Author Archives: Melanie Anne Phillips

Genre: Revealing Your Story’s Personality

Your story’s genre is its overall personality. As with the people that you meet, first impressions are very important. In act one, you introduce your story to your reader/audience. The selection of elements you choose to initially employ will set the mood for all that follows. They can also be misleading, and you can use this to your advantage.

You may be working with a standard genre, or trying something new. But it often helps involve your reader/audience if you start with the familiar. In this way, those experiencing your story are eased out of the real world and into the one you have constructed. So, in the first act, you many want to establish a few touch points the reader/audience can hang its hat on.

As we get to know people a little better, our initial impression of the “type” of person they are begins to slowly alter, making them a little more of an individual and a little less of a stereotype. To this end, as the first act progresses, you may want to hint at a few attributes or elements of your story’s personality that begin to drift from the norm.

By the end of the first act, you should have dropped enough elements to give your story a general personality type and also to indicate that a deeper personality waits to be revealed.

As a side note, this deeper personality may in fact be the true personality of your story, hidden behind the first impressions.

Revealing Your Goal

While the structural nature of a story’s goal is crucial to developing a plot that makes sense, the storytelling manner in which the goal is reveals can determine whether a plot seems clever or pedestrian. In this tip, we’ll explore the impact of some of the key methods of revealing your goal.

Sometimes the goal is spelled out right at the beginning, such as a meeting in which a General tells a special strike unit that a senator’s daughter has been kidnapped by terrorists and they must rescue her.

Other times, the goal is hidden behind an apparent goal. So, if your story had used the scene described above, it might turn out that was really just a cover story and in fact, the supposed “daughter” was actually an agent who was assigned to identify and kill a double agent working in the strike team.

Goals may also be revealed slowly, such as in “The Godfather,” where it takes the entire film to realize the goal is to keep the family alive by replacing the aging Don with a younger member of the family.

Further, in “The Godfather,” as in many Alfred Hitchcock films, the goal is not nearly as important as the chase or the inside information or the thematic atmosphere. So don’t feel obligated to elevate every story point to the same level.

As long as each key story point is there in some way, to some degree of importance, there will be no story hole. You may still have a lot of interest in that story point, however. A character’s personal goal, for example, may touch on an issue that you want to explore in greater detail.

When this is the case, let your imagination run wild. Jot down as many instances as come to mind in which the particular plot point comes into play. Such events, moments, or scenarios enrich a story and add passion to a perfunctory telling of the tale.

One of the best ways to do this is to consider how each plot point might affect other plot points, and other story points pertaining to characters, theme, and genre.

For example, each character sees the overall goal as a step in helping them accomplish their personal goals. So, why not create a scenario where a character wistfully describes his personal goal to another character while sitting around a campfire? He can explain how achievement of the overall story goal will help him get what he personally wants.

An example of this is in the John Wayne classic movie, “The Searchers.” John Wayne’s character asks an old, mentally slow friend to help search for the missing girl. Finding the girl is the overall goal. The friend has a personal goal – he tells Wayne that he just wants a roof over his head and a rocking chair by the fire. This character sees his participation in the effort to achieve the goal as the means of obtaining something he has personally longed for.

And how does your story goal exemplify or affect the moral message of your story as part of the theme? When you see the story goal mentioned in your story synopsis, see if you can incorporate aspects of theme, and when you see theme, try to add a reference to the goal.

In Huckleberry Finn, Mark Twain has the boy cooking up some food for Tom Sawyer. He puts all the vegetables and meat in the same pan and explain that his pop taught him that food is better when the flavors all “swap around” a bit. The same is true for stories. Don’t just speak about goal, speak about goal in reference to as many other story points as you can.

Four Essential Plot Points

There are many story points relating to your plot, ranging from the the outcome of the quest to the obstacles the characters face along the way.  While all story points are important, there are four essential ones that provide the cornerstones of your plot.

1. Goal

We are all familiar with the need for a central unifying goal to drive the plot forward. This goal can be a shared objective, such as the desire to rob a casino in Ocean’s 11, or it can be a shared or collective goal, such as in Four Weddings and a Funeral in which all the characters are seeking a satisfying relationship, but not with the same person!

Goal is the primary and most essential story point in your plot, but there are three other plot points that are nearly as crucial to creating a captivating plot.

