Write Your Novel Step by Step
Step 1 – The Four Stages of Writing a Novel. This is the first in a new series of videos that are a companion piece to the book. In this step, you’ll learn a better method to carry you from concept to completion.
Author Archives: Melanie Anne Phillips
Dramatica: How We Did It!
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Over the years people have asked how we came up with such a behemoth of a theory. When I hit 60 I figured I better spell it all out before nobody ever knows! So here it is, step by step, epiphany by epiphany (try saying that five times fast) – the unedited unvarnished truth about Dramatica’s origins and the not-quite-right parents who gave birth to it.
When Narratives Collide
What happens when narratives collide? Fictional stories are generally about a single primary narrative perhaps surrounded by a number of satellite narratives that function as sub-plots. But in the real world, every person is the main character in his or her own narrative and what’s more, everyone has many sub-narratives orbiting around them as well, all trying to co-exist in the same narrative space.
The end result is that narratives are continuously bouncing off, absorbing, merging, fracturing, shattering and even altering one another through tidal pull. Think of simple narratives as solar systems and complex ones as small galaxies. The rules that govern how they interact are just as complicated as celestial mechanics. Still, just as one can intuitively appreciate the transit and cycles of the sun, moon, planets and the sphere of constellations, one can also grasp the impact of one narrative upon another as they cross paths in transit.
Let us consider the different manners in which two narratives might interact, beginning with the gentlest of influences and progressing toward cataclysmic mutual annihilation.
Imagine narrative space as the topical material of a fiction or the subject matter of life – all the people, places, things and events of interest or concern to us. As our interests grow and change, we pass through narrative space much as an object passes through the universe.
Along the way, we encounter new subject matter – like dust and gas – that is gathered into our growing fictional or personal narrative, adding to its mass and increasing its complexity.
From time to time, however, we encounter another system similar to our own, with a sun and planets – a complete narrative that is not our own but is also moving through the narrative space picking up mass and using it to generate internal energy.
In fact, from a distance this other narrative cannot be perceived in its component parts, but only as a single point. Initially it is merely noticed, but has no discernible affect upon us, our course, and our internal activities.
As our narrative closes the gap with the other, we each begin to feel a pull. If we are headed on a collision course, the pull merely accelerates our respective courses along the path they would have taken on their own.
If, however, we are not on a direct intercept with the other narrative, we begin to feel a force pulling us very slightly away from the path we intended to take. We are not likely to assign this discrepancy to the other narrative, for there are many narratives in our story universe and their collective impact is perceived by us as chaos.
But, as the error in our course establishes itself as a consistent force and is also noted to be growing in power, we begin to scan our surroundings to see if we can identify the source of the gravity that is warping our trajectory.
You see all this in stories as one character begins to fall under the influence of another, and you see it in real life as things start affecting our plans to the point we feel there is another agenda at work out there other than ours that is undermining or redirecting our efforts.
As the two narratives approach, they begin competing for the same resources. Since, like solar systems, narratives are made of story elements in a matrix, they are mostly empty space. They often move partially through each other in the same narrative space without any direct contact, like people moving in the same circles but not actually meeting as they are never in the same place at the same time. Yet each is affecting others in that narrative space, and therefore indirectly affecting one another.
Even if they never meet directly, depending on the relative sizes of the two narratives, one may become trapped in the influence of the other and begin to orbit it. Depending upon whether it is a circular or elliptical orbit, whether it is symmetrical or asymmetrical and the rotational rate of the captured narrative around its core, the orbiting narrative may be subjected to mild to extreme tidal pull. This may create everything from heating of the core (strong emotions) within the captured narrative to breaking it apart (as when a previously stable individual begins to act erratically and eventually snaps to become a lone wolf terrorist.
What’s more, the distance from the larger narrative that the captured narrative’s orbit describes determines whether it will fall in the sweet spot or Goldilocks zone and continue to thrive, or that the heat, energy or power from the master narrative will burn the life right off the slave or perhaps leave it too cold to continue as a narrative that can maintain its own sense of identity.
