How to write a book part four: Story structure

This is the fourth entry in my series on navigating the writing process. To see my first post in the series, click here.

Structuring a story can be tricky. What do you need in your story and where do you put them. The comparison I made in my earlier posts about using your elevator pitch and summary as a foundation is one I want you to keep in mind. Writing a book is like constructing a building in some ways. You need to ensure everything you put in it has the proper support beneath it that supports its weight. You don’t want to add anything extraneous that sticks off the structure and serves no purpose. Everything in your building materials has to match—or at least blend together.

Always think about what has to go into a story to support the weight of the other elements. For instance, if you have two characters who fall in love, you can’t get to the end of the story and have them suddenly realize they are infatuated with each other. As the story progresses, you have to show how they meet, how they get to know each other, how they discover within themselves that they are interested in the other person and so forth. Moreover, it can be boring if they meet, get to know each other, then fall in love. A writer should add a bit of drama and throw some obstacles in their way so that when the pair finally do get together, it is satisfying and cathartic to the reader. Maybe they dislike each other when they first meet and they have to slowly overcome it as the story progresses. Perhaps they are separated and have to fight to be together. Maybe the obstacle is internal and one has to overcome their emotional baggage from a failed past relationship in order to profess their feelings. Putting things into a story is not just about adding something in, it is about adding in everything that has to come before and after so it both makes sense and has the necessary emotional resonance with readers.

One of the most common terms heard when discussing story structure is it being separated into “acts.” This goes back to when stories were commonly performed on stage and they would literally be separated out into distinct pieces where there would be act breaks. Modern books, film, and television generally do not have literal acts, but they usually have them metaphorically to divide the story into phases.

The three-act story is the most commonly cited structure. The three acts generally are divided into:

  • The first act contains the introduction where we are presented with the setting, most or all of the main characters are introduced and we learn who they are, exposition is provided so the reader knows the necessary backstory to understand what is going on, and the inciting incident occurs that interrupts the status quo and presents a conflict that needs to be resolved or a problem that needs to be solved. The first act generally ends with the protagonist—and any companions of theirs—deciding to address the issue introduced by the inciting incident. This can sometimes be accompanied by a small victory (encouraging them to act by showing them they are capable) or by a loss (encouraging them to act by motivating them to prevent further tragedy).

  • The second act is the rising action. If the first act ends with the character or characters attempting to address a conflict or problem, the second act shows how they attempt to do so. This act includes victories and defeats, but nothing is resolved. The goal of act two is raising the stakes. The characters discover that achieving their goal is even more important than they first realized. The tension increases, the situation gets more dire, and this act usually culminates with the largest setback of the story. The story should be at its most dire at the end of the second act so readers go into the third act desperately wanting resolution and catharsis. The second act also is where we see the character start to change. If they need to master a form of martial arts to defeat the villain, they train. If they need to find self-confidence, they begin to express it and come out of their shell. If the protagonist is pining after the girl of his dreams, he gets to know her, and they start to get along. The character arc should be advanced in act two, but like the plot, it should not be concluded. In fact, the second act often ends with a defeat. The hero uses their martial arts skills against the villain but isn’t strong enough yet and only gets hurt. The protagonist is put in a do-or-die moment where their confidence is tested and they chicken out. The protagonist is about to declare his love for the girl of his dreams but finds out she has started dating his best friend.

  • The third act is the resolution. The plot comes to an end and the character arcs are concluded. The protagonist should be at their darkest point going into the third act, so the third act intrinsically asks the question: “how do they get out of it?” The third act should be the struggle to resolve this dark point in the story and then shift into the climax, which is the final showdown where the conflict or problem from act one gets a resolution. This can be a happy ending where the protagonist succeeds and there is celebration, a tragedy where they fail due to some personal flaw or forces beyond their control, or a bittersweet ending where they accomplish their initial goal but it comes at a great cost. However it ends, the problem presented in the first act reaches a cathartic conclusion.

