse, summer was nearing, and each day was longer. She could already hear the neighbors kicking their bratty kids outdoors and starting up their barbecues. Her husband, Todd, often tried to coax her outdoors. "They say sun exposure can help with sleep," he tempted one morning while sipping his black coffee. With his latest project complete, his pressure from work was off. Tiffany hadn't seen him this cheerful since last summer.

While she was huddled up staring at a computer screen on Saturdays, Todd was singing outside the window as he pulled weeds. He never understood her. . . . 

Avoid "Reports" and "Lists" by Focusing on a Topic or Implementing Structure

Perhaps one of the tricky things with summaries (other than just learning how to write great telling), is the transitions. What we usually want to avoid are passages that sound like a report or a list: 

By nightfall, Judy finished cleaning the house. The next day she went out to lunch with Beth, and they exchanged the latest gossip. Then she went to a pilates class. It felt good to get out of the house. She decided to visit her cousin, who had just adopted a dog. After playing tug-o-war with it, she went to the bookstore. Because she wasn't looking for anything in particular, she wandered every section. Eventually, she decided to host a movie night. 

Yikes! I'm getting bored just writing that. 

Sure, this has time tags and uses summary to guide the reader through what happened, but it's not fun to read, and it feels like we are flying from one thing to another. (Plus, if I read this from a writer, I would also question if all the information was actually important for the audience to know). 

Perhaps some of the best advice on summaries I have (other than what you may find here and here), is to pick a topic or topics you can use as a sort of a "theme" for the passage, and use that to bind everything together. The topic can be almost anything that you can make relevant--the weather and changing seasons, food, a mood or emotion, a characteristic, a relationship, a mini-goal . . . 

Watch how the above summary is improved by employing this technique:

Judy determined to do anything and everything that could distract her from what had happened. She started with cleaning the house, but was unfortunately finished by nightfall, so she determined to go to lunch with Beth the next day, where they exchanged the latest gossip. Talking about everyone else's problems was far and away better than talking about her own. But lunch was over too soon, and Judy still had a whole afternoon. 

Luckily she remembered her forgotten gym membership and zipped over to a pilates class. Wasn't physical exercise supposed to help you feel good? Not wanting to return home to an empty house with no dishes to clean, she stopped to visit her cousin Mary, who had just adopted a dog. What could be a better distraction than playing tug-o-war with 25 pounds of fur? And it was all Mary wanted to talk about. She didn't even ask how Judy was doing, thankfully. 

With the inevitable prospect of returning home looming nearer, she figured she could distract herself with a good book, and perused the shelves of a nearby Barnes & Noble. But with no title in mind, she wandered through every section, looking at everything and nothing at the same time. Maybe a book wouldn't be a strong enough distraction. . . . Today she had liked being around people. Maybe . . . she could host a movie night.

The following evening her home was packed with friends, relatives, and the buttery scent of movie popcorn. . . . [scene start]

This probably isn't the most amazing summary you've ever read, but hopefully you can see how picking a topic to bind all the events together, helps the passage read much more smoothly. While this covers a more or less 24-hour (though jampacked) period, you can do the same thing with a longer passage of time.

You could also use more than one topic and weave them through the summary, or move from one to another.

Another related technique is to create a sort of rising action and climax within the summary. We usually think of structure as being related to scenes or the narrative arc, but you can create a similar effect in summary.

This is just a short excerpt, but in the following example (which I admit I've used before, but it's easier to grab than retype something new) from Ender's Game, a sort of rising action is implied when it comes to Ender's feelings (more or less).

Mother came home and commiserated with Ender about the monitor. Father came home and kept saying it was such a wonderful surprise, they had such fantastic children that the government told them to have three, and now the government didn't want to take any of them after all, so here they were with three, they still had a Third . . . until Ender wanted to scream at him, I know I'm a Third, I know it, if you want I'll go away so you don't have to be embarrassed in front of everybody.

- Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card

With summary, you can actually use a lot of the same basic structural elements as you use in scene--the difference is only that it is summarized. So feel free to escalate a problem until it hits a peak.

For Long Passages, Use Scene within Summary

With longer passages of summary, particularly over longer periods of time, it's usually a good idea to put in lines of scene throughout the passage. I used a touch of this in an earlier example, but I could have developed it a bit more:

Over the next month, Tiffany struggled with insomnia. She used every remedy she could think of: long salt baths with lavender essential oil, calming herbs sipped an hour before she retired, guided meditations that promised she'd be out within twenty minutes, and also melatonin.

Nothing worked.

She often found herself out of bed at 2 a.m., watching Family Feud reruns. 

To make matters worse, summer was nearing, and each day was longer. She could already hear the neighbors kicking their bratty kids outdoors and starting up their barbecues. Her husband, Todd, often tried to coax her outdoors. "They say sun exposure can help with sleep," he tempted one morning while sipping his black coffee in the kitchen. With his latest project complete, his pressure from work was off. Tiffany hadn't seen him this cheerful since last summer. "Maybe we can go on a little hike."

"A hike?" Tiffany said, rubbing her aching eyes before grabbing the melatonin out of the cupboard. "I barely have enough energy to make breakfast!"

She unscrewed the lid.

"Woah, hon!" Todd said. "Have you been taking that during the day? Melatonin is supposed to regulate your circadian rhythm--no wonder you can't sleep at night."

"What?" Tiffany lowered the bottle. Was this the reason behind her sleep issues?

She thought back. No, she'd been having sleep issues before ever taking it.

But it certainly wasn't helping to take it during the day.

"I just feel like resting," she said, putting the bottle back.

Soon she was huddled up, staring at the computer screen scrolling past post after post, then video after video, of friends, brands, influencers . . . another week went by, and then another. Each Saturday spent in front of a screen.

Summer had just hit when she received a letter from her estranged father. Hands shaking and vision sleep-blurry, Tiffany carefully opened the beatup envelope in her entryway. He'd written on simple, lined paper. She caught the scent of cigarette smoke.

Tiffany, 

I know you didn't want me to speak to you again. . . . which is why I'm writing. I wouldn't bother you, except it's important. I lost my job and am--

She crumpled it up. 

Money. That's all he wanted.

She sighed onto the couch. 

It seemed as if she lay there until the summer solstice. 

Again, probably not the best summary you've ever read, but it should prove the point. This passage includes little bits of scene as it navigates the reader through time.

Handling Recurring Events

In some passages, you will be working with recurring events. Some of the examples I have in here do that. In such cases, you may need to use conditional verbs, pluralize some words, and indicate repetition. 

On nights she couldn't sleep, she would get up and watch Family Feud reruns, and in the mornings, her eyes would be bloodshot.

But it sorta depends on what the event is and how you write it. You don't necessarily have to do this to get it across. Here is an example I've used elsewhere, from Jane Eyre, that talks about a recurrence (also, notice how it centers on a topic).

John had not much affection for his mother and sisters, and an antipathy to me. He bullied and punished me; not two or three times in the week, nor once or twice in the day, but continually: every nerve I had feared him, and every morsel of flesh in my bones shrank when he came near. There were moments when I was bewildered by the terror he inspired, because I had no appeal whatever against either his menaces or his inflictions; the servants did not like to offend their young master by taking my part against him, and Mrs. Reed was blind and deaf on the subject: she never saw him strike or heard him abuse me, though he did both now and then in her very presence, more frequently, however, behind her back. 

- Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

There is still plenty more that could be said about working with time in stories, but I hope this helps when it comes to working with time in summaries in particular.

Referenced Resources & Related Posts

Scene vs. Summary & When to Use Which 

10 Cheats to "Tell" Well

Breaking Writing Rules Right: "Don't Use Flashbacks!"

