Stories are composed of moments and spans

Summary: Story structure leverages how human memory works. The key, memorable moments are turning points. But the spans that connect them are no less important.

“Every great story ever told is essentially about a five-second moment.”
— Matthew Dicks (Dicks, Page 99)

The rock face looked steep. Dangerous. In spite of ourselves, my brother and I kept sneaking glances at it. It was our first real day of hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park, and we’d been on the trail for about three hours. We had made it roughly four miles (6.5km) from the trailhead at Bear Lake to Timberline Falls. When we started off that morning, this had been our planned destination. We’d expected to get to the falls, pause to take pictures and rehydrate, and then turn around. But the trail went on. There were two more lakes ahead, and we had time and energy.

There was just one problem.

To go forward, we’d need to climb what’s called a “scramble” — a steep rock face that required using handholds and climbing on all fours. From where I stood at the base, I could see water cascading down in little rivulets. It looked slick in places.

When we’d first arrived at the falls, both my brother and I had seen the steep chute and blanched. We laughed to each other and murmured unconvincingly about how it would be crazy to go up. We weren’t in our twenties anymore. (Closer to twice that.) Both of us had wives at home. I had kids. What if one of us fell? There was no cell service out here. It was a three-hour hike back to the trailhead.

In the back of my mind, I kept remembering the warning from the construction safety course I’d taken for a summer job in college years before: “A six foot fall can kill you.” This climb was around thirty feet — five times that height.

But both of us secretly knew we wanted to try.

I felt a thrill of fear, mixed with anticipation. I glanced at my brother and raised an eyebrow.

He grinned.

We remember the key moments

Memory is an interesting thing, isn’t it?

My brother and I spent around seven hours on the trails that day. Yet, when I think back, only a handful of moments — instances like the one above — stand out. Most of the step-step-stepping on the hike is just a dim, faded blur.

This is actually a good thing. Our minds experience billions of inputs every day. Much of it is redundant. It would be inefficient to store every single datum in memory. The noise and sheer volume would be overwhelming.

Instead, our memories are quite selective. (Montague, Page 37) We store the highlights. Our attention focuses on those things that are new and exciting and unique. It’s why a vacation to a new city will loom large in your memory while the thousands of hours you spend on school or work — which, proportionately, make up so much more of your life — seem to disappear.

Story uses our memory’s selectivity

What’s true in life is true for story. Think back on your favorite movie or book. Chances are, there are a small handful of moments in the story that stand out.

• The T-Rex breaking out of its paddock in Jurassic Park.
• Luke flying down the Death Star trench with Vader on his tail in Star Wars: A New Hope.
• Darcy proposing to Elizabeth in Pride and Prejudice.
• Rick storming out of the casino and running into Ilsa in Casablanca.

These moments are highlights. They’re distinctive.

Granted, part of the distinctiveness is due to how the filmmakers capture the moment. These are exceptional examples of craft.

But underneath, I have a hunch that these moments are memorable because of their significance to the story. The fact that they stand out in your memory teaches us something about how excellent stories are made. And we can use this knowledge to improve our own stories.

The key moments are the turning points

Here’s the key insight: Stories are composed of moments and spans.

The moments are the turning points. They’re brief, precise, just a single beat. When you analyze a story, don’t settle for a sequence or scene, home in the specific instant in which things change.

For example, the Death Star assault sequence in Star Wars: A New Hope is nearly 24% of the screenplay. (Lucas, Pages 118-153) That’s a huge amount of story material. But in the midst of all that, there are two key moments. The first is when Luke turns off his targeting computer, committing himself to trusting the Force. The second is when he makes good on that decision, firing his proton torpedo.

And here’s the thing: Each of these moments is only a few lines on the page.

Highlights are made by their context

The spans are the story material that flows out from one turning point and leads up to the next. They’re the “forgettable” part, the part that your mind will spend less energy on remembering.

But that doesn’t mean they aren’t important.

When I think back to my hike with my brother, deciding to go up the scramble stands out in my memory. But that moment was informed by context.

• I’d been hiking for three hours. My breath and circulation were primed.
• I had a full morning’s worth of experiences leading up to this: driving into the park at sunrise, hiking in the chilly alpine air, the fragrance of dust and connifers and wildflowers, the forests and ravines and lakes and waterfalls we’d already encountered.
• I even had a sense of sunk cost. We’d come this far. Could we really go back when there was more just on the other side of this obstacle?

All those things mixed together to create the context that influenced my decision.

In storytelling, it’s no different. If Luke hadn’t met Obi-Wan, ridden with the smuggler, rescued the princess, his decision to trust the Force wouldn’t have the same impact. Comparison creates meaning. The context matters. The spans may be forgotten, but it’s in them that the moments gain their significance.

The spans make the moments.

Conclusion

So in your storytelling, focus on the moments. Get precise. A turning point isn’t a sequence or a scene, it’s a single beat, the precise instant that something changes.

But don’t forget the spans. In them, you lay the foundation upon which your moments stand.

There’s more to say here, but this is probably enough for today.

Oh, and my brother and I? We made it up the scamble just fine. We didn’t go all the way to the end of the trail that day, but we did enjoy some fantastic views from the lake just above. And you can bet that our sense of accomplishment was richer for having faced the climb. It made the moment a highlight.

Onward!

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