A commonly cited work is Joseph Campbell’s book on storytelling “The Hero with a Thousand Faces.” In his book, Campbell laid out what he dubbed “The Hero’s Journey,” in which he described the common facets of storytelling among cultures across the world. Campbell posited the theory that mythological narratives frequently share a fundamental structure. In his book, he called the common structure seen in these myths “the monomyth.” He described it as:

“A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered, and a decisive victory is won: the hero comes back from this mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man.”

The monomyth structure bears many similarities to the three-act structure but goes into further detail.

  1. The Ordinary World: This is the world the protagonist comes from. Like the start of act one, show readers the basics of the setting, the main character or characters and demonstrate the status quo. Establishing the needs, wants, flaws, and characteristics of characters are also information to deliver to readers whenever possible.

  2. The Call to Action: This is essentially the inciting incident. Something makes the lead character or characters want something or need something that wasn’t pressing or relevant before. It’s also worth noting that this can be an increase of need. If the story starts with the protagonist being in dire financial straits, they always needed more money. However, if the inciting incident is them losing their house, then that need becomes a pressing need. They still need more money, but now there is a pressing and fire need for it.

  3. Refusal of the Call: In many stories, the hero refuses to heed the call to action. They decide it’s not their problem, there’s someone better capable of handling it, they are too afraid or too comfortable with their current life and so forth. This leaves the protagonist with room to grow since it demonstrates that they do not begin their journey as the person they have to be in order to finish it. This also raises the stakes since the hero is allowing the antagonist to win before the story even gets going. Adding this in obviously then requires them to reverse course and then accept the call to adventure. They might get a better understanding of why they need to act, witness with their own eyes the negative consequences of their lack of action, or have the reason holding them back stripped away from them.

  4. Meeting the Mentor: In order to grow, the protagonist must start the story as unprepared to solve the problem established by the inciting incident and not ready to confront the antagonist. The mentor starts the protagonist along the path to growing. They give them physical items to complete the journey, knowledge necessary to proceed, and perhaps necessary exposition that better explains why the conflict must be resolved. The “mentor” in Campbell’s terms might not even be an actual person. It can be a book the protagonist finds or a magic sword they inherit and so forth. The key point is that the protagonist receives some sort of knowledge or power they didn’t have access to before. This is what starts their character growth that culminates in the story’s climax. Meeting the mentor also can be what reverses the protagonist’s reluctance in the Refusal of the Call stage.

  5. Crossing the Threshold: This is a point of no return for the main character. The protagonist embarks on their journey and begins to meet the strange and unusual people, places, and circumstances that lay beyond their home. Until this point, the hero has had one foot in their ordinary world. Afterward, there’s no choice but to go forward into unknown territory, otherwise called the special world or magical world. There often is a challenge that must be overcome at this point orchestrated by the antagonist that both demonstrates the power and capability of the antagonist and reinforces the need for the protagonist to act. This is analogous to the end of act one in the three-act structure.

  6. Tests, Allies, and Enemies: The protagonist is challenged and their newfound skills and knowledge is put to the test. The protagonist is still not fully developed however, and the reader should see that they still have a long way to go. Show them grow by overcoming obstacles but build tension by showing that they still are not ready. This also is where allies and companions often enter the story. The reader gets to know these additional characters, how they are similar to the protagonist, but also how they differ. Building minor conflicts or disagreements between characters who are ostensibly on the same side is a good way to build tension and introduce themes into a story. Additionally, use this portion of the story to show off ho dangerous this journey is. The second act is all about ramping up the tension—don’t skimp on the tension.

  7. Approaching the Innermost Cave: This is a continuation of Tests, Allies, and Enemies. The protagonist and their companions continue forward, but they realize they will soon be met by the most daunting challenge yet. The protagonist is growing but it is clear they are still not prepared for what has to be done to conclude the conflict. Keep things proportional. If Tests, Allies, and Enemies is all about ramping up the tension and increasing the difficulty, this is where the protagonist sees they have yet to face their greatest obstacle.

