Attack of the Three-Act Structure: Run for Your Lives!

As writers we have all been bamboozled! We have done the one thing we, as writers, should never do—assume. We have assumed that because someone writes a bloody book and gives advice about writing that: 1) they know what the hell they’re talking about, 2) they are right, 3) because they wrote a book they have something original to say.

All of these assumptions are dead wrong. And you can extrapolate all this to writer-bloggers (including me!). Like I always say, my mantra if you will: listen to everyone, follow no one. So listen up—

One of the great lies we have all swallowed, only because the source of the lie spoke with some authority or sold books or screenplays, is the lie of the three-act structure. The idea that a story is told in three acts is about as true and real as Area 51, or the Legion of Doom, or Elvis still being alive (sorry, he’s really dead). Three acts have NOTHING to do with storytelling. However, three acts have a great deal to do with physical stage production. Let me explain.

Way back in the days of the Greeks, we’re talking pre-default days—circa 500–300 B.C.—drama was king. Theater, in the form of epic poetry, was the Comic-Con of the age. Physical plays performed by human beings on a stage that required moving sets and technical setups (some amazingly elaborate) were an unavoidable part of physical production of a play. Even then it was not thought smart to have the audience sit and watch the sausage being made, so some enterprising Greek came up with the idea of curtains or screens that could be put into place to shield the audience from the gross happenings between transitions. Curtains were one way to not break the mood, to not lose the tempo, etc.

Thus, acts were born. Writers started writing to accommodate these changes in the physical requirements in their plays. Acts were sometimes three, sometimes two, and sometimes ten! Even 2500 years ago there was no hard and fast rule about the number three. So, the idea of acts is not an idea related to telling a story, it is an idea related to a specific form of delivering a story: i.e., a stage play. Acts are about the constraints of physical production, not writing or storytelling. 

Commercial television is another place where acts make sense, because of commercials.  Every 17 or 20 minuets you have to break the story to sell soap—thus an act.  TV shows have anywhere from 4–6 acts due to commercial breaks.  Again, not a part of storytelling; a part of selling soap, i.e., how the story is delivered due to the constraints of the storytelling environment! (Remember, TV is not an entertainment medium, it is a sales medium—TV shows exist so you'll watch the commercials, not the other way around.)

So, where the hell did we get this cockamamie idea that screenplays or novels should be told in three acts (or four or six)? “Oh,” replies the literary critic, "it comes from Aristotle. In his foundational work Poetics he laid out the necessity of three acts in drama and comedy.”

WRONG!

Aristotle (384–322 B.C.) never talked about acts. He talked about a beginning, middle, and end in any drama or comedy, but he laid down no such rule about acts. So, don’t blame him.

Not to point fingers, because I think the actual origin of this in modern times is impossible to “finger,” but one influential source for this monstrosity of an idea is Syd Field. We all have a debt of gratitude to this man for trailblazing the field of screenwriting for popular audiences. He is a great man and he deserves his place in the pantheon of marketing mavericks. Yeah, I know … here comes the “but.”

But—Syd, more than anyone, popularized the idea of three acts through his “Paradigm” theory; the idea that stories are told in three acts, but that the second act should be broken up into parts A and B. And because he was "the first," and because he was articulate and made sense, people assumed this must be true; this must be the way of things. In Hollywood this notion of three acts took hold like a pernicious weed. To this day, at the highest levels of creative power, creative executives all talk about three acts. Agents, managers, all manner of industry blowhard talk about three acts. Even, sadly, we screenwriters smoke this nasty weed. In the publishing world, the problem is less pronounced, but it is still an issue. Literary novels, especially, are less prone to this infestation, but commercial, genre fiction is more likely to succumb.

Run, run, run—for your creative lives! Three acts have nothing to do with storytelling. Shake loose this idea and free yourself. Three acts will not serve you or your story, unless you’re a playwright. So, what should you do instead? How should you structure your story?

What story development tool is best for you is a highly personal and complicated issue. There are some good story structure teachers out there (“story gurus”—see my post http://bit.ly/qW9Bww) who have alternative approaches to the three-act structure. Many of them do some modified version of the three or four act structure, but some like the fabulous John Truby (The Anatomy of Story) have created real solutions to the problem. Chris Vogler (The Hero’s Journey) is another. I can’t recommend John Truby highly enough, though. His work is truly seminal in the field. My own methodology is also good (Enneagram-Story Bridge™), but my approach is better suited for building a development foundation that can then be ported over to a more determined system, like Truby's or Vogler's. For now, I will just leave it at that, as this topic of story-structure methodology deserves a more detailed examination all its own—at a later time.

Just know that there are useful alternatives out there and that you will be hugely benefited in your creative process if you just walk away (nay, run) from the model of three acts, and look instead for an approach that focuses on classic story development and not the same ol’ same ol’, story-structure straightjacket.

Now, go be brilliant!

The Tiny Novels Are Coming! The Tiny Novels Are Coming!

