There is a natural instinct that exists among most writers about where to put the tension beats in, where things need to change, when the reader needs a break from all the action. That is because most writers read a lot, or watch a lot of movies, or... Well, we just spend a lot of time in a fictional world somewhere. When we do that, we do start to see the patterns, even if we don't understand the formula being applied to those stories.
The traditional 3-act structure is just one of countless number of models out there on story structure. Over the past few posts, we have been breaking down the traditional 3-act structure into the nitty-gritty, getting to the root of why it works the way it does.
In Part 1 of this series, we examined the elements of act 1, including the inciting event and the first transition point, what I called the first point of No-Return. In Part 2, we looked at the first half of act 2, heading into the midpoint, and we discussed what is meant by the A-story and the B-story.
In this, the final installment of this series, we're going to look at the final transition point for the manuscript and what the working components go into act 3.
The Traditional 3-Act Structure (Copyright © 2019 Judy L Mohr)
All-is-Lost and the Dark Night of the Soul — 65% mark to 75% mark
In the previous post, we defined the A-story and the B-story as the two main plots that drive the story forward, with the A-story being introduced during act 1 and the B-story coming in during the first half of act 2. The A-story centers around what the protagonist wants, whereas the B-story focuses on what the protagonist needs. The two plots will intersect at various times during act 2, but it will be towards the end of act 2 where the two plots collide. This collision is often marked by the all-is-lost moment.
Everything seems to be going well, with the protagonist finally making headway against the antagonist, but something fundamental happens that shakes the ground out from under the protagonist's feet. A mentor or someone important dies. A person they thought was a friend betrays them. An ex that the love interest has been pining over finally comes back, saying that they should have never left, breaking the protagonist's heart. Take your pick, depending on your story.
There are many different names for this sudden downward turn in the story that occurs near the end of act 2, but the all-is-lost moment is when the ethos that the protagonist has been working from is shaken and the foundations of their belief system no longer exist.
Fans of Star Wars: A New Hope (the original 1977 film) will recognize the all-is-lost moment in Obi-Wan Kenobi's death. Luke, Leia, and Solo are finally making headway, escaping from Darth Vader's grasp, but the death of Luke's mentor shakes him, giving him reason to believe that he can't do what the rebellion needs him to do. Luke heads into his dark night of the soul, and needs to reflect on how he has possibly failed. It is not until Luke comes to believe in himself again that we break into act 3.
Transition into Act 3
The transition from act 1 into act 2 is marked by a decision that the protagonist is leaving the status quo behind for good. The transition from the first half of act 2 into the second half of act 2 is marked by the decision to stop reacting to the events going on and becoming proactive. The transition into act 3 is mark by another decision to be made by the protagonist.
The second point of No-Return (as I call it) is the point when the protagonist knows exactly what needs to happen and they make the choice to leave all inhibitions behind and go for it—damned the consequence. Their life might be on the line, but they don't care. There are greater stakes at play and they'll do what they have to do for the desired outcome. Win or lose, the protagonist commits 100% to fighting against the antagonist, whatever form the antagonist might take.
The decision to move forward will always result from the time of reflection that the protagonist took during their dark night of the soul. As a consequence, the second point of No-Return is often closely tied to the all-is-lost moment.
Act 3 (The Climax and Resolution) — the final 25% of the manuscript
Act 3 has only two jobs:
- bring the story to its final climax
- and resolve any necessary loose ends.
This is the end of the story and what everything has been building to.
For the action thriller, this will be when the bad guy is eventually taken down, but not before blowing up a few buildings. In the mystery novel, the identity of the mastermind criminal is finally revealed, piecing all the clues together. In the romance, the hero and heroine can finally share their love.
Like the first act, there really isn't a formula for how this act paces out. That ultimate climax can occur anywhere during this act, including on the final page. Exactly how you chose to structure the climax and resolution parts of the story will be dictated by your story. However, there are a few things that you need to consider when it comes to reader expectations.
Twists and turns need foreshadowing.
During a story, clues as to what is happening need to be dropped along the way. You want those twists and turns to surprise the reader, but at the same time, you don't want to blindside them.
To quote Howard Taylor, "the end should be surprising, but inevitable." What he meant by this is that all the clues as to where a story is going should be there before you get to the end. The pieces of the puzzle might not fit like the reader had expected, giving them the surprise ending, but when the ending happens, the read should be left with this feeling that there was no other way for the story to end. It's surprising, but inevitable.
When it comes to story structure, no new information should be dropped on the reader during the final act. Everything should have been eluded to or foreshadowed in some fashion prior to the start of act 3.
For the mystery story, this doesn't mean that you need to reveal exactly who the murderer is, but all the clues needed should be in place or hinted at. It's possible that the final piece to the puzzle was actually something that was mentioned all the way back in act 1, but at the time that the vital clue was mentioned, it was seemingly unimportant, so quickly forgotten by the reader. During the final act, that clue could be brought up again, and the reader is surprised, because they already had the answer, but totally missed it at the same time.
In the thriller, it's all about taking the bad guy down, and finally being able to track that bad guy is the pieces of the puzzle that suddenly slot into place during act 3.
In the romance, the knowledge that the hero and the heroine will end up together is there from page 1—that is the defining characteristic of a romance—but how they confront their final obstacle will be the mystery revealed in the end.