  8. The Ordeal: This is the danger or problem the protagonist was not prepared for from Approaching the Innermost Cave. This largest challenge shows that the protagonist still has not grown into the person they need to be to achieve their goals. It generally puts the protagonist through the ringer and strains them to their utmost—and it still isn’t enough. In many stories, a side character—often the mentor figure—dies, thus removing a helping hand from aiding the protagonist, leaving them far more alone than they were before, ramping up the tension and stakes even more, and leaving the main character at a low point as they leave the second act. A core notion in Campbell’s theory at this point in the story is that the protagonist is forever changed by what happens here. While they are not the person they need to be at the end of the story, they might realize who and what they truly have to become. … Or they might not realize it and this growth is more internal. The key is that the protagonist gets broken down so they can rebuild themselves into someone stronger by the time they need to confront the antagonistic forces at the climax.

  9. Seizing the Sword: Also known as “The Reward.” The protagonist achieves something that is key to their journey and is usually what they entered the innermost cave during The Ordeal for. Despite the cost, the protagonist has achieved something that will be key when they reach the climax. This serves as the culmination of The Ordeal and brings about an end to act two in the three-act structure.

  10. The Road Back: The protagonist has learned and grown throughout their journey, has set out to accomplish the goal set in the first act, and perhaps gained a vital tool or insight to achieve it. However, they also have suffered defeats and seen the difficulty of achieving their goal. They must rise above adversity, coalesce what they have learned and gained along their journey, and stride toward the story’s conclusion. In Campbell’s monomyth, before the hero can return to their normal world, they must realize they must confront the antagonist and overcome one more obstacle in the story’s climax.

  11. The Resurrection: The protagonist overcomes their antagonist or antagonists in a final showdown, whether physical or metaphorical. Here they are put into one last confrontation in which the fate of the story’s conflict and goal hang in the balance. It’s not only important that the antagonist is overcome, it’s also important that the protagonist defeats them using what they gained over the course of the story. If they gained courage, they use their courage. If they increased in skill, they use their skill. If they learned not to give into hate, they remain strong in their convictions and show mercy and grace. The protagonist has concluded their character arc, and this arc determines the outcome of the climax. Whether the protagonist wins or loses, the conflict is resolved and there needs to be catharsis for the reader where they feel satisfied that the conflict has been concluded.

  12. Return with the Elixir: Also know as “The Magic Flight” or just “The Return,” the final step in Campbell’s structure in the denouement or falling action of the story. The hero returns from their strange and magical journey and returns to the ordinary world, but successful in their goal and armed with both the physical and metaphorical treasure they accumulated along their journey. Although the primary conflicts are tied up and resolved in the climax, here any loose ends are tied up. You may use this as an opportunity to show how the protagonist has changed as a result of their trials and tribulations or how the world has changed. In an ongoing series, this also is where the groundwork is laid for the next entry in the series, as one or more of those loose ends are not yet tied up or while one problem has been solved another now looms on the horizon.

The original “Star Wars” film from 1977 famously follows this structure very well, something it’s creator, George Lucas, has openly admitted. We are introduced to Luke Skywalker in his life as a bored farmer on a backwater planet (The Ordinary World). Then he encounters two droids in the service of the rebellion against the evil Empire who carry secret plans to the Death Star, the Empire’s ultimate weapon (The Call to Adventure). He meets the old Jedi Master Obi Wan Kenobi who begins teaching Luke about the Force (Meeting the Mentor). Obi-Wan attempts to convince Luke to become a Jedi and combat the evils of the Empire, but Luke refuses not believing he can make a difference and that his place is with his aunt and uncle (Refusal of the Call). The Empire murders Luke’s aunt and uncle, thus convincing Luke he has nothing left to lose and showing him how real the danger of the Empire is, so he agrees with Obi-Wan to become and Jedi and they leave his home (Crossing the Threshold). This was act one.