Read more Resources on the Passage of Time

5 Ways To Handle The Passing Of Time In Your Story by Writer's Edit

A Question of When: Indicating Time Passage in Our Stories by Writers Helping Writers

Most of us understand that in the English language, to make a singular noun possessive, we typically add an apostrophe and an "s," but many of us get confused when it comes to making a noun that already ends in "s," possessive. Do we just do an apostrophe? Do we add another "s"? Do we do something else?

Hi all, I'm keeping it short, sweet, and (somewhat?) simple for today's post, especially after finishing up that big series on plot, and I am covering an (oddly specific) topic that should be straightforward, but that can be surprisingly confusing. How do we make a noun that ends in "s" possessive, correctly? Specifically, how do we treat our characters' names that end in "s", to make them possessive?

This was an issue I ran into with my writing when I was a teenager, and even when studying English in college, for some reason the answer wasn't readily available. I remember asking a friend whose name ended in "s" for the answer, and even he seemed unsure. As an editor, I still get asked about this situation every so often, so I thought it was worth posting about.

So what is the deal?

If you happen to be someone who's been confused by this, guess what? The confusion is totally merited. This is because the answer to whether we write James' or James's is "it depends."

It's also confusing in part because you've seen it handled both ways.

The reason it's handled both ways isn't because of some fancy punctuation rule--it's because it depends on the publishing house's style sheet.

Most fiction in the U.S. is expected to follow The Chicago Manual of Style. This is typically seen as the standard for how to handle any kind of punctuation, grammar, printing, or what have you. If you have any questions related to those, it's best to go to The Chicago Manual of Style for the answer. 

The most current edition of Chicago (edition 17) says we should make a name that ends in "s" by adding an apostrophe and an "s."

So if James owns a watch, I should write, "James's watch."

With that said, other style guides (such as the Associated Press Stylebook in some situations) handle it differently, and a publisher may have an in-house style sheet for all their publications. Sometimes the extra "s" gets left off . . . 

- because people think the double "s" looks unappealing

- to save on space and ink, and therefore money

- because some names don't generally have the double "s" pronounced. (For example, "Socrates' ideas" is usually pronounced as "Socrates ideas" and not "Socrates-es ideas.")

Older editions of The Chicago Manual of Style even dropped the "s," probably for those reasons.

So, technically you can actually write it either way, but unless you are following your publisher's style guide, if you are writing fiction in the U.S., it's probably best to follow Chicago and write "James's." 

The most important thing, however, is to keep it consistent throughout the manuscript. Don't use "James' watch" in one line and then a paragraph later write "James's watch."

Because I try to stick to Chicago, personally, I write "James's."

Additional Resources:

How To Make Words That End In “S” Possessive by Thesaurus.com

Possessives of Names Ending in “S”: Charles’ or Charles’s? Harris’ or Harris’s? by EditorsManual.com

Possessive of Proper Names Ending in S by Daily Writing Tips

Reveals and twists are a great way to take a plot to the next level. Already, some of us are likely recalling specific books or movies that had jaw-dropping reveals or twists--the kind that stick with us for years, if not decades, after.

Over the last two months, I have been breaking down what a plot actually is and what it actually contains. . . .

In the primary principles, we covered goals, antagonists, conflicts, and consequences.

In the secondary principles, we covered progress, setbacks, costs, and turning points.

In the tertiary principles, we covered plans, gaps, and crises.

In the quaternary principles, we covered setups, payoffs, and connections.

And today we will be finishing up the series with two of my favorite things: reveals and twists.

Just as a warning, there will be spoilers from . . . Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Squid Game, and The Sixth Sense

Why are the Quinary Principles "Reveals & Twists"? 

A big reveal and a powerful twist can be very effective in a plot; however, they are more of the juicy cherries on top, than critical components. You can have a strong plot without them, but they have the potential to blow minds. This is why they are the last pieces of our series.

Like the others, they also build off what came before. 

