Middle of the Road

A Lesson in Fearful Symmetry

“If I see something sagging, bagging, or dragging I’ll get it nipped, tucked, or sucked.”
—Dolly Parton

It’s always a good day when I have reason to bust out my old faithful copy of Watchmen. Today’s Shelf Life is about story midpoint. Story middles are challenging. A lot of us, plotting a story, know where we’re starting, and we know where we want to end but the middle doesn’t always come crystal clear right away. The middle of a story is a perilous place, rife with opportunities for the dramatic tension to sag, bag, and drag.

If that sounds like something you’ve run into in your writing, you’re going to love today’s article. It’s about a completely different approach to conceptualizing your story structure to make sure the middle is an absolute humdinger, no sagginess or sogginess to be seen. 

Before I get into Watchmen and midpoints and stuff, I want to tell you a little bit about the Shelf Life creative process. This is the routine:

1. I realize I need to write Shelf Life.

2. I tell my partner that I do not want to do it and he reminds me that I don’t have to, I can always quit.

3. I sit down to do it anyway, but promise myself I will keep it short and sweet today; like under 2,000 words.

4. I end up with too much text and have to cut content.

This is the dramatic question of my story: Why am I like this? Anyway, I have just sat down to write this fresh Shelf Life and I’ve promised myself I’m going to phone in 1,350 words and then play Elden Ring till the sun comes up. Let’s see if I can follow through on any part of the above vow.

Today I will cite my much-loved, dog-eared, and yellowed copy of Watchmen, a 1986/1987 comic book series. I entreat you to grab your copy and have it handy for reference. I assume you have a copy stashed away in your house somewhere. Like a Gideon Bible shoved in the back of the bedside table drawer in a janky motel room, the tableau of the American bookshelf would be incomplete without. I’m kidding; it’s fine if you haven’t read Watchmen. I promise this is all related to the topic of story middles. We’re getting there.

The complete volume of Watchmen comprises twelve 32-page issues. I could talk to you about the structural elements of Watchmen as a whole all the livelong day, but please skip ahead to issue number 5, “Fearful Symmetry.” Note that the issue is 28 pages of art and 4 pages of prose so we’re only going to look at pages 1 through 28 for this purpose.

If you should open your copy of “Fearful Symmetry” such that you’re holding the book block between your thumb and index finger so you can flip back and forth between pages 1 and 28, you will see that these pages mirror each other exactly. The panel structure is the same on both pages. The first panel on page 1 shows a puddle on the ground and the last panel on page 28 shows the same puddle. Page 2 and page 27 likewise mirror one another. As do page 3 and page 26. At the center of the issue, pages 14 and 15 form a two-page spread arranged around a tall panel that straddles the spine of the book. The image in the tall center panel is, likewise, a mirror of sorts. 

If this is somewhat vague, it’s because you’re either looking at your copy of Watchmen or you’ve never read Watchmen and I’m trying to keep it spoiler-free for you.

Anyway, lifting its name—“Fearful Symmetry”—from the Blake poem “The Tyger,” the whole issue is built as a mirrored image. The content is mirrored, too: 

• The issue opens on Rorschach’s interrogation of Jacobi; 

• Then cuts to the police tracking Rorschach; 

• Then to the recurring newsstand setting; 

• Then to the comic-within-a-comic, “Tales of the Black Freighter”;

• Then to the centerpiece confrontation at Veidt Enterprises;

• Then back to “Tales of the Black Freighter”;

• Then back to the newsstand;

• Then back to the police; 

• And finally to Rorschach’s follow-up meeting with Jacobi.

Let’s take a lesson from Moore and Gibbons: What do you do to make sure your middle stays strong and doesn’t sag, bag, or drag? If you’re having trouble making your way through the middle from the beginning of your story to the end of it, turn your planning upside down: Structure your story from the middle and build outward from there.

The story midpoint or centerpiece is every bit as important as its inciting incident or its climatic moment but anecdotally, from watching writers discuss craft and methodology on social, I see a vanishingly small amount of discussion on midpoint compared with the discussion around having a strong start and a strong finish. The midpoint is way too important to minimize it as just the bridge between important parts.

In a traditional three-act structure, your story is broken down into Act 1 (the setup); Act 2 (the confrontation); and Act 3 (the resolution). Plot points—the important story events that change the direction of the plot—occur at the end Act 1/beginning of Act 2; at the 50 percent mark of the story; and at the end of Act 2/beginning of Act 3. Each act has its own midpoint. The midpoint of Act 1 is the inciting incident; the midpoint of Act 3 is the climax; and the midpoint of Act 2 is the centerpiece of the story. 

I wrote about the inciting incident in great detail in Defeat the Blank-Page Blues, so I encourage you to refresh your memory if you’ve forgotten that one. The inciting incident is the moment in your protagonist’s journey when their normal life is disrupted by something. Whatever happens that changes the protagonist’s life forever and sets them down the path to becoming the person they will be by the end of the story—that’s the inciting incident. That comes at the midpoint of Act 1. It is preceded by exposition, and followed by the protagonists’ attempts to deal with the inciting incident, which drive everyone toward the first plot point that ushers in Act 2.

The plot point that closes Act 1 and opens Act 2 is the point of no return for the protagonist. Their attempts to undo the consequences of the inciting incident and return to the status quo have failed and lead them into an even worse predicament. Nothing will ever be normal for the protagonist again. 

