Frankenstory

Or the Modern Structures

Transcript: S1E2

What do Indonesia, global climate change, the poem Ozymandias, and the genre of science fiction all have in common?

Don’t know? Then I’ll tell you.

If you do know, I can’t hear you, so I’ll tell you too.

It started in April of 1815, when a volcano called Mount Tambora, located in modern-day Indonesia, erupted. The explosion was so violent that the sound of the detonation was heard some 1,600 miles away, and is considered to be the single largest volcanic eruption event in recorded human history. It rained ash at least 800 miles away; the ash in the atmosphere reduced the amount of sunshine that we received, thus severely impacting global temperatures and creating something like a mini-ice age.

The change in the earth’s climate had all the effects you might expect from something so catastrophic. Crops failed, and the twin riders of famine and disease swept through the world. The human toll was astronomical, and though much of the world didn’t know about the eruption in Indonesia, they felt the impact. In far removed Europe, for instance, 1816 became known as the Year Without a Summer.

In May of that year, a group of friends near Lake Geneva in Switzerland were experiencing the unseasonally cold weather with something like annoyance – the weather was so cold and gloomy that they could not enjoy their nature walks, and so had to resort to making their own fun. They decided to write ghost stories to entertain one another.

One of their party, a young woman of about 18 named Mary Godwin, wrote a short story for her friends. They liked it. Or, at least, I assume they liked it.

Mary would later wed a man from that group, a man named Percy, who was a writer and the author of the famous poem “Ozymandias”. Years later, Mary would publish the story she had written under her new, married name: Mary Shelley.

And so, the world was given the story of Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus, which is widely considered to be the very first work of science fiction in the world.

Pretty cool, right?

So, why am I talking about Mary Shelley?

Well, for two reasons.

First, it’s October, and it seemed appropriate.

Second, today we’ll be discussing the various bits and pieces that make up a good story, and how those pieces play into one another to make something that is ultimately greater than the sum of its parts. Today, we are all of us Dr. Frankensteins, and by the end of this episode, maybe you too will be chased out of your home in disgrace and heartbreak, your reputation forever that of a person who dared to defy God and nature with your hubris, bringing you to ultimate and final ruin.

Anyway.

Let’s talk about bones.

Stories, like a great many living things, need bones. That is, they need structure, form, and shape. If a story didn’t have them, it wouldn’t really be a story so much as a pile of goopy words lying in a puddle on the floor. Try, for a moment, to imagine a story without a structure, one without a beginning, middle, and end. I think you’ll find it quite challenging, if not impossible. You might try and rearrange a story, put the middle bit at the beginning, the beginning at the end, and the end in the middle, but then you’ve not really succeeded anything other than making a sort of puzzle. The bones are still there, even if you try and put the skull where the ribs ought to be.

We put structure into stories on instinct because a story without structure isn’t really a thing. It’s a bit like saying “darkness made of light” or “dry wetness”. We know this, and we follow the rule of structure without really thinking about it most of the time.

So then, why would I dedicate an entire episode of this podcast to a concept that we all do already without thinking about it?

Well, because if you’re listening to this podcast, it means that you want to tell stories better. We breathe without thinking about it most of the time (sorry if I’ve just made you aware of your own breathing) but that inherent knowledge doesn’t mean that you can become a free diver. To do that, you have to hone the thing you do by nature, and get better at it. Same concept here, just less life-threatening.

There are a number of structural models that storytellers use when crafting their works. Today, we’re going to be talking about a few of those structures, but before we do, I think we need a quick clarification of terms: when I say “structure”, what I don’t mean “plot”. Plot refers to the things that happen in a story, whereas structure is the order in which plot happens, or at least, the order in which the events of a plot are related to the audience. An example:

We’re writing a story, and a spaceship explodes.

That’s plot.

Now, that spaceship exploding at the beginning of our story, inciting our main character to action as she seeks revenge on those who blew it up.

That’s structure.

Our big bad villain dies.

That’s plot.

Our villain dies, and in doing so our character’s main goal is fulfilled at the climax of our story, leading us into the resolution?