Anyone who knows me knows technology is one of my addictions. I’m always looking forward (I think) to see what’s coming, what’s converging, and what’s about to land on us without our seeing it. That’s how it happens, right? Changes in technology don’t greet us at the door with a smile and handshake, it drops on our heads like a piano cut loose from the top floor or a New York brownstone before it can be pushed through the window of that fancy apartment on 5th Avenue! Okay, a long metaphor, but you get the point.

But, sometimes, technology changes, especially in the arts, sneak up on us and bite us on the ass when we’re not looking. This is kind of what’s happening with the revered novel and the cell phone. Technology is now delivering a whole new experience over the cell phone and transforming how we read.

This is from Wikipedia (I just cut and pasted because it’s easier than plagiarizing or paraphrasing):

Cell phone novels are meant to be read in 1,000 to 2,000-word (in China) or 70-word ( in Japan) chapters via text messages on cell phones. They are downloaded in short installments and run on handsets as Java-based applications on a mobile phone. Cell phone novels often appear in three different formats: WMLD , JAVA and TXT.

The first cell phone novel was “published” in Japan in 2003 by a young online writer, Yoshi. His first cell phone novel was called Deep Love, the story of a teenaged prostitute in Tokyo. It became so popular that it was published as an actual book, with 2.6 million copies sold in Japan, then spun off into a television series, a manga, and a movie. The cell phone novel became a hit mainly through word of mouth and gradually starting to gain traction in China and South Korea among young adults. In Japan, several sites offer large prizes to the winners (up to $100,000 US) and purchase the publishing rights to the novels.

Five out of the ten best selling novels in Japan in 2007 were originally cell phone novels.

The phenomenon has not yet spread to the United States or Europe, but it is inevitable that as cell phone and text message usage continues to increase, cell phone novels will become popular in these locales as well. There is a blog at www.textnovelblog.com referencing a new site that is preparing for launch in the United States market.

The cell phone novel Deep Love, for example, was first “published” via text message, then it was published as an actual book, filmed as a movie, and made into a television show and a Japanese-style comic book. It hasn't simply created a new medium; it has affected other media at the same time.

Well, this Wiki entry is a bit behind the times on one thing: cell phone novels are arriving on our Western shores, and soon. I work for several publishing companies and I know that they are having internal discussions about how to incorporate cell phone services into their business models. The U.S. is behind Europe and Asia in cell technology (welcome to the 21st century), but with the new iPhone and its competitors, the delivery system is now in place and the novels are coming! the novels are coming!

So, get those thumbs in shape and start thinking in 70 word text messages, because that’s the new way to write the great Ameican novel—one SMS text package at a time!

The Bionic Screenplay: Faster, Better, Stronger—More Sellable

A New York Times article recently tweaked my antennae with a curious set of facts about a growing trend in the Movie/TV biz.

The article, by Jay A. Fernandez, suggests we consider this: in the last six weeks (as of this writing on 4/23/08) studios have announced 22 films based on graphic novels or comics. At the box office (domestic and international) films based on graphic novels have grossed all the biggest numbers, over all, and have maintained the largest dollar averages per screen, per week, for exhibitors.

Now consider this: Universal recently partnered with Dark Horse Entertainment to produce and distribute movies based from its independent bevy of comics, Paramount has its partnership with Marvel, while Warner Bros. owns DC Comics, and every other studio is scrambling for comic-based material.

What conclusions can we draw: For studio creative executives responsible for making and breaking writer’s careers and spirits, having a graphic novel in hand makes script development cheaper, faster, and more fun; since essentially the graphic novel is a screenplay with detailed storyboards already included in the mix. Plus, given the average age of the typical studio creative executive (12-19 years) they are already familiar and comfortable with the comic/graphic novel form. Add to this the fact that graphic novels already have a fan base, Internet platform, and sequel appeal; it’s a no-brainer for studio greenlighters. Ironically, as Jay points out, it can also be beneficial for the writer, since he/she will likely preserve more rights than he/she would by selling an original screenplay.

Jay quotes Frank Miller (“Sin City” and “300”), “I don't think there's a single worse story form than the screenplay … They're unreadable. Just about everything makes you want to put the thing down! Whereas a graphic novel is full of pictures . . . and you get a much clearer idea of what you'd have to spend to make a film.”

So, what’s a writer to do? I can’t draw worth a stitch. I guess I could buy some storyboard software and let a computer do it and then add bubbles to the pictures and fill the bubbles with dialogue. Throw in a few text blocks (like they do in the comics for scene direction) and presto-chango; the new screenplay made better, stronger, faster. Kind of like the 6 million dollar man, only in today’s movie dollars it’s more like 100 million, plus foreign/ancillary and new media.

So my advice to you dear writer, forget the screenplay writing program, expensive story consultants, and film school. If you want to sell your screenplays, get thee to an art school and start learning how to draw. Or, give it up for an expensive graphics package and buy a new pimped-out Mac with all the graphics whistles and bells and let technology do the work. All you have to do is add the words. But, doesn’t that just kind of put us back where we started?

Hmmm, maybe writing is still important after all?