Scene Structure

Goals

The story as a whole and every scene within it begins with a goal.
Your characters want something—something they will have difficulty
accomplishing. What they want frames the plot on both the macro
and micro levels. What they want defines them, and by extension the
theme of the book.

The possibilities for scene goals are endless—and very specific to

your story. Your characters can want anything in any given scene, but
within that universe of options, you must narrow down the desires
expressed within any given scene to those that will drive the plot.
Wanting to buy pink carnations for Mother’s Day is a worthy goal, but
if your character’s mother is a nonexistent player in your story of a
nuclear war, it’s not going to belong in your story—and certainly not
as a scene goal.

Scene goals are the dominoes I’m always talking about. Each goal is a
step forward in your story. One goal leads to a result that prompts a
new goal and on and on. Bing-bing-bing—they knock into each other,
one domino after another. If they don’t—if one goal is out of place in
the overall story—the line of dominoes will stop and the story will
falter, perhaps fatally.

Plot Goals vs. Scene Goals

Your protagonist’s overall plot goal will be a problem that will require
the entire story to solve. She may want to become President, she may
want to rescue her kidnapped daughter, she may want to marry the
boy next door, or she may want to find healing and a fresh start after
the death of her father. If we break this overall, story-long goal down
into bite-size pieces, we find that it’s really made up of one small goal
after another.

Your character may not even start out knowing that she wants a fresh
start or that she wants to marry the boy next door (although it should
be immediately evident to readers by implication if nothing else). But
in the very first scene, she’s going to know she wants something.

Maybe she knows she wants the neighbor boy’s dog to stop chewing
her petunias. Then she knows she has to meet him and convince him
to chain up his dog. Then she knows he’s infuriatingly cute. Then she
knows she wants to go out with him. Then she knows she has to
overcome her bad first impression. Then she knows she should bring
a peace offering. Etc., etc., etc.

Before you know it, all these little scene goals will lead you right up
to the overall story goal. The most important factor to keep in mind as
you identify each scene goal is its pertinence to the plot. Subplots
may provide opportunities for goals that aren’t directly related to your
primary goal of marrying the neighbor boy, but they, too, must
eventually tie into the overall plot in an impactful or thematically
resonant way. If the accomplishment or thwarting of any
given scene goal won’t affect the overall outcome of the story, it’s
probably not pertinent enough.

Options for Scene Goals

Scene goals will manifest in wildly different ways. Your character may
want to burn a packet of letters, take a nap, hide in a closet, or sink a
boat. But most scene goals will boil down into one of the following
categories.

Your character is going to want:

1. Something concrete (an object, a person, etc.).
2. Something incorporeal (admiration, information, etc.)
3. Escape from something physical (imprisonment, pain, etc.).
4. Escape from something mental (worry, suspicion, fear, etc.).
5. Escape from something emotional (grief, depression, etc.).

Your character’s methods of achieving these things will often

manifest in one of the following ways (although this list certainly isn’t
definitive):
1. Seeking information.
2. Hiding information.
3. Hiding self.
4. Hiding someone else.
5. Confronting or attacking someone else.
6. Repairing or destroying physical objects.

Partial and Overarching Goals

Although scene goals will always be short-range (as opposed to the

long-range plot goal), they won’t always be confined to and
completed in a single scene. Sometimes your story will
demand overarching goals that span several scenes. For example,
your character may know in scene #3 that she wants to go out with
the neighbor boy, but this isn’t a goal she can accomplish in just
one scene. She may not achieve this particular goal until scene #11.

This is where partial goals come into play. Just as scene goals build
up to the overall story goal, partial goals build up to fulfill overarching
goals within a sequence of scenes, which themselves eventually lead
up to the overall goal. In our example, the character’s journey to
reach this particular overarching goal might include partial goals such
as purposefully bumping into the neighbor boy several times, getting
his phone number, and apologizing for yelling at his dog.

