In my last blog, I talked (okay, blogged) about the difference between a scene and a story—a critical difference if we seek to elevate our erotica above the merely erotic, to make it both satisfying and memorable. It talked about all the ingredients I collect for a story, like a main character, an antagonist, conflict and resolution.

‘Ingredients’ is a good word for these things, because it tells us what we need to get started, but not how to put it all together. For example, you wouldn’t introduce your bad-guy in the last chapter, right? Even when you have all the right ingredients, you still need to put them together properly to get a story.

Structure: A recipe for success

Ever heard of the three-act structure? It’s not new. It was coined by Aristotle, apparently, and is now a staple of modern screenplays. We can employ the same techniques to structure stories, even short ones. Rather than boring you with a long and dull description that I copied off Wikipedia, I thought it would be more fun (for me) to show structure in action by decomposing a well-known story (in this case, a movie) into some of its structural components to show you how it works.

Now it’s no secret that I’m Australian, and it’s also no secret that every last one of us is a knife-toting, crocodile-wrestling maniac. It should come as no surprise that I have chosen the 1986 classic Aussie rom-com, Crocodile Dundee, starring Paul ‘Hoges’ Hogan and Linda Kozlowski. I know you’ve all seen it; don’t try to deny it.

So let’s have at it. Since I’m too lazy to actually describe the three-act structure, I’ll refer as I go along to some excellent infographics from www.helpingwritersbecomeauthors.com by K.M. Weiland, author of Structuring Your Novel.

The Story

Here’s a cinematic blurb for Crocodile Dundee that I pasted together from a few sources:

Sue Charlton, a New York reporter, heads to Australia to interview the living legend Mick Dundee. When she finally locates him, she is so taken with him that she brings him back with her to New York. How will the Aussie bushman cope in the big city? And how will Mick cope when he finds himself falling in love with Sue?

Now, this is my third go at writing this blog, and what I’ve discovered in two failed attempts is that breaking down the plot of even a simple movie like Crocodile Dundee into its three-act components is a monumental undertaking. I wouldn’t finish writing it, and you certainly wouldn’t finish reading it. I’m just not that interesting. Instead, I’ll try something briefer and hopefully more interesting, by pulling some of the key scenes out from Act One and trying to identify them in the Weiland infographic.

Scene: The Walkabout Creek Pub

It’s the third scene of the movie, where Sue accompanies Walter Reilly to the Walkabout Creek Pub to meet Mick. Mick sweeps in in a boisterous, raucous rush of hilarious larrikinism, wrestling a stuffed crocodile, when he spots Sue.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3dv3v2if3WQ

They lock eyes and there’s a long, sexually charged moment that lets every viewer know exactly why they’re there—to see these two fall in love. This is a critical moment for the movie, because not only does it introduce the title character, it lets us know his goal (get the girl), and it is the pursuit of that goal which drives the drama.

In a romance story, a scene like this is known as a meet-cute (or sometimes cute-meet), a cute, amusing, and endearing way for the love-interests to meet. Woe be to she who writes a romance without a meet-cute.

Sue, to her great credit, steadfastly sticks to her purpose and is not wooed by the charismatic bushman:

“Listen, you do understand I want you to take me out where you were attacked, show me how you survived.”

“Oh well, I don’t know, just the two of us there alone? I’ve got me reputation to think about.”

This is our first sniff of the movie’s central conflict: Mick wants the girl, but the girl wants the story (not to mention, she has a boyfriend). In this way, the story’s antagonist isn’t a bad guy, or a monster, or a volcano, it’s situational. If Sue wants the story, she must spend time alone with Mick, and in doing so, she will have to endure his country charms. Surely only the strongest woman could resist!

Let’s look at K.M.Weiland’s Act One infographic. That link should popup a new window. I’d love to duplicate the infographic here, but I’m too damn lazy to ask Ms Weiland for permission. If you’re too damn lazy to click the link (hey, I’m the last to judge), then you’ll just have to imagine a timeline that shows how Act One is broken up into The Hook, The Set-up, The Inciting Event, The Build-up, and The First Plot Point. Curious yet? Clickety-click … I’ll wait … 

You’re back? Great. Now this infographic isn’t romance-specific, so we don’t see meet-cute there, but clearly the Walkabout Pub scene is part of the set-up; characters: check; goals: check; stakes: check.

But what about that Inciting Event? It’s supposed to be in here somewhere.  It will be the place where the antagonist takes its first bite out our main characters. The Walkabout Creek Pub introduces the situational antagonist, but it hasn’t slapped either of them down, yet.

