There are infinite varieties of stories, but some writers believe there are only two basic ones. The first is “Someone goes on a journey,” also called the “intentional hero.” The second is “A stranger comes to town,” also called the “accidental hero.” Of course, these are the same story told from a different “point of view.”
Journey stories are proactive stories about a search, about looking for someone or something like revenge (Othello, Sweeney Todd, Friday the 13th), love (Romeo and Juliet, Hello Dolly!, Gone with the Wind), or treasure (the throne in Macbeth, the job in A Chorus Line, the princess in Mario Brothers).
Stranger stories are reactive stories about a surprise, about discovering someone or something unusual like a person (Taming of the Shrew, Mary Poppins, A Christmas Carol), place (The Tempest, Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz), or thing (the letter in Harry Potter, the job listing in The Sound of Music, the hologram in Star Wars).
Think about which one fits your story, both its narrative and emotional centers. Whether a journey or a stranger variety, though, every story needs a defined beginning, middle, and end.
The beginning is where we learn what the hero wants — and why. You’ve already thought about this while writing the sentence for your story’s narrative center. In the “Pixar Pitch,” it is built on three prompts: “Once upon a time… and every day… until one day…” That last prompt is the point of attack, the complication that kicks the plot into motion, without which this story would never take place. It could be as simple as “Boy Meets Girl.” This is usually a small chunk of your show. You don’t want to wait too long for the action to begin.
The middle is where the hero pursues what they want but meets a series of problems (conflicts). This is the biggest chunk of your show, in fact, most of your show. It starts with the point of attack and continues with at least three more prompts: “And because of that… and because of that… until finally…” That last prompt is the climax, when the question raised by the point of attack is answered.
Playwright Lauren Gunderson refers to the series of problems as a line of dominoes, each tile directly knocking over the next one. She also recommends thinking about the “midpoint” — that is, the middle of your middle — as an event that makes it seem impossible for the hero to get what they want. “Boy Loses Girl.” Many full-length musicals have their intermission right after that midpoint crisis.
The end is where the hero gets what they want (or doesn’t). “Boy Gets Girl.” It takes your story up to “And since that day…” This is another small chunk of your show, often smaller than the beginning. It could be as simple as “They lived happily ever after.” In some shows, especially Gilbert and Sullivan’s, the end is one song: the finale.
As you build your outline, start to think a bit about where the beats of action (the scenes) might begin and end, as well as where characters might sing or dance, which is often at the end of a scene.
Before going too far, watch Gunderson’s first workshop about structure and making an outline — or her session on the basics of playwriting for teens if you’re a new writer. Also check your local library’s e-book and audiobook services for Backwards and Forwards (1983) by David Ball, which Gunderson recommends for exploring the elements of dramatic structure. If your library doesn’t have it, you might check AbeBooks and Barnes & Noble for cheap used copies or Apple Books and Audible for audio versions.
If you want to explore the Pixar process, check out The Art of Storytelling series at Pixar in a Box. If you’re still stuck on outlining your story, though, take time to watch John Yorke’s Google talk about his book Into the Woods: A Five-Act Journey into Story. (The title is a reference to fairytales not to the Sondheim and Lapine musical based on fairytales.)
Next, the cast of characters.