Overarching goals that require several scenes to accomplish do not

negate the need for individual goals within each interim scene. But
don’t limit yourself with the notion that each scene must be an island
unto itself. Each scene is just a small part of the larger whole. Since
everything must be integral, everything can’t help but be intertwined.

Questions to Ask About Your Scene Goals

Once you’ve identified your scene’s goal, stop and ask yourself the
following questions:
1. Does the goal make sense within the overall plot?
2. Is the goal inherent to the overall plot?
3. Will the goal’s complication/resolution lead to a new goal/conflict/
disaster?
4. If the goal is mental or emotional (e.g., be happy today), does it
have a physical manifestation (e.g., smile at everyone)? (This one
isn’t always necessary, but allowing characters to
outwardly show their goals offers a stronger presentation than
mere telling, via internal narrative.)
5. Does the success or failure of the goal directly affect
the scene narrator? (If not, this character’s POV probably isn’t the
right choice.)

Conflict

Once you’ve established your character’s scene* goal, the fun begins
in earnest! Conflict is what story is all about. Without it, the
characters would achieve their goals in minutes, all the loose ends
would instantly be tied off with a pretty red bow, and the story would
be happily ever over. That may be nice for the folks in your story, but
it’s going to bore readers into rigor mortis.

Enter the opposition, stage left.

Here’s your character, merrily skipping along toward his goal of
contributing to the annual Christmas Children’s Charity,
when bammo! bandits swarm the road, block off access to the goal,
and demand the character hand over all his money. Ta-da! Instantly,
your scene becomes more interesting. Readers are breathless to
discover if your character will escape the bandits and deliver his
charity donation to the poor little orphans.

Conflict keeps your story moving forward. When your characters’

initial goals are stymied by conflict, it causes them to react with new
goals, which are stymied by further conflict, which causes them to
again modify their goals—and on and on, until finally they reach their
goals and the story ends.

Authors sometimes experience difficulties injecting enough conflict

into their stories. Their characters mosey through life, getting along
with everyone and doing nothing of great importance. Or if
they do have an altercation with someone or accomplish something
important, the ramifications are resolved so quickly and seamlessly
they end up being neither crucial nor entertaining.

Don’t be afraid of socking it to your characters. Without conflict

and its associated suffering, characters have no reason to
exist. Analyze your scenes to ensure each one erects obstacles
between your characters and their goals.

Options for Scene Conflict

Like scene goals, scene conflict offers endless possibilities. Conflict

can come in a variety of flavors, but most can be sorted into the
following categories.

Your character’s goal is going to obstructed by:

1. Direct opposition (another character, weather, etc., which
interferes with the goal).
2. Inner opposition (the characters learn something that changes
their mind about their goals).
3. Circumstantial difficulties (no flour to bake a cake, no partners to
dance with, etc.).
4. Active conflict (argument, fight, etc.).
5. Passive conflict (being ignored, being kept in the dark, being
avoided, etc.).
These generalities can include (but certainly aren’t limited to):
1. Physical altercation.
2. Verbal altercation.
3. Physical obstacle (weather, roadblock, personal injury, etc.).
4. Mental obstacle (fear, amnesia, etc.).
5. Physical lack (no flour to bake a cake).
6. Mental lack (no information).
7. Passive aggression (intentional or unintentional).
8. Indirect interference (long-distance or unintentional opposition by
another character).

Is Your Conflict Integral?