Lesson: Not all critical scenes are on the right-hand-side of the infographic.

Scene: Sue Strikes out alone

After a day and night of outback adventure, Sue is recording her impressions on a tape recorder when Mick interrupts. (Apologies to US viewers, this link is blocked to you and I can’t find the scene elsewhere on the Internet)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pl8rwEuPf84#t=25m15s (Apologies to US viewers, this link is blocked to you and I can’t find the scene elsewhere on the Internet)

“Yeah, but you’re not alone. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but… I think I know how you must have felt… Or how I’d feel if I were out here alone.”

“You… Out here alone? That’s a joke. A city girl like you… You wouldn’t last five minutes, love. This is man’s country out here.”

“That’s right. I’m only a sheila. We’re heading for that escarpment today, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. See you there this afternoon.”

You’ll have to watch the clip, because what the dialogue doesn’t show is the death-stare Sue gives Mick when he says she wouldn’t last five minutes.

This is our antagonist, out to play, teeth bared, saliva dripping from its maw. How could these two ever love each other? Physical attraction is one thing, but love between a chauvinist and a feminist? Not going to happen.

I think we’ve found our inciting incident. Their differences have driven a wedge between them, and it’s going to take a miracle to bridge the chasm it’s created.

Lesson: An Inciting Event is key to any complete story, not just a romance. We set a character onto a goal, but where’s the fun if we just let him succeed? Mick Dundee taking the city girl out into the bush, falling in love and living happily ever after is NOT a story. The Hook may be the thing that gets us reading, but the Inciting Event is the thing that makes us care.

Scene: Echo Lake

After the Inciting Event comes a series of scenes where Mick regains ground in his romantic quest for Sue, not the least of which being the one where he saves her from a crocodile attack.

Each of these plays on the same theme, Sue’s conflicted feelings for Mick, and the sense of safety she enjoys to be protected by such a manly man.

These feelings come to a head at Echo Lake. Sue is resting on the bank and watching Mick spear-fishing. The look in her eyes and the backing score all say one thing: she wants this man. Problem is, Wally will be there soon to end their adventure, and then she’ll have to go back to New York alone and resume her normal life without Mick.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pl8rwEuPf84#t=38m12s (Apologies to US viewers, this link is blocked to you and I can’t find the scene elsewhere on the Internet)

“Mick. When I go back, why don’t you come with me?”

“What for?”

“Well, it would make a great wrap to the story… You in New York City.”

“Oh. For a minute there I thought you were making a pass at me.”

“Well, I might have been. Would you mind?”

This is a huge moment for Sue. She’s tried playing the assertive modern woman to Mick, and it almost got her killed. But even though she’s the one making the move, everything in the scene still screams that she is playing submissive Jane to his Tarzan, which is the drama that drives their romance.

More importantly, it opens the plot of the movie. We’ve had the city-girl-in-the-outback, now it’s time for the bushman-in-the-big-smoke, which—apart from the romance—is the real point of Crocodile Dundee.

Looking at our infographic, we see that this is our First Plot Point. We’ve had the set-up and the build-up, now it’s time to crank the handle and let the story fly into the second act, which is where all the real conflict happens.

Lesson: The Inciting Event is not the plot; it simply opens up the story for the plot reveal. Because of this amazing thing that happened (Inciting Event), now we must embark on this adventure (First Plot Point). The closer you can tie these two to cause and effect, the more compelling the drama.

What Have We Learned?

Crocodile Dundee is cheesy and formulaic, and yet every time it comes on TV (and in Australia, that’s a lot, and usually late at night), there I am:

I’ll just watch to the croc attack.

I’ll just watch to Echo Lake.

I’ll just watch to “That’s not a knife.”

The reason I keep watching until they land in each-other’s arms in the New York subway, is because it’s a tremendously satisfying story. And it’s tremendously satisfying because it keeps giving you what you need, when you need it.

This is no accident.

Sure, you could ignore structure. You don’t want to write formulaic fiction that ticks boxes, you want to write a beautiful, organic story the way it needs to be told.

Well sure, you can. Don’t let me tell you different. But if your goals are less lofty, if all you want is to turn a good idea into a great story that people will enjoy, then look into this structure thing. It really works.

(…That’s a Story)

By Belinda LaPage (ERWA Gallery co-editor)

Yes, I paraphrased Crocodile Dundee. I’m Australian. What did you expect? Move along.