In a fictional narrative, a sub-narrative without an identity is simply a sub-plot, but if identity exists (as when an archetype or supporting character in a story has its own personal narrative) than the sub-narrative is hinged to the main narrative and what happens in the subordinate can affect what a character does the master. In other words, a character’s personal needs in his or her own story may cause that character to act in a way contrary to their assigned or expected role in the general narrative.
In real life, this effect leads to compromised individuals engaging in traitorous actions, or to petty thievery by employees in a company who can justify their actions according to overriding personal narratives. Of course, orbiting sub-narratives with identities can also lead to improved behavior or greater achievement by those who revolve around a celebrity or role model as well.
All of these effects, and more, are of the influential nature. But there is a far more impactful kind of interaction between narratives, and it will result in the alteration, complete remaking or possibly the complete annihilation of one or both of the converging narratives.
Though a narrative structure is mostly open space, every narrative has a core. In colder, stable narratives, the core is like a planet. In hotter, active narratives, it is like a sun. In fictional stories, the core is the Main Character – the one through whom the readers or audience experience the story first hand, through its eyes, as the other elements of the narrative revolve around it.
In real life, the core is the identity of a person, group, movement, political party, or even nation – anyone, any thing, or any organization that has organized itself into a narrative. When people come together in groups, each the center of his or her own narrative, they adopt within the group a role in orbit of the group narrative.
As groups form, just as solar systems congeal around a star, people begin to gather around an idea, a concept. We see this in grass roots movements, and such narratives are intentionally created by companies to establish a corporate identity.
When two cores encounter one another, it is like stars, planets, or a star and a planet colliding. If they are both hot and star-like, identities may just graze one another, leaving emotional scars, or a stronger personality may strip material from another, leaving behind an individual (or group) that is just a shell of its former self. We see this not only in broken people taken advantage of by an emotional charlatan to a business left destitute of resources due to corporate raiders, or a country suffering a brain drain.
Under some conditions, two narratives might merge with the cores becoming a single new identity through synthesis, as in a corporate merger. Or, the cores may become a binary system in which the identities revolve around each other, as in a marriage.
If one identity is vibrant and star-like, but the other is established and planet-like, the encounter usually ends in favor of the star, whose mass and influence is so much greater. In other words, you can’t fight city hall unless you become a star yourself.
But there is still the far more common situation in which worlds collide. When two established cores run into each other, even a glancing blow can be catastrophic, just as when two bull-headed people lock horns, set in their own ways, each supported by their own cadre of followers making up their respective narratives.
In such cases, depending on their relative sizes and the grit of the material that make them up, there will be earthquakes and fracturing within each narrative as they approach one another due to their respective gravitational effects.
Depending on the angle of collision, one may prevail at the expense of the other, or they might completely pulverize each other into fragments and dust (splinter groups and free radicals) which themselves may either become the seeds of a new core, or may be absorbed as raw materials within the narrative space in which a new narrative is forming around a completely different social core.
At this point we have outlined the key forces at work when narratives collide. As we can see, the laws of physics and psychology are resonant, which is not surprising when you adopt the perspective that are minds are a system generated by our brains, which operate according to the same physical laws.
To understand narrative psychology, keep watching the skies.
Coming Apart At The Themes
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Even when a story has memorable characters, a riveting plot and a fully developed genre, it may still be coming apart at the themes.
Theme is perhaps the most powerful, yet least understood element of story structure. It is powerful because theme is an emotional argument: It speaks directly to the heart of the reader or audience. It is least understood because of its intangible nature, working behind the scenes, and between the lines.
When mis-
In this article, we’ll separate the elements of theme by their dramatic functions so we can understand the parts. Then we’ll learn how to combine them together into a strong message that is greater than the sum of the parts.
What do we really mean by the word, “theme?” In fact, “theme” has two meanings. The first meaning is not unlike that of a teacher telling a class to write a theme paper. We’ve all received assignments in school requiring us to express our thoughts about “how we spent our summer vacation,” or “the impact of industrialization on 19th century cultural morality,” or “death.” Each of these “themes” is a topic, nothing more, and nothing less. It functions to describe the subject matter that will be explored in the work, be it a paper, novel, stage play, teleplay, or movie.
