The 20 Common Patterns of Plot

(EDITOR'S NOTE: This article is OLD and OBSOLETE, written in the very earliest days of my investigations into cinematic plot patterns. As such, it is wholly inaccurate (and, as for many of the descriptions, far too vague). For an up-to-date list of the *16* (not 20) general plot patterns of American cinema and their various subtypes, go here. Or even better, pick up a copy of my book Screenwriting & The Unified Theory of Narrative, Part II: Genre, Pattern and the Concept of Total Meaning. The book not only lists all common plot patterns but provides detailed breakdowns of all 34 plot pattern type/subtypes with well-known cinematic examples. The article you are viewing now has been kept active simply as of record. - MWS 3/20)

I've been thinking about plot progression lately. You know, all that painful yet necessary stuff that must be written between the story’s beginning and its end.

For me, as well as most writers, this is always the hardest part about starting a new script. How the heck to I keep the audience's attention for the 75-100 minutes it takes to go from the story’s inciting incident to its climatic end? How can I keep the story developing, the momentum building, and the conflict escalating over that enormous stretch of time?

As usual, my search for answers began by analyzing of a large pool of successful films to see how they managed to do what they did. It look no more than a few minutes before I began to notice patterns emerging. All of the movies in my pool could be grouped by the structure with which their stories unfolded. The most surprising thing about this was that movies which seemed to have nothing in common on their surfaces nevertheless had plots which advanced in the exact same manner. So far, I have identified twenty groups to share.

(If you are eager to see these 20 Story Types right away, feel free to jump to the list below. Just make sure to return to the supporting information afterward so everything will make better sense.)

The first thing you may notice is that drastically different movies coexist within the same category. Star Wars, The Godfather, and Die Hard share a group. As do Iron Man, Shrek, and Schindler's List. Though to a casual viewer these films have little or nothing in common, they share the exact same pattern of plot. This suggests that a story's method of plot progression has absolutely no connection with genre or tone. Story type proves to be an independent factor, one that when combined with other factors such as genre, tone, and character selection, turn the story into a seemingly unique viewing experience.

I am aware that for centuries dramatists have created lists of “Nine Basic Story Types,” or “38 Types of Plot.” These lists always seem more like dusty old novelties than anything of practical use for a working writer. However, there is a practical use in the patterns I present below. This list may serve as an immense help when it comes to jump-starting a script from a mere story idea, to an outline, to an eventual finished draft. When most of us begin a new script, we start out with a premise, some main characters, a beginning, and (hopefully) an end. But the rest remains a gray, murky void. What must be done to develop the original idea into a fully-functioning narrative most appropriate for the chosen premise? By going through this list and finding the group that best fits your premise, you may get an idea on how the type of story you wish to tell tends to advance. Once you have a general idea about how your story type typically develops, the journey through that treacherous second act and into the third will become a much smoother path.

Please remember that story type is only one factor of what makes up an individual cinematic story. There is nothing cookie-cutter about following story types. You will notice that M. Night Shyamalan’s The Sixth Sense and Alexander Payne’s Sideways share the same story type. Are they shallow mirror-images of each other? Of course not. Other independent factors; such as genre, tone, individual character qualities, setting, and the details of each film’s premise; make each story individual and unique even though their plots follow a similar pattern under the surface.

What follows is by no means an exhaustive list. These are only the categories I have identified to date. Other categories may exist, and the inclusion of certain films in one category or another may remain debatable at current moment.

(NOTE: Citizen Kane proves to be an anomaly on this list. It fits into two groups, all mattering on how one chooses to view the plot. If one believes the main plot of Kane to be its frame story, in which the action is moved forward by a reporter's quest to find the meaning of Kane's last words (meaning the reporter is the story's protagonist), the plot fits into Group #10, The Simple Task Prolonged. If one considers the frame story to be mere gimmickry, and Charles Foster Kane to be the protagonist, then Kane fits into Group #13, The Rise & Fall.)

(EDIT [MWS Nov 2013]: Since writing the original version of this article, I have completed a year-long project involving the viewing of over 300 films for the purposes of identifying, among other things, each film’s plot pattern. I had three criteria for inclusion in this study. 1. The film must contain a “traditional” narrative. This means a protagonist-centered linear narrative aimed at a largely mainstream audience. In other words, the type of film Hollywood typically produces. I did not include nontraditional, “experimental,” or “art house” films because, by their very nature, these films eschew accepted norms of storytelling in favor of a discourse that values aesthetic means of expression over that of pure narrative. 2. The film had to be considered “good” by general public opinion. I realize there are a wide range of personal tastes and opinions (and there may be examples below of films you personally dislike), but you do not want to take screenwriting instruction from known bombs like a Batman & Robin or a Friday the 13^th Part XIII. 3. With the exception of a few dozen “classics” still considered successful by modern standards, the films must have been produced within the last fifty years.

Here are the results as relevant to this article: Of the 300+ films analyzed, nearly all fit snugly into one of the following twenty categories. Interestingly enough, the films found most dramatically successful, by both critics and popular opinion, were time and again those that followed their story patterns the closest. Other films that were not so easily categorized, or those that seemed to borrow traits from multiple categories, typically received a less enthusiastic response from both audiences and critics. From this, one might make the early conclusion that the more a film conforms its pattern, the more success it typically has with audiences. Movies that fail to follow their story type have lesser success. (This is still a vague theory at this time. More investigation is necessary for any conclusive statements.) In addition to this, my study has caused me to make two changes to the following list. First, a new story type has been added:“The Big Mission.” Second, I have decided to downgrade Type #3 “Reclaiming the Throne” to a sub-type of either Type #2 if its narrative is antagonism-driven, or Type #6 if protagonism-driven. [Nevermind the techno-babble here. It is beyond the scope of this article.] However, the “Reclaiming the Throne” type remains on this list for the sake of posterity.)

HERO-CENTERED PLOTS

These plots focus heavily on their protagonists. The protagonist's character arc is a primary area of attention.

1. An Innocent Abroad

(An innocent hero becomes unwillingly swept up in events beyond his or her control. For the story's first half, the hero is relatively passive, reacting as he or she is continually attacked by an outside force. At the midpoint, the hero seizes control of his or her destiny, taking decisive, willful actions to fight back. The character arc goes from weakness to strength.)

Star Wars

Almost Famous

The Godfather

Spider-Man (2002)

The Graduate

2. The Small Man (Woman) Rises

(A more or less unremarkable protagonist is thrust into a situation where he or she is expected to achieve greatness. The hero is chosen by an outside power to take part in this task, often against the protagonist’s will. The hero's first attempts are hampering by personal flaws, such as a lack of confidence, naivete, arrogance, or ignorance. Nurtured by supporting characters, later turning points present a series of tests where the hero must prove his or her worth, usually failing before finding success.)

