Perception often leads to deception; how one sees the world of story shapes their understanding of it, granting them all sorts of interpretations that may or may not be accurate. As with Christopher Nolan’s dark treatise on dueling magicians, unveiling what is really going on within a story can lead to an emotional catharsis for writers themselves; leading them to even greater expressions of meaningful fiction.

Stories are a decidedly human adventure and thus are prone to the inaccuracies and preconceptions prevalent within the minds of those who experience them. It is with that in mind that I confess an error in my original evaluation of Toy Story 3. If context creates meaning, then it also can be seen as the source for any miscalculations in the judgment of a story’s ultimate message.

There are two ways to adapt a favorite novel or short story for the silver screen — the right way and the wrong way. The first requires a comprehensive understanding of the original source material. The second only needs an ambivalence towards the mechanism behind what makes great stories great.

Identifying the problem within a screenplay is one thing, offering up a viable workable solution is another. The key is honoring the work that is already there. Healing a false moment, like resolving the differences between two characters, should come as a natural progression of events and inflict the least amount of damage in the process.

A complete story combines character, plot, theme and genre into a delicious concert of meaning that both satisfies and fulfills the appetites of avid moviegoers everywhere. If just one bit is slightly off, it can make all the difference between a film destined for the 5$ bin and one destined for the halls of the timeless classics. Toy Story 3 may defy that convention.

No matter how hard one tries, it is damn near impossible to avoid contact with the Hero’s Journey paradigm within the context of story structure. This nearly omniscient presence of the monomyth serves only to further muddle the conversation and mislead potential writers from their true selves. Structure exists to carry the message, not inform it.

Complete stories, the ones we love and cherish, are those that are trying to say something beyond the spectacle. Where the Main Character ends up at the end of a screenplay or novel plays an essential part in providing that meaning.

Far too often, experts on screenwriting and storytelling fall back on the inaccurate assumption that a Main Character must completely transform themselves. This is only correct for half of the stories ever written.

Character arc does not mean a character has to change. It simply doesn’t. What it does mean is that a character needs to grow to a point where they are not sure whether to change, or to dig in their heels.

An examination of the sci-fi psychological thriller Moon and the missed opportunities for story greatness. While the film raises interesting questions, it fails to compose the complete argument necessary to provide us with meaningful answers.

Films can have the same story structure, yet be so different in their storytelling that most normal people would rarely identify them as being the same. Story fanatics are not normal people. The Sixth Sense and Into The Wild — two films that couldn’t be more different in subject matter and genre — have almost the same exact structure, sharing many of the same thematic issues.

The concept of the character arc is often thought to explain the transformation a Main Character goes through over the course of a story. The problem with this definition is the idea of “transformation”. Not every Main Character completely changes, nor do they have to. Growth can occur without losing oneself.

A detailed look at the thought process I went into while analyzing I Am Legend.

An interesting look at the character primarily responsible for influencing growth in the Main Character.

Using concepts found in the Dramatica theory of story to write a story with your audience in mind.

An exploration of the idea that all Character is fate.

Stories become meaningless when both principal characters change the way they see the world.

How to determine whether or not your Main Character has changed their essential nature or remained steadfast.

Clarifying change in characters other than the Main Character.

Techniques to free up what might seem like a rigid tool for writing stories.

Quick thoughts on the relation between the resolves of the two principal characters.

Defining the difference between a character who “changes” and one who “grows.”

A quick thought on why Main Characters in most children’s stories do not change.

Continuing exploration of problem-solving and justification. Here we take a look at the nature of the Steadfast Main Character.

Dramatica can seem a bit overwhelming when you first start out. I remember flipping through the dictionary at the back of the theory book and thinking, “This is insane!” But after eight years of working with it, I’ve got the model pretty much memorized (at least down to the Variation level) and have a pretty good understanding of each of the terms.

A neat way of clarifying the judgment on your Main Character.

As with all things Dramatica, the Main Character Dynamics (Resolve, Growth, Approach and Mental Sex) can be seen as relating together in a single quad.

How tension builds in a story.

The nature of act turns in relation to the growth of the Main Character.

Not all Steadfast characters are created equal.

Determining what kind of a Main Character you are writing.

Which one does the Main Character open?