Let’s skip ahead and then come back to Act 2. The climax, which comes at the midpoint of Act 3, is the point of highest tension in your story, the ultimate conflict, during which the protagonist faces their greatest antagonist, resolves the main problem (or problems) of the story, and answers the dramatic question. The climax of the story is preceded by the third plot point that closed Act 2 and began Act 3, and is followed by the resolution and denouement. 

That third plot point, which closes Act 2 and opens Act 3, is the place where the protagonist reaches their lowest point and crosses over another threshold. This is their nadir, the moment when all is lost. Although their life changed forever at plot point 1, they didn’t really believe that reality until now. 

Act 1 and Act 3 mirror one another, but Act 2—at the heart of the plot and story—is itself a mirror image reflecting from the centerpiece of the story. It begins with plot point 1, ends with plot point 3, and has plot point 2 right smack in the middle. What critical moment happens at plot point 2? This is the event that causes the protagonist to shift from reactive mode to proactive mode. This is the point where they stop fighting against what is happening to them and take action to direct events. The protagonist comes into their agency here. This is where they put their foot down and refuse to take it anymore.

Please note that this is about the point where I cross the 1,350-word threshold where I promised myself I’d be done and playing Elden Ring. This is my point of no return, my nadir. There will be no Elden Ring Twitch stream this day. This is the dark night of my soul.

We arrive at a mirrored structure, just like that of Watchmen issue 5, with plot point 2/story midpoint right at the center:

• Exposition

• Inciting Incident

• Plot Point 1

• Rising Action

• Plot Point 2

• Falling Action

• Plot Point 3

• Climax

• Denouement

When I conceptualize a story, I usually picture where my protagonist starts and where I see them ending, and from there I begin to design the trials and tribulations that they’ll undergo on the way from point A to point B. Thinking on story midpoint lately has encouraged me to try a radical new approach to designing the structure of a story: Conceptualize the midpoint first, and then plot forward and backward from there, creating a mirror image all the way out to the exposition and the denouement. If you come up with the middle first, you can be sure that middle isn’t going to sag or drag.

Using this different methodology, I begin by figuring out what my three plot points will be:

1. Plot point 1 is the event brought about by the protagonist trying to avert their fate and return to the status quo.

2. Plot point 2, the centerpiece, is the event that causes the protagonist to stop reacting to circumstance (trying to go back to “normal”) and begin acting intentionally to resolve the problem of the plot.

3. Plot point 3 is the event that houses the final showdown between the protagonist and antagonist and resolves the conflict.

The second plot point is at the center of your story and the protagonist’s journey. This is the moment when they come into their own and accept that they’re going to become the hero of their story, whether they like it or not. This is the beating, bloody, visceral anatomical heart of your story—not a long, meandering trail between the good parts. 

If your story suffers from a muddled middle, put your finger on the exact center point. If you’re not quite sure where that is, start by looking around the 50-percent mark in your manuscript’s word count. Read the middle 10 percent. What’s going on in there, and is it absolutely, positively gripping? If not, you might have a problem.

What if you don’t have a major centerpiece around the midpoint of the story? If you can identify the plot point that separates Act 1 and Act 2, and you can identify the plot point that separates Act 2 and Act 3, but you can’t spot the plot point that belongs at the dead center of Act 2—you better get on locating that, or writing it, double-quick. If you’re clear on the boundaries of Act 2, read through this section carefully looking for what triggers your protagonist to:

• Stop reacting to circumstance and take charge;

• Arrive at a new and shocking understanding of the central conflict; and/or

• Is confronted with the truth they’ve been desperately avoiding all along.

Somewhere in Act 2, one, some, or all of these should be happening. That’s your midpoint. Now, examine the occasion of this event: Is this a showstopping, jaw-dropping sequence? I mean, it needn’t be a big battle scene or action sequence; it could be an emotional knockout. This the epicenter of the earthquake that is your plot. Does it look like the landscape has been altered forever? Has this scene reduced the surrounds to rubble and wreckage? If not—why not?

What if the major centerpiece isn’t in the center? If you identify plot point 2 and you can see that you have an excellent midpoint event but it’s not, you know, at the midpoint, this should raise a pink flag for you. I say a pink flag because it might be just fine. Stories don’t go by the numbers. You don’t throw a dart into the very center and if the midpoint isn’t exactly there, you failed. Storytelling is an art and there’s room for artistic license. However, if you identify your story’s second plot point and it’s falling way outside the middle of the story—say, at the 30-percent mark or the 80-percent mark, then you might want to consider what’s going on with your pacing.

A midpoint that’s falling considerably later in the story than it ought to be could mean you have too much exposition. Infodumping in the early part of a story is a really common problem, especially in speculative fiction where there’s worldbuilding to be done. A midpoint that’s falling considerably earlier in the story than it should is a sign that the denouement is going on way too long. If you have ever watched The Return of the King (2003), you may recall that it has like twelve endings before it actually stops. Every time you think they wrapped it up and its over, they’re like, “No, wait, here’s one more thing!” If this is your story, you might be too profuse in the caboose. Just stick everybody on a ship to the Grey Havens and call it a day.

Once you’re sure you’ve nailed the centerpiece, work forward and backward from there to check your story structure symmetry. Does plot point 1 mirror plot point 3? Does the climax call back to the inciting incident? Are elements from the rising action revisited and subverted during the denouement?

A caveat to all this talk of midpoint and centerpieces. This is a great strategy for when you are planning or outlining your draft and a great rubric for critically examining your finished manuscript to plan your revision, but as always you should not get too bogged down in this theory when you are actually in the drafting phase. Vomit words out on the page and don’t worry so much about structure or thematic symmetry or answering the dramatic question. Word vomit until the page is full and then vomit some more. Clean it up in post.

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