Rocky

The Matrix

Kung-Fu Panda

Men in Black

The Silence of the Lambs

3. Reclaiming the Throne

(The protagonist is a person of former greatness who has fallen into disgrace or insignificance. He or she receives an opportunity to be great again. To do so, the protagonist must overcome old habits or insecurities, as well as the negative perceptions of others. Often allies are necessary to do this. Plot develops through story events that create gains and setbacks in the hero's pursuit of his or her goal.)

Austin Powers

Airplane!

The Cinderella Man

4. Taking on the Mantle

(You could call this type the “jerk conversion.” The protagonist starts as an antihero – someone who is capable of being a hero, yet is unwilling due to selfishness or some other personal flaw. Events invade the protagonist's life to force him or her to take on the role of a hero. Though the protagonist may face a large threat from a force of antagonism, the protagonist's biggest obstacle is his or her own resistance to personal change. Development occurs when story events force the protagonist to change his or her behavior bit by bit from self-centered to heroic in order to reach the main story goal.)

Iron Man

Schindler's List

Casablanca

Shrek

On the Waterfront

5. The Healing Narrative

(The protagonist starts the story somehow wounded. He or she is then given an objective that will heal this wound, whether the healing be literal, figurative, or symbolic. Though the hero is met with external conflict on his or her journey, the real moments of development occur whenever story events force the hero to overcome his or her resistance to healing, get out of his or her comfort zone, and face the unknown.)

The Sixth Sense

Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Ordinary People

Sideways

Good Will Hunting

6. Character Drive

(The protagonist begins the story unhappy with the quality of his or her life. The protagonist willfully chooses, without being directly forced by outside antagonism, to take actions that will make his or her life better. Conflict comes from the resistance encountered as the protagonist tries to alter the status quo. Development and escalation comes as the protagonist deals with obstacles in the way of change, as well as complications created by others who push back against the hero's efforts.)

American Beauty

Coming to America

Trainspotting

Office Space

Dances With Wolves

ANTAGONISM-CENTERED PLOTS

These plots are driven forward more by their forces of antagonism than their heroes. Often these heroes seem helpless in their struggle against story events. Many of these films contain villains more memorable than their heroes.

7. The Unstoppable Beast

(A “innocent” hero is targeted by some malevolent force, a force that will not stop until the hero is destroyed. Plot develops as each escalated attempt by the protagonist to escape the force is denied. Finally, in the end, the hero chooses to fight back.)

The Terminator

The Bourne Identity

A Beautiful Mind

No Country for Old Men

Sunset Boulevard

8. The Infecting Agent

(The protagonist's world is invaded by a malevolent force that slowly destroys everything around it, threatening the protagonist as a result. Development is caused by the hero's progressive attempts to escape or destroy the agent, set back by the agent's refusal to give in.)

Alien

The Dark Knight

Halloween

Casino

The Usual Suspects

The difference between an Unstoppable Beast and an Infecting Agent is the nature of the malevolent force's destructive actions. An Unstoppable Beast specifically targets the protagonist, but only the protagonist. It is a heat-seeking missile. The Infecting Agent, on the other hand, is like a virus. It poisons and destroys everything it encounters, not so much by will, but because that is its nature. The Terminator is out to kill Sara Conner, and only Sarah Conner. He only kills other people when they get in his way. Michael Meyers of Halloween, on the other hand, kills indiscriminately. He murders randomly because it is his nature to destroy life. The Dark Knight's Joker is a psychopath whose nature is to spread violence and insanity wherever he goes. Though he does target the Batman at a certain point in the narrative, he only does so only because it helps him achieve his true desire: throwing Gotham City into maximum chaos.

ACTION-CENTERED PLOTS

These plots focus less upon character and more on the developing course of the story action.

9. The Literal Journey

(The protagonist is tasked with traveling to a specific physical destination to perform a certain action once he or she arrives. Most of the story is made up of the journey itself. Plot development and escalation occur by means of obstacles continually thrown in the way of the protagonist's progress and the actions taken to overcome them. )

Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring

The Wizard of Oz

Apocalypse Now

Finding Nemo

Little Miss Sunshine

10. A Simple Task Prolonged

(The protagonist is given a task that seem simple at first, but at each turning point, the protagonist meets failure or delay, forcing him or her to continue the quest indefinitely.)
(EDITOR'S NOTE: This type has since been eliminated from the official list. Upon closer examination, it was found that all the titles below belong to other plot patterns. -- MWS 4/20)

Saving Private Ryan

Citizen Kane (the frame narrative)

The Hangover

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Superbad

11. The Snowball of Complication

(The protagonist receives a task that seems simple at first. However, at each turning point, the protagonist either learns through new information that the task is more complicated than previously understood, or an outside event complicates the problem into something much bigger and more complex than it was before. This pattern is often found often in wild comedies or stories with a large element of mystery.)

Back to the Future

Chinatown

The Big Lebowski

The Maltese Falcon

Blue Velvet

The Simple Task Prolonged and the Snowball of Complication start in a similar manner. However, the key difference is that with the Simple Task, the original task (the story problem) remains more or less the same from the start of the story to its end. This is a bit like if you went out late at night looking for a place to eat and must spend hours driving from one place to another because every place you visit is closed. In a Snowball of Complications, the original task constantly morphs into a larger and more difficult situation. This is like driving around searching for a place to eat, then running out of gas, then getting your wallet stolen, and then running afoul of the police because you no longer have your ID.

12. The Chess Match

(An already strong hero is put into conflict with an equally strong enemy. The plot advances as both sides take actions in direct opposition to the another. Turning points and escalation occur when acts by one party cause setbacks for his or her adversary, forcing that adversary to up the ante and strike back.)
(EDITOR'S NOTE: This type has also been eliminated. Raiders is a Snowball. Ferris is a Character Drive. Touch of Evil is a Yin/Yang. Like I said, it took a LOT of time and investigation to identify and organize the entire system -- MWS 4/20)

Raiders of the Lost Ark

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off

Touch of Evil

13. The Rise & Fall Narrative

(An ambitious hero achieves great success despite large personal flaws. The story's first half develops by way of various obstacles that attempt to block protagonist's path to greateness and the protagonist’s actions to overcome them. By the midpoint, the protagonist reaches the height of his or her success. After this point, either the protagonist becomes corrupted, or the protagonist's flaws catch up to him or her, causing things to fall apart. The remainder of the story develops from the protagonist's attempts to fight back against an escalating series of misfortunes, inevitably meeting failure due the protagonist’s inability to overcome his or her negative traits. In the end, the hero either meets destruction or gives up the life that brought him or her success. This is the opposite of The Small Man Rises.)