Powerful reveals and twists are achieved through setups, payoffs, and connections, create turning points (through consequences), and play off gaps. And depending on the reveal or twist itself, it can relate to the other plot elements as well.

If you want to take a strong plot to the next level, then adding a reveal or twist can be a great way to do that.

The best reveals and twists have sound logic and strong ramifications, which we'll talk about more in here.

Reveal Critical Information

Like several of the other elements in the series, I debated what term to use for this. For a while, I considered talking about "mysteries," but ultimately decided that "reveal" is a broader term that encompasses more situations.

Technically, a "reveal" (i.e. revelation) will happen many times in any decent plot. Arguably, any time new plot-pertinent information shows up in a story, it's a "reveal." Recall that a turning point can only happen one of two ways: a revelation (information) or an action (event). The revelation or the action is significant enough (because of stakes and ramifications) that it turns the trajectory of the story. It sends the narrative in a new direction.

In this sense, just about anything can be a "reveal." But for this series, I want to talk about Reveals --you know, the ones that send your mind reeling and your lungs gasping.

Often what makes great Reveals is that they have even more significant consequences than just any "reveal." Their ramifications ripple out further or deeper than most information, as the audience takes in what the info means for the characters and plot. Their consequences will either greatly broaden those affected by what's happened--so that more people (or places) are affected--or hit deeper at the character--so that they are affected more personally.

The most impactful reveals (Reveals) often require setups, with the reveal itself acting as the payoff. But this isn't the case for all of them. So let's talk about the different types. Personally, I break these down into three categories.

Out-of-the-Blue Reveals

Sometimes significant reveals happen out of seemingly nowhere. The protagonist learns his ally is his long-lost twin sister. A mentor discovers that the only way to accomplish the goal, is to sacrifice someone. A character finds out the burned-up body from a fire, was already dead from two bullet holes when the fire started.

Each of these reveals has significant consequences. The first drastically changes the protagonist and his view and understanding of his ally. The second brings up the question of, "who will/should be sacrificed?" and the answer will lead to other potential consequences. The third implies that this situation is a homicide, and the murderer (whoever it is), is still on the loose.

Out-of-the-blue reveals can be useful and exciting, but they usually don't have any setups. This naturally gives them less potential to feel satisfying to the audience. Remember that previously, we talked about how setups (particularly foreshadowing) help prepare the audience for the payoff. In out-of-the-blue reveals, the audience is unprepared, which can run the higher risk of having a negative effect on them.

If not handled well, the out-of-the-blue reveals can come across as if the writer is making things up on the spot (and for shock value). And while all reveals and twists can run the risk of disappointing or cheating readers, this one has the higher risk--because it comes out of the blue.

But this isn't to say that you can never use them or use them effectively. For example, it could turn out in the story that the protagonist's cousin and close friend is actually working with the antagonist. If this was not set up, this can be a big reveal and surprise to the audience. 

However, because there is no setup, you need to make sure that the revealed information doesn't go against what the audience does know about the character. If your audience knows the cousin character well and this revelation seems to go against all that she is and what they believe of her, you run the risk of unbelievability. They'll probably think the writer just threw it in for shock, or in an effort to make the plot more interesting. But if the reveal comes in and fits the character, it will be both shocking and believable.

This is in part because it has a clearer sense of logic. The more logical, the more the audience can buy it. My burned-up body example is easy to believe, because it follows a familiar logic. There have been countless cases where a fire was used to cover a murder.

Realistically, most stories will have some out-of-the-blue reveals, even if they are small--but the bigger and more dramatic the reveal is intended to be, the more difficult it will be to pull off, since it has no setups.

Passive Reveals (& Mysteries)

A step up from the out-of-the-blue reveal, is the passive reveal, which closely overlaps with what one may call a "passive mystery."

A passive reveal has some setup--specifically foreshadowing. But seemingly no one is actively looking (or able to look) for the information that will be revealed in the payoff. Instead, this reveal may have subtle foreshadowing that the audience didn't even realize was foreshadowing at the time. 

