Here we are at the Big Kahuna of the 3-act structure: the third act. If you haven't read my last three blog posts on the 3-act structure (an overview and details on Act 1 and Act 2), please go do that now and then come back to this one. (Otherwise, this is not going to make a whole lot of sense.)

Three posts ago, I gave you an overview of the 3-act structure as a simple, powerful way to structure your story.

Then, I walked you through creating a strong Act 1 to hook you and your audience in quickly and effectively.

Next, I talked about how to write an engaging Act 2 by investing emotionally in your story. Now, we’re taking on the third and final act—the last thing you leave your audience with.

I’m sure you’ve been wondering all week how my law school story ends, so let’s wrap it up!

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.

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.”

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.

Here’s a true story. When I started law school at 25, I was certain that I was the dumbest person there. (That’s the word that I used in my head: dumbest.)

This certainty ran so deep that when a group of students went out to dinner together one of the first nights of school, and someone asked me how big the city I grew up in was, I was too embarrassed to tell him that I had absolutely no idea, so I just said, “medium.”

Not even medium-sized, just medium.

I can’t tell you how many times I googled “how much money does an author make per book” before getting a book deal, myself. It’s such a black hole. It also varies tremendously... So while I can’t give you a specific answer for how much money you will make per book, let me start with the basics.

Today I want to share three things that no one tells you about becoming a published author. I published three novels over the last few years, which I'm not going to lie, was truly a dream come true.

Sometimes people ask me what it’s like to see your book on shelves when you didn't even bribe someone to put them there or sneak it in yourself? And it's awesome. I mean, it feels mostly amazing, but there are a few surprises you may not expect. I sure didn't. And I'm going to share those with you in this post.

No. Not everyone can write a book. Sorry. But can you write a book? Probably. I’d call it a really good bet—if I had money to throw at bets, I’d throw money at the likelihood that you, person reading this, can write a book.
Writing a book comes down to 3 things:

Today I'm sharing three things that no one tells you about getting a literary agent. First, I'll cut to the chase. Yes, you need a literary agent, probably.

There are two exceptions. One, if you're self-publishing, you don't need a literary agent. And two, if you're only pursuing small publishers that accept submissions directly from writers. And these smaller publishers will say on their website if they accept what they will call unrepresented submissions, or they'll just say, we accept submissions directly from authors, but there aren't too many of these and you're going to need to seek them out.

Here’s a confession: until I became one, I didn’t know what a book writing coach does.

I had even hired one by that point. But because she didn’t refer to herself that way, I didn't know that “coaching” was what she was doing.