Michael Bjork Writes

Writer with an MFA in Fiction | he/him | Follow to rethink writing and tell better stories | Masterlist | Website | Instagram

[michaelbjorkwrites]

The follow-up to my previous video on the primary difference between character-driven and plot-driven stories.

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For more tips on how to hone your craft and nurture meaningful stories, follow my blog.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

TikTok may soon get banned in the US, but I wanted to give some short-form video writing advice a try. What do you all think? Want more like this?

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For more tips on how to hone your craft and nurture meaningful stories, follow my blog.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

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For quotes and tips on how to hone your craft and nurture meaningful stories, follow my blog.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

Whether realistic or fantastical, all great fiction is built with pieces of reality. But as Ralph Ellison said, “reality is difficult to come by.”

Why?

Because observation is a skill that takes time to develop, and even then, we all observe reality from subjective perspectives. That makes us all capable of unique insights, but also susceptible to unique blind spots.

As writers, the best thing we can do, then, is to observe with humility, listen to others, and do our best to fill our fictions with something honest and real -- scarce as reality may be.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

— — —

For quotes and tips on how to hone your craft and nurture meaningful stories, follow my blog.

[tlbodine]

I think maybe it doesn’t get acknowledged enough that writing a novel is not the same thing as telling a story.

There are certain skills and techniques involved in effectively conveying a story in prose — things involving figurative language and word choice and pacing — and those are distinct from the skills of storytelling, with its plot and character and world building.

To be a good writer, you have to be a good storyteller. But to be a storyteller you don’t have to write books. Stories can be games and comics and podcasts and movies and tabletop sessions and interconnected snippets and glimpses of a world. And all forms of storytelling are valid and important and necessary.

But I worry sometimes that people who have stories to tell too often feel like they need to write books, because of the relatively low barrier to entry. People often write books when what they really want is to make movies or games or comics but they lack the skills or resources to create these ambitious projects.

And in the process, I think sometimes we just fail to discuss or acknowledge the craft of writing itself. Too often the idea of “quality prose” gets classified as a snobby gatekeeping thing, a literary thing, a thing of little importance, when it’s really just...a part of the craft of telling stories with written words, the same as knowing how to draw is part of the craft of making comics, or knowing how to code is part of the craft of making games.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

This is definitely worth remembering! Storytelling isn’t limited to novels. It can breathe life into any medium, whether it be video games, board games, podcasts (like the Adventure Zone), long-form improv comedy (like Middleditch & Schwartz), speeches, comic strips, art, etc.

You don’t need to write novels if you want to tell stories. Any medium will do, as long as you’re passionate about it.

[writingdotcoffee]

“Making people believe the unbelievable is no trick; it’s work. … Belief and reader absorption come in the details: An overturned tricycle in the gutter of an abandoned neighborhood can stand for everything.”

— Stephen King

[michaelbjorkwrites]

How can a single detail convey so much? Because specific, well-observed details tell a story -- and those stories can carry the weight of reality.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

5 frustrating workshop rules that made me a better writer

Throughout the 15 workshops I joined in college and grad school, I encountered two types of writing rules.

First, there were the best-practice guidelines we’ve all heard, like “show don’t tell.” And then there were workshop rules, which the professor put in place not because they’re universal, but because they help you grow within the context of the workshop.

My college’s intro writing course had 5 such rules:

No fantasy, supernatural, or sci-fi elements.

No guns.

No characters crying.

No conflict resolution through deus ex machina.

No deaths.

When I first saw the rules, I was baffled. They felt weirdly specific, and a bit unfair. But when our professor, Vinny, explained their purpose (and assured us he only wanted us to follow the rules during this intro workshop, not the others to come), I realized what I could learn from them.

1. No fantasy, supernatural, or sci-fi elements.

Writers need to be able to craft round characters, with clear arcs. While you can hone those skills writing any type of story, it can be more difficult when juggling fantastical elements, because it’s easy to get caught up in the world, or the magic, or the technology, and to make that the focus instead of the characters. So Vinny encouraged us to exclude such elements for the time being, to keep us fully focused on developing strong, dynamic characters.

