How the 3-Act Model & Hero's Journey Enhance Vision & Voice

As in many fields of endeavor, there is a "split field" among writers as to all of the “formulae” and structural tools that have come to be the standards in writing for the stage and screen. The Three-Act Model, popularized by playwrights such as David Mamet and screenwriting “gurus” such as Robert McKee and Syd Field, and the Hero’s Journey, formulated by Joseph Campbell and applied to screenwriting (most notably by Christopher Vogler, who consulted for Disney for many years), are recognizable in almost every film made today, including, for the trained practitioner, a recognizable breakdown of scenes and key moments happening at “prescribed” times.

For every writer who learns and applies these structural models (or the even more stringent ones in television), there are many who reject them out of hand. They say that it will “kill their creativity and originality.” But they also seem to be the writers who are consistently doing whole-sale rewrites and ultimately getting frustrated and not creating compelling or producible work and complaining to everyone that writing is some kind of bloody battle full pain and despair.

I speak about these kinds of writers from well over a decade of experience teaching classes and workshops and providing mentoring, dramaturgy, and script doctoring.

As to the notion that writing is akin to warfare: Let that go.

My Amazon #1 New Release Bestseller, Every Day is a Story All Its Own, about the process of storytelling and the opening chapters are in part devoted to explaining the structural models mentioned above and illustrating that there are no adverse outcomes to the strength of your Vision and Voice and creative freedom in writing and the use of these structural models. For positive outcomes, including the power of your storytelling, the depth of your characters, your connection with audiences, and efficiency, there certainly is. Because, as I have long preached to my students and colleagues, "freedom comes from form," a maxim taught by my college writing mentor, Richard Wertime, recipient of the James Michener award, while getting my BA in literature and theatre at Arcadia University 35 years ago.

Why does adherence to form set us free?

Think of it this way. Story has been around since humankind itself. The oral traditions that became our myths, folktales, and early epics and staged plays were refined again and again over generations, and it was their structure, analyzed by Aristotle and Goethe up through Joseph Campbell and beyond, that became our structure; most prevalently, the Three-Act Model and its companion, the Hero's Journey.

There is hard science at work here as well. Story affects the brain, chemically. For instance, Freytag's dramatic arc, when applied correctly, has been proven to boost the brain’s release of feel-good chemicals in far greater amounts than stories that lack it. Even more interesting, if stories do not have the tried and true structures, no chemicals are released at all. None.

Empathy is also essential to the experience of the audience, whether they be readers or attendees in a darkened theatre, so the characters must have sufficient depth for us to identify with them. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs can be applied to the Hero’s Journey, the overall story arc, and the arcs of your secondary characters to help ensure this crucial connection. I have begun doing so in the past six months and the benefits are readily apparent in the strength of my outlines.

So, if we as writers want to communicate and stimulate, why not use historically proven tools to do so?

Applying time-tested structural models also saves a great deal of time in the process overall. George Bernard Shaw's rule was simple: 80% planning, 20% writing. Most successful novelists will say they fall somewhere near this split.

For those who think using these structural models will make your writing robotic, or make you sound like everyone else, keep in mind that the most successful writers, all of whom used these structural models to different degrees, have a very distinct Vision and Voice. They do not all blend together as hacks or copycats or unoriginal, any more than houses all look exactly the same once they’ve been painted, furnished, decorated, and lived in for awhile.

But a house with no foundation, or walls that are not square because the architect was afraid of them looking like all the others, is no place you want to hang your hat.

Ironically, it's the writers who use these structural models the least, or refuse to use them at all, who wind up producing the most unremarkable, uninspiring work.

No wonder they think writing is a war. They’re turning their guns on themselves.