2. Consequences

If the Goal is what the characters are after, then the Consequence is what is after the characters! If the characters are chasing something, that can be exciting. But if something is chasing the characters as well, it doubles the tension.

Typically, consequences are the bad things that will happen if the Goal is not achieved. But they can also be bad things that are already happening and will continue to happen if the Goal is not achieved.

For example, if the goal is to find a hidden treasure, that can create drama. But if the families of those trying to find the treasure will be sold into slavery if the treasure is not found, that is much more intense drama.

3. Requirements

Having a goal is fine, but if it were something that would be achieved or not in only a moment, the story would be over before it started. Goals can’t just be achieved. Rather, a series of Requirements must be met that will cause the goal to be achieved, or enable the characters to then tackle the goal directly.

Requirements can be a collection of items that must be obtained or endeavors that must be successfully undertaken in any order, like a scavenger hunt. Or, a goal’s requirements might be a series of objects or activities, which must be performed in order, more like advancing through grades in order to graduate from school.

It helps a story move along to spell out what the requirements are before the end of your first act, or opening dramatic movement. This provides a clear idea of where things are heading, and allows your reader or audience to put plot events into context.

This is not to say that complications can’t arise, or that additional requirements might be added (“Bring me the broomstick of the Wicked Witch of the West). But providing an initial list of requirements will create a yardstick against which your readers or audience can judge the story’s progress toward it’s ultimate conclusion.

4. Forewarnings

Just as a goal has requirements, consequences have forewarnings. These can be as simple as cracks forming in a dam or the extent of the rash on a hapless fellow who’s been poisoned.

As with requirements, forewarnings can be a matter of degree (“That’s three people who have quit the program. How many more can you afford to lose before the whole show folds?”) Or it can be a sequence, such as the evil robot breaking past the third of five automatic defense stations.

Without forewarnings, the consequences are just a nebulous threat or existent condition. But forewarnings make the consequence come alive, become immediate, and impending.

All Four Together

All four essential plot points work together to create a web of tension, but long and short term, that can flux and flow. The objective looms ahead as the threat looms in the rear view mirror. And along the way, requirement road signs tell us how far we have to go, while the growing size of the headlights in the mirror forewarn that the consequences are almost upon us.

Will we get to the goal before we are overtaken, or will we be run down from behind just moments before we might have grabbed success? These are the questions that inject tension in your plot, in addition go giving it direction.

—Melanie Anne Phillips

Develop all four of these plot points and 80 more
in Dramatica Story Structure Software

Subplots

There are two types of subplots: Those that run parallel and don’t really affect each other dramatically, and those that are dramatically hinged together.

An example of parallel subplots can be found in Woody Allen’s “Crimes and Misdemeanors” in which the “Crime” story with Martin Landau and the “Misdemeanor” story with Woody Allen never really affect each other. The purpose of having these two stories in the same “work” is for the audience to be able to compare two completely different issues that share a common cultural concern. In “Crimes and Misdemeanors,” it is the differential created between them, which provides a social message that extends beyond the meaning found by either of the two Main Characters.

An example of a hinged subplot can be found in the original “Star Wars.” Han Solo’s debt to Jabba the Hutt is a story in its own right with Han as the Main Character. This subplot eventually comes to have changed the course of the plot in the main story.

The purpose of having a subplot may be two-fold: 1: to enhance a character, theme, plot, or amplify part of the genre of the “work” and/or 2: to move the course of the main story in a direction it could not dramatically go in and of itself.

In “Star Wars,” Han Solo is initially uncooperative and refuses to get involved in the efforts of Obi Wan or Luke. For example, when the group first arrives on the Death Star, Han wants to fight, not to hide in the room while Obi Wan goes off. But when Luke discovers that the princess is on board, Han wants to wait in the room and not fight. It is his nature.

So, how do we get Han to join Luke in the rescue attempt? We invoke Han’s subplot. Luke tells Han, “She’s rich,” and Han is already hooked. But if there were no Jaba subplot, the money alone would not be enough to convince the uncooperative Han to “walk into the detention area.” On the other hand, since Jaba has put a price on Han’s head, he’s dead already unless he can come up with the money, and this is probably the only chance he’s going to get to do that. As a result, Han joins the plan, acting completely against what his character would do dramatically in the main story but in complete consistency with his personal needs (which are more important to him) in his subplot.

By using both the parallel and hinged subplots you can enhance your story’s depth and move it in directions it could not legitimately go with only the main plot.