2. No guns.

Weapons have a place in many stories, but when writers include a gun, they often use it to escalate the plot outside of the realm of personal experience and into what Vinny called “Hollywood experience.” He wanted us to learn how to draw from our own observations and perceptions of life, rather than the unrealistic action, violence, and drama we’d seen in movies, so he made this rule to keep us better grounded in our own experiences.

3. No characters crying.

When trying to depict sadness, writers often default to making characters cry. While there’s nothing inherently wrong with that, tears are just one way to show grief, and they aren’t always the most subtle or emotionally compelling. That’s why Vinny challenged us to find other ways to convey sadness — through little gestures, strained words, fragile interactions, and more. It was difficult, but opened us up to depicting whole new gradients of grief and pain.

4. No conflict resolution through deus ex machina.

This is the only one of the rules I’d say is generally universal. Meaning “God from the machine,” deus ex machina is a plot device where a character’s seemingly insurmountable problem is abruptly resolved by an outside force, rather than their own efforts. These endings are bad for various reasons, but Vinny discouraged them because he wanted us to understand how important it was for our characters to confront their struggle and its consequences.

5. No deaths.

Death is inherently dramatic and can be used to good effect, but many writers use death as a crutch to create drama and impact. Writers should be able to craft engaging, meaningful stories, even without killing off their characters, so this rule challenged us to find other methods of giving weight to our stories (such as through internal conflict).

How these rules helped me grow as a writer

First things first, I’ll say it again: apart from #4 (deus ex machina), these rules were never meant to be universally applied. Instead, their purpose was to create temporary barriers and challenges to help us develop key skills and write in new, unfamiliar ways.

For me, the experience was invaluable. I liked the way the rules challenged and stretched my abilities, driving me to write stories I’d have never otherwise attempted. They made me more flexible as a writer, and while I don’t follow the rules anymore (I LOVE me some fantasy), I’ll always be thankful for how they shaped my writing.

My recommendation to you?

Give some of these rules a shot! Follow them temporarily while writing 2-4 short stories — but remember to always keep their purpose in mind, because the rules themselves will only help if you understand what they’re trying to achieve.

Write with purpose, and you’ll always be growing.

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For more tips on how to craft meaning, build character-driven plots, and grow as a writer, follow my blog.

[tryingtocopewith2023]

That’s why crying characters always felt odd, maybe. But I’ll keep trying to make a scene that involves crying don’t sound completely boring!

[michaelbjorkwrites]

Thanks for sharing! I would say when it "felt odd" it was likely an instance where crying was an unnatural or forced choice for the character. Because tears themselves aren't bad -- they're simply one of many ways to express grief or pain.

Outside this exercise, I would even encourage people to still use tears, as long as it's the most effective choice emotionally for the character or you want to help normalize crying.

For example, Steven Universe frequently uses the tears of its characters to normalize/destigmatize crying as healthy emotional expression. It's a kick-ass show in the general, but I think it's a great example to keep in mind so that even if you avoid crying for a few short stories (as an exercise), you never forget the value crying can still bring a story.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

The Progressive Outline — How I balance my plotter and pantser tendencies.

When I first started writing at 13, I was a pantser. I’d develop an initial concept for a story, then just write – making everything up as I went.

Within a year or so, I became a plotter. I wrote extensive character sheets, deeply developed the worlds of my stories, and wrote detailed outlines that spanned not just the current novel, but series-long arcs.

In the years that followed (high school, college, MFA), I oscillated between the two approaches, navigating the benefits and challenges of both, as well as my own evolving preferences – before settling on my current method.

I call it “progressive outlining,” and it helps me do two somewhat conflicting things:

Create an outline for structure and direction

Allow my characters the freedom to organically grow, surprise me, and influence the story

The Progressive Outline

There are three parts to my outlining process:

Initial preparation

Creating a rough outline

Incremental journeys

1. Initial Preparation

Here, I do my initial brainstorming. Starting with the original concept, I generate ideas for the setting, characters, motivations, plot points, magic systems, etc. You can spend as much time as you want in this stage, but for me, the most important things to firmly establish are:

Your main character (and what drives them emotionally)

A small, initial cast of characters

Any core magic or sci-fi elements

The opening setting of your story

Those four things are important, because they’re the foundation of the story – the launchpad, both for the writing and the outline.

