The Traditional 3-Act Structure: Part 2

Much of what a writer does when crafting a story is based on instinct, weaving in the rise and fall of action. The same can be said about a developmental editor. Every story is different, so there is no strict formula that can be applied.

Tools like the traditional 3-act structure are only diagnostic tools, designed to help us understand why something might not be working.

In the first post of this 3-Act Structure series, we introduced the importance of this structure as a whole, and began breaking it down. We looked at the first act (The Setup) and the first point of No-Return. Today, let's get into the nitty-gritty of Act 2.

The Traditional 3-Act Structure: Part 1

Most writers have a natural instinct when it comes to story structure and plot. We do so much reading, or we see so many movies, that understanding pacing is just part of our makeup. Even new writers, still learning their craft, have this instinct.

We know that if we have action scene after action scene, eventually we need to have a calm scene that gives us the chance to breathe. We know that there needs to be those moments of reflection, looking at what has happened in the past, but if we spend too much time dwelling on the past, that explosion will be needed to get things going again. And there will also be those moments when a character decides to risk all and just go for it—damned the consequences.

As writers, we follow a story structure with the instinct of knowing where the rise and fall in the action needs to be. However, when something is off in the pacing of a story, that's when all the discussions come out about one of countless number of models for story structure and the analytical tools associated with it.

As a developmental editor, it is my job to look at story structure and pacing from the macro and micro levels. If pacing is off, for whatever reason, I delve into the mechanics of a manuscript and tear that structure apart to find out why things just don't work. Much of what I do on this particular front is instinct, simply because every single story is different. However, there are some commonalities within the beats of a story, which has given rise to models like the traditional 3-act structure.

It's time to start dissecting the mechanics of some of these models, just so you, as a writer, can see why editors use them so often within our work.

Writing Accent into Fictional Writing

You have a character that comes from a particular region of the world. The people from this region tend to speak in a particular fashion. It's distinctive, and the moment anyone hears it, they instantly get a sense of the type of environment that the character came from.

It's only natural to want to put that into our writing. We want to immerse our readers into the world. We want them to experience it. Being able to imagine a character's accent is only part of that experience.

However, building accent into the written form is not a simple matter of slapping a few letters onto the page. Like everything else we do in writing, it takes careful thought and consideration.

Writing accent into your story could add the perfect color to your fictional world, but it could also turn into a reader's nightmare.

Why the Black Wolf?

Trick from the Editor’s Hat: The Top-and-Tail Edit

It doesn't matter how you look at it, editing is a BIG job. Any little tricks to help make things flow are always handy to have.

Here is just one of the many tricks that I employ when editing both my own and clients' writing, giving me a way to examine story flow.

The Top-and-Tail Edit

The idea behind a top-and-tail edit is that you examine the transitions between chapter and sections, looking at the last paragraph(s) of one chapter and reading the first paragraph(s) of the next. Everything in the middle is ignored. This is only looking at the transitions.

This particular idea is highly effective with the development of the cliff-hanger endings.

Breaking the Fourth Wall: A Literary Term Defined

A Classic Story with a Classic Writing Flaw

Dialogue forms a fundamental part of fiction writing. It's how the characters talk to one another—or how they don't talk—that provides insight into what is going on within a scene and what the characters might think about it. It's through dialogue that we can get the actual thoughts of other characters, not just the POV character. So much story often revolves around the dialogue.

However, when writing dialogue, many writers still new to the craft will fall back into an excessive use of dialogue tags. I have written about this some years ago, in the post Billy said... Diana said... In that post, I spoke about how it's not just the use of the word said that causes the issue. It's the over-excessive use of dialogue tags in general that can disrupt the flow of a story.

There are many writers and editors out there who will argue that using the word said isn't a problem. Even Stephen King says this. They rightly argue that our brains are trained to overlook the word said and move on. If you shift to the other dialogue tags (e.g., cried, shouted, bellowed, hissed, growled), our eyes are drawn to them, and we notice them.

