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If you’ve been writing a while, you’ll have experienced that moment where you’re suddenly standing on the edge of a cliff, and you aren’t sure where you should be going next with your story.
Most people break out the craft books at this point, because they think there’s a problem with the plot, their character or the sequence of their story.
While any one of those things might be true and be part of the problem, there’s a good chance that when you’re struggling with your story – or that particular scene that seems impossible to write – the problem isn’t the structure or the mechanics of writing.
The problem is your relationship with them.
Because when we get stuck, we’re told to go back to “the basics,” because that’s where the solutions lie.
And this is good advice.
But “the basics” you really need to go back to aren’t about the craft of writing.
They’re about the way people behave as humans.
In particular, it’s about how we make decisions.
After all, what is a story, anyway?
It’s a series of decisions that move our character from the beginning to the end of our story.
And the impacts or the consequences of those decisions is what determines if the story truly comes alive…
…or it simply falls flat.
I mean, for example:
“British guy saves the American space program from some guy on an island with metal hands.”
It’s not exactly riveting when stated that way. It’s pretty basic, it’s full of facts, and it says nothing about the decision anyone involved made.
There’s clearly a story there, but we have to guess a lot of what might make it interesting. As it stands, it sounds like it might not have been that big of a deal.
Let’s try a slightly different version:
“Power hungry lunatic out for revenge takes over an island and tries to cripple the launch of America’s next mission for space supremacy defeated for King and country by a charming and charismatic British secret agent, saving the daughter of a prominent scientist in the process.”
Given the limitations of a single sentence, this one at least hints at the most important thing missing from the last version of the story—and yes, even a sentence is a story.
Because the last version gives a glimpse of the motivations of each party involved, and it gives us a hit as to why the story might matter.
For the Americans: winning the race to control outer space.
For the “power hungry lunatic:” retaliation for some past wrong and increase his personal power.
For the British: fight for King and country to help the allies and have a bit of fun while doing it.
If you’re a James Bond fan, you’ll probably recognize this as the plot of Dr. No. But the reason the second one works isn’t because it has more words or used more “compelling” language or vivid description.
The reason the second one tells a story that lives is because it tells you why the characters were part of the story.
It tells you the stakes.
It sets up the conflicts.
It implies the romance.
And whether you’re figuring out the arc of an entire story or unlocking your breakthrough scene, surfacing these critical elements is what really makes the difference.
So, if you’re having trouble figuring out why a scene is stuck, and you can’t unlock it on your own, then that’s when you reach for the Breakthrough Scene Blueprint™ and let your story show you what’s missing.
Because when that happens…
…even that scene…
…will write itself.
Get it here:
To unlocking the soul of your story,
ast
—
Andrew S. Townley
Creator of the Perpetual Story System™