When writing a story, it’s nice to have a framework upon which to build sometimes. For example, movies like Rudy or Rocky or Field of Dreams work on the “Underdog Sports Story” framework. Someone has a dream, others either mock them for it or actively stand in the way of that dream, but through perseverance, devotion, and hard work, they finally make it. Often there’s some element of a novel approach that helps them as well.
Field of Dreams is a little different though; the sports playing is almost secondary to the plot. You could, in fact, replace the sports aspect with just about anything else and the results would be pretty similar. Picture the same movie but with an art studio instead. All the same beats could play out. And that’s the point of what I’m driving at here.
In the intro to their season 11 structure on “Elemental Genre,” the Writing Excuses podcast point out that Hoosiers, Ender’s Game, and most war movies or stories, including Brandon Sanderson’s Way of Kings (specifically the bridgemen arc), all are based on this same “Underdog Sports Story” framework. The fun thing is, it allows for a unique story while using beats that you know have worked in the past to create an emotional through-line and carry some heft to it.
In Ender’s Game, the story is the humans against the great and mighty Bugger aliens or Formics, I think their official name was? The humans are the underdogs but they don’t give up, they come up with a novel strategy of using kids who think it’s a game to develop their strategies, and go on to win in a decisive victory. And within that plot is Ender himself, a weedy, scrawny kid whose main asset is his big brain and his kind heart, who uses his intelligence and sideways tactics to become an incredible military strategist. Now, there’s a lot more around that, of course, but that’s the case with all longer-form stories. (I believe I’ve mentioned before that movies are best developed as short stories? That’s the length of story you’re going to get with a good feature film, roughly. Therefore the underdog plots in movies are more of a solid through-line with fewer diversions.)
I noticed this myself a few years back while watching the movie Twister. I’m not usually big on disaster movies; I prefer most of my media to be escapist at present. Real life has enough stress without adding to it in my relaxing time! However, after a little while, I suddenly realized something– this wasn’t a disaster movie. This was a monster movie wearing a windy disguise.
Let’s take a closer look at the beats in this genre mash-up. First, the main character gets a healthy dose of trauma relating to the monster (aka tornadoes but I’m not going to repeat that every time) as it “eats” her dad. Then she grows up dedicating herself to learning to defeat it. She develops a “silver bullet” by means of her scientific equipment to learn about tornadoes so people can detect them earlier, then is able to produce three of said bullets. Only three, giving her three chances at taking it down. (I’ll also point out that “it” specifically refers to the absolute monster tornadoes).
As we go through the movie, we are introduced to a small one to start, like the small shark they catch in Jaws. It only goes to emphasize how colossally big and scary the real monster is later on. We get to see varieties as one tornado splits into two and there are water spouts over a big river. And honestly in real life this is starting to feel like an obscene number of tornadoes.
There’s even a rival monster hunter who’s careless and prideful and doesn’t take the actual threat seriously. He’s there to provide a foil to our main character and also to emphasize how dangerous the monster actually is as he leads his team into danger and gets thoroughly devoured.
The main character uses two silver bullets and fails. Conditions aren’t right. The delivery mechanism is flawed. The monster’s armor is just too tough. But a chance encounter reveals a new secret method that just might work. And just in time, because here comes the real monster, tearing through yet another close personal emotional bond. But this time they’re prepared and they manage to “slay” the beast by getting their baubles up and working, while they also have a chance to appreciate the majesty and power of the monster to which they’ve dedicated their life, up close and personal.
The main point of all of this is that story frameworks don’t have to always wear the same clothes. Once you know how they move, you can dress them how you like to make a story you like in a style you like, with a functioning plot beneath. Use a monster story skeleton to tell a weather related plot. Use a sports story framework to tell a science fiction battle story. Use the elements of a heist to tell a fantasy epic. Go wild.
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