That’s structure.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. What do I mean when I say things like “climax” or “resolution”? How do those things fit together? Are there different kinds of structures? Which one is best? Is there a “best” one? Is there a “best” anything? What does “best” even mean nowadays? Is “best” even an attainable goal, or is it an ever-moving finish line whose distance from us moves in accordance with an in proportion to our perceived progress?

Well, I can answer a few of those questions, and I think the best  (ah!)– or at least, the most effective way – for me to do so is to cover a handful of the more popular structures out there. This isn’t a comprehensive list, and is just a high overview of each, as a lot of these structures probably could have their own episodes to themselves.

 First on the list is good ol’ Freytag’s pyramid.

Now, podcasting is not a visual medium, or at least not the way I do it, so I can’t show you the graph that illustrates this structure, but I’ll attach it to the show notes, and I’ll make sure there’s a copy of it on the website for you visual learners.

Courtesy of writers.com

The pyramid is often depicted as a sort of lopsided triangle, with two additional lines running away from the base of the triangle on either side. It sort of looks like a mountain (or hey, a pyramid) rising out of the ground. This then is broken up into six parts which, listed in order, are the Introduction, Inciting Action, Rising Action, Climax, Final Action, and Resolution (or Catastrophe, if you’re nasty).

The pyramid was developed by a German guy named Gustav Freytag, who was around during the 19th century. He was a playwright and novelist with a classical bent, so it makes sense that this structure is especially popular in the analysis of classical drama, though its principles can be applied to all kinds of storytelling.

So let's look at each of the pyramid's parts.

Introduction. Funny enough, this is where everything starts: the world is set, characters are introduced, and the initial situation is laid out. It’s the foundation that provides the audience with enough information to understand the context and stakes. At this stage, the writer’s aim is to hook the audience, giving them a reason to care about what’s to come. Think of The Hobbit and the establishment of Bilbo’s life in the Shire, the description of what Middle-Earth is like, and the kinds of people that call it home.

Then comes the Inciting Incident. This is the event or decision that sparks the story’s central conflict. It’s the moment that pushes the story into motion—think of it as the “go” signal that sets the protagonist on their journey. Without this key event, the story remains static; it’s the spark that ignites the flames of the rising tension. In the first of the Harry Potter books, this is when Harry gets the letter from Hogwarts.

Following the inciting action, we enter the Rising Action. This is where the story’s complications and obstacles unfold, gradually increasing suspense and emotional investment. The protagonist faces challenges, setbacks, or dilemmas that make us wonder how they will resolve everything. This is where the bulk of the story tends to take place. It’s full of the tension and the conflict and the development of characters.

At the peak of the pyramid is the Climax. This is the story’s high point—the most dramatic, intense, or pivotal moment. Usually, it involves a decisive confrontation or decision that determines the course of the story’s outcome. The climax is what we’ve been building toward, where everything comes to a head, delivering the emotional and narrative payoff. Side bar: the climax tends to take place toward the end of the story, not right at the end, but closer to the end than the middle. Which might seem obvious to you, but in the first part of high school, when I was first learning this stuff, I got it in my head that the climax happens in the middle of the story, which caused a lot of unnecessary confusion for me as a young writer. I think it has something to do with the fact that the graphs depicting Freytag’s pyramid tend to have the climax at the center point, rather than toward the back, but who knows.

Anyways, after the climax, the story moves into the Final Action. This phase involves the fallout from the climax; the immediate consequences are played out, and loose ends start to be tied up. It’s the transition from chaos back to order, where the story begins steering toward its resolution.

Finally, there’s the Resolution, where everything is resolved and the story concludes. Characters’ fates are revealed, questions are answered, and the audience gains closure. This ending provides a sense of completeness, showing how the characters and world have changed after all the upheaval – for the better, or worse.

There’s more to say about Freytag and his pyramid, but we’re against the clock and there are more structures to cover yet, so we press bravely forward.

And we’ll need to be brave, because next on our shortlist of story-bones is the gallant Hero’s Journey structure.

First outlined in 1949 by Joseph Campbell in his seminal work The Hero With a Thousand Faces, this structure is a bit more detailed than Freytag’s pyramid, and is usually visualized as a sort of circular graph with multiple parts. It’s also worth mentioning that Campbell derived this structure by examining a number of mythological stories to identify common trends in their make-up, and as such a lot of the parts of this structure utilize grand mythical language evocative of the source material.

