Ready to write? Start with structure!

Welcome back, fellow writers! This month, we're diving into the essential blueprint for a strong narrative: the outline.

Once you've nailed down your core concept—maybe you've decided to write an epic about Vikings—your next crucial step is defining the journey. You need to know not just what happens, but when it impacts your main character and how those events drive them forward.

Your outline serves as a detailed timeline that tracks both the external plot and the internal character arc. For our Viking story, this is where you map out:

• When the ship was captured and why.

• The sequence of events leading to their escape.

• The precise moment your protagonist made a crucial decision or started to change.

My Approach: The Five-Point Scene Structure

Of course, outlining is a personal process! Some writers "pants" it (write without an outline), and that's perfectly fine. But for those who crave organization and smooth story flow, a structured approach can be invaluable. This is the simple framework I use for every single chapter or scene:

(I’ll use the outline for Chapter 2 of my story as an example.)

Chapter 2 Outline

1. Opening Value: What primary theme or emotion is present at the start? (e.g., Love)

2. Closing Value: What is the opposite or change of that theme by the end? (e.g., Justice)

3. Character's Core Desire: What is the character actively pursuing in this moment? (e.g., Her mom)

4. Antagonist/Obstacle: What stands directly in the way of that desire? (e.g., Her mom passed away)

5. Turning Point: What action or revelation changes the direction of the scene? (e.g., Finding the fake passport)

I often create these points weeks or even months before the writing begins, and sometimes I do change elements during the drafting process—that's normal! But having this skeleton structure keeps the narrative focused, prevents mid-story drift, and ensures your story flows logically from scene to scene.

I hope this method helps you build the framework for your next great chapter!

Now, let's see this in action... here is the second chapter of my book!

 Chapter Two

     Location; Texas Home

     Time; 4:37 PM

     Date; Friday, February 14, 2024

     I stood by my bedroom window, watching the snow swirl outside. Images flickered through my mind: Mom throwing a snowball at Theo, our family walking down the sidewalk in front of our house, me tossing a football with Dad. I sighed, turning away from the window. My room was a mess; blankets were strewn across my bed, school books spilled from my backpack onto the floor, and clothes covered my desk, chair, and floor. Ignoring the chaos, I walked into the kitchen. Dad was at work, and Theo was at a friend's for the weekend, leaving me home alone.

     I pulled out a stool and sat down. The kitchen wasn't much cleaner than my bedroom: dirty dishes were piled in the sink, crumbs dusted the counter, and food stained the table. Ever since Mom died, our family had drifted apart. Theo spent most of his time away, Dad took every possible shift at the fire station, and I holed up in the house. Everyone seemed desperate to escape the memories of what used to be, but I couldn't bear to let them go, couldn't bear to let her go.

     My gaze drifted to a photo on the wall. I slid off the stool and walked over to it—our last family picture. Dad stood with his arm around Mom, looking down at her with adoration. Theo was laughing, looking up at them. Mom's arm was around me, and I was smiling at Theo. A tear slipped down my cheek, and I brushed it away. I stared at Mom's face for a few minutes. Just as I was about to look away, I noticed a necklace around her neck: a small gold chain with a ring on it. It was a ring she'd received from an old friend, and I wished I had that necklace; it had always been very special to her. All of Mom's things had been packed away in the garage. I turned and stared at the garage door, determined to find that necklace.

     I stepped into the garage, my eyes scanning for my mom's boxes. Five large blue bins, each labeled "Abigail," sat on the lowest shelf. I pulled the first one out and lifted the lid. Inside were clothes—shorts, t-shirts, sweaters, and pants—only her favorites remained, the rest donated by my dad. I picked up an old, faded sweater with "Los Angeles" faintly printed across the front. I brought it to my nose; it still carried her scent, faint but unmistakably hers. Gently, I pushed the sweater back into the bin and replaced the lid before sliding it back onto the shelf.

     Kneeling, I pulled down the bin beside it and took off the lid. This one held papers and pictures. My fingers found an old photograph of a young woman holding a baby. Flipping it over, I read the inscription on the back: "Abigail and Addie, May 13, 2010. Addie's first birthday." I set the photo on the concrete floor beside me and pulled out a stack of papers—some invoices, others newspaper clippings. Setting those aside, I continued to dig, searching for a small jewelry box. Instead, I spotted a small black wallet at the bottom. I reached in and pulled it out. "Victor" was inscribed on the front. Curious, I flipped it open to find a small booklet inside. I pulled it out and read the title: "Passport." It looked old and well-used, its corners bent, its color faded. I opened it and glanced at the picture. It was my mom.

     A strange feeling washed over me. All my mom's travel documents, including her passport, had supposedly been destroyed in a fire in Hawaii. Yet, the name beside the photo read "Hannah Fleming." Thinking I'd mistaken someone else for her, I looked closer. She was much younger, but it was undeniably my mom, perhaps around twenty. Confused, I checked the issue date: March 12, 2008—almost a year before I was even born. That would have made her nineteen. But why would it have the name Hannah Fleming? As far as I knew, her maiden name was Morris, and after marrying Mike, her last name became Bordan. Why would she keep an old passport with the wrong name? Was it a fake? Questions raced through my mind.

     A door slammed, and I instinctively shoved the passport into my pocket. Quickly, I shut the bin and pushed it back onto the shelf.