For your own story, list each of your characters and its role in the main story. Then briefly describe any of your characters’ personal stories that are not really part of the overall plot, but might be a subplot. Put each character who has a subplot in the role of Main Character of his own personal story. Then, determine if that subplot runs parallel to the main story or intersects and impacts it. Make sure to include this impact in the way your characters respond in the main story to ensure they ring true to their complete nature.

Finally, look over your plot and see if there are any times when events require a character to act “out of character.” If so, devise a personal subplot for that character that could explain its unusual action in the main story.

The Collective Goal

By Melanie Anne Phillips

Some writers become so wrapped up in interesting events and bits of action that they forget to have a central unifying goal that gives purpose to all the other events that take place. This creates a plot without a core. But determining your story’s goal can be difficult, especially if your story is character oriented, and not really about a Grand Quest.

For example, in the movie “Four Weddings and a Funeral,” all the characters are struggling with their relationships and not working toward an apparent common purpose. There is a goal, however, and it is to find happiness in a relationship. This type of goal is called a “Collective Goal” since it is not about trying to achieve the same thing, but the same KIND of thing. When considering the goal for your story, don’t feel obligated to impose a contrived central goal if a collective goal is more appropriate.

Plot vs. Exposition

A common misconception is that Plot is the order of events in a story. In fact, the order in which events are unfolded for the reader or audience can be quite different from the order in which they happen to the characters.

Plot, then, is really that internal progression of events, while the reader/audience order is more precisely referred to as Exposition.

For an author, it is important to separate the two. Otherwise it is too easy to overlook a missing step in the logical progression of the story because the steps were put out of order in Exposition.

On the other hand, trying to separate the internal logic of the story from the Exposition order really inhibits the creative muse. When working out a story, many authors like to envision the finished work including the Exposition. This gives the best impression of how the story will feel to the audience.

So the key is to first create your plot as it will appear in the finished story. Once you have a handle on it, that is the time to put the plot in Character Order to see if there are any missing pieces.

If there are, fill in the logical gaps, then “re-assemble” the plot back into the order in which you wanted to unfold it for the audience, making sure to add the new gap-filling plot pieces into your exposition as well.

Using this system, you will ensure that everything that happens in your story is not only interestingly revealed, but also makes an unbroken chain of sense.

Yes, But Is It A Plot?

Recently, a writer presented me with the following comparison:

Dear Melanie:

Please help me by telling me if the following A & B:

1. Are they each plots?

2. Is there a difference between the plots?

3. Is there a difference between the characters?

A:

“What is about to be revealed to you are secrets of magic and illusion that have been guarded under a code of secrecy since medieval times. Because this magician is breaking that code he is placing himself in great jeopardy. It is for this reason he will be disguised and will be known only as the Mystery Magician.”

B:

“You are about to see one of the world’s top magicians break his code of silence and reveal some of magic’s most closely guarded secrets. That’s why, in order to protect his identity you will not hear him speak or even see his face. He will be known only as the Masked Magician.”

Thank you.

My reply…

1. Is each a Plot?

Each is a part of a plot because they both deal with the internal logic of the progression of a story. But, of course, neither is more than the logistic set up for a progression yet to come. It should be noted that while “plot” is the internal logic of the story, as it “actually” happened, “storyweaving” is the manner in which the story is unfolded for the audience. So, in stories such as Pulp Fiction, Remains of the Day, and any number of mysteries, the actual “plot” order of events is quite different from the order in which the audience comes into them.

2. Is there a difference between the plots?

There might be. Based on the answer above, it really depends on which differences between the two would later affect the internal logic of the story’s progression, and which are simply cosmetic differences in the unfolding of the story, added for flavor.

For example, in version “A” the magician is disguised, while in version “B” he does not speak. Is this a significant point (such as in a mystery story in which it turns out the character is a mute) or is it simply a different way of expressing that the magician is attempting to remain anonymous? The subtle differences between version A and version B might be essential logistic information or just a whim of wording.

Similarly, the first version drops the information that the Magician is putting himself in “great jeopardy,” while the second version omits this point. Is that point significant to the plot? Would the same point come out later in version two, just dropped at a different time?

The real proof of the pudding would be in how the rest of the story develops. It is crucial to be aware that an audience may easily misinterpret aspects of storytelling as part of the plot, and my discard important elements of the plot as dabblings in style. Part of an author’s job is to ensure that plot can be separated from storytelling by the audience even while integrating the two into a seamless, flowing experience.