The hero’s journey typically begins in something called the Ordinary World, where the hero exists in a familiar, often complacent setting. This stage introduces us to the hero’s everyday life, highlighting what is at stake if nothing changes. It establishes the baseline from which the hero will eventually depart, making their subsequent adventure more impactful.

Next is the Call to Adventure. Something disrupts the hero’s routine, presenting a challenge, quest, or issue that prompts them to change their circumstances. This might be a literal danger, a mysterious message, or an inner dissatisfaction that pushes them toward the unknown. Often, the hero is hesitant at first, reluctant to leave behind the comfort of the familiar.

The hero then encounters a Mentor or guide—someone who provides wisdom, training, or tools to face the journey ahead. This figure can be a wise old sage, a seasoned warrior, or even a symbolic entity that offers encouragement. The mentor’s role is crucial in preparing the hero for the trials that lie ahead.

The next phase involves Crossing the Threshold. This is the point where the hero leaves the ordinary world and ventures into unknown territory—whether it’s a literal place, a strange realm, or a new state of mind. It’s a boundary they must cross to begin the true adventure, and it signifies a commitment to the challenge.

Once in the new world, the hero faces Tests, Allies, and Enemies. This stage is filled with obstacles, puzzles, and encounters that challenge the hero’s skills and convictions. They meet characters who may help or hinder them on their quest, and they develop new strengths and insights. This is where the hero’s character is truly tested, and growth begins to take shape.

The climax of the journey is the Ordeal, often a confrontation with death, a formidable enemy, or a “dark night of the soul.” This is the hero’s greatest challenge—an intense, transformative experience that pushes them to their limits. Surviving this ordeal often results in a rebirth—a symbolic or literal resurrection that marks a profound change in the hero.

Following the ordeal, the hero gains the Reward. They might obtain a treasure, newfound knowledge, or a moral victory. But the journey is not yet complete—there is still work to do to return home and share what they have gained.

The final phases involve The Road Back and Resurrection. The hero must return to the ordinary world, often facing a final challenge that requires everything they have learned. This stage signifies their transformation—a rebirth into a wiser, stronger version of themselves.

Finally, there is the Return with the Elixir. The hero comes back bearing something valuable—knowledge, power, or a gift—that benefits others. They are forever changed by their journey, and their story inspires others to undertake their own adventures.

The next structure to look at on our whirlwind tour is one that I’ll touch on briefly, but you’ll hear a lot of people talking about this structure or using its language when discussing their current Work In Progress (WIP). It comes from a series of craft books called Save the Cat! originally written by the late Blake Snyder in 2005, this series of non-fiction books focused on screenwriting in particular and was wildly popular among those who work in that space. The eye-catching title comes from the idea that your main character should, at some early point, “save a cat” or, in other words, do something agreeable that makes the audience want to root for them. Top of Form

In 2018, author Jessica Brody penned her own entry into the Save the Cat! franchise with Save the Cat! Writes a Novel: The Last Book On Novel Writing That You'll Ever Need. In it, Brody, like Snyder, outlines several different plot points or “beats” that make up much of fiction. She does a good job, and her book too her book, too, has been hugely influential. If you’re in the wilds exploring the writing/author community and hear someone talking about their “beat sheet”, it’s probably because they read this book.

I won’t go into too much more detail about what she’s written, but I will link the book in the show notes below if you want to check it out for yourself.

The final structure we’re going to discuss is a bona fide classic – that’s right: you know it, you love it, it’s the Three Act Structure. Or, as I like to think of it, the Beginning, Middle, and End.

Its simplicity and effectiveness have made it a staple in storytelling, providing a clear roadmap for building a compelling and coherent narrative. This structure divides a story into three distinct parts—Act One, Act Two, and Act Three—each with its own purpose, and together they create a satisfying emotional arc from beginning to end.

The journey begins with Act One, often called the Setup. Here, the story introduces the main characters, the setting, and the world in which the story takes place. This Act lays the groundwork, establishing the initial situation and the stakes involved. Importantly, it ends with a point of no return—a significant event or decision that propels the protagonist into the conflict and makes it clear that life will never be the same again. This event, sometimes called the inciting incident, is what kickstarts the main action and hooks the audience’s interest early on.