Scene vs. Story

Erotica writers, have you ever written a hot little scorcher only to be told by some dilettante that it’s not a story?

Readers, ever read a hot little scorcher, only to realise you don’t remember it the next day?

Well, it might be for the want of Developmental Editing. It might be for the want of Structure.

Erotica, you see, lends itself handsomely to short stories—about twenty to forty minutes reading time—because … well, you know why. That’s about five thousand words, give or take. Plenty to lay down a solid foundation, followed by some solid banging. Job done—write another.

And there lies the danger. We as erotica writers want to get to the fun bit, so we set the scene quickly and get the action started. The result for the reader is gratification, but not recollection. It’s not something they’ll come back and read again. It’s not something they’ll recommend to a friend.

Sadly, it’s not a story.

That’s the problem. It’s actually just a scene, and there’s a difference.

A developmental editor (or a lovely ERWA Storytime subscriber) will find those missing key ingredients that make a story and help you build your scene into something greater. Why wait though? If you know what these key ingredients are, then you the writer can add them yourself. Before you commit, no less.

You can create … (pause for effect) … a story plan!

* * * *

Still with me? Thank goodness, because story planning sucks big time. I’m surprised you didn’t nod off. To make it more interesting, I’ll devote the rest of this post to a case study.

This is an actual story I’m actually about to write (so don’t freakin’ steal it, okay?).

Stroking up a Scene

Erotic scenes are easy. I have dozens of them in my ideas folder. All you need is a sexy, novel way for your protagonist to get his or her rocks off and you’ve got a scene.

Here’s mine. Matt goes to the Sperm Bank to make a deposit, but instead of porn in the donation rooms, they have assistants (sexy ones). So Matt gets PAID to receive a hand job. Fun, right? I can make it more fun pretty easily; the Sperm Bank is run by a convent and the nuns do the jerking off. Why? Because masturbation is a sin, silly.

The Little Sisters of Grace Sperm Bank.

The title almost writes itself. We can make it more fun still by making Sister Mary Katherine a pretty young novice, and this is her first time at the altar, so to speak. A beginner like Mary Kate might very well over-commit collecting Matt’s donation, and a creative soul like me could easily bend this to a sweet First Time fantasy.

Now we have a sexy niche and kink, as well—First Time / Nun / Uniform Fetish. Let’s go write this sucker and make us some money.

What happens next? I bang it out (figuratively) and send it to my loyal band of beta readers, who say wonderful things like “lucky Matt”, and “Mary Kate was a treat”. Those guys are great for my ego. They’re not just being polite—they really enjoyed it. I write hot nuns like nobody’s business and they love that about me.

Buoyed up, I scribble a quick premise (blurb) and send it to a publisher, who gives me a “Thanks, but no thanks”. Maybe if they’re in a generous mood, they’ll bless me with a “Your characters and plot need more depth”, or perhaps just, “Under-developed”.

Then I cry for a bit, drink wine, and self-publish. Or …

What do you mean, ‘Under-developed’?

Or, I could get some help. Some developmental editing help. Someone who can explain to me the difference between a developed story and The Little Sisters of Grace Sperm Bank.

Now, I’m no developmental editor, so I’ll skip the mechanics of what they do, and stick to the small but important subset of stuff I can do myself.

I’m a simple person, and I need simple instructions, so I have this cool checklist of questions in a spreadsheet. I fill it in before I begin writing. It helps me find gaps in my story—or in this case, gaps in my scene that stop it from being a story.

Q1. Who is the protagonist?

Duh! It’s Matt. The protagonist is the hero—the main character. Clearly, Little Sisters of Grace is about Matt.

Q2. How is the protagonist constricted?

Matt is imperfect in some way that drives his actions. All protagonists should be, because perfect people don’t behave in interesting ways.

Constricted … um, he’s horny? No, he’s broke. And sploodge-for-cash is Matt’s idea of easy money.

Q3. What is the protagonist’s goal?

Seeking the goal gives Matt something to do – hopefully it’s an interesting enough thing to get us reading.

Well, Matt wants to jerk off, but that’s the means, not the end. His real goal is making some quick cash. Why? What does he want to buy? A book? A case of beer? Does it even matter?

This is my first red flag. Whatever Matt is going to do with the money, it’s not going to make a shit of difference to the sexy nun awaiting him at the Little Sisters. You can’t just answer these questions with any old thing—they need to tie together.