2. Creating a Rough Outline

Next, I create a rough outline of the story, and I really do mean “rough.” Instead of detailing every beat of the story from beginning to end, I allow the outline to become increasingly broad and vague the further out it goes.

For example, let’s say my story is made up of three parts. The most detailed section in the outline would be Part 1; Part 2 would be pretty broad; and Part 3 would have just a few high-level bullet points.

In all those sections, however, I try to mark key turning points for the characters and the plot, even if I don’t know exactly what will happen. For example, I might say, “Our characters clash at the festival,” or, “A friend will somehow betray the main character’s trust, hurting their relationship.“

The point of this outline is to provide long-view guidance wherever I am in the story. However, I keep things relatively vague, because I like to delay making specific decisions until my characters are closer to each event.

3. Incremental Journeys

Now the fun part. Writing.

To start, I take my rough outline and make sure the first couple sections are nicely fleshed out. Then, considering everything I learned during my initial preparation and using my outline as a general (but not set-in-stone) guide, I write those first few chapters.

After finishing those chapters, I do three things:

I think about what I’ve learned about the characters and story so far.

Using what I’ve learned, I flesh out the next few chapters in the outline, which might include some further world building or character development.

I write the newly outlined chapters.

Then I repeat those three steps, again and again – progressively outlining and writing my way through the story in short, incremental journeys.

Why do I write this way?

As I said at the beginning, this approach gives me the structure and direction of an outline, without denying my characters the freedom to grow and surprise me. 

That’s why I write this way – outlining, yes, but leaving much of the outline initially broad and vague so that I can let my characters play a more active role in shaping how each plot point comes to life. The process is pretty similar to Flashlight Outlining, if any of you are familiar; the main difference, as far as I can see, is that I also maintain an overarching outline.

Should you write this way?

You’d know better than me! A key part of every writer’s development is figuring out their process, and we do that by writing and experimenting. So give this outlining process a shot if you’re dissatisfied with your current process or want to try an approach that draws from both plotters and pantsers.

And if you already love your process?

Please share it below! I’d love to hear how you write (with or without an outline) and why it works for you.

— — —

Hey there! My name’s Mike, and I’m a writer and copywriter with an MFA in fiction. For more tips on how to hone your craft and nurture meaningful stories, follow my blog.

[scrawlsandrambles]

stumbled upon this and my writing process somehow incorporates this way of outlining as well!

i go into my WIP with specifics especially in the beginning–two main characters, an object, and a unlikely situation where these two are thrown into. once that is settled, i just throw in a vague idea of where the plot will be going usually highlighted in some bullet points. this way, it has room in case i want to change things up for the better too~

i also like to write scenes out of order and just kinda shuffle them around in slots where i think would make the story flow better. (hence, the amount of dialogue prompts and mismatched POVs standing in my notes app or scribbled in my drafting notebook)

[michaelbjorkwrites]

I will always respect and be mystified by writers who can jump around and write scenes out of order! So much of my own process is based around the character's current context, evolving linearly, that I have no confidence in my ability to accurately jump ahead.

Glad to hear this outlining approach jives with your process, though. And thanks for sharing how it fits in!

[michaelbjorkwrites]

Find happiness where you are as a writer. Not where you're going.

Meet Aaron Benham -- a family man, professor, and writer. He loves motorcycles (and women). Faces writer’s block. Struggles with unhappiness. He's also the main character of Thomas Williams' 1974 novel The Hair of Harold Roux, one of Stephen King’s favorite books on what it means to be a writer.

In the story, Aaron Benham reflects upon his unhappiness. He recalls his days as a student, tirelessly working toward a dream of becoming a successful writer -- but now that he's achieved that dream, he ironically longs to be as he once was: a student in pursuit of a goal.

I read The Hair of Harold Roux toward the end of my MFA while racing to finish my thesis (Ann Joslin Williams, the author’s daughter, was my advisor). Aaron's reflections, however, made me pause, because they resonated with a question whispered from the back of my mind.

What happens after I achieve my goals?

