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Today we’re talking about—DUNH DUNH DUNH—the 3-act structure.

I used to be very intimidated by the 3-act structure. I listened to a very intimidating audiobook called Story and it included some line about how, if I made one wrong decision, my entire story would fall apart, and I turned it off immediately.

But the 3-act structure kept coming up. And so every few years I’d find myself doing a little research on it, and every time, I left that research feeling icky. It felt so formulaic, not at all how I liked to create. And not only that—it also felt impossible. I couldn’t imagine sitting down saying, okay, now I’m going to write a story according to these 15 beats. That felt like trying to fall in love with someone on a certain schedule, scripting a romance (literally). 

So I just started paying more attention, organically, to story structure, noticing the structure of the stories I loved. And what I discovered is that the 3-act structure isn’t some static, boring formula, even though it’s often presented that way. 

The simplest way to break down the 3-act structure is to put it into 3 words: I was wrong. 

The 3-act structure, in a nutshell 

It’s a perspective shift. A person changes, internally. 

If you think back to every story you love, you’ll probably note that there is a perspective shift on the part of the main character. It might be subtle, and unstated, but it’s there. It’s the ghost in the background that gives the story meaning, that makes it a story and not just a fun anecdote you’d hear or tell at the dinner table and then forget. 

The character discovers a new kind of love. 

Or learns to value herself apart from external validation.

Or finds her voice. 

But you can’t just say, “I discovered a new kind of love,” or “I learned to like myself more,” or “I found my voice.” 

Those aren’t stories; they’re just statements. 

An internal shift alone doesn’t make a story—the journey of how the person got there makes a story. We must see the movement from Point A to Point B. 

But you can’t just leap from Point A to Point B with nothing in between—that’s also not a story. 

Imagine this: 

            I didn’t know how to love in a way that wasn’t self-involved. 

            I discovered a new kind of love. 

That’s not a story, either, right. You’re like, “How?! How did you change?” 

The stuff that happens between them, we can call Point C: 

I didn’t know how to love in a way that wasn’t self-involved. 

            SOMETHING HAPPENS HERE TO CHANGE HER

            I discovered a new kind of love. 

Enter, the 3-act structure.

Let’s keep this simple. If the simplest definition is: I was wrong, we can call that Act 3. 

Acts 1 and 2 can be boiled down to equally simple statements, then:

Act 1: I have a problem.

Act 2: I think I know how to solve it.

Act 3: I was wrong. 

That’s it. That’s the 3-act structure. (I am intentionally writing the first two acts in present tense and the third act in past tense. Can you think of why?) (Okay, I’ll tell you: because the first two acts should feel very present, whereas the third act is often backward-looking in coming to the new understanding. I like how using the tenses in this way captures that phenomenon a bit.)

If you never learn anything else about the 3-act structure, you now know everything you need to know. One simple statement for each act. 

How to write toward the 3-act structure

Here’s the thing I absolutely love about simplicity: you don’t have to keep it in your short-term memory and work with it. 

You also don’t have to write according to a formula, in case for you, like for me, that sucks the joy out of writing. 

You just let this very simple structure simmer in your subconscious. 

Still, even though I wouldn’t try to do anything with this structure actively while drafting, you can help your subconscious out a bit by doing a few things.

How to work the 3-act structure into your subconscious

1. Write it down

The act of writing things down helps you remember. When we write things down, we’re more likely to retain them. And I don’t mean type on the computer; I mean write these acts down on paper, in a notebook somewhere, or on a piece of posterboard to put on your wall (your spouse or roommate will be thrilled): 

Act 1: I have a problem. 

Act 2: I think I know how to solve it. 

Act 3: I was wrong. 

Then, just let it exist the way you let your sink exist. You know it’s there, you occasionally interact with it, but you aren’t thinking about it all the time.

2. Notice the structure when you consume stories

When you’re watching a movie or reading a book now, notice the way it does or doesn’t follow this simple structure. 

I think you’ll find that most stories do follow this structure in a general, loose sense, and it’s also fun and interesting to notice the ways in which writers make this structure their own. 

Since there are an infinite number of stories that can be told according to this structure, it can be inspiring to realize how much variety is possible within it. 

3. Keep coming back here

Whether you’re reading this as a blog post or listening as a podcast episode, I have a lot more information for you on the 3-act structure.

Over the next three posts/episodes, I’ll be doing a deep dive into each of the three acts—starting, naturally, with Act 1 next week. 

We will get very concrete. How should you think about these principles as you’re writing? What do these principles look like in a few contemporary novels? What should you be thinking about as you draft, or as you revise? How do you incorporate the 3-act structure without draining the writing process of all its fun?

After we cover the 3-act structure ad nauseam, I’ll be walking you through how you can use my Four Notebooks Method to write your story according to these three acts—again, without feeling confined to a formula or template. In fact, it’s liberating. 

So stayed tuned over the coming weeks!

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