Every story needs a thematic topic to help hold the overall content of the story together, to act as a unifying element through which the plot unfolds and the characters grow. In fact, you might look at the thematic topic as the growth medium in which the story develops. Although an interesting area to explore, the real focus of this article is on the other element of theme.
This second aspect of theme is the message or premise of your story. A premise is a moral statement about the value of or troubles caused by an element of human character. For example, some common premises include, “Greed leads to Self-
A story without a premise seems pointless, but a story with an overstated message comes off as preachy. While a premise is a good way to understand what a story is trying to prove, it provides precious little help on how to go about proving it. Let’s begin by examining the components of “premise” and then laying out a sure-
All premises grow from character. Usually, the premise revolves around the Main Character. In fact, we might define the Main Character as the one who grapples with the story’s moral dilemma.
A Main Character’s moral dilemma may be a huge issue, such as the ultimate change in Scrooge when he leaves behind his greedy ways and becomes a generous, giving person. Or, the dilemma may be small, as when Luke Skywalker finally gains enough faith in himself to turn off the targeting computer and trust his own instincts in the original Star Wars movie (Episode IV). Either way, if the premise isn’t there at all, the Main Character will seem more like some guy dealing with issues, than an example in human development from whom we can learn.
Traditionally, premises such as these are stated in the form, “This leads to That.” In the examples above, the premises would be “Greed leads to Self Destruction,” and “Trusting in Oneself leads to Success.” The Point of each premise is the human quality being explored: “Greed” in the case of Scrooge and “Self Trust” with Luke.
We can easily see these premises in A Christmas Carol and Star Wars, but what if you were simply given either of them and told to write a story around them? Premises are great for boiling a story’s message down to its essence, but are not at all useful for figuring out how to develop a message in the first place.
So how do we create a theme in a way that will guide us in how to develop it in our story, and also sway our audience without being overbearing? First, we must add something to the traditional “This leads to That” form of the premise. Beside having a thematic Point like “Greed” we’re going to add a Counterpoint – the opposite of the point – in this case, “Generosity.”
Arguing to your audience that Greed is Bad creates a one-
To create such an argument, follow these steps:
1. Determine what you want your story’s message to be
We all have human qualities we admire and others we despise. Some might be as large as putting oneself first no matter how much damage it does to others. Some might be as small as someone who borrows things and never gets around to returning them. Regardless, your message at this stage will simply take the form, “Human Quality X is Bad,” or “Human Quality Y is Good.”
If you are going to create a message that is passionate, look to what truly irks you, or truly inspires you, and select that human quality to give to your Main Character. Then, you’ll find it far easier to come up with specific examples of that quality to include in your story, and you will write about it with vigor. This is your chance to get up on the soapbox. Don’t waste it on some grand classic human trait that really means nothing to you personally. Pick something you really care about and sound off by showing how that trait ennobles or undermines your Main Character.
As a last resort, look to your characters and plot and let them suggest your thematic point. See what kinds of situations are going to arise in your story; what kinds of obstacles will be faced. Think of the human qualities that would make the effort to achieve the story’s goal the most difficult, exacerbate the obstacles, and gum up the works. Give that trait to your Main Character, and you’ll be pleasantly surprised to see it take on a life of its own.
Of course, you may already know your message before you even get started. You may, in fact, have as your primary purpose in creating the story the intent to make a point about a particular human quality.
No matter how you come up with your message, once you have it, move on to step 2.
2. Determine your Counterpoint.
As described earlier, the Counterpoint is the opposite of the Point. So, if your story’s message is “Being Closed-
Note that we didn’t include the value judgment part of the message (i.e. “Good” or “Bad”) as part of the point or counterpoint. The idea is to let the audience arrive at that conclusion for themselves. The point and counterpoint simply show both sides of the argument. Our next step will be to work out how we are going to lead the audience to come to the conclusion we want them to have.
3. Show how well the Point does vs. the Counterpoint.
The idea here is to see each of the two human qualities (point and counterpoint) in action in your story to illustrate how well each one fares. To this end, come up with as many illustrations as you can of each.