In act two, Luke meets some new allies in the smugglers Han Solo and Chewbacca. Han shows he has no love for the Empire, but does not believe in the Force. The Empire pursues them off the planet, thus raising the tension. Meanwhile, the Empire uses the Death Star to destroy a planet, showing the stakes of the story and demonstrating why the Empire must be stopped. (Tests, Allies, and Enemies). The heroes unwittingly stumble across the Death Star and are pulled inside. They must figure out a plan to escape but also discover that Princess Leia, who sent the message with the droids is imprisoned there and they set out to rescue her (The Innermost Cave). Obi-Wan disables the tractor beam preventing their escape while the others rescue the princess (The reward). They fight their way through the Death Star narrowly avoiding death several times. However, before they can escape, Luke watches helplessly as Obi-Wan is killed by Darth Vader (The Ordeal). This marks the end of act two.

In act three, the heroes arrive at the secret rebel base. In possession of the Death Star plans, aided by Princess Leia, and armed with the knowledge of the Force imparted by Obi-Wan, Luke and the other rebels plan to attack the Death Star (The Road Back). The rebels assault the Death Star, however, all of the other rebels besides Luke are killed or driven away. With help from the friends he earned along his journey—in the form of a last minute rescue by Han and Chewbacca—Luke uses the lessons in the Force to destroy the Death Star (The Resurrection/climax). The heroes return to the rebel base and celebrate their victory, made better people as a result of their journey (The Return).

It is worth noting that even in an ongoing series, there should be some form of climax in the story since without it, the entry does not reach a conclusion. Without a conclusion, it is not one entry among several, it is part of a story without an ending. Keep in mind these rules that apply to a single story, apply to the overarching story of a multi-entry series. These rules can be applied very well to “Star Wars,” but they also can be applied to the original Star Wars Trilogy as a whole. There is a beginning, middle, and end to each of the three films, but there also is a beginning, middle, and end to the trilogy when looked at as a single work. This idea of smaller parts being miniaturized versions of the whole process is something key to the third type of story structure I want to discuss: the story circle.

Dan Harmon, the creator of television shows such as “Community” and “Rick and Morty” developed the story circle as a simplified version of the hero’s journey. Within each of the eight steps, the eight steps are generally included to some extent.

  1. You: Also called the “Zone of Comfort,” this is the status quo as described in the monomyth and three-act structure. Harmon stresses that this is the “before” for a character, so it contrasts with the “after” nature of the character at the end of the story.

  2. Need: The character desires something. There is something not satisfactory about their zone of comfort or something occurs to disrupt that zone of   comfort. The character proactively embarks on a physical or metaphorical journey to attain this need.

  3. Go: They enter an unfamiliar situation. They leave the zone of comfort and are confronted with something new that challenges them and stands in the way of them achieving their need.

  4. Adaptation: The protagonist and company confront this unfamiliar aspect of the story. They need to adapt to do so. The person they were at the start of the story is not capable of confronting these new circumstances, so they need to grow.

  5. Find: Around the halfway mark of the story, the protagonist finds what they are looking for. They have the key, but the door is far away. This can be literal in that they need to return to their familiar settings with this key in order to solve the initial problem, or the door is within themselves, and they have a lot farther to go on a personal journey before the object of their desire can be of use to them. They still need to work in order to use what they have found to resolve the plot.

  6. Suffer: There is a cost to pay for achieving what they want, so the main character will lose something. Perhaps this is a friend or mentor, perhaps it is their dignity, perhaps this is their understanding of and outlook on the world. Everything gained in a story must have a cost.

  7. The Return: Your hero finds it within themselves to complete the journey and return home to their familiar situation. However, “within themselves” is the key. Your main character crosses back into the upper half of the circle, leaving the chaos of the second act behind. Yet this threshold doesn’t come without a trial of its own. This is where the climax occurs; the final test to use what they gained and learned on their journey to accomplish what they want.