If we use the example from the last section, we might give hints earlier in the story that the cousin character is working with the antagonist character, without actually revealing that fact outright, until the proper moment. No one is suspicious of the character, so they aren't actively trying to figure out what's going on with her. When the information is revealed, we see how it fits, how it was foreshadowed. The audience thinks back and says, "Oh yeah, that does make sense!" The setup--foreshadowing--provides the "evidence."

Sometimes the passive reveal is really a type of mystery, the passive mystery. In a passive mystery, we don't see anyone trying to actively solve the mystery. This is in part because the mystery itself is somewhat vague. Things are happening, but we don't know what they mean. We don't know why or how. Often we lack full context or understanding of what is happening, so even if we wanted more information, we wouldn't get very far--we have nothing clear to go on. The reveal is what provides the full context and understanding.

A common trope where this takes place is when a character is having dreams or visions. The audience gets the sense that these dreams or visions will play a part in the story, but they don't know what, how, or why. The reveal happens when the audience learns what the dreams mean and why they are significant. In other words, when they get context.

The dreams are essentially teasers. A teaser makes promises (of one sort or another) to the audience, but doesn't provide full context for them. One promise they do make, is if the audience keeps reading, they'll get the context . . . in a reveal. So any teaser is essentially the setup of the passive reveal.

A good example of a passive reveal (or passive mystery) takes place in Harry Potter. From the first book, we know that Harry's scar is unusual. It causes him pain, especially when Voldemort is near. In the second book, Dumbledore suggests that Voldemort gave Harry some of his power when he gave him that scar. In the fifth book (and arguably, even in the fourth, though that's even more subtle), his scar seems linked to visions and dreams. In the seventh, it's revealed that Harry is a Horcrux. This is a big reveal, with huge consequences, but also has very sound logic, thanks to the setups.

Notice no one is actively trying to gather information about Harry's scar. It's present throughout, but what we know about it, is rather vague. We don't really understand how it works.

A passive reveal takes more skill to write, but it's easier for the audience to accept, because it has some setup.

Passive mysteries, though, can cause major problems in a plot, if you don't know how to handle them (I speak from experience). This is because they often work off vagueness, rather than ambiguity (and, obviously, passiveness as opposed to action).

Vagueness happens when the audience doesn't have enough information to come to any real conclusions about the subject matter. It's like looking at a blurry picture. You can't really tell what it is, or what it means, because you don't understand much about it.

Ambiguity happens when you have enough information to come to multiple sound conclusions--you just don't know which is the right conclusion (if any). You can read more about vagueness versus ambiguity in my post on it. But we'll be talking more about ambiguity in the next section.

In any case, because passive mysteries work off (to some degree) vagueness, they don't work well as a focal point in the plot. They belong on the sidelines and background, until the reveal surfaces. It's practically impossible to make them into a primary plotline. In order for the audience to get invested in the story, they need to have enough context and specificity to understand what is going on--what the goal, antagonist, conflict, and consequences are about. If they don't have enough information to follow what is happening, they can't appreciate or predict any significant outcomes, which means they can't care about the story. 

And again, in many passive mysteries, the characters can't actively find information, because they don't have much to go on. Harry can't find info on his scar, because there are no resources on it. This is dangerous to put in the primary plot, because if the character is literally unable to take action to try to get information, then there is no sense of progress.

So, if you want to use a passive mystery, you must use a surface plot for the focal point, as J. K. Rowling wisely does in all of the Harry Potter volumes (and what the last two Fantastic Beasts films failed to do satisfactorily). The audience needs something to hold onto through the story--and, if you want it to be a big surprise in the payoff, then the focal plot also works well to distract from the passive reveal's setups.

Once the reveal is made, the information can then feed into the main plotline.