I dreamed of graduating, and I dream of publishing novels. I dream of success. But what happens when (if) I get there?

Will I be dissatisfied?

And if I'm dissatisfied by success, as well as the years leading up to it, then when the hell will I ever find satisfaction as a writer?

The trap of dissatisfaction

We all began writing with simple motives. We wrote because there was something exciting inside us that wanted out, and we kept writing because we loved it.

But early on there came visions of success. We imagined our stories in print, winning awards, being adapted for film, etc., etc. Shimmering and alluring dreams, all exciting, so much more exciting, in fact, than the present, that we started to live with our heads in the future.

The future became the answer to our dissatisfaction, and our present efforts in turn became a means for achieving it.

No wonder we struggle to be satisfied, when all our present efforts are treated like a passage to somewhere else. It’s even worse when we do reach success, only to realize the joy we’ve been working toward is quick to fade: a phenomenon called the “hedonic treadmill.”

That's the trap of dissatisfaction.

Remembering why you write

How do we break free from dissatisfaction?

By refocusing on the little things.

There's joy to be had in every stage of your writing life -- the excitement of finishing your first story, the comradery of a student workshop, the affirmation of publication, and onward. All of these experiences are worth savoring on the road to success.

And even when those joys pass, the craft itself will always offer humble, everyday rewards, like the triumph of finishing a difficult chapter, the excitement of new insights, or the simple satisfaction of growth and progress. These are the joys that never run dry.

So write for these present-day joys. For the fulfillment and love of the craft. 

Still dream big and set goals -- but let “success” be a consequence of your earnest pursuit of writing, rather than its driving purpose.

That way you can savor your writing today. You can enjoy success tomorrow. And when the thrill of success fades, rather than feeling empty, you’ll feel ready and excited to start your next story.

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Hey there! My name’s Mike, and I’m a writer and copywriter with an MFA in fiction. For more tips on how to hone your craft and nurture meaningful stories, follow my blog.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

How to write a character-driven plot

The Character-Driven Plot Wheel

1. Emotions drive actions.

Make your hero act on their deepfelt emotions. This not only adds meaning to their actions, but also helps communicate to readers your hero’s core emotional struggle.

2. Actions trigger consequences.

When your hero acts, give their actions consequences that affect the plot, themselves, and/or the surrounding characters. For example, driven by curiosity, maybe your hero opens Pandora’s box; maybe they act recklessly and someone dies; or maybe they stand up for what they believe in, but at great personal cost. Consequences raise the stakes and empower your hero with agency.

3. Consequences compel change.

Use the consequences of your hero’s actions to create a crucible of growth — challenges and situations that force them to take the next step on their character journey. That step may be forward, or backward, and it may be large or small; but something inside them changes.

4. Change influences emotions.

When a character goes through a change, even a small one, allow it to affect them emotionally. Maybe they feel increasingly frustrated or guilty. Maybe they’re afraid, having just taken another step closer to abandoning their old way of seeing the world. Or maybe they finally feel peace.

Regardless of the form it takes, remember to reflect your hero’s change in their emotions. Then let their emotions drive action, to trigger consequences, which will compel further change.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

And there you have it! That’s how you write a character-driven plot.

So what do you say?

Give the wheel a spin.

— — —

Your stories are worth telling. For tips on how to craft meaning, build character-driven plots, and grow as a writer, follow my blog.

[poisonouscephalopod]

This sort of reminds me of scene/sequel structure, but I really like the terminology here. I feel like the focus on emotion and internal change ties in a lot better with character arc.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

I’ve never heard of scene/sequel structure! I took a look, and there definitely is some overlap. If anybody else is interested, you can check out an overview of scene/sequel structure here.

Thanks for sharing, @poisonouscephalopod !

[justgottafinishthischapter]

I think this is also a great model for character arcs, and stories like My Hero Academia or RWBY that try to balance high dramatic stakes with slice of life elements. Use this model as a subplot shaper, and you’ll be giving your characters deep and emotional arcs within the main plot arc.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

Definitely! I find it particularly helpful as part of my plantser writing process – because wherever my story ends up going, as long as I follow this structure, I know I’m doing my characters (and their stories) justice. That’s also why it’s a good structure for serialized formats, like My Hero or RWBY.

