How to Structure Your Novel from Beginning to End
You’re writing your novel. You come up with scene after scene, completely absorbed by the whole thing. On and on you go, until wham….
You start sinking in the quicksand of the muddy middle. Also known as the muddle.
Nothing comes to mind anymore. You don’t know how the rest of the story unfolds. You don’t even know why you’re wasting your time writing this shit.
Does this sound familiar?
I don’t know about you, but I’ve struggled with this so many times in the past. It’s not fun.
Thankfully, I was able to get through it. And so can anyone.
Getting stuck in the middle of your novel might be a sign that you’re struggling with story structure.
Once you fix that, everything will flow seamlessly from beginning to end. Never will you be helplessly adrift in the vast chaos of the muddle, wondering what the fuck comes next.
The beginning, the middle, and the ending
Stories are about change. Positive or negative.
The status quo must change by the time the story ends. If the protagonist is a coward at the beginning, he should be more courageous by the end.
The framework that maps out the entire flow of the story, playing out the series of events, twists and turns is known as story structure. It’s the engine driving a story from Point A (the beginning) to Point Z (the end).
There are as many story structures as there are writers. The most common, and perhaps the oldest of them all (in Western literature), is the Three-Act Structure. Other types include the Hero’s Journey, Freytag’s Pyramid, Save the Cat, Dan Harmon’s Story Circle, the Fichtean Curve, and the 7-Point Story Structure.
So yeah. A whole lot. Each one is unique, however, at their very core, they all share the same three parts.
The beginning, the middle, and the ending.
Also known as the hook, the build, and the payoff.
What exactly does that look like in an actual novel?
Say you’re writing a 100,000-word novel (or any length really), the first 25% of the book (25,000 words) is the beginning, the next 50% (50,000 words) is the middle, and the last 25% (25,000) is the ending.
25:50:25
Of course, the math is seldom perfect, however, many novels roughly follow this pattern.
You know, something like 19:55:26 or even 30:53:17. As I said, not perfect.
But a good novel has a clear beginning, a middle, and an end.
The beginning introduces the protagonist and promises the reader what is to come. It hooks you right away, and you immediately want to learn how things are going to change for the protagonist.
The middle illustrates how the protagonist navigates the series of challenges life hurls at him. Depending on how he handles these challenges, we learn more about the strength of his character and how he changes for the better or worse.
The ending resolves all the conflicts in the story. The promises of the beginning finally pay off.
Anyone who’s ever tried to write a novel knows how demanding it can be. If you’re not prepared, it will utterly drain your will to exist, and I’m not even exaggerating. Thankfully, story structure simplifies the whole process.
To get from the beginning to the ending, five cardinal moments must play out throughout the story. Generally, it’s called the five-act structure, and they’re superimposed in every type of story structure out there, although they’re probably known by different names.
At Story Grid, they are called the Five Commandments of Storytelling:
1. The inciting incident
2. The progressive complication
3. Crisis
4. Climax
5. Resolution
Inciting Incident
The inciting incident kicks the story in motion. It’s the event that suddenly changes the status quo, upsetting the life balance of the protagonist.
Without the inciting incident, there’s no reason for the story to begin. Nothing has forced the protagonist to act, therefore things will continue to remain the same. In effect, there’s no story. At least, not one worth reading.
A poor farm boy called Aldan lives with his parents in a small village. Life is simple but he’s content. In the morning he herds their goats on the hills. At noon, he practices his archery skills. In the evening, he goes to the Village Square to dance with his friends. This is his life, every single day. The End.
You’d probably want a refund if you read a novel like that.
While such a life may be nice in reality, reading it in a story is boring as hell. Why? Because nothing is happening. No one fucking cares about his daily routine written in fifty-thousand words or more.
People read books to escape into a world of wonder. It’s pretty much a crime to bore them. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.
Now imagine something goes wrong while Aldan is herding his goats on the hills.
Suddenly, a more powerful kingdom invades his peaceful village.
Something has upset the balance of the protagonist’s life. How will he react to his new reality?
Will he run away or stay back and fight? Will he sell out his people to their enemies? Will he be killed? Ah, he’s the protagonist, so maybe not. But you must admit there are so many questions. The story could go in any direction, but we know one thing for sure; nothing will be the same anymore.
The inciting incident can happen in two ways. Through active choice of the character or when something sudden, random, or unexpected happens.
Aldan’s example is the latter. The invasion is an unexpected event, not something he chose or did.
If perhaps, he comes across a cave in the hills while tending to his goats, and then resurrects a three-thousand-year-old warlock by reading out a spell engraved on the walls, that’s an inciting incident caused by the active choice of the character.
In both cases, they’re pretty drastic as far as inciting incidents go but they don’t always have to be this grand cataclysmic event to set the story in motion.
A simpler event like a breakup or getting fired works well as an inciting incident. It may not be as dramatic as an invasion, but it still has the power to completely alter the course of the protagonist’s life.
The Progressive Complication
Now that the story has kicked off, things have to happen. But it’s not just anything. Certainly not easy stuff. You know, all roses and rainbows.
Instead, throw him into chaos, then escalate the problem every time he tries to solve it. This is the progressive complication — things become even more complicated as the story progresses.
And now let’s go back to Aldan for a second.
The warmongers have invaded his home. From the hills, he sees his village going up in smoke.
People running amok in fear. Screams of terror everywhere.
The warriors in his village are trying to fight back. But they’re no match for their enemies.
Clasping his bow and arrow, Aldan runs straight to the village to defend his people. Wow, he’s pretty brave, you think. Now you’re rooting for him. But you also know things won’t be easy.