For example, in A Christmas Carol, we see scrooge deny an extension on a loan, refuse to allow Cratchet a piece of coal, decline to make a donation to the poor. Each of these moments fully illustrates the impact of the thematic point of “Greed.” Similarly, in the same story, we see Fezziwig spending his money for a Christmas Party for his employees, Scrooge’s nephew inviting him to dinner, and Cratchet giving of his time to Tiny Tim. Generosity is seen in action as well.
Each instance of Greed propagates ill feelings. Each instance of Generosity propagates positive feelings. As the illustrations layer upon one another over the course of the story, the emotional argument is made that Greed is not a positive trait, whereas Generosity is.
4. Avoid comparing the Point and Counterpoint directly.
Perhaps the greatest mistake in making a thematic argument is to directly compare the relative value of the point and counterpoint. If this is done, it takes all decision away from the audience and puts it right in the hands of the author.
The effect is to have the author repeatedly saying, “Generosity is better than Greed… Generosity is better than Greed,” like a sound loop.
A better way is to show Greed at work in its own scenes, and Generosity at work in completely different scenes. In this manner, the audience is left to drawn its own conclusions. And while showing Greed as always wholly bad and Generosity as always wholly good may create a rather melodramatic message, at least the audience won’t feel as if you’ve crammed it down its throat!
5. Shade the degree that Point and Counterpoint are Good or Bad.
Because you are going to include multiple instances or illustrations of the goodness or badness or your point and counter point, you don’t have to try to prove your message completely in each individual scene.
Rather, let the point be really bad sometimes, and just a little negative others. In this manner, Greed may start out a just appearing to be irritating, but by the end of the story may affect life and death issues. Or, Greed may be as having devastating effects, but ultimately only be a minor thorn in people’s sides. And, of course, you may choose to jump around, showing some examples of major problems with Greed and others that see it in not so dark a light. Similarly, not every illustration of your Counterpoint has to carry the same weight.
In the end, the audience will subconsciously average together all of the illustrations of the point, and also average together all the illustrations of the counterpoint, and arrive at a relative value of one to the other.
For example, if you create an arbitrary scale of +5 down to –
Then, you do the same with the counterpoint. Generosity starts out as a +4, then shows up as a +1, and finally ends up as a +3. This makes the statement that Generosity is Good. Not the end-
At the end of such a story, instead of making the blanket statement that Greed is Bad and Generosity is Good, you are simply stating that Generosity is better than Greed. That is a lot easier for an audience to accept, since human qualities in real life are seldom all good or all bad.
But there is more you can do with this. What if Generosity is mostly good, but occasionally has negative effects? Suppose you show several scenes illustrating the impact of Generosity, but in one of them, someone is going to share his meal, but in the process, drops the plate, the food is ruined, and no one gets to eat. Well, in that particular case, Greed would have at least fed one of them! So, you might rate that scene on your arbitrary scale as a –
Similarly, Greed might actually be shown as slightly Good in a scene. But at the end of the day, all of the instances of Greed still add up to a negative. For example, scene one of Greed might be a –
This approach gives us the opportunity to do some really intriguing things in our thematic argument. What if both Greed and Generosity were shown to be bad, overall? By adding up the numbers of the arbitrary scale, you could argue that every time Greed is used, it causes problems, but ever time Generosity is used, it also causes problems. But in the end, Greed is a –
Or what if they both added up Good in the end? Then your message might be that Generosity is the greater of two goods! But they could also end up equally bad, or equally good (Greed at –
In fact, both might end up with a rating of zero, making the statement that neither Greed nor Generosity has any real impact on the situation, in the end.
Now, you have the opportunity to create dilemmas for your Main Character that are far more realistic and far less moralistic. And by having both point and counterpoint spend some time in the Good column and some time in the Bad column over the course of your story, you are able to mirror the real life values of our human qualities and their impact on those around us.