I press nervously on to question 4 without a goal.

Q4. What is the protagonist’s focal relationship?

Secondary characters play off the protagonist and give us drama. This one is easy: Sister Mary Katherine.

Q5. Who (or what) is the antagonist?

The antagonist stands in the way of Matt achieving his goal.
This drives conflict and makes the story compelling. I have a list of generic possibilities:

• Man vs Man (or woman, or monster, whatever), e.g. Little Red Riding Hood
• Man vs Self, e.g. Bridget Jones’s Diary
• Man vs God, e.g. Bruce Almighty

The list goes on: machine, society, the supernatural, nature, situation, fate. It’s good for blue-skying how conflict might guide the story.

In my case, who is going to stop Matt collecting? Red flag number two. The whole point of this story is that Matt gets his money, and that means he gets a hot ecclesiastical hand-job along the way.

My story clearly transcends antagonists. Who needs them? Moving on.

Q6. What is the conflict?

The protagonist acts towards his goal, the antagonist acts against them. That’s the conflict, and it makes a story interesting. It makes us invested in the protagonist and his quest. It makes us turn the page to find out ‘what next’.

No antagonist means no conflict. So now I’m really fucked. My system is telling me I don’t have story, all I have is an ending, albeit a happy one.

Back to the drawing board?

Okay, so Matt has no goal, no antagonist to stop him from reaching it, and no conflict to drive the story forward. And if we believe this blog, adding those things will turn Little Sisters of Grace into a story.

We didn’t have any luck thinking of a goal, so let’s skip that and find an antagonist. Maybe the goal will present itself later.

Pick one—how about Man vs Self? Matt could be the virgin instead of Mary Katherine. Let’s change his constriction from being broke to being inexperienced. So he’s reluctant, and the good Sister will need to try all sorts of tricks to coerce his donation. That could be the conflict. Matt can’t get it up, so Mary Kate gives him a blow job. MK’s hand and mouth work is unskilled, so Matt can’t reach climax. MK’s hand gets tired, so she has to use her … Okay, we can all see where this ends up.

Antagonist: check. Conflict: check. Goal? Still struggling. Matt’s goal now is to get his first real intercourse with a live girl, but it doesn’t explain how he ended up at The Little Sisters in the first place. Unless he already knew about their extraction technique, but that spoils much of the fun. It’s boring.

Tie it together: Goal – Antagonist – Conflict – Constriction

Start again. Let’s go back to my list of antagonists. Man vs man? Nope. Man vs Self? Tried it. Man vs God? Hold on a bible-bashing minute. Nuns? God? Surely this is a match made in heaven.

Matt vs God—let’s go with that. So God is acting against Matt. Does God want him to bone Sister Mary Kate? Or does He want to stop him? Mary Kate is doing His work, so clearly that’s what God wants. Does Matt want the opposite? No way, José, Matt wants MK like a duck wants bread.

So maybe Matt wants something else. Turn it around and look from another angle. God wants Mary Kate to do His work, so Matt wants …

Matt wants to do Satan’s work!

Yes, okay. Matt’s off about town and ready to do something evil, like rob a store, or bang a hooker, and God keeps thwarting him. His brakes fail and he crashes his car through a Little Sisters billboard. He tries to catch a bus, and the bus sweeps past at full speed, carrying off his bus-pass in the slipstream (with a Little Sisters sign on the back). Matt breaks down and cries, and a little old lady gives him money. Waiting for the next bus, Matt meets a homeless man and gives him the old lady’s money. Awww. The homeless guy gives Matt a business card: The Little Sisters of Grace Sperm Bank—$20 per donation. Hilarity ensues.

Now all we need is an ending.

Q7. How is the protagonist changed?

Well, clearly if Matt was doing Satan’s work before, he must have changed for the better. He must repent and denounce his evil ways. No more hookers for Matt; he’ll be doing the Lord’s work, from now on. Maybe he could convert his friends. The Little Sisters are certainly up for it.

Now do we have a Story?

Do we have something that will keep the reader reading? Sure. It’s fun, it’s action packed, and there’s a payoff at the end. Will we remember the guy who bangs a nun at the sperm bank? Maybe not, but we stand a better chance if we make him work for it. A hot fantasy like that shouldn’t come for free.

Next time you’re critiquing a story on ERWA Storytime that just doesn’t grab you, but you can’t put your finger on why not, try out my seven questions. It might be because its only a scene, and maybe you can help the author turn it into a story.