If there is no hint as to the final twist before act 3 begins, when we get there, the reader feels cheated.
To take the crime novel metaphor again, this equates to the logic leap that some writers take when they write themselves into a corner and they didn't lay the clues beforehand.
"Oh, the butler killed the heiress. I know you thought the butler couldn't have done it, because you all thought that he was dead, but what I didn't tell you is that he was given a brain transplant when he got to the hospital. While he was in Frankenstein mode, he committed the dastardly deed. It's completely preposterous, and I know zero science fiction has been in this manuscript until now, but this is what happened."
Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but how many stories can you think of that you hated simply because the one piece of evidence that you needed to make it all work in your head was missing until the last page?
Unless you want grumpy reviews, just trust me on this one: foreshadow everything, including those final twists and turns.
Some resolution is needed, but there is such a thing as too much.
The ultimate climatic point can come anywhere during the final act. If you want, it can be on the final page. However, there is such a thing as too early for the peak of the story, and too much resolution.
When I watch the final installment of The Lord of the Rings in the cinema, I went a little batty at the final sequences. The story was over. Frodo had thrown the ring into the fires at Mount Doom. The world was saved. Then you come to the resolution which added at least another 30 minutes to the theatrical release (I think it added 45 minutes to the director's cut). It was black screen after black screen of one happy moment one after another. All the loose ends were being tied up, and when it was all over, I couldn't get out of my seat fast enough. (My husband tells me that I had actually grabbed my bag and jacket and started bounding up and down in my seat, and we still had at least another 15 minutes of screen time to go.)
But this is NOT the only time that I've experienced this enough-already feeling.
As a teen, while reading Strangers by Dean Koontz, I got to that final resolution chapter and got irritated as hell, because there was a description of what had happened to every single character in that story, and it wasn't short and sweet. It went on for page after page.
Confessor by Terry Goodkind concludes the Sword of Truth series, one of my favorite fantasy series. However, that finally wedding scene between Cara and Benjamin… Let's just say that Terry Goodkind writes awesome fight scenes, and his suspense levels are brilliant, totally getting the heart racing. The happy-happy-joy-joy moment… Yeah, he should have left that one well alone.
Yes, it is important to show your reader the aftermath. They have gone on this journey with the characters. They deserve to know exactly how this journey has changed the characters forever. But, if it is takes over 100 pages to describe the new status quo, you have a problem.
The aftermath resolution part of a story should be no more than 5% of the total story. For a manuscript that is 90,000 words, that equates to the final 4,500 words. Any more than that, you really are struggling to maintain the attention of your readers. They want to know what happened, yes, but your story actually concluded with the final climax.
The closing image is the last image your reader will remember.
There is an old saying: "what goes around comes around."
Within story structure, there is something satisfying in having a conclusion that is a mirror of the opening. It's not necessary, but it's always good to see exactly how the world has changed by using imagery that can be also found in the opening scene.
The earthquake disaster film might start with a panning shot of the Californian coastline, showing LA and possibly the Hollywood sign. However, the final image might show the same coastline underwater. The romance novel might start with the heroine eating a tub of ice cream, crying her eyes out after a really bad breakup, whereas the final image might have the heroine playing spoon wars with the hero as they both try to claim the ice cream. Or the crime novel might start with the discovery of the first body, and the ending might be the discovery of a different first body, launching you into an entirely different murder mystery.
This mirror image closing scene is by no means necessary, but if executed, it can add that little something extra to the reader experience.
Variations on the Traditional 3-Act Structure
There are an insane number of variations on the 3-act structure. That said, there are a few books that I highly recommend that discuss story structure and pacing.
The most renowned would be Save the Cat! by Blake Snyder. He had spent far too many years analyzing film structure, noticing a particular pattern to the beats within the movie, which he details in his book, including a list of 10 different story frameworks (that he calls genres) that almost any story can fit into. While the original book is designed for script writers, in 2018, Jessica Brody released Save the Cat! Writes a Novel, which transforms the classic Save the Cat! methodology into something more suitable for novelists, including shifting the beat point calculations into percentages (rather than minutes of screen time).
Story Engineering by Larry Brooks looks at the different competencies that a writer needs to master to consistently write good stories. Story structure is a huge part of it. In his book, he shifts the 3-act model into a 4-act model, dividing Act 2 into its two halves, marked by the midpoint. However, what makes his story structure so different is that he has added some beat points that are specific to the antagonist. He calls them the pinch points, where the true nature of the antagonistic force is reveal WITHOUT the filter of the protagonist.
Writing romance requires an understanding of the romantic beats that aren't found in other stories. Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes breaks down these romance beat points into a structure much like the 4-act model found in Story Engineering, but defines how the beat impact on the romantic pairing in the story.
The final book in this list is Creating Character Arcs by K.M. Weiland. In this book, Weiland examines the story structure as it relates to the character arc. She examines, in detail, the positive, negative and flat character arcs, explaining what should be happening to the character within each of the three acts. There is also a companion workbook available.
Here's hoping that with this final part in this series on the traditional 3-act structure that you can appreciate how intuitive, yet complicated, story structure can be. And here's also hoping that you now understand that though there might be a common structure to stories, every single story is different.