Goodfellas

Citizen Kane (flashback narrative)

Scarface

Patton

(500) Days of Summer

14. The Vengeance Narrative

(The story begins with the hero betrayed, often left for dead. The hero returns to enact justice on the betrayer. The first half develops by way of a series of willful steps taken by the protagonist to achieve this revenge. At the midpoint, the betrayer becomes aware of the hero’s efforts. The betrayer then complicates the action by taking action against the hero. From this point on, the plot resembles The Chess Match.)

Gladiator

Kill Bill

Batman (1989) (structurally, the film actually treats the Joker as the protagonist and Batman as the antagonist)

The Godfather II

15. Man (or Woman) Against Society

(The protagonist or an ally of the protagonist exists in a world where he or she treated unfairly. The source of this mistreatment comes not from a single character, but from society writ large. The protagonist takes action to make the story world treat him/her or his/her ally in the way they deserve. Plot develops as the members of society create obstacles to resist the protagonist’s efforts for change, forcing the protagonist to take larger actions to continue.)

Braveheart

Spartacus

Erin Brockovich

The Elephant Man

THX1138

The Big Mission

(The protagonist is tasked (voluntarily or involuntarily) with an elaborate, seemingly impossible mission. The size and significance of this mission requires extensive preparation and a large supporting team. The mission itself is the plot's main focus. Plot tends to follow a predictable pattern: a. assembling the team, b. planning the mission, c. the launch of the mission, d. a major turning point that threatens success, e. the mission's ultimate success or failure. Parts c & d are sometimes reversed.)

Inception

The Dirty Dozen

Oceans 11

The Sting

The Magnificent Seven

DUALIST PLOTS

Rather than focusing upon a single protagonist, these plots revolve around the relationship between two or more equally-weighted characters, both often considered the story’s protagonist.

16. The Spoiler

(A protagonist feels threatened by the addition of a new person or thing to his or her world. This is only a perceived threat. It has not yet, or may never, become a legitimate threat. Often, the rival’s threat exists only in the protagonist's imagination. Nevertheless, the protagonist takes action to undermine the new rival. The character arc follows a downward trajectory. Plot develops as the protagonist's actions meet failure or when events escalate the perceived threat’s danger. This forces the protagonist to commit more and more unheroic actions until either these actions come back to ruin the protagonist, or the protagonist chooses to surrender his or her fears and embrace the rival. The Spoiler works in the opposite fashion as Taking on the Mantle.)
(EDITOR'S NOTE: This patterned has been re-assigned as a subtype of the Infecting Agent.)

Amadeus

Election

The Magnificent Ambersons

Pushing Tin

17. Reconciled Rivals

(Two sympathetic characters, one or both the protagonist, come into a personality conflict. The plot develops as the two characters are forced into a situation where they must work together to achieve a mutually-desired goal. Obstacles and complications test their ability to cooperate, forcing the characters to first overcome their inter-personal conflicts before they reach success.)

Rain Main

When Harry Met Sally

The King’s Speech

Scent of a Woman

Knocked Up

18. Loving Alliance

(Not one, but two protagonists meet and find comfort in each other's companionship. Together, they find the help and strength they need to fight their individual problems. Plot develops as persons or events outside of the pair’s control take action to separate the alliance. The protagonists must then fight back to keep the alliance together. This type is usually found in “romance” or “buddy” stories.)

Lost in Translation

Titanic

Brokeback Mountain

Bonnie & Clyde

Slingblade

19. Yin & Yang

(These stories have dual protagonists – two main characters given equal dramatic weight that have diametrically opposed character spines. The opposed character spines make each protagonist the other’s antagonist. Plot usually develops in a push/pull dynamic similar to the Chess Match as both sides take action to achieve their story goals, threatening the other protagonist in the process. If only one of the two protagonists is heroic, the story ends with one side defeated. If both are heroic, both sides may resolve their conflict to unite against a common enemy.)

The Departed

Training Day

Fight Club

Heat

There’s Something About Mary

20. The Ensemble Narrative

(These stories typically have large casts and are composed of events whicht takes place over multiple separate, yet connected story planes. It is difficult, or impossible, to single out one character as the sole protagonist. Ensembles treat plot as several independent stories intertwined under a single premise, often giving each plane its own protagonist. Plot develops within each plane almost independently, with each storyline connected only by occasional shared events and the incidental influence of one plane’s turning point upon the events of another.) 

(EDITOR'S NOTE: The Ensemble Narrative has been removed from the list. It is not a plot pattern, but an alternative cinematic structure called the Multi-narrative. Plot patterns, however, are still found within multi-narratives. Each of the film's multiple protagonists follow their own lines of action, typically shaped by a simplified version of one of the patterns described above.)

Dr. Strangelove

Network

Magnolia

Traffic

Black Hawk Down

Tips to Becoming a Better Writer

It takes a long journey to become a cinematic storyteller of professional quality, and you need all the help you can get along the way. What follows are nine points of advice to build and strengthen your skills as you develop as a writer.

1. Write

This may seem painfully obvious, but it is surprising how many wannabe writers there are who never make the effort to put pen to paper and develop their skills. Writers write. Period. If you do not write, you are not a writer.

You can read every screenwriting book from cover to cover, but all that knowledge will be useless if it is never put into practice. You can read a book on how to swim, but you will still not know how until you actually get into the water.

It takes years of practice for a beginner to nurture their skills to a professional level. You will have to churn out five to ten completed screenplays before you can be confident in your grasp of the craft. This means that a dedicated storyteller must be disciplined. Set aside a few hours every day to write. No distractions. No excuses. Do you think professional athletes got to where they are on nothing but talent? No. They achieved success through practice and discipline. They practiced every day since childhood, and continue to practice every day despite being the best in the world.

At first, there will be resistance. After all, writing is hard. Even professional screenwriters are tempted to put off working to watch TV or goof around on the internet. But if you really want to be a writer, you must push through the resistance. No pain, no gain. Though there may be days when you do not want to write, sit there until you write something. Eventually, it will become a habit. You will want to write every day at your scheduled time. You will not be able to think about doing anything else. You may even get upset whenever something keeps you from writing. This is when you know you really are a writer.

2. Read

Reading makes you a better writer. And I don't just mean read books on screenwriting. Read anything and everything: fiction, nonfiction, novels, plays, newspapers, magazines. Absorbing the words of others will build your vocabulary, improve your communication skills, and enrich your creative grasp on the English language. Novels, short stories, and stage plays will expand your conception of story possibilities beyond the narrow, often-cliched forms seen in the movie theater. Their freer uses of plot, theme, and character may help break you out of confined ways of thinking.