  8. Change: The character achieves a new status quo as a result of their journey. They have grown as a person. Perhaps they achieved their initial goal or perhaps they learned that something is more important. The crucial bit here is that they have become an evolved version of themselves at the start of the story. This is the “after” picture. As a circle, by the end of the story a new status quo is established thus setting the stage for a new episode, installment, or adventure.

Note that these structures all share many of the same elements. This is because stories generally have an innate formula, which is what Campbell argued in his book. A story is about a journey, whether physical or metaphorical. The protagonist has to change, or else why go on the journey? Change requires sacrifice and wanting something means confronting the people or things standing in the way of achieving that desire. These elements are usually crucial in any compelling story, from ancient epics and myths to fine literature to modern day summer blockbusters.

This may be a good time to point out that there is no single right or wrong way to construct a story. The point of creativity is to try and make something new. However, every writer should study the rules of writing. The rules are there for a reason, so if you are going to break them, you need to ensure that when you break them you are not creating a problem for yourself or the reader. For instance, the inciting incident should always happen no later than fifteen percent of the way into your story—if not sooner. You can break the rule and have it happen later, but then you need to address the issue of the story dragging too much and the audience potentially getting bored waiting for the proper conflict of the story to begin. Don’t be afraid to break rules but always understand the consequences of breaking them because those consequences don’t just vanish.


How to write a book part two: Before you start

This is a continuation of my series on navigating the writing process. To see my first post in the series, click here.

As I said in the first entry in this series, there is no wrong way to begin writing. Start with what works best for you. However, before anything can be written, more planning and pre-manuscript work may need to be done first. Maybe you want to get a more fleshed-out idea of your story as a whole or you want to create a profile for your protagonist or other characters so they are more rich and developed.

 I, personally, try to chart out my writing beat by beat. This is essentially an expansion of my summary where I try to list out everything that needs to happen in terms of plot and character development. This doesn’t need to be concrete, and you can figure out the details later. For instance, I may know that if I want my character to have a final showdown against their nemesis at the climax of the story, they need to have an established relationship. They need to have previous confrontations so that they have the proper animosity in that final showdown. If you want there to be personal stakes like the antagonist having kidnapped the hero’s love interest, you know that they need to have absconded with them at some point.

This wider summary is a chance to start figuring out what needs to be in the book—and where it needs to go. You can start vague with an idea like “the protagonist has a showdown with the antagonist during the climax in Act Three, so they need to meet each other in Acts One or Two.” Then get more specific: “The climax occurs because the antagonist kidnapped the protagonist’s love interest, therefore I want the antagonist to kidnap the love interest at the end of Act Two.” In turn, this means their first meeting needs to happen earlier in the story than the end of Act Two. Perhaps the protagonist fails to stop the antagonist from kidnapping the love interest at the end of Act Two because the protagonist is not brave enough. This means that the protagonist has to learn bravery before they meet again at the climax of the story in order to rescue them, so something has to happen in Act Three where they gain courage.

Writing in this way can be a bit like a Sudoku puzzle. At first, you only know where a small amount of information is located. Yet, by working out through logic where those few pieces fit, you can see where corresponding pieces must fit within the narrative (or where they will not fit). Once you see where enough pieces fit, you will start to get a clearer picture of what the final story will look like. Eventually, you can even break this down further into a chapter-by-chapter summary and maybe even further into a scene-by-scene summary.

Some writers skip this step. They prefer to write in a more organic, spontaneous manner. In the writing community, this is often referred to as the “pants-er method.” It’s named this way because these writers “fly by the seat of their pants.” Those who like to plan things out and strictly structure their stories ahead of time are often referred to as “planners” because they plan things out and want to know what they are writing toward ahead of time.

Pants-ers like to allow the story to guide them rather than them guiding the story. There is merit to this. It can help make the story more unpredictable, can ensure motivations for characters feel natural, and helps authors avoid falling into the trap of inserting things into the story simply because it furthers the plot even though it otherwise doesn’t make sense.

