So I’m reading Scene & Structure by Jack Bickham. I’ve set aside my multi-protagonist novel (thank you readers for your suggested books) and am back to my romantic comedy, which I’m taking through Donald Maass’ Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook.

This last year, I’ve also read Robert McKee’s Story and John Truby’s The Anatomy of Story.

As you might have guessed, I’m getting serious about examining the structure of my novels.

My current book has more promise than all the others I have written combined. It’s funny, it’s timely, and it involves everything I hold dear--photography, the civil rights of my friends, and recognizing that perfect love when it comes along (and, of course, stalking it on the internet to see if it is already “in a relationship,” Facebook or otherwise.)

McKee and Truby had a lot to stay about plot. Maass has really helped me with character and story arc development.

But Bickham’s book, I hope, will help with the individual building blocks that carry all those things off.

What I’ve already learned: You should be able to write your main character’s self concept in fifteen words.

So, let’s try it: Zest believes she can have it all--a small independent business and a happy marriage.

Then, Bickham says your novel begins at the moment your character’s self concept is threatened.

I think I got that right: She comes home from a wedding job to hear a message from a lawyer that her husband has filed for divorce.

This threat should create a story goal, a way to get back into equilibrium. I think I have that:

Initially, Zest’s story goal is very pragmatic: figure out what went so wrong that her husband would secretly file for divorce, and then to fix it, even if draws her attention away from her new business.

This creates story questions: Why did her husband do this? How can she fix it? And further more, should it be fixed?

You have some hints before you even get to the dramatic moment. Zest is snarky, biting, and probably not so easy to live with. She’s plunged into this business without enough forethought, on the assumption that her husband is behind her all the way. Because we’re in first person, and we find Zest amusing and entertaining, we go along with her in the first chapter, but when trouble hits, we find ourselves wondering--did she deserve it? So, separate from Zest’s own story question--how could he do this to me? We the readers have a separate one, one we keep from her--should we hope her husband runs for the hills?

What I hope Bickham can really help me with is the sagging middle. I have a great start and a killer end. But I find myself standing below the arch, arms above my head, propping up the noodling bridges and praying for some structure before my muscles give out.