[foxofthelake]

Anyone have one for plot based stories or would this also work?

[michaelbjorkwrites]

This model could definitely work!

The most common terms in circulation are the "character-driven story" (which tends to focus on internal conflicts and introspection) and the "plot-driven story" (which tends to focus on external conflicts, like a threat or situation). 

The “character-driven plot” model I outline above, however, is actually an intersection of both. The story itself is largely plot-driven, but the plot in turn is driven by the character’s interior struggles and growth.

In short: even if you want to write a story that’s heavy on plot, you can still incorporate this model. In fact, it’s a great way to add depth and resonance to your plot elements.

[twitterlols]

[chemicalheart-deactivated202009]

i love this so much i dont know where to start - the comedy itself - the commentary on ‘what is art’ - further on what is art: the viewers are interpreting this as art, but the intention of the “artist” was not actually art, so is it art or not? who gets to decide, the viewers or the creator? - the act of placing the glasses and watching the response (and the response itself being that the viewers treated the glasses as art) as performance art like is this a critique of postmodernism? does the critique betray itself since (one could argue) the viewers interpreting the glasses as art makes them art? or is that so ridiculous that it doesn’t matter? i could go on

[pervocracy]

The intention of the “artist” was not actually art, but… their intention was to create a specific image for public display in order to evoke a reaction from an audience, and then to create an image of that in order to evoke a different reaction from a second audience.

I think they accidentally arted.  Twice.

[roachpatrol]

art happens in museums whether you like it or not

[brawltogethernow]

I’ve always respected that last uplifting, quietly threatening comment.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

“Art happens in museums whether you like it or not” is also kind of equatable to “literature happens in the canon whether you like it or not,” and it actually demonstrates the power of social proof.

For example, if I stumbled across Joyce’s writing online without knowing who wrote it, I’d probably get annoyed, frustrated, and dismiss it as unnecessarily convoluted. But if I know it’s Joyce or if it’s handed to me in a literature classroom, there’s enough social proof for me to believe there’s something meaningful here. I’ll give it more if a chance.

This, I think, is why you’ll often see artists and writers start out with accessible work, before creating increasingly experimental and challenging work over time. The reason is partially because they develop as artists, but also because they need to build artistic clout to prove to audiences that their work is worth deep, complicated analysis.

Joyce is a good example. Finnegan’s Wake was so utterly complex and impenetrable that even after having “proven” himself with earlier works, many were still resistant to the novel. If he’d written the book at the beginning of his career, however, nobody would have given it a chance.

Anyhoo, long story short, social proof (such as a museum, classroom, or canon) is a powerful thing – and while it can help us identify complex artworks that are worthy of a deep time commitment, it can also fool us into deeply analyzing something like glasses on the floor.

[juliairian]

I had a funny / illuminating experience about social proof recently with my partner. I was reading a lot of fanfiction of the show Merlin and had discussed some points about it with him - he hasn’t seen it and is not interested, so he tends to roll his eyes a bit.

I then began reading T.H. White’s The Sword in the Stone and giggled loudly at the wonderfully absurd language and jokes throughout. At one point, I read out a passage to my partner, who listened with a critical face (me meanwhile snorting half the lines in laughter). When I was done, there was more eye-rolling and a somewhat dismissive comment.

I genuinely was surprised and a bit upset that he reacted so strongly against the excerpt and pestered him about it until he finally said, “I’m not really interested - this is just one more of those fanfictions representing knights’ jousting very inaccurately” (he’s interested in historical battles, weapons, that sort of thing.)

I laughed and said, this isn’t fanfiction, it’s T.H.White. I explained about the satirical nature of the scene - it wasn’t inaccuracy but parody, basically. We both have literature degrees and I ended up teasing him to no end about the fact that he did not spot the parody nor found it funny, simply because his prejudice against what he thought was fanfiction blocked him from really giving that excerpt a chance.

Started an interesting conversation about Canon and I felt extremely vindicated in my defense of really good fanfiction I’d read.