3. Is there a difference between the characters?

Which characters: the narrator / spokesperson, or the Magician? First we should note that half of what we see of characters are their dramatic functions in the plot. The other half consists of their attributes that do not affect the plot but create the humanity and flavor of the characters.

For example, in some stories one could replace a suave detective with a rumpled detective. Although each character might act exactly the same in their function in the plot, the flavor of their personalities would be completely different. But in other stories, such a replacement would change how the plot had to evolve because certain dynamics depended upon the personality of the detective.

In version A, the narrator’s personality is much more controlling. He (or she) puts himself in the driver’s seat over both the audience and the Magician with lines like, “What you are about to see,” rather than “You are about to see…,” and “He will be disguised,” versus “you will not hear him speak.”

His (her) approach makes the activity passive for the audience in version A and active in version B. He (she) objectifies the experience in the first version and subjectifies it in the second. Clearly there is a difference between the characters, but is it a logistic functional difference or just difference in the personality? Again, that depends on the rest of the story.

As for the Magician, well that is even more obscure. We have not yet met the man. We have heard a bit about him from the narrator/spokesperson, but what have we actually heard from the Magician and what have we seen him do?

Assuming that the narrator/spokesperson is accurately representing the Magician’s personality and function in each version as neutral reporter, then we could, as an exercise, assign the described traits and see if the nature of the Magician changes between the two.

Small points emerge…. In the first version, the Magician is “breaking that code,” while in the second version he will “break his code.” In version A, there is a universal code and the Magician is going against it. In version B, he is breaking his own code. It is a subtle point, but a significant one. What do we know about someone who breaks the law versus someone who breaks with a personal principle?

In addition, version A infers that the Magician may be “breaking that code” on an ongoing basis. Version B might be interpreted to indicate that this is the very first time he will “break his code.” What do we know about a character who makes a career out of revealing secrets of a clandestine organization with specific rules and penalties versus one who is making a break with his moral principles for the very first time?

Again, all of this is speculation based on a very small moment in a much larger story. What I have attempted to do is describe the “potential” differences that might exist between the two, even while acknowledging that in the final unfolding of the story, these differences may only be cosmetic and not substantial at all.

Male vs. Female Problem Solving

All too often in stories, relationships and interchanges between characters of different sexes come off stilted, unbelievable, or contrived. In fact, since the author is writing from the perspective of only one of the two sexes, characters of the opposite sex often play more as one sex’s view of the opposite sex, rather than as truly being a character OF the opposite sex. This is because the author is looking AT the opposite sex, not FROM its point of view.

By exploring the differences in how each sex sees the world, we can more easily create believable characters of both sexes. To that end, I offer the following incident.

I was at lunch with Chris (Co-creator of Dramatica) some time ago. I had ordered some garlic bread and could not finish it. I asked the waitress if she would put it in a box to take home, and she did. On the way past the cashier, I realized that I had forgotten to take the box from the table. I said, “Rats! I forgot the bread!”

Chris said, “Go ahead and get it, we’ll wait.”

I thought for a moment and said, “No, it’s not that important.” and started to walk out.

Chris: “It’ll only take a moment.”

Me: “Yes, but I have to go all the way back, and I probably won’t eat it anyway, and it probably won’t reheat very well, and…”

Chris then said in jest, “Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me.”

In fact, they really did sound like excuses to him. But to me, the reasons I had presented to him for not going back for the bread were not rationalizations, but actually legitimate concerns.

At the heart of this difference in perspective is the difference in the way female and male brains are “soft wired”. As a result, neither women nor men can see into the heart of the other without finding a lack of coherence.

Here is a line-by-line comparison of the steps leading from having too much bread to the differing interpretations of my response to forgetting the box.

Melanie thinks:

That’s good bread, but I’m full. I might take it home, but I’m not convinced it will reheat. Also, I’ve really eaten too many calories in the last few days, I’m two pounds over where I want to be and I have a hair appointment on Wednesday and a dinner date on the weekend with a new friend I want to impress, so maybe I shouldn’t eat anymore. The kids won’t want it, but I could give it to the dog, and if I get hungry myself, I’ll have it there (even though I shouldn’t eat it if I want to lose that two pounds!) So, I guess it’s better to take it than to leave it.

