How Structure Freed Me

          I think in pictures. My ideas come to me in images. Maybe I should have been an artist, not a writer. Had I found another art teacher like the one that inspired me in high school, I might have. Maybe. Probably not. The fact is words have always fascinated me. So, while my mind conjures pictures, some other instinct or gifting compels me to bring them to life with words.

          Some of my youngest memories are of telling stories, of using words in an attempt to show people what was in my mind. A few kind souls actually listened. Or at least didn’t tell me to be quiet. Probably they were just skilled at appearing interested while going about their own thinking and doing.

          Those early attempts to manipulate words were long-winded because I was trying to include everything I saw in those mind-images. I’d not yet developed the discernment to “get to the point”. In many cases, I didn’t even know the point. The point, for me, was to share what was in my mind.

          I still tell stories. Some are short, and to the point; others ramble, as my best friend puts it, “around the world”. It all depends on my audience and my purpose for sharing. When talking with my best friend, we often want to know all those ancillary details and tangents; when talking to the dryer repairman, though, I only need share those facts relevant to the dryer, not my theories on laundry care, fashion or gardening. I still often give too much information, but I’ve learned to tailor my “story” to my audience.

          As I read Larry Brooks’ guest post last week on finding the story, I realized that’s exactly what story architecture does. I teaches me to “get to the point”. The point of the story, the point of the events, the point of each scene. I also realized learning story architecture and incorporating it into my writing would not abolish my method of “round the world” writing. It would enhance it. It would refine it. It would complete it.

          True to form, this realization came to me in a series of images, memories from my years in Toastmasters. Toastmasters is an international club, with local chapters, dedicated to helping its members become better speakers and leaders. Each member is encouraged to practice public speaking in every meeting. There are structured assignments and lessons you can work through, opportunities to lead various portions of the meetings, and plenty of times to practice extemporaneous speaking.

          When I first joined Toastmasters, I spent hours preparing for my 5-7 minute speeches. I wrote out the speech, practiced it over and over, refined it and practiced it some more. Eventually (rather quickly, in fact), that process changed. Each speech started with a nebulous point or fact or story I wanted to tell and a few notes, maybe a bulleted list, maybe not. I knew I needed at least one practice run, where my focus was finding the points, nothing else. That act of pretense sets me deep into the process and brings to light those points I most want to share. Each practice speech revealed different tangents, different aspects of the point I could share. After an initial preparation practice, I refine my bullet list of points, practice some more, refine and practice until the I’m confident I can present “the point” succinctly and clearly. I still had to practice, but I understood my process and learned to easily reproduce it.

          My lightbulb moment! That practice-understand-refine-practice method is how I do everything. Of course it is going to show up in my writing. I see it clearly in small items I write, like this blog, not so clearly in my novel-length attempts.

          (I’m not talking editing here. Editing is taking what’s written and making it clear and polished. It can only be done after the story or article is created. I’m talking about the creation process. Creating the story, not how that story is told. My creation process is a continually refining dump-refine-create-dump/eliminate-refine-create cycle I start out immersed in the creation process. I create events and backstory and character interaction, I revel in all the possibilities. Within that creating time, though, I’m also trying to mold and move those characters, events and interaction toward a satisfying resolution.)

          A novel is huge. I so often get lost in the possibilities and lose sight of “the point” (if I ever knew it). Until now.

          Story architecture, as taught by Larry Brooks, gives me structure. Structure to tame my unwieldy, novel-length creations. Structure that makes sense of the backstory and character interactions. Structure that allows me to further refine, not abandon, my creation process. By using what he calls mileposts to guide me, I can play with one section of the story. I can experiment with ways to show my character as an orphan, knowing the goal is to propel her into the wanderer phase. Or, when I envision a great scene where she succeeds spectacularly in a small goal, I know it must happen in the warrior section of the story. Maybe even be the milepost scene that sends her there. So, far from discouraging me from my messy, but effective way of finding the story, Larry has given me a valuable tool to further refine my creation process.

          Further proof, if I needed it, that structure brings freedom and routine encourages spontaneity.

          Larry will be sharing more about story architecture each Tuesday this month. Be sure to come visit. We have a special promotion planned.