Breaking Down Story Structure: MORNING GLORY, Act One

(psst! Today is not only the return of my "Breaking Down Story Structure" series, back by popular demand, but it's also the day of my first Write It Sideways post for 2013! Thanks in advance for reading both. ~blows kisses~ You make me smile.)

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"What's the story, Morning Glory?"

Novelists, short fiction authors, playwrights, screenwriters...all of us are in the business of telling stories in a way that will captivate our audience, and adhering to story structure is an effective way to do that. Fortunately, analyzing story structure doesn't have to feel like a chore. Just grab a notebook and pen and turn on your TV.

That's right, I'm telling you it's part of your job as a writer to watch movies. Not just watch them, though. Study them, inside and out, until you're pinpointing catalysts and midpoint reversals and Act Three breaks in your sleep.

Since my last story structure series (whoa, way back in August) centered on a childrens' fantasy film, Labyrinth, I thought I'd change things up a bit this time with an adult contemporary film. The reason I chose Morning Glory is because I wanted to show you that:

a) contemporary, character-driven stories, although different in content, follow the same basic plot structure as, say, an explosion-filled sci-fi

b) a story doesn't have to be high-concept to be told well (although high-concept will always garner more attention based on premise alone)

If you have not yet seen Morning Glory, it is currently streaming on Netflix, and likely available as a cheap rental at your local video store. Or better yet, you can probably get it for free at your local library. It's been out for a couple of years now. You don't need to have seen the movie to understand these posts, but it might help your brain soak things up more efficiently.

Before we dive into Act One, here is our logline:

Morning Glory is about an upstart television producer who accepts the challenge of reviving a struggling morning show program with warring co-hosts.

That seems like a pretty blase premise. On the surface, anyway. But if you look deeper into it, you can see the potential for conflict, and conflict equals a story.

Also note that the logline equals the main premise. We are not going to discuss loglines in detail now, but the logline is an important starting point to understanding your story in a way that allows you to structure it properly. If the main premise of Morning Glory is the producer's challenge of reviving a specific morning show, then that part of the story must be in full swing by the time we reach Act Two.

But we'll get to that next week. For today, we're going to devour Act One, which shows how our protagonist is led up to the meat of the premise in Act Two. We need to see her "before world" in order to understand the significance of the changes that push her along towards her "after world" at the end of the story. Act One includes the protagonist's "before world" and two big pushes (changes that occur through specific events) that send her full speed toward the Act Two break.

We are introduced to Becky Fuller as she's rushing into a restaurant to meet a guy for their first date and she's obviously late. And flustered. And entirely obsessed with her job as a producer of the local morning news. It's nearly all she talks about. Even she admits that her behavior is annoying. If this awkward scene carried on too long, we'd stop watching. No one wants to witness this kind of social train wreck for more than a few seconds or it just isn't funny anymore. The scene ends quickly (mercifully) with Becky scooting off-screen to take a phone call from her boss whilst her date asks for the check.

This first scene is actually not the inciting incident, not yet. It is more a character snapshot than anything else, but it also helps us to understand her inner conflicts later in the story. The writers can get away with doing this because the scene, however brief, is chock-full of conflict and tension. And it's active. It isn't just, hey here's Becky our career-obsessed protagonist--nope, something actually happens. There's a bit of humor, too, which lets the audience know, It's okay to laugh, this movie doesn't take itself too seriously.

It is important to properly set your story's tone in your first scene/chapter. Think of it like an advertisement for the rest of the book. You want it to effectively convey what type of story you're offering as a whole. This movie is labeled a comedy, so it would not be appropriate to have an absence of humor in the opening scene.

Becky doesn't seem to have any ruffled feathers after her failed date. Her life goes on per usual, loving her job working behind the scenes of "Wake Up, New Jersey." But that happy bubble of hers bursts when her boss calls her into his office. She and all her coworkers think Becky has nabbed a highly sought-after promotion, but in reality, her boss has hired someone else for the job. And on top of that, he's letting Becky go.

Well. That sucks. But suckage is what inciting incidents are all about. Yes, dear writer-friends, this is our inciting incident. It marks a significant change in the protagonist's life, and because of this change she is pushed forward into a new action--Becky needs to find a job. Also note, that if not for the opening scene that showed how important her job is to her, we wouldn't fully grasp the weight of her job loss only a few minutes later.

James Scott Bell advises to always have some kind of "death" hanging over the protagonist's head. In Morning Glory that threat of death pertains to Becky's career. Her career is her life. Without her career, she feels she might as well be dead. Whether we agree with her views or not, we can't deny that it's important to her, and that's what keeps us watching, to see how she will manage this sudden crisis.