As if writers don’t have enough to keep us busy just in dreaming up a

good altercation, we also have to limit our conflict to only what is
integral to each specific scene. In the words of Dwight V. Swain,
“conflict for conflict’s sake” isn’t good enough.
If the charitable character in our original illustration loses his donation
money to bandits, that’s a good conflict. It directly interferes with his
goal of giving the money to the orphans. But if the bandits never
show up again in the story—if they appeared solely for the sake of
stealing the money—they won’t represent integral conflict.
Even worse is when the conflict has nothing to do with the goal. For
example, if Allie is walking down the street, intent on getting to her
hair appointment before her debut performance on Broadway, a
random argument about the worth and importance of the Macy’s
Thanksgiving Day parade just ain’t gonna cut it.
Instead, you must ensure each scene’s conflict is a direct result of an
earlier occurrence in the plot (maybe the protagonist infuriated the
bandit leader by throwing a snowball in his face) and a direct obstacle
between the protagonist and the goal (maybe the Macy’s parade
is preventing Allie from reaching her hair appointment).

Questions to Ask About Your Scene Conflict

Once you’ve identified your scene’s conflict, stop and ask yourself
the following questions:
1. Does the opposition to the character’s goal matter personally? (If
not, the character doesn’t want the goal badly enough in the first
place.)
2. Does the conflict organically evolve from the goal?
3. Is the opposition’s motivation logical within the overall story?
4. Does the conflict lead to a logical outcome (resolution or disaster)?
5. Does the conflict directly interfere with or threaten the
protagonist’s goal?
Disaster

The disaster is the payoff at the end of the scene.* This is what
readers have been waiting for, often with a delicious sense of dread.
This is the answer, at least partially, to that all-important question,
“What’s gonna happen?”
The final act in the three-part structure of your scene is the outcome.
The first two parts of the scene (the goal and the conflict) asked a
question. The outcome answers it. If the character in our previous
examples asked the scene question, “Will I be able to go out with the
boy next door?,” the answer—the outcome—will be either yes or no.
Some authors dislike the use of the word “disaster” for this final part
of the scene, since it seems to indicate every scene must end with
a Perils-of-Pauline-esque cliffhanger. However, the disaster is a
master of disguises and can come in just about any shape or size
necessary to fit the needs of your specific story and scene.
The important thing to keep in mind is that disasters move the plot
forward. If everything turns out hunky-dory and characters gets
their scene questions answered exactly as they hoped, the conflict
withers up and dies and the story peters to an end.
This is why I prefer the emphasis on disaster. At the end of every
single scene, you should be looking for a way to thwart your
characters’ hopes and make their lives miserable—to at least some
extent. This does not mean characters should never gain ground
toward achieving their goals. They can achieve part of their goals,
while still experiencing setbacks. The point is to keep the pressure on
and the plot progressing.

Options for Scene Disasters

Scene disasters are probably the easiest of all scene components to

spot. If it causes difficulties, even if just momentary, it’s a disaster.
Disasters come in every variety imaginable, but we can attempt
to narrow them down into the following basic categories:
1. Direct obstruction of the goal (e.g., the character wants info which
the antagonist refuses to supply).
2. Indirect obstruction of the goal (e.g., the character is sidetracked
from achieving the goal).
3. Partial obstruction of the goal (e.g., the character accomplishes
only part of the goal).
4. Hollow victory (e.g., the character reaches the goal, only to find
out it’s more destructive than helpful).
These disasters can manifest in any and every way your
imagination can dream up, including:
1. Death.
2. Physical injury.
3. Emotional injury.
4. Discovery of complicating information.
5. Personal mistake.
6. Threat to personal safety.
7. Danger to someone else.

Make Your Disaster Disastrous

This is where the fuse on your scene’s firecracker runs out. Are you
going to give readers a bang or a fizzle? Don’t skimp on disasters.
This is not the time to play nice with your characters. A weak disaster
can leave readers feeling dissatisfied. Worse than that, a piddling
disaster leaves you with a soggy foundation for your
following sequel and scene. Each scene’s disaster is the set-up for
the next scene’s goal.
Weak disaster=weak following scene.
The intensity of any given disaster will depend on your character’s
personal desires and needs within your plot. A burnt cake may be
inconsequential in a spy thriller, but it might be calamitous in a YA
story about a teen who’s pledged a spectacular three-layer cake to
her school’s bake sale, in order to get in good with the cheerleading
squad.
If your story demands a burnt cake, don’t settle for one that’s slightly
overdone. But by that same token, why settle for plain ol’ charbroiled?
Why not consider the implications of an oven fire that turns the
kitchen into a war zone and gets the attention of the whole town
when the fire engine comes clanging up to the teen’s front door?
Push the envelope every chance you get. But don’t forget to use
common sense. Disasters must be logical within the context of the
story. An atomic bomb landing smack on the teen’s kitchen is
probably going a smidge overboard. If it fails to make sense within the
context of the story, it will smack of melodrama.