This is all true, but the publishing industry as a whole is shifting away from the printed form (and I'm including eBooks as a printed form for this discussion). Audio books are taking a hold, giving people the ability to check out the latest book from their favorite author while they're out walking the dog. Whatever is on that printed page is directly translated to audio form, and the two ARE NOT the same.

Punctuation has a direct impact on this, bringing into question within editors' circles about how rigid we need to be with the punctuation rules. Whereas issues like the he-said-she-said fest become so obvious when read aloud.

Is my story too short?

Normally, when I have a conversation with someone about story length, it's because the writer has written an opus that needs to be trimmed down. This is often the result of too much backstory or unnecessary word building and character description that only distracts from the story as a whole. Trimming a story down is where I'm the queen. (Okay, I'll admit it... I overwrite my own stories in early drafts. I've developed the skills and techniques needed to trim word counts quickly, bringing a story back in line with where it should be.)

However, occasionally, I find myself having a conversation about how a story is actually too short based on the elements presented. There might be too many named characters. Or the setting plays too big of a role for the word real estate available. Or perhaps, there were too many twists and turns and not all the threads were adequately explored.

This is more often seen in shorter story forms, like short stories and novellas, and trying to explain the minimum word count needed to do a story justice is not an easy concept to fathom.

In episode 12.27 of the podcast Writing Excuses, Mary Robinette Kowal introduced an equation that she uses to work out how long a story should be based on the number of characters, number of locations and the number of MICE elements (and NO, I'm not talking about those little things that go squeak, squeak, or those devices that we click repeatedly when the computer refuses to respond). So, let's get to it and break the mathematics down.

Do you need to hire a developmental editor?

Once again, I have found myself privy to a debate about the merits of hiring editors. This time the focus was on developmental editors, and some of the comments... You have no idea how hard it was to bite my tongue and not go mental on social media.

Before I get too far down the track with this argument, I should remind my readers that a developmental editor looks at the story aspect of your manuscript. They will examine the structure, the character and plot development, the narrative voice, concepts of show vs tell, and all the nitty-gritty that goes with it. If you are looking at nonfiction (and not just creative nonfiction), a developmental editor still looks at structure, but they will examine the flow of information and the level of detail provided. Developmental editing is a huge job and the most important editing phase.

I have written about the stages of editing before, on numerous occasions, and still, I read far too many books that are lacking on the developmental editing front — both fiction and nonfiction. But I digress...

So... The comment that really got me riled up...

I quote:

"I was in a workshop with a literary agent ... she said she believed “all freelance editors were charlatins.” No joke. She wasn’t including copy editors in that group."

Okay, we'll ignore the fact that charlatans is spelled incorrectly. It was a comment made on social media, and even my phone spellchecker has failed me on numerous occasions. (Stupid autocorrect!) But the commenter in question also recommended that the writer who posed the original question about hiring developmental editors should seek an editor from Fiverr for all the good it would do them.

OMG, my eyes saw red. I so wanted to rip a new hole into the commenter for such remarks, but I would never do that on public social media. Nope, I turn such debates into a blog post instead. (Hmm... This could be a problem, but I'm doing it anyway.)

It's time to dispel some myths about what it is like working with developmental editors (myself included), and why I have made the decision to always hire a developmental editor for my personal writing projects.

Who cares what the chair is called?

A few months ago, I found myself in a conversation with other editors about a description that was given to a particular type of chair, asking whether people would actually know what a writer was referring to if they just used the name of the chair. There was a photo posted with the original post of some rusted chair that glided back and forth. You should have seen the comments that went back and forth about locality and age of editors. It was mad. Then I piped in, looking at the sample writing that was provided in the original post and the clunky description that was given to the chair.

In my comments, I provided a potential rework to the passage to smooth out the sentence flow and highlight the significance of the chair itself, but in my rework I had changed the name of the chair from glider to rocker. OMG, I was lynched, because apparently there is a big difference between a glider and a rocker.

My response to the lynch mob: Who cares what the chair is actually called? What matters is why the character is noticing it in the first place. (I think I actually wrote that on the forums too.) What is the significance of this chair, whatever it was called, to the plot?