For instance, if a character is kidnapped and escapes, why don’t they ask someone on the street to call the police for help instead of trying to stop the kidnappers themselves? You, the writer, know that you want the victim to fight back against the kidnappers, but logically it doesn’t make sense unless you take measures to circumvent such a plot hole (like they’re in the middle of nowhere or it was established earlier that cell service was down). The pants-er method makes it easier to avoid this because the characters are acting in the moment. The downside of the pants-er method is that this can easily lead to the writer being stuck. If the victim just calls the police, then they never confront their kidnapper, never grow as a character, and you end up with a flat, boring ending.

As is probably evident in my Sudoku method, I definitely fall more in the planner camp than the pants-er camp. However, in my experience, there has to be a little planning in every pants-er and a little improvisation in every planner. A story with no structure is very difficult to write and can often lead to dead ends, writer’s block, or a lack of satisfaction at where the story goes. Likewise, even the most dedicated planner needs some improvisation in their story. If a character turns out more annoying than comical, you need to adjust how that character is presented. If you write two characters and they have unforeseen romantic chemistry that wasn’t included in the original outline, then perhaps that needs to be added in.

Another key facet for many writers in the pre-writing phase is doing research. For a genre like historical fiction, I highly recommend it. Learn about what you are writing about. For instance, if you have a story set in World War II, learn about the war and culture in the 1940s. If you start writing without doing this research, it usually becomes glaringly obvious. Historical inaccuracies are the most visible (don’t describe a character being an Air Force pilot if the Air Force wasn’t established yet) but not having a grasp of the language used at the time, pasting modern perspectives on characters from other time periods, or having them not act or think like people did at the time can stand out unless such characterization is backed up by a solid backstory and proper character development.

Nor is this limited to historical fiction. If you have a character in a modern contemporary setting, but who is a doctor, while research may not be necessary to describe their home life, it can be pretty clear to readers if they do not sound like a doctor while they are on the job or if they are using inaccurate medical terms or act inappropriately in regard to medical practices.

Character building is also a common technique that many writers use before the writing process begins in earnest. This means learning who they are as the writer so you can better describe them and show who they are throughout the narrative. If they are very tough and angry character, you want to know why they act tough and are so angry all the time. Perhaps they lived on the street growing up, so they had to develop a hard outer shell to protect themselves. Maybe they were taught by a parent or mentor figure that acting that way is the only way to get respect from others.

Ask yourself questions that may not necessarily appear on the page, secrets known only to the author or secret facts about the character that are merely hinted at in the text. Maybe that tough and angry character is shown having an otherwise uncharacteristic love of dogs because their pet dog was the only creature who showed them unconditional love when they were a child. Their childhood may not come up in the story but it’s the sort of detail that makes a character feel like a real person rather than a trope, cliché, or bland replaceable drone.

You can also ask yourself details which may or may not be relevant to the story. Do they have scars or injuries? What makes them happy? What makes them sad? What do they do on their days off? Even a cold-blooded hitman sits down, eats dinner, and watches TV. What do they eat, what do they watch—and why? Are they as cautious and anxious as they are when they’re on the job or is this a moment of vulnerability and relaxation for them?

This also is a good way to form a good idea of their appearance. One of the best pieces of character design advice I ever heard is that an iconic character should be identifiable by their silhouette. If I showed you a silhouette of a muscular man with a cape and pointy ears, you could tell it was Batman. If I showed you a silhouette of a slim lady in a coat, brimmed hat, and holding an umbrella, you could tell it was Mary Poppins. While not every character, especially in the case of minor characters, has to be so distinct, the reader should always be able to have a clear view of who they are and what they look like. Describe their eyes; are they kind, intimidating, always squinting, bugging out? Are they in designer clothes, jeans and a hoodie, a 70’s tracksuit? Is their hair unruly in long curls, high and tight, messy like a pile of straw? Is their build thin, fat, or muscular?

There are numerous checklists and forms that authors and publishers have created to give other writers a blueprint for mapping out who a character is. Here are some links to some examples.