     I shut the garage door behind me and turned to face the kitchen. 

     “Hey, have you seen my basketball?” Theo called from his bedroom downstairs. 

     “No.” I yelled back, I opened the cupboard and grabbed a bag of triscuit crackers. As I opened the box Theo came running up the stairs. 

     “Whatcha doing?” he inquired. 

     “Eating,” I mumbled through a mouthful. 

 “I mean what are you going to be doing, are you going somewhere?” Theo demanded scowling at me.

     “Um no, do you know when dad is getting home?” I asked.

     “Soon, he said he wants to talk to us about something.” Theo replied, as he walked over to the glass patio door. 

    “Where are you going, aren’t you supposed to be at your friend’s house?” I pressed

     “Staying home,” he stated, staring out across the back yard. 

     I closed the box of crackers, my appetite gone. Theo had been so closed off since my mom had died. When he was home he spoke two words to me, but most of the time he was at his friend's houses. I sighed and walked over to him.

      “Want to see something?” I asked him. 

     Theo turned to me with a raised eyebrow, “What?” 

  I took a deep breath, pulled the passport out of my pocket and flipped it open. 

     “What is it?” Theo asked, staring at it, “Wait, is that mom?” 

     I nodded, “Yah, and I think it's a fake, look at the name, it says Hannah Fleming.” 

     Theo pulled the passport out of my hands and stared at it, his hands shaking. 

     “Where did you find this?” He asked, not to taking his eyes off the picture of our mom. 

     “In the bins of her stuff,” I said.

     “What were you doing in there,” he pressed, looking at me quizzically.

     “That’s not what matters, who is Hannah Fleming is the important question.”

    “I have no clue, but it looks like its mom,” Theo replied, handing the passport back. 

     “Yah that’s what I thought, but her maiden name isn’t Fleming, and her first name certainly isn’t Hannah.”

     “Why would she have a passport with the wrong name? That doesn't make sense,” Theo said, his brow furrowed.

     “Maybe it’s just a fake? But why would mom have a fake passport?” I said, shoving the passport back into my pocket. 

     Theo shrugged, “Ask Dad he’ll know.”

     “We are not showing Dad!” I said adamantly. 

     “Why not, she was his wife, he’s the only other person who could know why she had a fake passport.” 

      I shook my head, “We aren’t telling him,” I turned and walked down the hall into my room. I pulled the passport out of my pocket and tossed it into my open nightstand drawer. Time to clean up this disaster. 

     For the next hour, I tidied my room: making my bed, picking up clothes, scrubbing surfaces, and vacuuming until it was finally in order. Exhausted, I collapsed onto my bed and pulled the passport out of my drawer. Was Theo right? Should I tell my dad? I stood up and opened my closet door. Taped to the inside were photos: my mom and dad on the beach, our whole family on a hay wagon, Theo playing baseball, my mom and dad on the couch, our family watching a movie—all memories from before my mom died.

   “I’m home,” Dad yelled from the kitchen. 

     I walked into the kitchen to see my dad putting groceries away in the fridge. 

     “Hey, have a good day?” he asked. 

     “Um, yah I need to show you something though.” I told him. 

     He turned to face me, “What?” he asked. 

     “You may want to sit.” I replied. 

     He raised his eyebrows but did as I said. I pulled the passport out of my pocket and handed it to him. 

     He flipped it open and gasped, he was quiet for a long time before saying, “Wait, why does it say Hannah Fleming?” 

     I shrugged, “I don’t know, Theo and I thought that maybe it was a fake passport or something.”

     Dad's eyes, glued to the picture of his wife, held a deep, swirling grief.

     “I’ll find out what it is,” he said, clearing his throat. 

     Location; Texas Home

     Time; 8:17 AM

     Date; Saturday, February 15, 2024

     I sat up in my bed and yawned. Sunlight peeked through a crack in the curtains and streamed across the pictures hanging on my wall. I pushed my blankets off and stood up. After getting changed I headed into the kitchen. My dad stood staring into the open fridge. 

     “Dad?” I asked hesitantly. 

    Dad slowly looked up at me, his eyes filled with emotion. “It’s not fake,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

     “What’s not fake?” I asked, worried as he walked over to a stool and sat down. 

     “The passport. It’s real,” he replied.

      “How could the passport not be fake? Does that mean Mom’s name was Hannah Fleming? And if that was her name then why did she change it?”

   “What’s going on?” Theo’s worried voice broke through my thoughts. 

     “The passport, it’s not fake,” I told him. 

     “What does that mean?” he asked. 

     I shrugged while still processing.  

     Dad was silent for a moment before standing up. "Your mom wouldn't have lied to us without a good reason, so there's no need to be alarmed. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation," he said, his voice strained with worry, his eyes betraying his confusion.

     I knew my mom was a good person, but what could be a reasonable explanation for not telling your family you changed your entire name?

     Theo turned and went down the stairs.

     “Mom died in a fire, right?” I asked my dad.

  He stared at me for a few seconds before saying, “Yah, that’s what I was told.”

     “Isn’t it a bit suspicious that she wouldn’t have her own passport on her when she died?” I pressed.

     Dad shook his head. “No, if she got a new passport, then she would have no need for her old one.”

     I nodded, though something wasn't adding up, and I was going to figure out what.