Expand your sphere of knowledge into as many areas as possible. Botany, economics, swing dancing... It could all be useful. A storyteller cannot believably portray a world without first knowing about that world. Study history, science, politics. Explore other cultures and learn about persons different than yourself. Each field of study is an endless source of material to exploit in your own work. Real world knowledge provides a way out of the stereotypes we see in hackneyed television and movies and into a story world rich with layers of meaning and truth. The more you know, the more you can draw upon and the greater your artistic range.

3. Become an active viewer of movies

Don't just watch movies. Watch them through the eyes of a storyteller. Analyze how the story has been put together. Identify the Story Spine and the act breaks. How are the scenes constructed? How does the storyteller distribute information to create curiosity, surprise, and suspense? It is often necessary to watch a film twice to see how it works. Watch it the first time is to experience the story as a viewer. Watch it again to focus on the craft. Remember what you experienced watching the film on the first time around and then try to figure out what the storyteller did you make you think and feel that way.

If you happen to be watching a bad movie, don't just zone out. Figure out why it is bad. Where did the storyteller go wrong? How could it be made it better? If you were hired to fix the script, what would you change?

4. Read the screenplays of films you admire

The screenplays for thousands of produced films are available online. Many have also been printed in book form available in stores and libraries. One of the best ways to develop your skills is by studying the work of successful professionals. In certain ways, this is preferable to watching the movie itself, because it will allow you to focus upon the way the story has been put together on the page without the distractions of performances, camera, editing, or cinematography. You can read and reread each scene at your own pace. Reading screenplays is especially helpful when it comes to learning how to write action and description. This is the part of screenwriting that the audience never sees, and reading it on the page will help you to understand how to communicate information in a clear, active, and efficient manner which allows readers to see the potential movie unfold in their minds.

5. Get hired as a script reader.

Since production companies, agencies, and management companies receive dozens of spec screenplay submissions every week, they hire readers (usually unpaid college interns) to comb through these piles and separate the good from the bad, from the ugly. I graduated from one of the country's top film schools, but this was not where I learned about story. My real training came from reading hundreds upon hundreds of unproduced screenplays (most of them terrible). Readers not only read scripts, but also write “coverage”-- a short one-to-two page analysis of each submission that gives the executives, agents, or whomever a quick overview without having to read the script themselves. The wonderful thing about writing coverage is, rather than simply generating a general opinion about whether a script is good or bad, written coverage forces the reader to really think about what specifically is good or bad about each script, what reasons it is good or bad, and make possible suggestions on how to fix the problems. Coverage is basically homework for your personal education in screencraft.

Most of what you read will be crap. You may be surprised that 90% or more of the scripts won't be very good. Out of the remainder, 9 out of 10 still will not be good enough to be produced. However, there is a bright side. Poor scripts give an unparalleled opportunity to sharpen your own critical skills. Being required to criticize, dismantle, and diagnose screenplays written by someone other than yourself develops an inside-out understanding of screencraft. You will learn the right way to write a script by seeing all the ways a script can go wrong. You will recognize what readers like to see in a script by being a reader yourself. As you gain the capability to connect symptoms with causes, many of the more abstract notions contained on this blog will become clear to understand now that you can see the concepts in action.

Paid reader jobs are hard to get, and most unpaid gigs require college enrolled to receive course credit in lieu of payment. However, there are always plenty of small companies, film festivals, and screenplay competitions that need volunteers to sift through submissions. There are also a number of online communities where developing screenwriters post their work for feedback. If you are really serious about developing your critical abilities, you can even practice this on your own. Find unproduced screenplays online, or scripts to movies you have not yet seen and write your own mock coverage. Just make sure you get the most of it by putting your analysis in writing. No education is complete without homework.

6. Watch documentaries

Including documentaries in your screening habits can make you a far better writer than watching narrative films alone. Cinematic stories are supposed to be imitations of reality, but if a writer only watches movies, the only thing the writer will learn to imitate is other movies. Documentaries are also narrative dramas, but they show the drama of real life. Documentaries present real people struggling with real conflicts in situations which can be far richer and more complex than those found in fictional narratives. Like reading, documentaries will expose you to subjects that will broaden your knowledge and open you mind to new storytelling possibilities. They can vastly improve your ability to create rich, identifiable characters by presenting the intimate thoughts and actions of real human beings in situations that, at times, can be far stranger than any fiction.

7. Read biographies and autobiographies

Biographies and autobiographies of public and historical figures can help a writer better understand what it takes to create interesting, well-rounded, fully human characters. Persons of fame (or infamy) are usually seen by the public in only one dimension. We know only the superficial details told to us by the media or word of mouth. A rock star is just his/her songs, photos, and performances. A politician is just the policies he/she supports. An actress is just the roles she has played. But biographical works allow us to see these people in multiple dimensions. We learn the backstory that made this person who they are. We find how they achieved what they have done, what drove them to do it, and the struggles they faced along the way. If the work is autobiographical, we are allowed to go even deeper into character, learning the intimate thoughts, emotions, needs, and fears behind the actions which made the person famous. A storyteller needs to understand his or her characters with the same level of intimacy. Discovering the complex tangle of psychological impulses behind public personas will help writers understand what must go into creating characters who are equally fascinating.

8. Make an effort to understand human psychology

A writer cannot create believable human behavior on screen without first understanding it in real life. Most people cannot understand why other people do what they do. Some of us don't even understand ourselves. Stiff, flat, unnatural characters are the result of a writer who lacks the ability to empathize -- that is, to see the world through the eyes of persons different from themselves. A great storyteller should be able to take the viewpoint of any character at any time; regardless of gender, race, culture, age, or sexual orientation. He or she must be able to occupy dozens of different minds at a time, each with their own unique way of seeing the world.

A basic understanding of human psychology can help a writer empathize with any type of person. It can give the ability to predict how any given person will react in any given situation. It can explain how the experiences, traumas, wants, needs, and fears found in a person's past make them who they are today and continue to influence their actions in the future. Stories, after all, are about people. They explore humanity. That makes storytellers anthropologists. We have to study our subjects to know what makes them tick.

9. Write more.

Writing is not easy. It is not glamorous. It is arduous labor. The amount of time and dedication it takes to become a success guarantees that only the strong will survive. This is why the first and foremost quality any writer must have is a genuine LOVE of writing. A real writer does not write for money (though money is nice). Nor does he or she write for fame (few ever attain it). A real writer writes because he or she wants to write. Needs to write. There are ideas deep down inside the writer that he or she must communicate to the world. A real writer couldn't possibly imagine him/herself doing anything else.