End of story: He’s currently reading The Sword in the Stone and giggling as much as I did. TH White must have won him over 😁

[michaelbjorkwrites]

What a great (and funny) story! It tells us a lot about how easily we shut down our critical eye when our expectations are low or dismissive. It's one of the reasons I think it's worthwhile to always approach a piece of writing optimistically, looking for what's working as much as what isn't. It makes reading a lot more enjoyable, too!

[twitterlols]

[chemicalheart-deactivated202009]

i love this so much i dont know where to start - the comedy itself - the commentary on ‘what is art’ - further on what is art: the viewers are interpreting this as art, but the intention of the “artist” was not actually art, so is it art or not? who gets to decide, the viewers or the creator? - the act of placing the glasses and watching the response (and the response itself being that the viewers treated the glasses as art) as performance art like is this a critique of postmodernism? does the critique betray itself since (one could argue) the viewers interpreting the glasses as art makes them art? or is that so ridiculous that it doesn’t matter? i could go on

[pervocracy]

The intention of the “artist” was not actually art, but… their intention was to create a specific image for public display in order to evoke a reaction from an audience, and then to create an image of that in order to evoke a different reaction from a second audience.

I think they accidentally arted.  Twice.

[roachpatrol]

art happens in museums whether you like it or not

[brawltogethernow]

I’ve always respected that last uplifting, quietly threatening comment.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

"Art happens in museums whether you like it or not" is also kind of equatable to "literature happens in the canon whether you like it or not," and it actually demonstrates the power of social proof.

For example, if I stumbled across Joyce's writing online without knowing who wrote it, I'd probably get annoyed, frustrated, and dismiss it as unnecessarily convoluted. But if I know it's Joyce or if it's handed to me in a literature classroom, there's enough social proof for me to believe there's something meaningful here. I'll give it more if a chance.

This, I think, is why you'll often see artists and writers start out with accessible work, before creating increasingly experimental and challenging work over time. The reason is partially because they develop as artists, but also because they need to build artistic clout to prove to audiences that their work is worth deep, complicated analysis.

Joyce is a good example. Finnegan's Wake was so utterly complex and impenetrable that even after having "proven" himself with earlier works, many were still resistant to the novel. If he'd written the book at the beginning of his career, however, nobody would have given it a chance.

Anyhoo, long story short, social proof (such as a museum, classroom, or canon) is a powerful thing -- and while it can help us identify complex artworks that are worthy of a deep time commitment, it can also fool us into deeply analyzing something like glasses on the floor.

[humunanunga]

When you’re a writer and you’re trying not to spoil your story to your friends...

[michaelbjorkwrites]

I always wait for permission -- but boy, do I fight for permission to tell them that one cool thing.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

Complexity vs. simplicity: Stories that smell of the lamp, not of the sun.

In 1901, Claude Debussy wrote a letter to a fellow composer about the motivation behind his latest composition, Nocturnes. In explaining the accessibility of his new work, Debussy criticized the other songs of their day as having become needlessly complex, writing:

"They smell of the lamp, not of the sun."

The same, I think, can be said of certain stories.

Not stories of a particular era, but any story that forgets the value of simplicity and sees complexity as a self-sufficient virtue -- where craft distracts from, rather than elevates, the story.

To be clear, I'm not poo-pooing complexity.

Simple and complex stories both have strengths -- the former being more accessible and capable of mythic weight, and the latter guiding us through engaging labyrinths of plot or the human condition.

But let's be real.

We're writers.

We love our craft, with all its intricate phrasings and wordings, and we like to push the boundaries -- at least a little. So we let loose. We see what we can do, and draft convoluted sentences, over the top imagery, and wildly tangled twists.

Our motives are good. We're excited by the craft, and it’s natural (even vital) to follow our instincts and passions in the first draft.

But in revision, we need to look back and consider whether all these intricacies still serve the story. If they do? Great! Keep them. If they don’t? Well, that’s when it’s important to “kill your darlings,” as they say.

Needless complexities distract and and create barriers for readers. They draw attention to the labor of your craft, rather than the story itself -- resulting in a story that smells of the lamp, rather than the sun.

Be ambitious as you write. Never back down from complexity, so long as it serves your purposes.