Melanie says:

“Waitress, can I have a box to take the bread home?”

Chris understands Melanie to mean:

I want to take the bread home.

The balance sheet:

To me there was only a tendency toward bringing the bread home, and barely enough to justify the effort. To Chris it was a binary decision: I wanted to bring it home or not.

Melanie says:

“Rats! I forgot to bring the bread!”

Chris says:

“Go ahead and get it, we’ll wait.”

The balance sheet:

I’m thinking, “How does this change the way I feel about the situation?” Chris is thinking, “How can she solve this problem.”

Melanie thinks:

Well, I really don’t want to be tempted by it, this unexpected turn makes it easier to lose the weight. If I go back I’ll be tempted or give it to the dog. If I don’t go back I won’t be tempted, which is good because I know I usually give in to such temptations. Of course, the dog loses out, but we just bought some special treats for the dog so she won’t miss what she wasn’t expecting. All in all, the effort of going around two corners while everyone waits just so I can get an extra doggie treat and lead myself into temptation isn’t worth it.

Melanie says:

“No, its not that important.”

Chris says:

“It’ll only take a moment.”

The balance sheet:

I’m thinking that since I was right on the edge of not wanting to take it in the first place, even this little extra necessary effort is enough inconvenience to make it not a positive thing but an irritation, so I’ll just drop it and not pay even the minor price. Chris is thinking that since I made up my mind to take the bread in the first place, how is it that this little inconvenience could change my mind 180 degrees. I must be lazy or embarrassed because I forgot it.

Melanie says:

“Yes, but I have to go all the way back, and I probably won’t eat it anyway, and it probably won’t reheat very well, and…”

Chris says:

“Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me.”

The balance sheet:

I’m trying to convey about a thousand petty concerns that went into my emotional assessment that it was no longer worth going back for. Chris just hears a bunch of trumped up reasons, none of which are sufficient to change one’s plans.

I operated according to an emotional tendency to bring the bread home that was just barely sufficient to generate even the slightest degree of motivation. Chris doesn’t naturally assume motivation has a degree, thinking that as a rule you’re either motivated or you are not.

The differences between the way women and men evaluate problems lead them to see justifications in the others methods.

Making sense of each other:

Now, what does all this mean? When men look at problems, they see a single item that is a specific irritation and seek to correct it. When they look at inequities, they see a number of problems interrelated. Women look at single problems the same way, but sense inequities from a completely emotional standpoint, measuring them on a sliding scale of tendencies to respond in certain ways.

Imagine an old balance scale – the kind they used to weigh gold. On one side, you put the desire to solve the problem. That has a specific weight. On the other side you have a whole bag of things that taken altogether outweigh the desire to solve the problem. But, you can’t fit the bag on the scale (which is the same as not being able to share your whole mind with a man) so you open the bag and start to haul out the reasons – biggest one’s first.

Well, it turns out the first reason by itself is much lighter that the desire to solve the problem, so it isn’t sufficient. You pull out the next one, which is even smaller, and together they aren’t enough to tip the scales. So, you keep pulling one more reason after another out of the bag until the man stops you saying, “Sounds like a bunch of excuses to me.”

To the man, it becomes quickly obvious that there aren’t enough reasonably sized pieces in that bag to make the difference, and anything smaller than a certain point is inconsequential anyway, so what’s holding her back from solving the problem?

But the woman knows that there may be only a few big chunks, but the rest of the bag is full of sand. And all those little pieces together outweigh the desire to solve the problem. If she went ahead and solved it anyway, everything in that bag would suffer to some degree, and the overall result would be less happiness in her consciousness rather than more.

This is why it is so easy for one sex to manipulate the other: each isn’t looking at part of the picture that the other one sees. For a man to manipulate a woman, all he has to do is give her enough sand to keep the balance slightly on her side and then he can weigh her down with all kinds of negative big things because it still comes out positive overall. For a woman to manipulate a man, all she has to do is give him a few positive chunks and then fill his bag full of sand with the things she wants. He’ll never even notice.

Of course if you push too far from either side it tips the balance and all hell breaks loose. So for a more loving and compassionate approach, the key is not to get as much as you can, but to maximize the happiness of both with the smallest cost to each.

All too often, one sex will deny what the other sex once to gain leverage or to use compliance as a bargaining chip. That kind of adversarial relationship is doomed to keep both sides miserable, as long as it lasts.