Aldan has been practicing his archery since he was four. He’s eighteen now, and he’s a freaking beast with the bow and arrow. Three arrows at a time, he shoots with divine precision, taking out three enemies at with each shot until he runs out of arrows.
Without a second thought, he grabs a sword from the cold hands of a dead man, although he’s not as skilled with a sword. Yet, the boy will not give up.
Unfortunately, their enemies have several powerful warlocks in their army. Warlocks are rare in their world, and there isn’t one in Aldan’s village.
Completely out of luck, Aldan is wounded, exhausted, and defeated. Even worse, he watches in horror as his parents are beheaded.
He’s consumed by a deep sense of sorrow, which eventually morphs into unadulterated rage, the likes of which he’s never felt before. Succumbing to his madness, he awakens Fury Magic.
Yes, Aldan is a warlock, and yes, he rains fury on his enemies based on mere instinct.
Unfortunately, he’s a mere novice going up against an army of trained warlocks. They easily subdue and capture him back to their kingdom where he’s imprisoned in a warlock camp to be trained as a warlock dog.
He fails each time he tries to escape and is punished severely for it.
But he never stops trying. Even when his oppressors try to break his spirit using all kinds of torture, they don’t succeed. The warden of the warlock camp gets tired of Aldan’s shit. To extinguish Aldan’s rebellious spirit completely, he challenges the boy to a battle. A battle of magic and combat.
If Aldan wins, he’ll get his freedom. If he loses, well, he’ll be dead.
It sounds like a great opportunity for our protagonist to win his freedom. There’s just one tiny problem. The warden is the most powerful warlock in the whole kingdom. And he’s just as vicious as he’s masterful.
Shit. Aldan is well and truly fucked, isn’t he?
Look, I don’t mean to get into the entire story I just made up on the spot while writing this article. I simply want to show how the story builds up from that one event (the inciting incident), continuously devolving into even worse conditions until all hope is lost.
As writers, we often develop a deep bond with our characters. We love them so much that we don’t want to see them suffer. So what do we do? We make their life easier. I used to do that too, and let me assure you it’s a recipe for disaster. Your story will be boring if your characters don’t go through shit.
Here’s a rule of thumb:
Be a fucking sadist when it comes to the well-being of your characters, especially the protagonist. This is how you ensure that a reader never puts your book down until The End.
Crisis
As the tension of the story builds, the protagonist must come to a metaphorical crossroad where he must make a difficult choice. His choice will reveal his character — exactly what kind of person he is.
The point in the story where the protagonist is faced with two hopeless choices is the crisis. He must either choose between the best of two bad choices or between two good choices that are hard to reconcile.
Don’t make it easy for him. If there’s an easy or predictable way out, then what’s the point? It’s not even worth choosing.
Dig deep and create a powerful crisis for your protagonist.
Aldan’s crisis arises when the warden challenges him. He must now choose between fighting the warden for his freedom or refusing to fight and continue to be enslaved.
Here’s what makes this a tough choice.
Though he’ll gain his freedom if he wins, he’s more likely to lose. And losing means death.
On the other hand, if he chooses not to fight, he’ll live to fight another day when he’s stronger. But losing the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to fight for his freedom may cause him a world of pain. To him, that’s even worse than death.
What the hell should he do?
Climax
The climax is the exact moment the protagonist makes a choice presented by the crisis.
If the crisis asks a question, the climax is the active answer the protagonist gives.
Should Aldan accept the warden’s challenge or not? That is the question — the crisis.
How he answers that question is the climax. And regardless of his choice, we’ll know exactly what kind of person Aldan is.
He could publicly accept the warden’s challenge, daring to fight him before the entire kingdom, even if it kills him.
This choice reveals Aldan’s character and worldview:
1. He’s brave.
2. He trusts in his strength and power.
3. He’d rather die than be a slave.
4. He has nothing to lose.
If he rejects the challenge, that will also say a lot about his character:
1. He’s smart enough to know when to fight. Maybe he has a better strategy that doesn’t involve dying.
2. He doesn’t trust the enemy. What if they refuse to give him his freedom even if he wins?
3. Maybe he’s found someone he truly cares about in the camp and doesn’t want to die yet.
4. Or maybe, he’s afraid to die. Who isn’t?
While the protagonist’s choice might be unpredictable to the reader, it shouldn’t be surprising at all. After all, the reader knows the protagonist’s strengths and weaknesses, therefore instinctively knows if his choice is within character or not.
Making the protagonist do something out of character will feel off. Unbelievable. If you’ve established that Aldan is a very proud person who will defend his honor no matter how stupid it is, then it won’t be surprising at all if he accepts the warden’s challenge.
However, if he’s learning to be less emotional, and more strategic, then it makes sense if he rejects the warden’s challenge, so he can find a better opportunity.
Whatever the climax is, it must happen on-page and never off-page. Don’t simply allude to it or summarize it or whatever. Instead, flesh out the scene on the page where everyone can see it.
Resolution
Resolution is about resolving conflicts. If something was promised, it must be delivered.
Promises and payoffs. That’s the entire premise of storytelling.
The resolution shows the effect of the climax in the story. Not only does the protagonist’s circumstance change but so does his worldview.
If Aldan chooses to fight the warden, what happens then?
Will he win or die? And no matter the outcome, will his bravery inspire his comrades to fight against the system? Or will their oppressors be even more ruthless?
Every conflict raised in the story must be resolved. It doesn’t have to be a happily ever after, but it must end in a way that makes sense and meets expectations. You know, the kind of ending where the reader doesn’t scratch their head, wondering what happened to a particular character or plot point.
With your story meeting these five cardinal moments — from the inciting incident to the resolution — writing a novel worth reading shouldn’t be impossible.
Happy writing.
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