The “Yes, But…” Disaster

Sometimes in order to advance the plot, your disasters are best left
incomplete. The “partial obstruction of goal” and “hollow victory”
disasters we talked about in the section above are two examples. In
his book Scene and Structure, Jack M. Bickham refers to these partial
disasters as “yes, but…” disasters.
“yes, but…” disasters occur when your characters get a qualified or
even total “yes” in answer to the scene question. They fulfill
their scene goals… but there are unforeseen complications.
In a partial obstruction of the goal, a character may achieve part of
a scene goal (e.g., the neighbor boy agrees to go out with her), but
not all of it or not exactly as planned (he only agrees to grab a quick
cappuccino instead of dinner and a movie).
In the hollow victory disaster, characters may get exactly what they
want, only to discover they would have been far better off without it.
For example, our cake-baking teen might finish icing her gorgeous
three-layer cake, only to have her mother show up and reveal the teen
just used the last of the flour and now the whole family will starve
(melodramatic, but you get the idea).

Questions to Ask About Your Scene Disasters

Once you’ve identified your scene’s disaster, ask yourself the

following questions:
1. Does your disaster answer the scene question, as posed by
the scene goal?
2. Is your disaster integral to the scene (e.g., is the disaster a direct
culmination of the scene conflict)?
3. Is your disaster disastrous enough?
4. If your character partially or totally reaches the scene goal, is there
a “yes, but…” disaster waiting to create a slowdown?
5. Will your disaster prompt a new goal from the character?

Reaction

At the heart of every sequel* is the narrating character’s reaction to

the preceding scene’s disaster. This is where you get the opportunity
to dig around inside your characters’ emotional and mental processes
and find out what they’re really made of. While the scene is about
external action, the sequel is about internal reaction. The sequel will
sometimes be entirely confined to the POV character’s mind; other
times, it will be dramatized through action or dialogue.
Although the sequel possesses three basic and unavoidable parts,
just like the scene, it is much more flexible in execution. The three
parts may take place within a single sentence—or be stretched out
over many chapters. Sometimes one or the other of the parts may be
implied; sometimes they may appear intermixed with the pieces of
the scene.
Because the scene’s goal/conflict/disaster are an external expression,
they are almost always easy to pick out once you know what you’re
looking for. But the sequel, as an internal processing of events, can
sometimes get buried within all the flashier goings-on. Its occasional
invisibility, however, in no way lessens its importance. If anything, that
subtlety brings a greater power to the sequel.

Don’t Be Afraid of Boring Readers With Your Scene Sequels

Authors who lack a complete understanding of the scene/

sequel structure sometimes worry their sequels won’t contain enough
action or conflict to keep readers’ attention. This is far from the case.
Readers love action (whatever its manifestation), and authors can’t
create a story without it. But without character reactions, all that juicy
action will lack context and, as a result, meaning.
A soldier fighting in a war may be interesting from an intellectual
perspective. But if there is no emotional context, readers grow weary.
For example, I once read a sci-fi novel that offered a fantastic premise
and some great action scenes. It hooked me from the first paragraph,
but by the time I was a quarter of the way in, I was bored. I put the
book down and never came back to it, something I almost never do.
Why? Because the whole thing was action, action, action, with no
insight into how the main characters were internally reacting to all
that gunplay.
Some stories will emphasize the action; some will emphasize the
reaction. This will depend upon your genre as a whole and the
specific needs of your story. All stories must contain both if they’re to
successfully entertain readers. Don’t be afraid of boring readers by
elaborating on character reactions. What you really need to fear is
boring them by leaving the reactions out! Use these opportunities to
dig deep inside your characters, figure out how they tick, what they’re
really after, and how the action is transforming them.