Active Reveals (& Mysteries)

A step up from passive reveals are active reveals. This happens when the information is being sought after. This means that the setups are more explicit--because people are looking for the information, the audience is promised they'll get the information. So this clearly sets up expectations.

In our ongoing scenario, our protagonist may discover that her cousin is up to something more than she's letting on. Our protagonist may attempt to gain the information by simply asking the cousin, who, the protagonist can tell, lies about the answer. Perhaps this motivates the protagonist to search for the truth. When it is discovered the cousin is working for the antagonist, it completes the reveal.

Sometimes the active reveal is part of an active mystery. In an active mystery, a character knows there is a mystery, and they are actively, consciously trying to solve it. Sure, the mystery may start out a little vague, but ultimately, this type works off ambiguity. It's not that no one has a clue what could be going on. It's that the character doesn't know which possible conclusion is the right one. 

If the character discovers the burned-up body was murdered, the question becomes, who is the murderer? Which person killed the victim? We also know there must be a motive. Which plausible reason is the right motive? We also know there was a murder weapon. Which murder weapon was used? We have enough context to make sound guesses.

Often in an active mystery, multiple conclusions seem believable. The cousin could be working with the antagonist. But she could also be sneaking off to meet up with someone for a secret love affair. Both interpretations fit within the context we do have. Both interpretations can be (at least somewhat) logically backed up. As time goes on, one conclusion typically begins to accumulate more evidence than the others.

This is perhaps most obvious in stories that feature a character acting as a detective. Sherlock Holmes is actively trying to solve a case. In The Batman, Batman is actively trying to unravel The Riddler, which includes solving his games and discovering who the "rat" is. It's promised that the characters will succeed. The information is obtainable, and there are leads and resources. We have puzzle pieces, we just need to figure out how they connect together into the whole truth. We need to figure out which conclusions are right.

Unlike passive mysteries, active mysteries can work well as a primary plotline. The character is actively trying to solve something, that is solvable, because they have pieces to work with and places to search for the information. As they gather more information and narrow down the possibilities, this creates a sense of progress. 

With that said, active mysteries can also work as secondary, tertiary, or what-have-you plotlines, and they can also be in the background or sidelines. They can also be a great way to balance out, or distract from a passive mystery. 

Many of the Harry Potter books are whodunit stories veiled in the genre of middle grade fantasy: Who is trying to get the Sorcerer's Stone? Who opened the Chamber of Secrets? Who put Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire? The active mysteries help distract from the passive mysteries happening on the sidelines. But of course, you don't have to pair the two types of mysteries together at all. I would just caution against having too many passive mysteries. If you have too many, you may need to turn one into an active mystery.

But also, like anything, this is really more of a spectrum, and it can get complicated if we start splitting hairs--for example, the characters may be experiencing a passive reveal, while the audience is experiencing an active reveal of the same thing, if the writer is playing with dramatic irony. Or vice versa can happen if a character is actively looking for information, but those efforts are left off page.

Twists Shift the Context

Twists, by nature, must include a reveal. It's a reveal of very unexpected information that creates a significant gap--because what the payoff is, is different from what is expected.

Twists work by changing the context--in other words, our understanding--of what came previously. We thought the reality was X, but it's actually Y.

We thought Luke Skywalker's father was literally dead, but he's actually only figuratively dead: Darth Vader is Luke's father. This is a big reveal, in part, because it creates a huge gap. The whole time prior, we believed him to be dead. The idea that Darth Vader could be his dad, seems unthinkable.

. . . until we glance back within that new context.

As Robert McKee wisely points out in Story, whenever we create a significant gap, the audience tries to make sense of it. They will do this by naturally recalling the past. They will look for evidence, for logic, for setups.

This means that unlike some reveals, there must be setups for twists. Typically if the audience can't find the answer to the gap in the past, they will wait to get the answer. But for a twist to be satisfying--to not feel like a cheat made up on the spot for shock value--we need setups in the past, even if the audience didn't realize they were setups at the time.