It is this passion alone that will get you through the growing pains of the long years it takes to grow from beginner to pro. You have to want it.

Scribble on.

Motivationally Speaking

“Feeling and longing are the motive force behind all human endeavor and human creations.”
- Albert Einstein

“All actions are judged by the motive prompting them.”
- Muhammad

Vague writing is bad. Vague character motivations are even worse. Poor motivation turns what could be good characters in flimsy shells whose actions appear to the audience as random, arbitrary, illogical, or completely fake.

You hear actors ask “What's my motivation?” What they mean is they do not understand why their characters do what they do, either because there is not enough information in the script or from a lack of communication with the director. Actors cannot believably imitate human behavior until they understand the actions of their characters from a psychological standpoint.

To create believable, lifelike characters that actors and audience alike can understand, a storyteller must first understand the basics of human behavior. To help, I have broken down human behavior as it pertains to character action into three simple rules.

1. No human being performs any action without a motive.

Now, let me first define 'motive,' since for some it has gained unintentional negative connotations. Some think of a 'motive' as a bad thing thanks to phrases like 'ulterior motive' or the 'motive of the crime.' The word 'motive' itself does not imply anything sneaky or underhanded. Instead, it comes from the same root as the word “motion.” A motive is a force that causes movement. As it pertains to behavior, a motive is the reason why someone chooses to move into an action.

No action taken by any person, regardless of how simple or mundane, is done without a good reason. No one walks across the room for the sake of walking. They do so because they expect to reach something at the end of their trip. Or to get a better look at something. Or to burn half a calorie. Or whatever. No one talks just for the sake of talking. (Although it may seem like some people do.) We only bother to waste the precious energy to speak when we have a need to communicate something, or wish to affect another person, or because we want attention, or at the basest level, relieve the social awkwardness of standing around with others in silence. An action without a reason behind it is senseless. Anyone who acts without reason is labeled a schizophrenic.

No choice is random. Your choice of clothing today was not random. You had a motive behind what you chose to wear. Maybe you chose the sweatpants because you want to be comfortable. Maybe you chose against the sweatpants because you will be going out in public and want to fit in. Maybe you chose to dress flashy because you want attention. Maybe you picked that shirt because you think it makes you more appealing to the opposite sex.

But, if every action we take begins with a motive, what is it about that particular motive that appeals to us? Why not take a different action with a different motive? Why not save the energy and do nothing at all? The reason behind the choices we make comes from the second rule:

2. All actions are motivated by a desire to gain something for oneself.

All actions are taken, in one way or another, for the purpose of self-benefit. We do things because there is something in it for us. We work to gain money. We speak to a friend because we gain a feeling of companionship. We sit down to gain comfort. We stand back up to gain mobility. This instinct for constant self-benefit is the result of billions of years of biological evolution. When it came to the survival of the fittest, those creatures who were single-mindedly looking out for themselves were the ones that came out on top. Any creatures who did not act out of self-interest stood a slimmer chance and were slowly weeded out of the genetic pool. The instinct for constant self-benefit is rooted so deep in our genes that it is impossible to deny.

Actions are motivated by a desire for a personal, positive gain. Take a simple action such as eating. Eating gains something positive. Either it relieves the unpleasant sensation of hunger, or alleviates boredom, or at least gives the simple pleasure of tasting something enjoyable. When people become so full that eating no longer gives them anything positive, they stop. No one feels motivated to do themselves harm- unless there is a benefit that outweighs the harm. Even people who mutilate themselves do so because the act gives them some sort of pleasure. Nor are people motivated towards displeasure. No one wants to eat dirt. That would not gain anything pleasurable- unless a person were so wracked with hunger that the benefit of relieving the hunger outweighed the displeasure of putting dirt in one's mouth.

Even actions that appear completely altruistic are motivated by the desire for a positive personal benefit. People don't give to charity to punish themselves by losing money. They do it because the action gives them something positive back. Maybe it is the respect of one's peers. Maybe it is the self-pride gained from thinking of oneself as a good person. Maybe it is just the happiness one receives from seeing their money used to help others. Even the soldier who throws himself on a grenade to save his comrades gains something by the action. In his last seconds of life, he gains joy from the knowledge that he has saved the lives of others. If, on the other hand, he were the only soldier in the foxhole, it would be complete stupidity to throw himself on the grenade, since there is nothing to gain by the action. He would instead be motivated to run away to gain a chance at survival.

Various studies in biology and anthropology have shown that, in both the human and animal world, there is no such thing as true altruism. This even applies to the rearing of one's own offspring. Protecting one's offspring, even sacrificing one's life for the offspring's survival, is still in the biological sense done out of self-interest. Biological evolution occurs as a direct result of which members of a species do the best job preserving their own genetic line so it may be passed on to successive generations. Those members who, by whatever coincidence, were compelled to do all they could to ensure their offspring's survival did themselves the benefit of winning the evolutionary game. This instinct ensured that their genetic line would continue to survive, passing along the instinct towards protecting the young along with it. Those who developed a sensation of love and responsibility for their children were even more successful. Thus, we have become genetically coded to love our families out of a primitive biological self-interest. Studies have shown that humans and animals alike are more likely to sacrifice their own lives to save the life of another to a degree that is directly proportional to the amount of genetic material shared between the two individuals. You are more likely to sacrifice yourself for a child or parent who shares 50% of your genetics versus a sibling who shares 25%. The degree becomes much lower for a cousin who only shares 12.5%, and even less for a non-relative who shares none.

These cold facts illustrate extreme examples of the rule, and most of the cost/benefit analyses we make are instant and subconscious. However, this information still goes to prove that all actions taken by any human being are done so because the actions will grant them some sort of perceived*, positive gain.

(*The modifier 'perceived' is an important addition. Just because one thinks something will result in positive gain, it doesn't necessarily mean it will.)

3. No human being will take action until they understand (consciously or instinctively) what specific, physical benefit they will receive.

People are motivated by specifics. A motivation must offer a benefit distinct enough for the person to clearly understand why the benefit is desirable; and what specifically they have to gain.

There is a technique in the world of sales known as “benefit selling.” Benefit selling is based on the premise that customers do not buy a product because of that product's features. They buy a product for the physical benefits those features will give them. The goal of the salesperson should not be to gush on about how great and fancy the product itself is. They should instead seek to communicate the desirable results the customer will physically gain from owning that product. For instance, if a customer is told, “Buy the new Toyota. It has an improved braking system,” the customer's response may very well be, “So what? What's that mean?” If on the other hand, the customer is told, “Buy the new Toyota. It will keep your family safer in an emergency because of its improved braking system,” the customer will understand the physical benefit he or she has to gain from purchasing this automobile, giving the customer a motive to act. The salesperson should not emphasize the car's soundsystem itself, but instead the enjoyment the driver will gain from the soundsystem. Instead of commenting on how nice the luxury add-ons are, the salesperson should communicate the prestige the customer has to gain from a vehicle with such features.