Options for Sequel Reactions

The three parts of your sequel will manifest in three different ways:
the reaction is emotional, the dilemma is intellectual, and
the decision will lead to physical action (by way of
the next scene’s goal). As soon as your previous scene’s disaster hits,
your character will experience an immediate and instinctive emotional
reaction.

The possibilities for reactions are as vast as the gamut of human

emotion, which includes all of the following and loads more:
1. Elation
2. Fury
3. Anger
4. Confusion
5. Despair
6. Panic
7. Shame
8. Regret
9. Shock

Ways to Convey Character Reactions in a Scene Sequel

Once you’ve nailed down an emotional reaction that makes sense

within both the context of the previous disaster and your character’s
established personality, you must decide how best to relay that
emotion to readers.
You have four choices:
1. Description
You can simply tell readers how your character feels. This won’t
always be a good choice since you’ll usually get more bang for your
buck by showing readers what’s happening. But sometimes a simple
summary will allow you to return to the action quicker.
2. Internal Narrative
Most reactions will contain at least some internal narrative, since your
character’s inner landscape is most important at this point.
3. Dramatization
You can effectively show a character’s reaction via his external
actions. This can sometimes be used by itself if the dramatization is
strong enough on its own to convey the character’s inner reaction.
Often, it is especially effective when used in conjunction with
description and/or internal narrative. For example, your character’s
fearful reaction might be dramatized through her chewing her
fingernails or shivering uncontrollably.
4. Tone
You can also use the general tone of your story, as you describe other
elements (such as setting, weather, other characters’ actions, etc.) to
convey your character’s inner landscape. Your choice of words will
influence your readers’ perception of events and help them make
assumptions about your character’s internal reactions.

Questions to Ask About Your Sequel Reactions

Double check your sequel’s reactions by analyzing them with the

following questions:
1. Does the character’s reaction directly correlate to the preceding
disaster?
2. Does the character’s reaction make sense in context with the
preceding disaster?
3. Is the character’s reaction logical for his or her personality?
4. Have you taken the appropriate amount of time to portray the
reaction (whether it’s a sentence or several chapters)?
5. Have you illustrated the reaction as powerfully as possible, through
narrative, description, action, and/or dialogue?
6. Have you made the situation clear without unnecessarily rehashing
information readers are already familiar with?

Dilemma

If the first part of your sequel*—the reaction—appeals to your

readers’ emotions, the second part is all about the intellect. Once
your characters’ first-blush emotional responses to the
previous scene’s disaster has passed, they will have to get down
to the all-important business of thinking about what they’re
going to do next. The previous disaster has left them in quite a
pickle. It was a catastrophic declaration; the dilemma, in
response, presents a question, “What do I do now?”
Arguably, no other component within the scene/sequel structure is
more important for establishing realism and fending off
suspension of disbelief. When you show your characters’
intellectual responses and thought patterns as they consider
many (and reject most) solutions, what you’re really doing is
convincing readers your characters are thinking human beings
and, more importantly, that your plot is based upon a pattern of
logic instead of arbitrary events.
Your dilemma may take up anywhere from half a sentence to several
chapters in your story. Whatever its length, this is an opportunity to
really let readers sweat it out with your characters. Readers will be
able to see the mess your characters are in and, as your characters
sort through options, readers will also realize the characters may not
have many good escape routes. Handled skillfully, a good dilemma
can heighten tension, make characters more sympathetic, and, most
importantly, keep readers turning pages.