But don’t let needless complexities distract your reader from the sun.

— — —

Hey there! My name’s Mike, and I’m a writer and copywriter with an MFA in fiction. For more tips on how to hone your craft and nurture meaningful stories, follow my blog.

[helenaklein]

morally grey does not mean “is bad but also sad”

[helenaklein]

a character that is morally grey will not burn the world down because it makes them feel powerful, they’ll do it because they perceive something about it to be broken. moral ambiguity has nothing to do with a character’s past, and everything to do with the relationship between their actions and their intentions.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

Great distinction!

A character who does bad things because they’re sad, betrayed, or hurt by their circumstances may be sympathetic, but they aren’t necessarily morally grey.

A character becomes morally grey when there’s a sense of truth, goodness, or justice in their purpose, but the actions they take to achieve that purpose are troubling, even amoral.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

The Progressive Outline — How I balance my plotter and pantser tendencies.

When I first started writing at 13, I was a pantser. I’d develop an initial concept for a story, then just write – making everything up as I went.

Within a year or so, I became a plotter. I wrote extensive character sheets, deeply developed the worlds of my stories, and wrote detailed outlines that spanned not just the current novel, but series-long arcs.

In the years that followed (high school, college, MFA), I oscillated between the two approaches, navigating the benefits and challenges of both, as well as my own evolving preferences – before settling on my current method.

I call it “progressive outlining,” and it helps me do two somewhat conflicting things:

Create an outline for structure and direction

Allow my characters the freedom to organically grow, surprise me, and influence the story

The Progressive Outline

There are three parts to my outlining process:

Initial preparation

Creating a rough outline

Incremental journeys

1. Initial Preparation

Here, I do my initial brainstorming. Starting with the original concept, I generate ideas for the setting, characters, motivations, plot points, magic systems, etc. You can spend as much time as you want in this stage, but for me, the most important things to firmly establish are:

Your main character (and what drives them emotionally)

A small, initial cast of characters

Any core magic or sci-fi elements

The opening setting of your story

Those four things are important, because they’re the foundation of the story – the launchpad, both for the writing and the outline.

2. Creating a Rough Outline

Next, I create a rough outline of the story, and I really do mean “rough.” Instead of detailing every beat of the story from beginning to end, I allow the outline to become increasingly broad and vague the further out it goes.

For example, let’s say my story is made up of three parts. The most detailed section in the outline would be Part 1; Part 2 would be pretty broad; and Part 3 would have just a few high-level bullet points.

In all those sections, however, I try to mark key turning points for the characters and the plot, even if I don’t know exactly what will happen. For example, I might say, “Our characters clash at the festival,” or, “A friend will somehow betray the main character’s trust, hurting their relationship.“

The point of this outline is to provide long-view guidance wherever I am in the story. However, I keep things relatively vague, because I like to delay making specific decisions until my characters are closer to each event.

3. Incremental Journeys

Now the fun part. Writing.

To start, I take my rough outline and make sure the first couple sections are nicely fleshed out. Then, considering everything I learned during my initial preparation and using my outline as a general (but not set-in-stone) guide, I write those first few chapters.

After finishing those chapters, I do three things:

I think about what I’ve learned about the characters and story so far.

Using what I’ve learned, I flesh out the next few chapters in the outline, which might include some further world building or character development.

I write the newly outlined chapters.

Then I repeat those three steps, again and again – progressively outlining and writing my way through the story in short, incremental journeys.

Why do I write this way?

As I said at the beginning, this approach gives me the structure and direction of an outline, without denying my characters the freedom to grow and surprise me. 

That’s why I write this way – outlining, yes, but leaving much of the outline initially broad and vague so that I can let my characters play a more active role in shaping how each plot point comes to life. The process is pretty similar to Flashlight Outlining, if any of you are familiar; the main difference, as far as I can see, is that I also maintain an overarching outline.

Should you write this way?

You’d know better than me! A key part of every writer’s development is figuring out their process, and we do that by writing and experimenting. So give this outlining process a shot if you’re dissatisfied with your current process or want to try an approach that draws from both plotters and pantsers.

And if you already love your process?