One Stop for Writers has a good one I’ve used in the past. It requires a subscription but comes with a free trial here.
Here is another from Crystal MM Burton on Pinterest.
Here is a pretty basic one from DearWriters on Tumblr.

There are plenty of ways to prepare yourself so you have more tools in your arsenal before you start writing. Don’t feel you need to rush into your story—but don’t use it as an excuse to procrastinate either. The important thing is to keep that momentum going and always be making progress, even if that progress doesn’t necessarily mean writing text. We’ll talk more about that in a future post.

How to write a book: Beginning

Having completed three manuscripts and traversed the publishing process, I cannot call myself an expert on the industry by any means—however, I have learned a thing or two about how to write a book.

The first thing that I believe people should know if they want to become an author is that writing is a skill, not a talent. Writing is not something you are either born with or not, it is something that is learned. While it may come more naturally to some than others, no one starts out as an expert, and anyone can become an expert with hard work, education, and practice. Anyone can write a book.

The first hurdle many people experience is not knowing where to start. The feeling of opening up a fresh Word document or sitting down in front of a blank page is an intimidating one—but keep in mind that every masterpiece of literature ever created began at the very point where you are at now.

So, how do you start writing? The short answer is: however you want. If you have a particular scene in your head that you have a clear picture of, start there. If you have a good idea for a compelling lead character, try writing their biography. J.R.R. Tolkien started his famed fantasy universe by creating languages that would go on to become different forms of Elvish and Dwarvish. There is no wrong way to start writing.

However, if you have no idea where to begin or how to start coalescing your various ideas and concepts into a narrative, I would suggest the first step being constructing your elevator pitch. What is an elevator pitch? If you found yourself in an elevator with someone you wanted to pitch your story to, you would only have a few seconds to do so. You wouldn’t have the time to go into details, describe your themes, discuss your influences, and so forth. It is the bare bones of your story. I suggest starting here because the first person you need to provide with a clear understanding of your story is yourself. Once you establish to yourself what the book is in its most fundamental form, you can begin elaborating upon it and expanding those ideas outward.

What is in an elevator pitch? You may find many different answers to this question, but I think there are four primary elements it should include: who your protagonist or protagonists are, what their status quo is, the inciting incident that interrupts the status quo, and the challenge this creates that the protagonist or protagonists must overcome.

Let’s break this down.

  • Who is your protagonist: Your protagonist is whoever’s point of view the story is told from. This can also be multiple people if you want your story told from different points of view. Ask yourself who this person is and why this particular story should be told from their perspective.

  • What is their status quo: What is the starting point for this character? What is their life before the story begins? Is their status quo something they are trying to preserve or something they want to escape from?

  • What is the inciting incident: If the status quo is your protagonist’s life before the story starts, the inciting incident is what changes or threatens to change that status quo. This is what sets the story in motion. It is an interruption of the familiar that forces the protagonist or protagonists to take action.

  • What is the challenge the protagonist must overcome: Every story is about trying to overcome an obstacle or conclude a conflict. Your story can be about attempting to overthrow an evil galactic empire or it can be about a husband and wife trying to move on after the death of their child. Either way, you have a character or characters trying to get something done. This fourth step is essentially telling the listener what the bulk of the story will be about.

This may sound like a lot to fit into a sentence or two that could be described in the length of an elevator trip, but the trick is condensing it down into its most fundamental elements. Let’s return to Tolkien for a moment. The Lord of the Rings is a monumental three book epic with dozens of named characters, multiple character arcs, numerous sub-plots, and rich themes. Yet, its elevator pitch might sound something like this:

In the magical world of Middle Earth, Frodo Baggins led a quiet life among the peaceful Hobbit folk with his eccentric uncle in the idyllic Shire. However, he learns from the mysterious wizard, Gandalf, that the magic ring inherited from his uncle was created by the Dark Lord Sauron and he must travel to the heart of Sauron’s realm in order to destroy it and save all of Middle Earth.