The Three Phases of the Dilemma

The dilemma is composed of three (that magic number once again!)
different phases:
1. Review
The characters will look back on the disaster and consider the
missteps that allowed it to happen. This phase is often intertwined
with the previous reaction section of the sequel. Its length will largely
depend on its proximity to the disaster and the pace you wish to set.
Sometimes a lengthy recap of the disaster may be repetitious. If
readers have just experienced the disaster, they’ll hardly need a blow-
by-blow recount so soon. However, if the sequel has been separated
from the previous scene by a chapter or more (as might be the case
if one or more alternating POVs occur in between), a recap will be
valuable both in refreshing readers’ memories and in grounding the
characters’ reaction.
2. Analyze
Once your characters have progressed past their initial emotional
reactions, they will have to take a deep breath, put on the ol’ thinking
cap, and start considering the specifics of their problem. The
dilemma will always present a question, the gist of which is, “How do I
get out of this mess?”
Don’t settle for generalities. Figure out your characters’ specific
problem/question and make clear it enough that readers could
verbalize it themselves if they had to. Your dilemma’s question should
be as specific as, “How do I get out of this snake pit?” or “How do I
get Joey to forgive me for lying to him?” or “How can I find money to
buy groceries?”
3. Plan
Once your characters have sufficiently analyzed the problem, they
will move into the planning phase—which will then segue right into the
next section of the sequel, the decision (discussed in the next post).
This phase can occur instantaneously if your characters hit upon the
right plan right away, or it can occur over the course of several
chapters. Your characters might experiment with several options, only
to cross them off the list of possibilities when they lead to dead-ends.

Options for Sequel Dilemmas

The dilemma section is usually straightforward. There are only a
handful of variations on how it can play out, although the moment
itself can be dramatized in countless different ways.
Your dilemma will be presented either implicitly or explicitly:
1. Implicit
Sometimes readers will understand the dilemma well enough it won’t
have to be spelled out. Instead, to keep the pace fast, the characters
will move directly from reaction to decision with no explanation.
2. Explicit
More often, you will want to take the time to flesh out the dilemma.
This might require only a sentence or two, or you may dramatize it at
length, using one of two approaches:
A. SUMMARY
A solid round of internal narrative will be often enough to allow the
narrating character to consider the options and explain them to
readers.
B. DRAMATIZATION
Some dilemmas will call for a more detailed examination. Your
characters may need to explore the dilemma over an extended period
of time, either by talking to other characters or experimenting with
solutions. Instead of playing out the options internally and rejecting
those that will not work, characters can instead act out the options. In
this case, characters will run into a series of dead-ends until the
appropriate (and, possibly, only) course of action presents itself.

Questions to Ask About Your Sequel Dilemmas

Don’t let your dilemma pass without asking yourself these questions:
1. Is the dilemma directly influenced by the disaster at the end of the
previous scene?
2. Can the dilemma be stated in specific language (instead of just a
general “what should I do now?”)?
3. Is the dilemma clear to readers, either through explicit examples or
through the context?
4. Does the amount of time you spend on the dilemma match its
importance within the plot?
5. If you’ve chosen to include a lengthy review section, does it avoid
repetition?

Decision

Perhaps the most instinctive of all the Scene’s* building blocks is the
decision. This third and final piece of the sequel grows out of the
character’s dilemma and leads right into the next scene’s goal. In
scene structure, the decision is the little cattle prod on your story’s
backside that keeps it moving forward. Conceivably, your characters
could sit around contemplating their dilemmas for the rest of their
lives. But good stories require forward motion, and the only way out
of a dilemma is to make a decision—whether it’s right or wrong.
As is true of all the parts of scene structure, the key to a good
decision is making sure it is a direct result of the previous dilemma. A
random, unrelated decision might be able to keep the plot moving—
but not in the straight line readers want. If your character’s dilemma
is about what to make for dinner, the decision needs to be making
filet mignon and lyonnaise potatoes—not running down to the hospital
and donating blood.

