Throwing Characters into a Plot
Story plots come in all shapes and sizes. A good example is a classic mystery where the author feeds the reader scraps of information and challenges them to uncover hidden motivations. How about the spy novel with endless twists, betrayals, and hidden agendas? Or the classic love story where person X meets person Y, and they fall in love? It sounds like a lot of fun to read.
Writers have been spinning exciting tales for centuries and often use the three-act method. This plot type has three distinctive phases which entice the reader to be excited for the next chapter. A flawless example is The Shawshank Redemption. The first third of the film is a profound introduction to the main character, then acceptance of being in prison, and finally, the big escape.
So, let’s dive into creating a classic plot structure. Umm… I have no idea how to write one, nor do I have a formal approach. Instead, I begin my stories by introducing basic characters. This familiarizes the readers with their backgrounds and sets a foundation for any possibility. Then, I throw my characters into an unpleasant encounter.
This sudden immersion forces my characters to react, struggle, understand, grow, and pick up the pieces. Then, I throw them into another bad situation, followed by another. By the end of the book, they are beaten up and confused. Only then do I allow my readers to enjoy a nice epilogue.
You probably think this would result in a dumpster fire of action, and you are correct. The plot would be just a string of random disconnected obstacles. Fortunately, I discovered a powerful tool, the outline, to show me that these disconnects do not make a good story.
My process begins with a basic plot. An example idea would be the plot of Star Wars. “Alright, this is a space adventure. How about a kid rescues a princess and destroys a big spaceship?” As you can see, there are no details.
In my outline, after introducing the characters, I hit them with the first big issue and then connected it to the next. After a few rounds, I will have developed a story with a beginning, middle, and end. Then, I take a high-level view. My main objective at this stage is to have a good flow between one scene and the next.
During my examination, I ensure the obstacles are realistic, engaging, and enjoyable for the reader. If an aspect is not interesting, I think up a new one and see how that works. Let’s examine a typical young adult plot.
A boy attends school, and one day, a bully transfers from another school and threatens to kill him. Umm, this has been done to death. (Yes, that was a pun.) Alright, what if the bully was female? Interesting. Now, how does the plot look? Good, not excellent. What if the girl’s father was a mobster, and she was only being a bully to impress him? Go on. What if she confessed to the boy and agreed to have a secret pact? So, during their “fights,” the boy would fake getting hurt. Getting better. What if they fall in love? Getting even better. And what if the father finds out? To practicable. What if the school principal found out the fights were fake? This is developing into an interesting story.
Yet, you might spot a problem. At this stage, my original plot was geared toward a typical bully story. To fix the issue, I would have to change the outline to reflect the new story type. Because it is in the outline stage, little effort is required.
I am not alone in this story-developing method. The movie Die Hard with Bruce Willis is a good example of throwing a character into a bad situation. It begins with a typical police officer attending an office party. Then he gets hit by every possible enemy, bad luck, and mistakes. The result is a whirlwind of action, yet it is all connected to a fluid story.
Now, I want to take a moment to appreciate this specific plot. In one scene, the villain smashes a table, and a woman remarks, “That man looks really pissed,” and his wife responds, “He’s still alive. Only John (Bruce Willis’s character) drives somebody that crazy.” Only a character who has been bashed up by extreme hardship can give that line justice. That is the power of my method, and I can prove it. Can you visualize Darth Vader, Superman, Hannibal Lecter, or Forrest Gump reacting that way? Nope.
I enjoy reading plots that begin with a normal person and find it difficult to relate to an outlandish character who glides through epic danger without consequences. It is natural for James Bond to parachute from an airplane onto a speeding train and then have a cup of tea.
Such a feat would require infinite confidence, skill, luck, training, and support. Even a well-trained special forces soldier would have difficulty landing on a speeding train. So how could I possibly write about it? My mind does not work that way.
Here is what I can imagine. I have flown in an airplane and imagined what it would be like if there were a problem. (I am being thrown into a bad situation.) I can create a character who must use a parachute to survive because they were forced into a life-and-death situation. But landing on a speeding train? That is a bridge too far.
I am trying to point out that a person can go from a known place to an unknown place. Right now, I am at my comfortable desk. How do I get from here to jumping out of a plane? Other bad situations would have to happen first, like being kidnapped. Darth Vader blowing up a planet? I will never go to a different galaxy, be a supervillain, or wake up on the Death Star.
For 99% of us, our daily lives are boring. The 1% exception is people with action careers, such as firefighters, emergency room doctors, soldiers, or police. A good plot should start with this 99% character and then hit them with bad situations.
During my plot creation phase, I do my best to push the plausibility levels to the extreme, yet I try to link strongly to reality. This includes having a 500-year-old woman, characters that go to a distant planet, and a colossal spy operation. Do 500-year-old women exist? Biology says no, but how do I tell my readers such an impossible lie? I begin with an average guy and throw little events at him until the other character reveals she is 500 years old. It is a slow, deliberate, careful path to the impossible.
I imagine most authors would scoff at my approach and ease into a well-structured plot. Poof, a 500-year-old woman, walks into the room. Next scene. This disconnection from reality makes such powerful characters like Darth Vader and James Bond possible. While I sometimes enjoy these bold fantasy arcs, I cannot write one.