Avoiding the Genre Trap
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Introduction
A common misconception sees genre as a fixed list of dramatic requirements or a rigid structural template from which there can be no deviation. Writers laboring under these restrictions often find themselves boxed-in creatively. They become snared in the Genre Trap, cranking out stories that are indistinguishable from a whole crop of their contemporaries.
In fact, genre should be a fluid and organic entity that grows from each story individually. Such stories are surprising, notable, memorable, and involving. In this article, you’ll learn a new flexible technique for creating stories that are unique within their genres.
How We Fall Into the Genre Trap
The first step in escaping from the Genre Trap is to understand how we fall into it in the first place. Consider how wrapped up you become in the details of your story. You slave over every plot point, struggle to empathize with every one of your characters, and perhaps even grieve over the effort to instill a passionate theme.
The problem is, you become so buried in the elements of your story that you lose sight of what it feels like as a whole. So while every piece may work individually, the overall impact may be fragmented, incomplete, or inconsistent. To avoid this, we fall back on “proven” structures of successful stories in a similar genre. We cut out parts of our story that don’t fit that template, and add new sections to fill the gaps. We snip and hammer until our story follows along the dotted lines.
And lo and behold, we have fallen into the genre trap – taking our original new idea and making it just like somebody else’s old idea. Sure, the trappings are different. Our characters have different names. The big battle between good and evil takes place in a roller rink instead of a submarine. But underneath it all, the mood, timber, and feel of our story is just like the hundred others stamped out in the same genre mold.
A New Definition of Genre
Rather than thinking of your story as a structure, a template, or a genre, stand back a bit and look at your story as it appears to your reader or audience. To them, every story has a personality of its own, almost as if it were a human being. From this perspective, stories fall into personality types, just like real people.
When you meet someone for the first time, you might initially classify them as a Nerd, a Bully, a Wisecracker, a Philanthropist, or a Thinker.
These, of course, are just first impressions, and if you get the chance to spend some time with each person, you begin to discover a number of traits and quirks that set them apart from any other individual in that personality type.
Similarly, when you encounter a story for the first time, you likely classify it as a Western, a Romance, a Space Opera, or a Buddy Picture. Essentially, you see the personality of the story as a Stereotype.
At first, stories are easy to classify because you know nothing about them but the basic broad strokes. But as a story unfolds, it reveals its own unique qualities that transform it from another faceless tale in the crowd to a one-of-a-kind experience with its own identity.
At least, that is what it ought to do. But if you have fallen into the Genre Trap, you actually edit out all the elements that make your story different and add others that make it the same. All in the name of the Almighty Genre Templates.
How to Avoid the Genre Trap
Avoiding the Genre Trap is not only easy, but creatively inspiring as well! The process can begin at the very start of your story’s development (though you can apply this technique for re-writes as well).
Step One – Choosing Genres:
Make a list of all the Stereotypical Genres that have elements you might want to include in the story you are currently developing. For example, you might want to consider aspects of a Western, a Space Opera, a Romance, and a Horror Story.
Step Two – Listing Genre Elements:
List all the elements of each of these genres that intrigue you in general. For example:
Western – Brawl in the Saloon, Showdown Gunfight, Chase on Horseback, Lost Gold Mine, Desert, Indians.
Space Opera – Time Warp, Laser Battle, Exploding Planet, Alien Race, Spaceship Battle, Ancient Ruins.
Romance – Boy Meets Girl, Boy Loses Girl, Boy Gets Girl, Misunderstanding alienates Boy and Girl, Rival for Girl throws out Misinformation, Last Minute Reveal of the Truth leading to Joyful Reunion.
Horror Story – Series of Grizzly and Inventive Murders, The Evil Gradually Closes in on the Heroes, Scary Isolated Location, Massive Rainstorm with Lightning and Thunder.
(Note that some genre elements are about setting, some about action, and some about character relationships. That’s why it is so hard to say what genre is. And it is also why looking at genre, as a story’s Personality Type is so useful.
Step Three – Selecting Genre Elements:
From the lists of elements you have created, pick and choose elements from each of the genres that you might like to actually include in your story.