With this new understanding, the audience's mind races back through the story. It becomes clear that Luke's uncle and Obi-wan were speaking figuratively. Luke's dad was killed by Darth Vader--because Anakin became Darth Vader. However, the audience assumed it was literal.

Like the active reveal or mystery, strong twists work off ambiguity. The same situation ultimately has at least two sound interpretations--even if the audience didn't recognize it.

In some ways, the twist is a mash-up of the passive reveal and the active reveal. A strong twist is unforeseen. There are setups, often through foreshadowing, but the audience doesn't realize what is actually being set up, because they don't have the complete context--they were missing a critical piece. Like the active reveal or mystery, they will use the information they do have to come to a sound conclusion--an assumption. That turns out to be inaccurate.

A recent example of this happens in the series Squid Game. At the end of the series, it is revealed that the old man who the protagonist was friends with, isn't dead and is actually the person running the games. The audience now realizes there is a whole other interpretation for his behavior. What we thought was simply senility was actually honest enjoyment. What we thought were mix-ups or mistakes, were actually intentional actions. There is some truth to the original interpretation--he does have health issues--but it's not the whole truth. 

Just as Luke's dad being dead wasn't the whole truth. Or Bruce Willis's character in Sixth Sense having marital problems wasn't the whole. Or that Snape always hated Harry because of his father wasn't the whole truth. We think we have all the pieces, and have no reason to believe otherwise, but one passive reveal is missing, that changes our whole understanding.

To create a twist, we need to set up expectations and assumptions. In his book The Structure of Story, Ross Hartmann gives some advice on how to create twists. First, you'll probably want to decide what the truth is, and then what false reality you want the audience to assume. You'll need to plant setups for both interpretations (and often the same instance of setup, will have two interpretations, creating ambiguity).

The audience's expectations may come from previous experiences they've already had with stories--tropes they've already experienced, or an assumed understanding of how cause and effect work. You can make promises to them to also set up expectations. And you may have key trustworthy characters who believe and assume and act on the false interpretation. You can also feed false information to the characters (and by extension, the audience). Hartmann offers, “Give false beliefs to trustworthy characters, and true beliefs to untrustworthy characters.” Expectations can also be set up through repetition--repeating a cause and effect at least two times, and changing the outcome the third time.

While we are setting up (false) expectations, we may need to mislead or distract the audience from the true setups that are being planted. Like the passive mystery, this is when it's helpful to have something more pressing be the focal point of the plot. As Hartmann says, “It can be helpful to make the truth seem impossible.”

As we've talked about before, whenever you aren't delivering what the audience expects, it almost always needs to be just as (if not more) satisfying than what was expected. A story with a disappointing twist will usually be better without a twist.

If we go back to our ongoing scenario, we may create a twist with our cousin character. Our protagonist may discover that her cousin is up to something more than she's letting on. Our protagonist may attempt to gain the information by simply asking the cousin, who, the protagonist can tell, lies about the answer. Perhaps this motivates the protagonist to search for the truth. 

She comes up with a few possibilities, but as time goes on, more and more evidence shows that her cousin is meeting with someone secretly, and she absolutely does not want the truth to get out. Based on what the protagonist has found, she's positive it's a secret love affair. Everything fits. The twist happens when it is revealed that she's working with the antagonist. Or, another option: she's not only having a secret love affair, but one with the antagonist, whom she is working with. (The first offers a completely new interpretation. The second adds the whole truth to the little truth we had.)

We often think of twists as being climactic, but they can appear in earlier parts of the story of course.  Still, the bigger the gap, and the further back the true setup--the evidence--the more impactful. With that said, the longer it takes to get to the truth, the more audience expects out of it, so don't have it be a letdown.