Please share it below! I’d love to hear how you write (with or without an outline) and why it works for you.

— — —

Hey there! My name’s Mike, and I’m a writer and copywriter with an MFA in fiction. For more tips on how to hone your craft and nurture meaningful stories, follow my blog.

[writingonesdreams]

This is great advice.

I always start our super vague- I have the whole plot laid out but I’m missing the specifics. Recently I realized I could just start with the beginning and make my way to specific scenes as I write while keeping the broad outline and explaining on it.

Outline being something changeable, something with many drafts as well, that changes as you write seems like the best utilization of the outline.

Getting the turning and key points, the in between things can come as you write. Another thing I do is keeping a list of ideas of what could happen so I can choose the best from it.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

Thanks for sharing! I think we sometimes get so stuck thinking only in terms of "planning" or "pantsing" that we forget all the gradients that exist in between -- even in terms of how to use an outline.

I also like your addition of a pool or ideas that you draw from as you write! It speaks to the true fluidity of the writing process, at least as I've experience it.

[michaelbjorkwrites]

Your character is driven by 3 emotional motives. See? I even made a graphic.

(I’m proud of the graphic, too.)

Mood: The immediate (and temporary) emotions of your character. A feeling of joy after kissing the girl they like; frustration after a busy day working a summer job at the fair; despair after somebody eats the last Oreo.

Situation: The plot and relationship contexts of your character. The apprehension they feel with a friend in the weeks following a nasty fight; the nerves felt in the week leading up to their big championship game; the frustration and boredom of being grounded after crashing the family car into the county creek.

Struggle: The core, deepfelt pain of your character, which often emerges from their background. The fear of failure from overly demanding parents; a deep longing for a family they never knew; a desperate need to be accepted after spending years as an outcast.

How these 3 motives influence your character

The above emotional motives all play an important role in driving your character’s actions, muddying or even overriding their more logical intentions — just as it happens to the rest of us. (We’re all human, after all.)

That being said, while your character’s mood and situation will shift throughout the story, their struggle will remain constant: their true north, emotionally speaking. This struggle will always be at the root of their actions, even as you swap in new situations and moods.

Take Bethany as an example

Let’s say your character’s name is Bethany, and her struggle is this: a deep fear of failure, stemming from her parents’ impossible academic expectations, which conflicts with her own desire to finally experience the life she sees passing her by.

Her actions, while primarily driven by that struggle, are going to vary quite a bit depending on her situation and mood. For example, if it’s the night before a big test, she might blow off a friend’s invitation to a party so she can study.

But if the party is a week before the big test, and she finds a handwritten invitation in her notebook from Emma (the girl on the lacrosse team she has a crush on), Bethany might act differently. Maybe she feels a lightness and warmth in her cheeks as she reads Emma’s note. Maybe she puts those textbooks away, and maybe, just maybe, she sneaks out the window and goes to the party.

But if Bethany finds the note after her parents just chewed her out for being ungrateful and not studying hard enough? Maybe Bethany doesn’t go to the party. Instead, maybe she reads Emma’s note, trembles, then rips it in two, knowing she can’t disappoint her parents like that. Then she spends the rest of the evening studying. Alone.

Mood. Situation. Struggle.

All three kinds of emotional motives are important. Your character’s struggle is the anchor, but their mood and situation are the ever-shifting masks you use to express their struggle in fresh ways. 

And by the end of the story, hopefully your character will overcome their struggle — putting away the textbooks, sneaking out the window, and meeting their crush at a party. Maybe even having their first kiss.

Whatever the character, and whatever their struggle, I’m sure you’ll do great. 

So good luck! And good writing.

— — —

Your stories are worth telling. For tips on how to craft meaning, build character-driven plots, and grow as a writer, follow my blog.

[loegi2308]

That is great, Michael! I never understood the correlation between the situation of my MC and the choice I made, when I create a scene… what to tell about my MC, how to tell and why? There is the answer…

[michaelbjorkwrites]

Glad to hear it! A character's core struggle is the anchor that drives their actions, but their situation and mood color those actions with surprising gradients. That's what makes good characters (and everyday people!) so fascinating and unpredictable. I'm glad you found the post helpful!