For example, from Western you might want Lost Gold Mine, Desert, and Indians. From Space Opera you might choose Spaceship Battle, Exploding Planet and Alien Race. Romance would offer up all the elements you had listed: Boy Meets Girl, Boy Loses Girl, Boy Gets Girl, Misunderstanding alienates Boy and Girl, Rival for Girl throws our Misinformation, Last Minute Reveal of the Truth leading to Joyful Reunion. And finally, from Horror Story you might select Scary Isolated Location, Massive Rainstorm with Lightning and Thunder.
Step Four – Cross Pollinating Genres:
From this Master List of Genre Elements that you might like to include in your story, see if any of the elements from one genre have a tie-in with those from another genre.
For example, Indians from the Western and Alien Race from the Space Opera could become a race of aliens on a planet that share many of the qualities of the American Indian. And, the relationship between the boy and the girl easily becomes a Romeo and Juliet saga of a human boy colonizing the planet who falls in love with an alien girl.
Step Five – Peppering Your Story with Genre Elements:
Once you’ve chosen your elements and cross-pollinated others, you need to determine where in your story to place them. If you are stuck in a Genre Trap, there is a tendency to try and get all the genre elements working right up front so that the genre is clear to the reader/audience.
This is like trying to know everything there is to discover about a person as soon as you meet him or her. It is more like a resume than an introduction. The effect is to overload the front end of the story with more information than can be assimilated, and have nowhere left to go when the reader/audience wants to get to know the story’s personality better as the story unfolds.
So, make a timeline of the key story points in your plot. Add in any principal character moments of growth, discovery, or conflict. Now, into that timeline pepper the genre elements you have developed for your story.
For example, you might decide to end with a massive spaceship battle, or you could choose to open with one. The information about the Alien Race being like the America Indians might be right up front in the Teaser, or you could choose to reveal it in the middle of the second act as a pivotal turning point in the story.
Because genre elements are often atmospheric in nature, they can frequently be placed just about anywhere without greatly affecting the essential flow of the plot or the pace of character growth.
As you look at your timeline, you can see and control the reader’s first impressions of the story genre. And you can anticipate the ongoing mood changes in your story’s feel as additional elements in its personality are revealed, scene-by-scene or chapter-by-chapter.
What about Re-writes?
Not everyone wants to start a story with genre development. In fact, you might want to go through an entire draft and then determine what genre elements you’d like to add to what you already have.
The process is the same. Just list the genres that have elements you might wish to include. List the elements in each that intrigue you. Select the ones that would fit nicely into your story. Cross-Pollinate where you can. Pepper them into your existing timeline to fill gaps where the story bogs down and to reveal your story as a unique personality.
Summing Up the Sum of the Parts
Genre is part setting, part action, part character, and part story-telling style. Trying to follow a fixed template turns your story into just another clone. But by recognizing that genre is really a story’s personality type, you can make it as individual as you like. And by peppering your elements throughout your story’s timeline, you will create first impressions that will capture your reader or audience and then hold their interest as your story’s one-of-a-kind personality reveals itself.
Flight Recorder of the Subconscious
A real life example that just occurred:
In the kitchen, I began singing the theme song from the 1965 old west comedy “Cat Ballou” starring Jane Fonda and Lee Marvin. Upstairs, Teresa (upon hearing this) inquired why I was singing such an obscure song.
My initial answer was that I had no clue. But, curious now myself, I invoked my subconscious flight recorder. This is a mental process I learned as a child wherein I am able to play back, in reverse, the subconscious elements which led to a conscious thought or unconscious action.
It is a handy skill, though not unique to me. Teresa, for example, is also able to do this, and though I have never actually inquired of anyone else as to whether this is possible for them as well, I assume a great number of people have learned to do it.
In this particular case, just before I started singing that theme, I had been looking at the bottle of medication we are giving to our kitty, Clarice, for an upset stomach. It makes her mouth foam, and we have come to refer to it as her goo.
Also, I was considering posting a picture I took some years ago of our home in the mountains which, due to the dark wood exterior, pine trees, and corn growing in front was very reminiscent of the old west – striking me as such in impression, even though I did not consciously consider this.
