Making Friends with Structure

Making Friends with Structure - Reluctantly

Structure. Just saying it out loud feels… mildly offensive. Like a distant relative showing up uninvited with a casserole. The kind of thing I absolutely rebelled against when I was seventeen. “Structure? Pfft. I don’t need no structure!” I shouted, probably in front of a mirror, probably with eyeliner smudged from some dramatic emotional revelation about freedom and individuality.

And yet… here we are. Seventeen, eighteen… I’ve lost count of how many books I’ve written. And as I click open the latest Word document, my gut does a little shiver of recognition. Structure is actually… useful.

There, I said it. Useful. Shocking, I know.

Structure keeps you on track. It prevents that horrifying moment where you sit at your keyboard, staring blankly at the blinking cursor, muttering, “How does this story continue now?” It’s like the invisible hand holding a leash on your runaway imagination, and for once, it’s a leash you don’t entirely mind.

But the real magic? Structure tells you when a scene is getting way too long, no matter how brilliant you think your dialogue about the weather or the cat’s dramatic stare is. It saves you from dreaded editor notes: “Too long, slows down the action, condense these scenes…”

Condense. There’s a word I never thought I’d hear without twitching. I hate condensing. It hardly ever works. At least, not for me. But here’s the revelation: with structure, it doesn’t have to be about cutting the magic—it’s about channeling it. You get to keep the sparkle, but without the runaway chaos.

So yes, dear friends, I am reluctantly—very reluctantly—making friends with structure. Because if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that magic and order aren’t enemies. They’re awkward dance partners, sometimes stepping on each other’s toes, but when they get in rhythm? Pure gold.

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