By Tom Vaughan in Structure — May 5, 2026

Back to Basics: Story Structure

Choosing what the audience knows and when they know it in order to maximize narrative momentum and emotional resonance.

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I am upfront with my University of Houston students.

I tell them on Day One that I would rather them leave my class remembering a handful of timeless concepts for the next 20 years than a hundred bits of data they’ll forget by next semester.

Why? Because there are infinite variables in screenwriting, and no instruction can cover them all. “This moment goes here” can be helpful, but it’s not always true.

Sometimes it falls out of conventional form. Problems will always come up with no easy answers.

So, how DO YOU decide where that moment goes?

If you understand the principles behind what we do, the job becomes significantly easier.

These principles are the invaluable ingredients we use to solve the infinite problems that pop up.

And there is no principle more important than understanding the true nature of story structure.

The Definition of Structure.

My working definition of structure, the one that I use and the one that I teach:

Choosing what the audience knows and when they know it in order to maximize narrative momentum and emotional resonance.

That’s it. That’s structure.

You will notice there is nothing here about Act 1, or fun and games. No circles, no threshold, or elixir. Nothing like that.

It’s choosing what goes where in order to achieve two specific ends.

Narrative momentum and emotional resonance.

Story structure is not prescriptive.

This trips people up both ways.

Some will read a screenwriting book, and there are both good and bad books out there, and then decide this is what story structure is.

I don’t necessarily think this is a bad thing early! Emulation is a fine starting point for anyone. As long as the writer keeps learning and growing, a workable framework is a good place to launch from.

The issue is when the writer loses their own intention and instead makes plugging into the framework their actual goal!

But the framework should serve the intention, not the other way around.

Those who conclude the opposite tend to struggle even more with learning and growing.

These writers will be exposed to a structural framework and immediately think of the counterexamples.

This is not hard to do, because none of this stuff is absolute, and there are so many ways to do this.

But because something is not true 100%, they dismiss it entirely. They decide “structure” is for hacks.

Everything has a structure.

Words have a structure, though we usually just call it spelling.

Sentences, paragraphs, and all kinds of communication. They all have structure, and that structure determines the effectiveness of that communication.

In our case, as storytellers, we are making decisions to grab the audience and keep them watching, and choices that amplify the emotion.

In essence, every choice you make is a structural choice.

“Screenplays are structure, and that’s all they are. They are structure.” — William Goldman

Embrace Structure.

Screenwriting is problem-solving. Some problems are easier to solve than others, but ultimately, this is what we do.

We have a story we want to tell. How do we tell it?

The scene needs to be compelling. How do we do that?

Ah, a plot hole! How do we make it make sense?

A character needs to make this choice. How do we make it believable?

The audience needs this information. How do we share it?

And so on, and so on, and so on.

Because every choice is a structural choice, every problem is a structural problem.

It’s either the wrong thing or it’s the wrong time. Or it’s both.

How do we know it’s the wrong thing or the wrong time? Because it’s either killing or diluting the narrative momentum or emotional resonance.

Every story has its own integrity.

What is dramatic momentum in one story may not work in another. Some movies are slow and steady and emotionally compelling, while others are action, with chases and intense physical tension.

In the Writers Lab inside the Pro community, we’re developing horror scripts right alongside comedies and small character pieces.

Narrative momentum and emotional resonance are contextual, and each is judged within each specific story.

You don’t have to start from scratch.

Since story has become so valuable in so many different areas in our lives, from marketing, journalism, politics, social narratives, and of course, entertainment, we have learned more about “story” in the last 100 years than the rest of human history combined.

We know how it works. We know how to do it. And we know how to judge it.

That doesn’t make it easy!

But you can make choices that make your job easier.

Structure is not a formula.

We just know certain things in a certain order tend to provide certain results. But remember, structure is both what and when.

In our holy trinity of:

Great characters.
Great scenes.
The order in which we put them.

Structure covers all three.

So people who think structure is formula only focus on the third, “The order by which we put them.”

And that is certainly important! It’s huge even. But it is only one part of achieving our two goals of narrative momentum and emotional resonance.

Over all my screenplays, only three veered away from a traditional story framework.

And those were because the stories demanded something different to make them work. I did not impose an unorthodox structure for the sake of it.

I looked for what would give me narrative momentum and emotional resonance, and it led me to the decisions I made.

There is no need to reinvent the wheel.

Most stories don’t require anything more. In that trinity mentioned above, keep “the order by which you put them” simple unless the story requires something else.

Focus on great characters in great scenes.

That’s where you’ll cook.

And it’s where you separate yourself from the pack.

Most problems are structural problems.

When I read screenplays, both professional and non-professional alike, the issue is rarely that the writer simply can’t write. Scenes are often fine, and dialogue is, at worst, functional.

The problem is almost always structural. I get bored, or I am not moved enough. Usually both.

I recently consulted on a screenplay for a longtime Hollywood veteran. He has sold features for a lot of money, he’s EP’d on huge shows, been a showrunner, and been doing this at a high level for some time.

He can write. Great concept, the characters were engaging, the dialogue was snappy and funny, and if you took any five pages, you would love it.

But the momentum wasn’t there, and the emotional moments didn’t hit as well as they should have.

If great scenes and great characters aren’t the problem, you need to focus on the order in which we put them.

And that includes the need to add or subtract scenes as well.

In other words, it’s structure.

We were able to figure out pretty quickly what the issues were, but it shows you that even at that high level, the structure that maximizes your narrative can be elusive.

My own new spec.

I have a first draft of the new screenplay. It’s another ensemble piece with one character getting a little more focus than the others.

I love the characters, and I am reasonably happy with Acts 2 and 3, though you always have thoughts to improve them.

And I like Act 1 as well. Just not how it fits with 2 and 3. Why is that?

The primary problem with this early draft is the protagonist.

The screenplay is based on a true story, and we decided to be faithful to the real-life character. It just doesn’t work.

But I just said I loved the characters, right?

Well, I do. But the story is about gratitude and learning to be present in the moment. The protagonist, however, is too successful. He has too much that he should be grateful for already.

This kind of character can work just fine if we torture or punish them through the narrative, but we don’t do that to our guy here. He chooses this adventure.

Turns out, watching someone pleasantly understand how fortunate he is is alienating.

So change the character? Kind of. But not really.

His actions through Acts 2 and 3 aren’t going to change much. His state of mind is going to be essentially the same. After all, the story is the story.

Where he starts and where he ends up will remain the same.

But we’re going to change what the audience knows about him, and therefore how they feel about him.

He’ll still feel stuck. He’ll still feel empty. The only difference now is that the audience is going to agree with him.

And that’s going to happen in Act 1. So when he enters Act 2, the audience will empathize rather than judge.

This is less of a character change and more of a structural decision that affects the whole narrative.

One thing I want you to remember.

Whether you’re a student, a longtime reader, or you only recently subscribed, this is a definition I would like you to hold on to for the rest of your career:

Story Structure: Choosing what the audience knows and when they know it in order to maximize narrative momentum and emotional resonance.

As long as you achieve narrative momentum and emotional resonance, it doesn’t really matter how you structure a story.

Yet the fact remains: HOW you structure a story determines narrative momentum and emotional resonance.

So you don’t have to believe in structure. But structure believes in you.

Want to dig deeper into story structure?

Enroll in the best structure class out there and learn a liberating framework that releases your creativity and your individual voice. This should be fun, right?

Learn more about my flagship course, Mastering Structure.

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