The 3-Act Structure: How to Write an Engaging Act 2 Without Boring Yourself to Tears
Rumor holds that Steven Spielberg once said—and excuse my French—“third acts are a bitch.” Not to contradict the God of the 21st Century Box Office, but I actually think second acts are harder.
Two blog posts ago, I broke down the 3-act structure, an easy technique to structure your story and make it compelling. Last week, I parsed out the key elements of a strong Act 1 in the 3-act structure in a way that makes your audience care about your story’s setup and gives your main character something clear to try to solve. If you haven’t read those posts yet, go do that now (or listen to the nifty podcast episodes from two weeks ago and last week to hear the dulcet tones of my voice explain them!).
But why do I have to go read two more blog posts, Mary? I just want to learn about Act 2!
Because you want to understand both the 3-act structure as a whole and how I encourage you to think about it, and before you try to understand Act 2, you’re going to need to hear about how first acts work. Plus, the story I'm telling here as an example isn't going to make sense unless you've heard the beginning. I'm picking up in the middle of it on purpose.
All caught up? Great! Now let’s get into the nitty-gritty of Act 2 of the 3-act structure.
Try to solve the problem
To kick us off, I'm going to continue my story from last week about my first year of law school.
After the conversation with my aunt, a lawyer who tried to make me feel better about being in law school and not feeling smart enough to be there, I thought, “Okay, Mary, it’s time to get your act together.”
I had found that in college, I did better in class when I didn't use my computer. When I started writing my notes by hand, I paid attention better, which meant I understood better, which meant I felt more confident. Since it worked in college, I thought it might work in law school.
So I put away my computer in class so I could stop hiding behind it—physically and metaphorically—and I moved to sit in the front row where I didn't have to look out over a sea of heads belonging to people who intimidated me intellectually.
Now seated in the front row of my classes and writing in a notebook, I felt like I could really pay attention: I wasn’t as intimidated by my classmates, and I felt like the professors were speaking more directly to me.
I started to get more confident. And by the end of the semester, while my confidence had was not where it had been before law school, I was no longer fatalistic.
By exam week, I was actually feeling pretty optimistic. I didn't think I was going to completely ace my exams, but I felt capable of passing them.
Let’s pause again.
What’s just happened in the story?
Recall that the 3-act structure can be boiled down to three simple statements:
Act 1: I have a problem.
Act 2: I think I know how to solve it.
Act 3: I was wrong.
In the law school story, I'm trying to solve the problem using a set of tactics: handwriting my notes, sitting further up in the classroom, reducing the distance between the lecturer and me, etc. And those tactics are the reason you're continuing to read—well, besides wanting to know more about the three-act structure. But if you were reading this story on its own, I imagine the reason you would continue to listen without just being polite is because you know something more is coming—there is going to be a twist of some sort.
Let's return to our contemporary examples and assess their Act 2s in their 3-act structures.
In Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng, we learn that a baby is missing at the beginning of the story. At the start of Act 2, one of the main characters tells the mother of the missing baby that she thinks she knows where the baby is. In other words, a potential solution to the problem has been introduced into the narrative: the baby is missing but might be found. This is a complicated solution because the suspected baby has been adopted by another family. Now it’s getting really tricky.
In The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett, in Act 1 we learn that the protagonist’s twin sister is missing and has been for a while. At the beginning of Act 2, this character sets out to find her sister. In other words, she thinks she knows how to solve the problem: she's going to find her twin.
Find the 30% mark
The 3-act structure is also pretty common in movies and screenplays, and you can get a better sense of their stories’ turning points by identifying them via a little trick: find the 30% mark of the film.
Let’s try it: take a movie you love from any era and find the 30% mark. Since math doesn't tend to be a strong point for us writers, I’ll walk you through it:
Take the length of the movie in minutes.
Multiply it by 0.3.
For example, if the movie is an hour and 44 minutes, you need to take 104 minutes and multiply it by 3: 31 minutes.
Go to the 31-minute mark of the movie and notice what's happening at that exact moment.
Is it a turning point? I’m guessing it is in some way. (And if you're wondering why I'm not saying 33%, which is technically a third, I don't know why—I was just told this by a film buff and screenwriter a while back that it's actually the 30% mark and not the 33% mark. On average, films that use the 3-act structure tend to have an Act 2 that is slightly longer than Act 1 or Act 3, so perhaps that’s why.)
In any case, you can almost certainly characterize the event occurring around the 30% mark of a film as some kind of solution being tested.
Perhaps someone has just decided to move: “That's it, I'm off to Canada!”
Perhaps two people have just met who we hope are going to fall in love.
Whatever it is, Act 1 has introduced some kind of problem, and by the beginning of Act 2, we are embarking on an attempt to solve that problem.
Write the attempt authentically
How do you write an act two? One word: authentically.
Invest your heart, too, in the attempt
Here's what I mean: your character is trying to solve a problem, right? And even though as the author, you know that they're going to fail because that's what makes it a story. You have to suspend that knowledge while you're writing—you have to genuinely allow the character to try to solve this problem.
Not fake, try to solve it, but genuinely try to solve it.
In order to do that, you also have to try to solve the problem as the author, using the tactic that the character has chosen. Your heart has to be in it. Otherwise, it's going to feel contrived to the reader because it will be contrived on your part.
Yes, it can be a little hard emotionally to show up sometimes. But once you make the decision to do it, it is actually so much easier than trying to plot out your story by “playing God,” planning out exactly what's going to happen, keeping all of your characters at an arm's distance emotionally, and just putting them through the motions.
If your character believes hard work will get her there, really invest in that belief. Truly try to make it work for her. Sincerely attempt to solve her problem by using hard work.
If you approach it this way, it'll make your story so much better, and it'll make it so much more interesting for you as you write as well. You’ll have more fun.
Show up for your character
But what if hard work does solve your character’s problem? What if you attempt it so well on her behalf that it works? Where does that leave you?
It leaves you at a really interesting place in the narrative, because now you both have to find out what's on the other side!
Congratulations, you’ve discovered the power of writing fiction: the moment when it takes over. It’s exhilarating and terrifying.
In sum
Act 2 of the 3-act structure is about trying to solve a problem, and you write it by sincerely investing in your character's attempted solution. Don't fake it. Show up like a good friend who is rallying and ready to jump in when necessary, not like a fair-weathered friend who's got one foot out the door and an eye on the clock.
Next week, I’ll be walking you through the third and final act of the 3-act structure. Until then, be sure to check out my other posts on the 3-act structure overview and how to write a strong Act 1 if you haven’t already (didn’t I tell you to do that at the start of this post?), and keep your eyes (ears) peeled for the next podcast episode on the 3-act structure (or listen to previous episodes to catch up).
Happy writing!