Moving into Act Two, the Development or Confrontation, the story deepens. This is the longest part of the structure and includes the rising action as the protagonist faces a series of obstacles, challenges, or conflicts. This act often features a variety of setbacks, complications, and character growth. It’s a phase where the stakes get higher, and the tension builds toward the story’s climax. Sometimes, this act includes moments of false victory or setbacks that keep the audience guessing. The key is that the protagonist is actively trying to resolve the central conflict but often struggles or faces internal dilemmas along the way.

The climax of the story occurs towards the end of Act Two or the beginning of Act Three. It’s the turning point—the moment of greatest tension and emotional intensity—where the protagonist confronts the main challenge head-on. It often involves a decisive action or revelation that determines the outcome of the story. This moment is a cathartic release, where tension reaches its peak and everything changes irreversibly for the characters.

After the climax, the story moves into Act Three, the Resolution or Denouement. Here, the focus shifts to wrapping up loose ends. The consequences of the climax unfold, and the story moves toward its emotional resolution. This act provides closure—resolving conflicts, clarifying character arcs, and answering lingering questions. It’s the period where the story’s emotional payoff is delivered, leaving the audience with a sense of satisfaction or reflection.

The Three-Act Structure’s appeal lies in its simplicity—you have a clear beginning, middle, and end that can be used effectively for virtually any story. It provides a natural rhythm that keeps the audience engaged, with the initial setup creating anticipation, the confrontation building tension, and the resolution offering relief and closure.

And there you have it; four of the more popular story structures you’ll run into in the wild. There are more, of course, but a lot of them tend to be variations of these four, at least in western storytelling. If you’d like me to go into more detail with each of these, maybe with a case study to illustrate what these structures look like in the real world, drop a comment and let me know.

And now that we’ve finished our bird’s-eye tour, you may be wondering which of these is the best option for you?

Honestly?

I have no idea.

But I wouldn’t be doing a very good job as the host of this thing if I didn’t try and give you a bit of direction. So, here are some questions to consider.

What kind of emotional journey are you trying to create?

If your story is about transformation—about someone becoming something new, facing trials, returning changed—the Hero’s Journey might be your best bet. It’s mythic, it’s sweeping, and it’s great for stories that want to feel timeless.

Is your story more about dramatic tension and payoff?

Freytag’s Pyramid is excellent for stories that hinge on a central conflict and build toward a single, powerful climax. It’s especially useful if you’re writing something that feels theatrical or classical in tone.

Are you writing a novel and want a beat-by-beat guide?

Save the Cat! is your friend. It’s detailed, it’s modern, and it’s built for pacing. If you’re the kind of writer who likes to outline with precision, this structure gives you a roadmap with mile markers and snack breaks.

Do you prefer simplicity and flexibility?

The Three-Act Structure is the bread-and-butter of storytelling. It’s intuitive, adaptable, and works for almost any genre. If you’re not sure where to start, this one’s a safe and sturdy foundation.

But here’s the secret: you don’t have to pick just one. You can mix and match. You can start with Freytag’s Pyramid and layer in Hero’s Journey beats. You can use Save the Cat! to outline your Three Acts. You can build your own hybrid monster, stitched together from the best parts of each—just like our old friend Dr. Frankenstein.

After all, storytelling is about crafting something alive—something that moves, breathes, and maybe even terrifies a few villagers along the way.

So go forth, brave creator. Choose your bones. Stitch your monster. And if it ends up chasing you through the Alps, well… at least you’ll know it was built with love.

Keep writing. Keep building. And remember: lightning only strikes if you raise the tower.

If you enjoyed yourself, subscribe, why not? Oh, and drop a rating and a comment; it helps get the podcast off the ground, helps others find this little corner of creative content, and it’s also just fun to hear from you.

You can also check out my website to see the books I’ve written and some of the services I provide; you can find the link in the episode description.

You can also email me directly at dontreadintothispodcast@gmail.com and let me know what story structure you prefer, or if there’s another structure you prefer that I didn’t cover here.

Until next time, I’ve been Elijah Curtiss – thanks for listening!