And so, I was thinking about “cat goo” in the just prior context of the old west feel of the photograph. My subconscious mind, like everyone’s, is always trying to understand the situation by seeking patterns of comparatives with experience; it is a survival trait that allows us to anticipate trouble and recognize potential benefits.
In the context of the old west, the nearest pattern in my experience that matched “cat goo” was the sound-alike, Cat Ballou, and my subconscious responded by triggering me to start singing the theme song, thereby alerting my conscious mind to the found pattern match.
And so, from this simple example, we can understand a basic process of the mind that we all employ constantly and unbidden as part of our survival instinct. Clearly one might apply this knowledge to perceive in their actions and reactions, initiations and responses, a mechanism that can both explain and, with some training, be directed, much as one might direct a lucid dream through practice.
And in writing, a clever author might present his or her readers or audience with the subconscious elements that lead to a character’s unknowing motivations or afterwards to explain why a character acted as it did.
Creating Characters from Scratch
Write Your Screenplay Step By Step – Now for Kindle
Write Your Screenplay Step by Step
From the introduction::
If you are looking for a method to get your screenplay written, this book will take you step by step from concept to completion. Simply follow the instructions and by the time you are finished, you will have written your script. At the end of the process, you’ll have a fully developed story filled with memorable characters, a riveting plot, powerful theme, and a new spin on your genre. Each step asks you to consider or perform just one task that moves your screenplay a step closer toward being a finished script. In this way, no step is ever confusing or too complex and yet your story is ever growing and evolving as you go. Some steps are informational, and others direct you to write, re-write, or work out a concept for your story. The first step is an informational one and outlines the overall method, which is divided into four key stages in the story development process.
About the author:
Melanie Anne Phillips is the author of Write Your Novel Step By Step, creator of StoryWeaver Step By Step Story Development Software, and co-creator of the Dramatica Theory of Story Structure. For the past quarter of a century she has taught thousands of writers from around the world, including award winning writers, producers and directors.
Write Your Screenplay Step By Step – Now in Paperback
Write Your Screenplay Step by Step
From the introduction::
If you are looking for a method to get your screenplay written, this book will take you step by step from concept to completion. Simply follow the instructions and by the time you are finished, you will have written your script. At the end of the process, you’ll have a fully developed story filled with memorable characters, a riveting plot, powerful theme, and a new spin on your genre. Each step asks you to consider or perform just one task that moves your screenplay a step closer toward being a finished script. In this way, no step is ever confusing or too complex and yet your story is ever growing and evolving as you go. Some steps are informational, and others direct you to write, re-write, or work out a concept for your story. The first step is an informational one and outlines the overall method, which is divided into four key stages in the story development process.
About the author:
Melanie Anne Phillips is the author of Write Your Novel Step By Step, creator of StoryWeaver Step By Step Story Development Software, and co-creator of the Dramatica Theory of Story Structure. For the past quarter of a century she has taught thousands of writers from around the world, including award winning writers, producers and directors.
Write Your Novel Step By Step (12)
The Expected Characters
In Step 11 you made a list of all the characters explicitly named in your revised synopsis. Now list all the characters that your synopsis doesn’t specifically name, but that would almost be expected in such a story. Include any additional characters you intend to employ but didn’t actually spell out in your synopsis. Again, list them by role and name if one comes to mind.
Example:
Suppose a story is described as the tribulations of a town Marshall trying to fend off a gang of outlaws who bleed the town dry.
The only specifically called for characters are the Marshall and the gang, which you would have listed in Step 10. But, you’d also expect the gang to have a leader and the town to have a mayor. The Marshall might have a deputy. And, if the town is being bled dry, then some businessmen and shopkeepers would be in order as well.
So, you would list these additional implied characters as:
Gang Leader
Mayor
Deputy (John Justice)
Businessmen
Shopkeepers
Don’t list every character you can possibly imagine – we’ll expand our cast in other areas in steps to come. The task here is no more than to list all those characters most strongly implied – the ones that the plot or situation virtually calls for but doesn’t actually name.
Add these new characters below those in you listed in Step 11. Then, in the next step we’ll add some more.
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