In the early stages of a story, the protagonist is going to react in whatever way the "before" version of herself would, whatever way feels most comfortable to her. She doesn't really give it much thought, she just does it. This is a subconscious effort to preserve her established self-concept.

In Becky's case, despite her own mother making it clear that this dream of hers to be a big-time producer has become embarrassing, she presses forward to find a new position at a different television studio. After a montage of over-achiever-style failed attempts at even getting a simple interview request, finally, someone calls her back.

Hello there, catalyst.

Everything up to this point (including the first push at the inciting incident) has been a setup for the catalyst, the second big push towards the main premise. A good setup is full of both internal and external conflict. Setup does not equal boring. If your setup feels like a setup, you're doing it wrong. The setup should feel like an active, forward-moving, necessary part of the story.

When Becky meets her would-be new boss, he makes it clear he is less than impressed with her resume. Add to this that he is even less impressed with the current state of his morning show. In short, it's a mess that no one has been able to fix yet and he doesn't think Becky can do it.

And now we've entered a debate. Becky does her darnedest to convince him that she is the right person for the job, pointing out something very important to every story in this early stage, but that could be easily missed by someone not looking for it.

She highlights that both sides need each other. She needs the job and the network needs her to whip the show back into shape and bump up their ratings. This is the debate period of the story, and it's extremely quick because the protagonist only has two options--move forward into something that could possibly fail and/or make matters worse, or do nothing and/or shrink back and definitely fail. A good protagonist will never choose the latter, and a good debate will always highlight why the opposing sides need each other.

The debate is the final section of Act One, sandwiched between the catalyst and the break into Act Two. Becky knows that this job isn't ideal and will require a lot of work with less pay, but still, she needs it. It's her dream to be an executive producer. Saying no to this would mean giving up on her dreams. Early in the story, this is what matters most to your protagonist. She hasn't yet had any reason to significantly change her mindset.

Becky's would-be boss is still not quite impressed by her little speech and makes her believe she failed, only to call her back a few minutes later (we can assume it's because he's desperate) to tell her she got the job.

Woohoo! Oh wait, but maybe we shouldn't celebrate just yet, even though Becky is jumping and screaming with excitement and moving into a NYC apartment, ready to take this bull by the horns. She has just welcomed a disaster into her life with open arms. Will she want to keep this job once she sees firsthand what is involved? Will she even have a choice?

Those questions (and much more) will be answered in the next section of the story, the Promise of the Premise, aka the first half of Act Two. Looking back on our premise in the logline, it makes perfect sense that Becky has only just now started her new job, not in Act One but in Act Two. Because Act Two is where the premise really shines, especially in the first half.

Becky's decision to take on this job, and conversely, her new employer's decision to hire her, marks the Break Into Act Two. The only thing left to do now is move forward into the wilds of the premise and hope she survives. At this point, the protagonist is hopeful. She fully believes she will not only survive, but also thrive. Keep this in mind, because every turning point has an opposite, so at some point later in the story she is going to believe the exact opposite of this--that she has utterly failed beyond repair. That taking this job was the biggest mistake of her life.

One final thing to note here--where is the antagonist? In speculative fiction it is often quite easy to pinpoint the antagonist's entrance, either physically in the scene or implied by the effect of their actions against the protagonist, which happens somewhere near the catalyst in Act One. But in a contemporary, character-driven piece, it's not always so clear.

Again, we refer back to our logline. Whatever causes the main conflict is your antagonist. In the case of Morning Glory, the antagonist is her new job and everything that works against her, including her cynical boss and jaded co-workers. That is where the conflict lives, and it will do everything in its power to keep Becky from being a success.

So here's the breakdown of what we learn from Act One of Morning Glory:

• the opening introduction of the protagonist's "before world" must be active, forward-moving, and present the correct tone and mood for the entire piece

• the full relevance of the opening scene may not be apparent until much later in the story, but it shouldn't feel like you're setting things up

• the inciting incident is the first big change in the protagonist's life that pushes her towards the premise

• the catalyst is the second big change in the protagonist's life that pushes her towards the premise

• protagonist reacts to these changes in a way that instinctively preserves her self-concept

• protagonist is hopeful that these changes will result in betterment, despite obvious challenges ahead

• debate between protagonist and antagonist clarifies how both sides need each other

• the antagonist is not necessarily a single person (aka villain), it is whatever force that works against the protagonist and causes the main conflict of the premise

Did you notice any other useful tidbits in your study of Act One that I missed? Please share your notes in the comments! And be sure to come back for next week's post that breaks down the first half of Act Two.

Also, if you're new to story structure or new to fiction writing in general, and some of the terms I'm using here confuse you, please don't hesitate to ask for clarification.

For more posts on story structure, click HERE.

Happy Writing,

~Lydia