Options for Sequel Decisions

You won’t find many story techniques more straightforward than

the sequel decision.
Basically, the options boil down to just two:
1. To take action.
2. To not take action.
Both are acceptable choices, but usually you want your characters to
make decisions that will force to them to act. You want character who
cause thing to happen, not ones who sit around and allow things to
happen to them. That said, there will be moments when a character’s
decision to refrain from action will be just as important to the plot and
just as revealing of inner conflict as would be the most exciting of
actions.
Your characters’ specific decisions will, of course, depend entirely on
the nature of their dilemma. A decision might be anything from I’m
going to wear blue socks today to I’m going to sacrifice my life to
save everybody in that burning building. Whatever the case, it will
translate into a goal that will fit into one of the five categories we
discussed in our post on goals.

Long-Term Goal, Short-Term Decision

Often, a character’s dilemma will be one that can’t be solved with a

simple one-shot decision. In fact, you’ll want to actively avoid too
many simple dilemmas/decisions in a row. If characters are faced with
one easily solved problem after another, the story will take on a
scattered, episodic feel, and readers will be begin to doubt the
realism of the stakes.
This is where the “long-term goal, short-term decision” factor comes
into play. If your character’s problem is how to marry that cute
neighbor boy, she’s going to be faced with many “mini” dilemmas
along the way to reaching her ultimate goal. In figuring out
your sequel’s decision, look for the first step the character must take.
Maybe she does decide to marry the neighbor boy in that first sequel,
but she also has to decide on a much smaller, more plausible course
of action. In this case, she decides to apologize for yelling at the
boy’s dog.

Obvious Decision or Long-Shot Decision?

Your character’s decisions will shape the plot. If all the decisions are
obvious and easily accomplished, the story will quickly lose steam.
You don’t want characters to consistently decide upon ridiculous or
illogical courses of action, but you do want to keep the odds long and
readers guessing.

Our lovelorn heroine’s most sensible course of action in trying to

marry the neighbor boy might be to simply ask him out. Nothing
wrong with that, and it could certainly lead to all kinds of interesting
story possibilities of its own. But we might be able to unearth some
unexpected options by having her make a different decision. Maybe
she decides to serenade him outside him window. Maybe she decides
to make herself forget all about him. Or maybe, like Anabel Simms in
the classic movie Every Girl Should Be Married, she investigates every
aspect of the boy’s life in an attempt to casually infiltrate his routines.

To State the Decision or Not?

You should be able to put a character’s decision into words. Write it

down so you have something concrete to build upon. However, this
doesn’t mean you must state the decision outright in the story. Often,
the decision will be clear from either the preceding dilemma or the
following goal in the next scene. Sometimes, the decision won’t even
be made until seconds before the character acts upon it, in which
case it will meld with the goal.
A few guidelines:
Don’t state the decision outright if it is in any way repetitious or
condescending to readers. If the decision is clear from the context, it
won’t require an outright explanation.
Do state the decision outright if the act of deciding is just as
important as the goal (e.g., the decision is a turning point for the
character).
Do state the decision outright if you need a strong link between
your sequel and the next scene (e.g., several intervening Scenes
separate the decision and the goal, and/or the decision provides a
strong end to the chapter.)

Questions to Ask About Your Sequel Decisions

Before you tie the ribbon on your sequel and call it a wrap, double-
check yourself with the following questions:
1. Is your decision an organic result of your dilemma?
2. Does your decision lead into a strong goal?
3. If your dilemma is a long-term problem, have you narrowed the
decision down to the first logical step in solving that problem?
4. Does your decision solve the dilemma too easily, or does it lead to
new complications—either because the character made the wrong
decision or because solving the dilemma created a new dilemma?
5. If your character decides not to take action, is this a logical and
important step within the plot?
6. Is your decision important enough to state outright in the sequel?
7. If you’ve stated the decision outright, is it repetitious in light of
either the preceding dilemma or the following goal?