There are many ways to learn how to plot.
I learned the hard way.
I was very honored when Lisa Tener said in an interview that she had really liked the plot of American Queen.
Like dialogue, I felt that plot was a weak point for me, but, if you struggle with plot and dialogue, it is hard to sustain a novelist’s career! So I studied that too—from Writers Digest books to Masterplots (a compendium of summaries of world literature) to Aristotle’s description of dramatic structure in The Poetics.
I find that the place to get the plot going is at the very beginning—getting the characters to deal with a problem that they don’t have an easy solution for—and neither do I. Then I let it get worse.
I have a bone to pick with much of contemporary American literature that seems fairly plot-free. That might be intellectually interesting, but it doesn’t have zing. I love the British mystery writers like Agatha Christie or Dorothy L. Sayers who managed to have great characters and also great plots. I aspire to come anywhere near their mastery.
What I use now and also teach my clients is about as old-fashioned as it gets.
I use Aristotelian dramatic structure, with a bit of a twist thrown in. Because my novels are always character-driven and I also write and teach memoir, the rise and fall of the plot is powered by changes in the main character.
Here is how Aristotle describe the components of dramatic structure, otherwise known as Freytag’s pyramid:
Exposition: The elements of the story and the main characters are introduced and fleshed out. The problem is presented and explained.
Rising action: In the rising action, a series of related incidents build toward the point of greatest interest. These events are generally the most important parts of the story since the entire plot depends on them to set up the climax, and ultimately the satisfactory resolution of the story itself.
Climax or crisis: The climax is the turning point, which changes the protagonist’s fate. If the story is a comedy, things will have gone badly for the protagonist up to this point; now, the plot will begin to unfold in his or her favor. If the story is a tragedy, the opposite state of affairs will ensue, with things going from good to bad for the protagonist, often revealing the protagonist’s hidden weaknesses.
Falling action: During the falling action, the conflict between the protagonist and the antagonist unravels, with the protagonist winning or losing against the antagonist. The falling action may contain a moment of final suspense, in which the final outcome of the conflict is in doubt.
Dénouement, resolution, revelation or catastrophe: The dénouement comprises events from the end of the falling action to the actual ending scene of the drama or narrative. Conflicts are resolved, creating normality for the characters and a sense of catharsis, or release of tension and anxiety, for the reader.
I make the whole idea quite a bit more complicated because I and most of the clients I work with are writing either memoir or fiction, all of which is character-driven, so I add some elements to the rising action that show how the characters have up moments and down moments, leading to the very worst moment, right before the climax.
The way that plays on in reality is that, once I have a book drafted and revised a couple of times (revising seven times is about the norm for my process—and I have heard the same from NYT best-selling authors), I check the plot structure by rolling out some butcher paper, taping it to the wall, and sticking on a bunch of postits.
I failed to take a picture of it when I had destroyed the orderliness of my apartment walls while writing American Queen, but one of my clients, Susannah Smith, kindly offered an example of hers while she was in the same throes of plot agony and ecstasy.
Hers is WAY neater than mine!
Enjoy!
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