But if each side gives to the other sex what is important to to the other but unimportant to themselves, they’ll make each other very happy at very little cost.

Character Arc 101

Does your Main Character Change or Remain Steadfast? A lot of writers think a character must Change in order to grow. This is simply not true. Characters can also grow in their Resolve. In that case, they Remain Steadfast as they must grow stronger in stronger in their beliefs in order to hold out against increasingly powerful obstacles.

Regardless of whether your Main Character changes or not, how does he or she get there? Does your character simply flip a switch at the end of the story? Or does he or she grapple with and grieve over the issue right up to the moment of truth?

In fact, there are a quite a number of different dramatic pathways by which a Main Character can arrive at the moment of truth. The more you have in your writer’s bag of tricks, the more dramatic variety you can bring to your characters’ journeys. Let’s look at a few of your options….

1. The Steady Freddy

This kind of Main Character starts out with a fixed belief about the central personal issue of the story. Act-by-Act, Scene-by-Scene, he gathers more information that leads him to question those pre-held beliefs. His hold on the old attitude gradually weakens until, at the Moment of Truth, he simply steps over to the other side – or not. This kind of character slowly changes until he is not committed to either his original belief or the alternative. It all comes down to which way the wind is blowing when he ultimately must choose one or the other.

2. The Griever

A Griever Main Character is also confronted with building evidence that his original belief was in error. But unlike Steady Freddy, this character suffers a growing internal conflict that starts to tear him apart. The Griever feels honor-bound or morally obligated to stick with his old loyalties, yet becomes more and more compelled to jump ship and adopt the new. At the end of the story, he must make a Leap of Faith, choosing either the old or the new, with such a balance created that there is not even a hint as to which way would ultimately be better.

3. The Weaver

The Weaver Main Character starts out with one belief system, then shifts to adopt the alternative, then shifts back again, and again, and again…. Like a sine wave, he weaves back and forth every time he gathers new information that indicates he is currently in error in his point of view. The intensity of these swings depends upon the magnitude of each bit of new information and the resoluteness of the character.

4. The Waffler

Unlike the Weaver, the Waffler jumps quickly from one point of view to the other, depending on the situation of the moment. He may be sincere but overly pragmatic, or he may be opportunistic and not hold either view with any real conviction.

There are also two kinds of characters who change, but not really.

5. The Exception Maker

This character reaches the critical point of the story and decides that although he will retain his original beliefs, he will make an exception “in this case.” This character would be a Change character if the story is about whether or not he will budge on the particular issue, especially since he has never made an exception before. But, if the story is about whether he has permanently altered his nature, then he would be seen as steadfast, because we know he will never make an exception again. With the Exception Maker, you must be very careful to let the audience know against what standard it should evaluate Change.

6. The Backslider

Similar to the Exception Maker, the Backslider changes at the critical moment, but then reverses himself and goes right back to his old belief system. In such a story, the character must be said to change, because it is the belief system itself that is being judged by the audience, once the moment of truth is past and the results of picking that system are seen in the dénouement. In effect, the Backslider changes within the confines of the story structure, but then reverts to his old nature AFTER the structure in the closing storyTELLING.

An example of this occurs in the James Bond film, “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service.” This is the only Bond film in which 007 actually changes. Here, he has finally found love which has filled the hole in his heart that previously drove him. He resigns the force and gets married. End of structure. Then, in additional storytelling, his wife is killed by the villain, and his angst is restored so good ol’ James Bond can return just as he was in the next sequel.

Variations….

Each of these kinds of characters may be aware that he or she is flirting with change or may not. They may simply grieve over their situations, or just breeze through them, not considering how they might be changing in either case. Each of these characters may arrive at a Leap of Faith where they must make a conscious decision to do things the same way or a different way, or each may arrive at a Non-Leap of Faith story conclusion, where they never even realize they have been changed, they just are. The important thing is that the AUDIENCE know if the Main Character has changed or not. Otherwise, they cannot evaluate the results of the dramatic argument.

There are many ways to Change or Not to Change. If you avoid getting stuck in a simply linear progression with a binary choice, your characters will come across as much more human and much more interesting.

Become a Master Storyteller:

Describe characters from a story you have written or are planning to write, whether they change or remain steadfast, and what aspect of their natures is changed or not. Then, select one of the basic character arcs that are listed above for each character. Finally, describe the events or interchanges with other characters that mark key points along the selected arc for each character.