My point is that people are not motivated by abstractions. They are motivated by the perception of a specific gain they stand to receive, whether that gain be physical, mental, or emotional. People cannot be motivated by “love.” Love is an abstraction. They are instead motivated by the warm feeling one receives from the affection of a loved one. Likewise, no one is motivated by “hate”. Rather, they are motivated by the emotional satisfaction one receives from venting one's negative emotions towards someone or something which gives them displeasure.

Why this is Important, and How to Use This

Storytellers need to understand why it is so important to give characters clear, specific motivations. Vague character motivations prevent audience identification. An audience cannot empathize with a character's actions if they cannot first understand those actions. If characters seem to act without good reason, the audience will perceive the behavior as random, arbitrary, and meaningless. An audience cannot emotionally experience the story through the character's eyes if they are not allowed entry into that character's mind to understand what they do and why. The audience will instead be left as distant observers with no emotional stake in the story's outcome.

Sometimes vague motivations are the result of poor communication. The storyteller has not provided enough information through dialogue or visual evidence for the audience to fully understand the character's behavior.

More often, vague motivations come about because storytellers fail to make the effort to understand their characters' motivations themselves. These writers fail to treat their characters like fully psychologically-functional human beings. Instead, they treat them like puppets they can move to and fro, to do this and that just because the story needs them to. The result is a script full of dull, flat, cardboard cutouts. They are considered “flat” because there is nothing beneath the surface of their actions to give those actions a meaning the audience can understand. When creating a story, writers should make the effort to see potential character actions from the standpoint of what specific physical benefit the character wishes to obtain. Then, the storyteller must communicate this motivation on the page through visual evidence in a clear, dramatic, and natural manner.

Once again, characters cannot be motivated by abstractions. Saying that your hero is motivated by “justice” or “duty” is a mistake. How does one actually achieve “justice?” This is impossible since justice is an abstract concept. In reality, your the hero is not motivated by justice. Instead, he is motivated by an internal urge to accomplish a physically attainable goal, that, once accomplished, will give the hero the psychological benefit of confirming that his belief in an abstract concept such as justice or duty is worthwhile. For example, let's say we have a story about an ethical young lawyer involved in a court battle against a corrupt corporation. The lawyer believes in truth, justice, and the American way. But her beliefs are not her motivation to act. Why? Because to be a considered a motivation, a motive is required to have, a. a perceived benefit, and b. a desire for that benefit. The appropriate way to phrase the lawyer's motivation would be that she -- 'desires to win the court case (the action) in order to prove to herself that truth and justice still exists, subsequently gaining her the comfort of knowing that she is not naïve and simple-minded for believing in these principles (the physical benefit).'

Until a storyteller clearly knows what motivates his or her characters, that storyteller does not really know his or her characters. Until a storyteller knows his or her characters, s/he is left with only half a story.

scribble on.

I H8 VAGUE (& the virtue of clear, crisp description)

 Vague is the enemy of good screenwriting. The ability to communicate with clear, expressive language rather than vague words is a factor that separates the professional from the amateur.

Cinema is a medium dependent on concrete existence. That means the content of a film or movie must be made up solely of things that physically exist in some form (whether they be people, props, locations, etc). Otherwise, they cannot be photographed with a camera and shown to an audience (or in the case of modern cinema, at least brought into visual existence using CGI). So, a movie is made up of specific and concrete visuals. The script may only mention that the scene contains “a man.” But the audience does not see a generic man, they see Matt Damon. The script may mention “a car,” but the audience sees a specific car, a yellow 1978 Datsun.

The goal of the writer should be to use the written word to communicate the actions and images of a scene with sufficient visual detail to allow the reader to visualize the scene as closely as possible to how the audience will experience it on the screen. A good story can succeed or fail with the reader depending on how well the writer does this. If the writer lays out action in vague, wishy-washy words, what the writer wishes to be interesting and/or emotionally charged will come off flat. Consider this example:

'Mark walks down the street. It is a cold autumn morning. Mark stops at his car and gets in.'

Given that this description lacks much visual detail, the reader has no choice but to imagine the action in the most generic manner possible. To the reader, this piece of action feels unimaginative, bland, and dull. Compare it to this improved version:

'Mark walks slump-shouldered down a sidewalk lined with small New England-style homes. He shivers as wind blows dead leaves across his feet. Mark opens the unlocked door of a shiny black Mercedes CL and climbs inside.'

This version, while longer, not only has the benefit of allowing the reader to visualize the scene in greater detail, but also communicates information about Mark and his environment in the process. Merely saying “autumn” doesn't indicate much. Autumn looks different depending on where you are and how late in the year it is. This passage helps us zero in on that. We learn information about Mark. Rather than having a generic “car,” we see he can afford a luxury vehicle which for some reason he has the confidence to leave unlocked.

First and second drafts always start out rather vague. This is expected, since the writer's focus at this point should be on figuring out the best way to make scenes do what they needs to do according to their function in the overall narrative. But once this has been worked out, scenes should be brought into clearer and clearer focus with each revision, like an optometrist putting a series of lenses in front of the eye. It all comes down to knowing your scene and knowing your characters. If the writer has gotten to a point where he or she knows the story and characters down to the most intimate detail, this becomes easy. Once a writer has become this familiar with their story world, they can see it inside their head in the smallest detail and know exactly how their characters may behave in any situation. The only challenge that remains is communicating these nuances on the page in a manner that is clear and efficient.

Once a writer reaches the stage where he/she can communicate with such a level of detail, his or her work makes the jump from just being a good script, to becoming a potential movie. There are a lot of good scripts out there, but very few potential movies. Good scripts may work on paper, but they are still not ready for the screen. Only once the script attains a required level of visual detail does it cross the threshold. What is needed is not only a great story, but a great story that directors, cinematographers, actors, and the like can pick up, visualize, and immediately understand what they must do to make the story happen.

Vagary is a hallmark of an amateur screenwriter. Everything in the script seems typical, average, or generic*. The locations are all treated like stock settings. The characters are little more than names on a page. Geography is unclear. Character actions are hazy. We cannot visualize where the characters exist spatially in relation to each other and their environment -- instead characters seem to float in some kind of limbo space. Usually, this lack of visual detail occurs because the writer is still not exactly sure what is going on in the scene in his or her own head. The scene is hazy on the page because it is still a fog in the writer's imagination. The writer still has not made the effort to know his or her story and characters well enough to tell the story with a VOICE OF AUTHORITY.