As with anything, the lines between a reveal and a twist can blur a little in some situations--no need to get nit-picky. For example, when I talked about passive reveals, I brought up Harry being a Horcrux. Others may categorize this as a twist. I didn't because the audience wasn't really led to believe anything differently--they knew there was something up with his scar, they just didn't realize there was something really up with his scar. On the other hand, the text also said that a Horcrux is an object, so one may argue that we were led to believe that a person being a Horcrux was an impossibility.

In contrast, learning that Snape actually loves Harry's mother, Lily, and has ultimately spent the last seven years trying to protect Harry is a big twist because from book one it was interpreted that Snape only ever hated Harry because he hated his father, James. The original interpretation still holds truth, but it's not the whole truth. Ultimately, Snape's love for Lily outweighs his hatred of James.

At the end of the day, it comes back to not having the whole truth--which is what reveals and twists are all about.

Avoiding Shock Value: Logic & Consequences

We usually don't want to come off as if we are putting in reveals and twists only for shock value. Yes, they can be shocking--and sometimes the more shocking, the better--but they need to be more than that. They need to hold their own on the plot level. Meaning, even if they weren't shocking, they'd still have integral value to the plot.

This is done by making sure the reveal or twist has logic and consequences.

The logic comes from the past.

The consequences come from the future.

If the critical information is divulged and doesn't fit the logic of what has already happened in the story previously, it will feel more like the writer just threw it in for the sake of it. It may feel like the writer made it up on the spot just to make things exciting. Even if that was initially the case, the story should be reworked so that the final version doesn't come off that way.

Earlier, I reviewed turning points--they change the direction of the story. Really, any reveal or twist should also be a turning point, because it should have significant consequences. Sometimes those consequences are internal, external, or both, but they should be there. The new information will bring in stakes and ramifications.

Luke's world is rocked when he learns that Darth Vader is his father. The main conflict becomes more personal.

Because Harry is a Horcrux, he must be killed by Voldemort, in order for Voldemort to be defeated.

In The Sixth Sense, now that Malcolm knows he's dead, he has a completely new path ahead of him. He'll never mend his marriage. He needs to "move on."

The ramifications may relate to character arc, plot, or theme, and they may lead to more stakes--but they affect the story in some way, beyond themselves.

Sure, you may occasionally find reveals and twists that don't . . . but they usually feel . . . a little thinner, more like they are there for show, a trick.

For a reveal or twist to be great, it needs to have consequences. It needs to affect the trajectory of the story, change future possibilities and/or give the story more meaning. (Remember the "So what?" question.)

What happens after the reveal or twist shouldn't be the same as what would happen if the reveal or twist didn't exist.

Generally speaking--you know there is always room for exceptions. (In some rare reveals and twists, they are structured simply so that only the audience is impacted--they bear the ramifications).

One of the other great things about reveals and twists, is they make the story more re-readable (or re-watchable), as the audience will want to see what they missed.

In Conclusion

And now we have completed the principles of plot (which again, are actually quite different from structure).

I started this series by disparaging the definitions of plot. It only seems right to end with a new definition.

With that said, in a dictionary, it would be ridiculous and unrealistic to include all of what we have covered--though to me that is what plot is. But if we were looking for a pithy way to describe it, I would stick to the basics. 

A plot is the aggregate of a character pursuing a goal that has an antagonist creating conflict, which leads to significant consequences.

And one might want to add . . . 

Its events are often structured with an inciting incident, rising action, climax, and falling action.

. . . just to keep the structure people happy 😉. But that's more of an add-on.

Then again, I also like this definition that Will left as a comment on an earlier post:

Archetypes moving through time to solve a problem. Or, archetypes standing steadfast against a problem over time.

Hopefully after this series, you are ready to write even better plots! I know I am.

(Note: Earlier I used the terms "passive mystery" and "active mystery"--I've used those before, but while perusing The Story of Structure by Ross Hartmann, I realized he used the same terms. I'm not sure if I subconsciously adopted those terms for my own, or if I have been using them prior to my reading of that. Just in case, I wanted to put a plug for his book here, in regards to that.)