You’re the best -Bill
August 12, 2020 Updated April 05, 2025
Writers have been spinning exciting tales for centuries and often use the three-act method. This plot type has three distinctive phases which entice the reader to be excited for the next chapter. A flawless example is The Shawshank Redemption. The first third of the film is a profound introduction to the main character, then acceptance of being in prison, and finally, the big escape.
So, let’s dive into creating a classic plot structure. Umm… I have no idea how to write one, nor do I have a formal approach. Instead, I begin my stories by introducing basic characters. This familiarizes the readers with their backgrounds and sets a foundation for any possibility. Then, I throw my characters into an unpleasant encounter.
This sudden immersion forces my characters to react, struggle, understand, grow, and pick up the pieces. Then, I throw them into another bad situation, followed by another. By the end of the book, they are beaten up and confused. Only then do I allow my readers to enjoy a nice epilogue.
You probably think this would result in a dumpster fire of action, and you are correct. The plot would be just a string of random disconnected obstacles. Fortunately, I discovered a powerful tool, the outline, to show me that these disconnects do not make a good story.
My process begins with a basic plot. An example idea would be the plot of Star Wars. “Alright, this is a space adventure. How about a kid rescues a princess and destroys a big spaceship?” As you can see, there are no details.
In my outline, after introducing the characters, I hit them with the first big issue and then connected it to the next. After a few rounds, I will have developed a story with a beginning, middle, and end. Then, I take a high-level view. My main objective at this stage is to have a good flow between one scene and the next.
During my examination, I ensure the obstacles are realistic, engaging, and enjoyable for the reader. If an aspect is not interesting, I think up a new one and see how that works. Let’s examine a typical young adult plot.
A boy attends school, and one day, a bully transfers from another school and threatens to kill him. Umm, this has been done to death. (Yes, that was a pun.) Alright, what if the bully was female? Interesting. Now, how does the plot look? Good, not excellent. What if the girl’s father was a mobster, and she was only being a bully to impress him? Go on. What if she confessed to the boy and agreed to have a secret pact? So, during their “fights,” the boy would fake getting hurt. Getting better. What if they fall in love? Getting even better. And what if the father finds out? To practicable. What if the school principal found out the fights were fake? This is developing into an interesting story.
Yet, you might spot a problem. At this stage, my original plot was geared toward a typical bully story. To fix the issue, I would have to change the outline to reflect the new story type. Because it is in the outline stage, little effort is required.
I am not alone in this story-developing method. The movie Die Hard with Bruce Willis is a good example of throwing a character into a bad situation. It begins with a typical police officer attending an office party. Then he gets hit by every possible enemy, bad luck, and mistakes. The result is a whirlwind of action, yet it is all connected to a fluid story.
Now, I want to take a moment to appreciate this specific plot. In one scene, the villain smashes a table, and a woman remarks, “That man looks really pissed,” and his wife responds, “He’s still alive. Only John (Bruce Willis’s character) drives somebody that crazy.” Only a character who has been bashed up by extreme hardship can give that line justice. That is the power of my method, and I can prove it. Can you visualize Darth Vader, Superman, Hannibal Lecter, or Forrest Gump reacting that way? Nope.
I enjoy reading plots that begin with a normal person and find it difficult to relate to an outlandish character who glides through epic danger without consequences. It is natural for James Bond to parachute from an airplane onto a speeding train and then have a cup of tea.
Such a feat would require infinite confidence, skill, luck, training, and support. Even a well-trained special forces soldier would have difficulty landing on a speeding train. So how could I possibly write about it? My mind does not work that way.
Here is what I can imagine. I have flown in an airplane and imagined what it would be like if there were a problem. (I am being thrown into a bad situation.) I can create a character who must use a parachute to survive because they were forced into a life-and-death situation. But landing on a speeding train? That is a bridge too far.
I am trying to point out that a person can go from a known place to an unknown place. Right now, I am at my comfortable desk. How do I get from here to jumping out of a plane? Other bad situations would have to happen first, like being kidnapped. Darth Vader blowing up a planet? I will never go to a different galaxy, be a supervillain, or wake up on the Death Star.
For 99% of us, our daily lives are boring. The 1% exception is people with action careers, such as firefighters, emergency room doctors, soldiers, or police. A good plot should start with this 99% character and then hit them with bad situations.
During my plot creation phase, I do my best to push the plausibility levels to the extreme, yet I try to link strongly to reality. This includes having a 500-year-old woman, characters that go to a distant planet, and a colossal spy operation. Do 500-year-old women exist? Biology says no, but how do I tell my readers such an impossible lie? I begin with an average guy and throw little events at him until the other character reveals she is 500 years old. It is a slow, deliberate, careful path to the impossible.
I imagine most authors would scoff at my approach and ease into a well-structured plot. Poof, a 500-year-old woman, walks into the room. Next scene. This disconnection from reality makes such powerful characters like Darth Vader and James Bond possible. While I sometimes enjoy these bold fantasy arcs, I cannot write one.
You’re the best -Bill
August 12, 2020 Updated April 05, 2025
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