(* BTW, never describe your protagonist, or any other character, as “an average 20-something,” or “a typical high school teacher.” WTF is interesting about a character who is "average"? Why would an audience want to spend two hours of their life caring about a person who has nothing unique or special about them? “Average” means “boring.” This is lazy characterization. It is also unnatural characterization. There is no such thing as an “average” person in real life. There are no identical clone pods walking around with the same brains and personalities. Everyone has something about them that makes them unique. Find it and communicate it. No one wants the watch “The Underwhelming Adventures of Nobody Special.”)

Some new writers may think that writing in broad strokes is good enough, that merely suggesting action and visuals are enough for other creative professionals to take over and fill in the gaps. This is not true. Being vague only manages to leave the writer open to criticism. Using wishy-washy words communicates a story in a timid voice. Rather than tell us what is happening, the words seem to merely suggest or guess at what should happen, allowing the story to show through as a contrived, made-up world. The reader starts to question the storyteller's authority. You're trying to be the Great and Powerful Oz, but your show is so underwhelming that it allows us to notice your butt sticking out from behind the curtain. On the other hand, strong, visual words communicate a story with a voice of AUTHORITY. Rather than reading a suggested story, the reader is led to SEE the film, exactly as it should be happening. This is a script that grabs the reader and says, 'This IS what is happening, right NOW. There is no questioning it. This is REAL.'

But how much detail is too much? Overdoing it is just as easy as coming up short. Ironically, the same day I started work on this article, I began reading a spec script that has the exact opposite problem. This script was completely OVERWRITTEN. The description spelled out every little pointless and repetitive detail. Simple actions were described with entire paragraphs. Sentences were cluttered with unnecessary adjectives and adverbs. This script must have been at least ten pages longer than necessary simply from all the unneeded description.

Here's the thing: I can't give you hard and fast rules about how much is too much. You just have to know when to say when. You do not have to tell the reader how many chairs are in the room (unless this information is important to the scene). We do not have to be told about every piece of clothing the character's mom wears (unless these details communicate something about her or the story we need to know.) We do not need to know the exact time of day, all the items in the hero's sock drawer, or how many steps the villain takes to cross the room (unless this information has some sort of significance to the story).

Do you see a pattern here? Your script needs visual detail, but only those details that are significant in terms of conveying story or character. Every detail should communicate something. Either something that advances the story, allows the audience an improved understanding of the people, places, and things of the story, or helps deepen character. For example, if we have an important character walking his dog, learning the type of dog he owns helps us learn more about what type of person he is. Is it a rottweiler? A chihuahua? A shelter-rescued mutt? On the other hand, if a scene takes place in a park with plenty background persons walking their dogs, it would be pointless to give details on these people and their pets. They have nothing to do with the story, so who cares?

Don't be redundant with details. If you establish in Scene 1 that the story takes place in the freezing cold of winter, you don't need to keep telling us it is cold all the way through Scene 114. Audiences/readers only need to be given information once. They don't have that Memento disease where they forget every ten minutes. For example, we only need to call Mark's car (from the example above) a “shiny black Mercedes CL” the first time it is seen. From then on, it can simply be referred to as his “car,” since a proper visual for that car has already been established.

When it comes to describing characters and locations seen for the first time, create only a handful of telling visual details that get essential ideas across and let the reader's mind fill in the rest. Here is a good example from The Bourne Identity:

INT. FISHING BOAT BUNK ROOM -- NIGHT

        A wreck.  Too small for all the people in here right now --
        SAILORS sweeping off the table -- rough hands laying THE MAN
        down --

        THE CAPTAIN -- brutal and impatient -- watching from the 
        door as --

        GIANCARLO tears through the clutter -- searching for a
        medical kit buried in the shambles.  GIANCARLO is sixty. A bloodshot soul.

There is very little actual information written in this excerpt. Yet still, it is enough for us to see the scene and character in our heads because our minds fill in the rest of the details.

But, all of this aside, there is a far more deadly type of vague that may be lurking about your script. Vague character motivations. This will be the topic of my next article.

FORCED DECISIONS and DILEMMAS (and lack of narrative free will)

Throughout this blog, I have made frequent references to characters making choices. At every turning point of your narrative, an obstacle forces characters to choose a new direction of action in order to circumvent the obstacle and continue onward. But the word choose is not entirely accurate. In a well-written cinematic story, these decisions are never much of a choice. In reality, the character has only two options: 1. Escalate the conflict, or 2. Accept failure.

In a well-written cinematic story, there is really no such thing as FREE WILL. Every single thing a character does during his or her pursuit of the Story Goal is not really done by choice -- not done because the character wants to take these actions -- but because the story situation has forced them to. The story situation has painted them into a corner, and the only way out is to take on more risk and more danger with an action they would NEVER take under regular circumstances. The best story actions are those someone would have to be crazy to take if it weren't for the extraordinary forces bearing down on the protagonist. Would a sane person jump off a skyscraper with nothing but a firehose tied around their waist? Of course not. But that is what John McClane is forced to do in Die Hard. Not because he is crazy, but because this has become his only option due to the extraordinary circumstances he finds himself within.

These are called FORCED DECISIONS. Forced decisions are the most common, and often the most effective way to advance a plotline while keeping actions plausible and maintaining character integrity.

To explain:

Human beings naturally seek the path of least resistance. If an easier, simpler, less risky way to do things is known, we will always choose it. This is part of our survival mechanism. Why take a larger risk than we have to? Why expel more energy than needed? If one option has a potential for unnecessary conflict, we will try to avoid it. If something may result in a negative outcome, we avoid that too. That is called common sense.

Since following the path of least resistance is natural human behavior, a character who has the path of least resistance open to him/her and chooses not to take it will not be considered believable. People often mock horror movies where the victim being chased chooses to run up the stairs instead of out the front door to safety. This is because there was an easier, more common sense option open to the character; but instead, the character willingly chose to riskier, more dangerous path. The audience then turns their back on the character for being stupid.

However, here's the thing about the path of least resistence: It makes boring cinema. Nothing could be less exciting than watching people stick to the least risky, most conflict-free options.

Forced decisions help the storyteller reconcile the contradiction between the natural human instinct to avoid conflict (found in believable characters), and the necessity for situations filled with conflict to create an exciting story.

The goal of the writer must be to take away the path of least resistance in order to force the character into riskier choices. If the horror movie victim was being chased by one killer, and a second killer arrives to block the front door, then running up the stairs would become the character's only option. In this case, no one in the audience can say a word to criticize the character's actions.