Here, we see the structure of the story in the simplest terms. We learn who the protagonist is (Frodo Baggins). We see his status quo (Frodo exists in a fantasy setting and lives with his eccentric uncle in the idyllic Shire). There is the inciting incident (inheriting the ring and learning the truth of it from the wizard, Gandalf). Finally, there is the challenge (the ring must be destroyed within Sauron’s realm in order to save the world).

Obviously, this leaves a great deal out—but that is the point. While an elevator pitch can be very useful to describing the story to someone else, getting it in your head from the start of the story can be extremely helpful to a writer if you are having difficulty imagining what your story will look like by forming a solid foundation upon which to build. You, the author, now have decided where and when your story is, who it will focus on, what they are trying to accomplish and why. Don’t worry about getting all the details sorted out from the beginning. Build the foundation and then build on top of it, adding details, sub-plots, and other facets.

 If there is an addendum to these four questions, try asking these four additional questions to get a more complete view of your story. The four questions all essentially mirror the initial questions in your elevator pitch.

  • How does your protagonist or protagonists try to fulfil the challenge from your elevator pitch: Once the challenge has been established, how do your characters try to meet it? This may be the toughest part to summarize as this is what the bulk of your story consists of—the trials and tribulations of the characters as they try achieving the story’s primary goal.

  • Do they accomplish their challenge: Are your characters’ efforts successful? Perhaps they are and there is victory, celebration, and a happy ending. However, some stories are tragedies, and they are not successful. The story does not have to be about how the goal is accomplished, but instead about why it cannot be accomplished or learning something is more important than the initial goal.

  • Is the status quo restored: Do the characters get to return the world as they knew it, or was that world forever changed as a result of the story? This ties in with the fourth point, which is …

  • How does the main character change: A strong rule for creating any protagonist is that they cannot be entirely the same at the end of the story as they were at the beginning. A story is a journey and goes from point A to point B (albeit with numerous stops and diversions in between) and your protagonist lies at the heart of your story. While there are exceptions to this rule (perhaps the character has obstinance as a flaw and refuses to change despite needing to), this can be dangerous as this generally means they are a very flat, boring, unengaging character that most readers will not connect with or want to follow. This change can come in a number of ways; perhaps they become braver, maybe they fall in love, maybe their outlook on the world is forever altered, maybe they even die. This is the “character arc,” the path a character takes from where they enter the story to where they leave it. It establishes how you want your character to progress throughout the story. Establishing this early on can give you an idea where the character has to go and what they have to do throughout the story. For instance, if they gain courage by the end of the story, you know they must face trials and tribulations in which their courage is tested.

To return to the Lord of the Rings, adding these second four questions to the elevator pitch might look something like this:

Frodo and Gandalf form a fellowship of mighty heroes to escort him and the ring to Sauron’s realm of Mordor so he may destroy it. Although some of his companions die throughout the long journey and they are separated, Frodo makes it to Mordor while some of his companions unite the peoples of Middle Earth and fight against Sauron’s armies.

The ring is destroyed, Sauron is defeated upon its destruction, and Frodo returns to the Shire. Middle Earth begins to rebuild despite a great and terrible war. However, the trauma of his adventures leaves Frodo scarred and diminished. Bidding goodbye to his beloved friends, Frodo sails with Gandalf into the storied west so that he might finally know peace yet again.

By combing these eight questions together, you also have what is called a “summary.” This is a brief run-down of the whole story that professionals such as editors and agents may want to see in the latter stages of the publishing process. This makes it a good thing to keep around throughout the writing process, both as a guiding star and as a useful tool so you can explain your story to others.

 … But the convenient thing is that you don’t have to keep it the same either. Some writers, upon getting halfway through with a project, may find they want to fundamentally change what it is, by altering where they want the story to go, what they want to say through their writing, or how they want the readers to perceive the story. Do not feel bound by an elevator pitch or summary. Rather, use them as the spine of what you want to write—or as I said earlier, a foundation. You can change an elevator pitch or summary but always ensure you have a new one if you do. That way, you always have a solid, central idea of what you want the story to be.