Quite often, a story requires characters to take risky or dangerous actions simply to move the story to where the writer wishes it to go. Forced decisions are often the only way to make such actions plausible. In Star Wars, when Luke, Obi Wan, and the rest first encounter the Death Star, the story requires them to go onto the Death Star so they might find and rescue Princess Leia. However, only a fool would do this voluntarily. At this point in the story, the heroes have no pressing reason to take on the risk of infiltrating an enemy base. The common sense decision would be to get out of there as fast as possible and alert the Rebel Army. But instead, the story FORCES the heroes onboard when a tractor beam locks onto their ship. They now have no choice but to come on board and find a way out of the corner they have been painted into. Likewise, Back to the Future's Marty McFly does not choose to jump into the time machine and travel back to 1955. It happens as a result of Marty being forced to use the Deloreon to escape from the Libyan terrorists.

Any time a character needs to take action, the storyteller must be constantly aware of all alternative options available to the character. If the storyteller does not realize easier options exist, the audience definitely will, making the audience lose faith in the storyteller's capability. If the protagonist chooses to confront the bad guys in a one-on-one gun battle when he could have simply solved things by calling the police, it creates a LOGICAL HOLE in the story. Logical holes make both you, the storyteller, and your characters look stupid. It becomes hard to keep the audience on your side once this has happened.

To plug potential logical holes, the storyteller should first recognize all available options, and then force the character down the most dramatic road by providing physical evidence as to why the easier paths cannot be followed. If a character does not take a more reasonable option, there should be a good reason why. There must be an obstacle blocking the way, or at least a darn good (and plausible) character reason.

The invention of cellular phones has become somewhat of a bane to screenwriters. Before cell phones became ubiquitous, all a writer needed to do to keep a character in jeopardy was put him or her in a place where the character could not reach a phone to call for help. But now, in the twenty-first century, all someone needs to do to get help is reach into their pocket. Because of this, modern scripts are filled cell phones that get lost, broken, or have dead batteries, as evidence to the audience as to why the character cannot follow the path of least resistance when in danger.

To avoid logical holes, the rule is CYA (“cover your ass”). Look over your script and try to find all the logical actions your character could have taken, but chose not to. Then, make sure you have provided good logical evidence as to why not. There is a lot of CYA going on in Hans Gruber's first sequence in Die Hard. Before the villains even make their presence known, we see them cutting phone lines, shutting down elevators, eliminating security guards, etc. The audience needs to be shown this evidence in order for them to understand that the hero John McClane does not have the traditional methods available for help. He is forced to do something more extreme. If storytellers do their jobs correctly; by forcing characters down paths of action that escalate the conflict (by necessity, not choice), and providing physical evidence along the way as to why these are the characters' only choices; the storyteller will create narratives where, no matter what happens in the story, no matter how crazy or far-flung the premise, all events will appear inevitable and necessary. The path to the climax must seem like the only possible path, thanks to all the obstacles that blocked every alternative.

THE EXCEPTION (but not really)

One caveat must be made. Often, the most dramatic story moment arises when the character DOES have a choice between more than one option. However, this a choice the character does not want, because no matter what the character chooses, it will make the situation worse. This is called the DILEMMA – a forced choice between two or more equally undesirable outcomes. You're damned if you do, and you're damned if you don't. No matter what the hero chooses, he/she loses.

A common (and cliched) example can be found in countless action films. The hero has something the villain wants. The hero must keep this thing out of the villain's hands. But, the villain grabs the hero's friend/lover/child/etc, and puts a gun to their head. The hero is offered a dilemma. Either give the villain what he/she wants, or allow the villain to kill the friend/lover/child. Both options are undesirable. The hero does not want either outcome. But, the hero MUST decide. He/she must pick the lesser of two evils and give the villain what its wants. (Or maybe the hero allows the villain to blow the innocent person's brains out. Wouldn't that be a surprise?)

The dilemma is the worst choice you could ever force upon a character (from the character's perspective, that is). In a regular forced decision, the character still has hope that the risky and undesirable path may still lead to success. With a dilemma, the character knows they are screwed no matter what. Yet still, the choice must be made. It is usually the most important decision the character will make. Everything hinges on this moment. Choose right, and the character may still find a way to overcome the conflict find success. Choose wrong, and the character will doom themselves to utter failure.

The Matrix features a classic dilemma at the end of its second act. Neo and Trinity have just escaped from the matrix, but their mentor Morpheus has been captured by evil agents. They know that, given enough time, the agents will “hack into” Morpheus's brain to retrieve a code that will mean an end to humanity's hopes for freedom. Neo faces a dilemma: he can either let that happen, or he can unplug Morpheus, killing him before he can be cracked. The idea of killing his mentor is unthinkable, but if he does not do it, he will doom them all. Neo and Trinity must choose the lesser of two evils. However, at the last moment, Neo discovers a third option to the dilemma. They could go back into the matrix and rescue Morpheus. This option is no more appealing than the other two. Two fighters against a building full of agents is suicide. And if they can't reach Morpheus before he surrenders the code, it all will be for nothing. All three options are unappealing, yet Neo chooses the third. The rest of the story hinges on whether Neo chose correctly.

Dilemmas over what action to take can make extremely powerful turning points. In addition, a good ethical dilemma can work wonders to communicate character and theme. Captain Miller in Saving Private Ryan faces an ethical dilemma at the story's midpoint when his squad captures a German machine gunner. Most of the squad want to execute the German, but the Corporal considers it murder. It is up to the Captain to decide. Both sides make strong arguments, and no matter what the Captain chooses, he will lose the respect of his men. Captain Miller decides to let the German go, communicating information on his inner character and providing evidence on the story's theme.

Dilemmas are not found in every story. A story can do fine and dandy without one. However, if dilemmas are used, they should be used sparingly. One or two per story is enough, ideally at the end of the second act, or just prior to the climax. Dilemmas are one of the most powerful tools at the storyteller's disposal, so overuse results in overkill. Anything of power loses its ability to shock and surprise if used too much. Save your big bombs for when you need them the most.

CONCLUSION

Dilemmas and forced decisions allow the storyteller to naturally advance the plot while retaining the integrity of the characters. A storyteller naturally wants to put characters into more and more extreme situations as the story advances, but the characters, being sensible people, would rather not put themselves at risk. By creating forced decisions and dilemmas, the storyteller manipulates the character's universe so the character is forced down roads they do not wish to travel, leading them ultimately to the dramatic climax. Looking back, the story's climax should seem necessary and inevitable, since there was never any other option along the way.