A turning point’s distinctives should reinforce its function
Summary: To build a unified story, use elements like characters, setting, action, dialogue, symbolism, and theme to reinforce the function of your turning points.
When I first started writing this note, I planned to advance the hypothesis that turning points should be unique. They need to be different not only from the surrounding story material (so audience members can “see the edges”) but also from each other. If one turning point looks too much like the next, it can become confusing. For your audience, it can feel like wandering through a forest and running into a suspiciously familiar-looking old oak with a hollowed-out trunk. “Are we going in circles?”
That’s a problem to avoid. Sure. But it isn’t especially insightful to talk about. Most of us already instinctively write scenes and turning points with sufficient variety. And if we don’t, that’s something that a good editor will help us correct.
So here’s a different, more precise claim to consider: The variation in your turning points should be informed by purpose.
- Every turning point in your story performs a specific function.
- The distinctive features of the turning point should reinforce that function.
It’s one thing to say, “We need a cool action beat here. How about a car chase?” It’s something else to know why you need action at that moment and if a car chase is most appropriate.
Unified choices
In May 2025, screenwriter and teacher Tom Vaughan wrote an excellent newsletter post about “unified choices.” He concludes:
“Great characters and great scenes are what it is all about.
“But the order you put them in, and how each builds upon each other to heighten their worth, is how you elevate it and really make it sing.” (Emphasis mine.)
Swap out “characters and scenes” with “turning points,” and you basically have the thesis for this note. A
Let’s look at an example.
Colossal choice
Not long after the explosive midpoint in Steven Spielberg’s 1993 film, Jurassic Park, we find the protagonist, Dr. Alan Grant, in a quiet but important character moment. He’s sitting in a tree with a couple of kids, pondering his future.
One of the kids asks Dr. Grant what he and Dr. Sattler will do now that dinosaurs have come back from extinction. It’s a good question. Grant is a paleontologist. In the premise of the story, his work has suddenly become irrelevant. B
Grant says that he’ll have to evolve.
He and the kids settle in for the night, but Grant can’t get comfortable. There’s something poking into him. He reaches back and discovers it’s his fossilized raptor claw. It’s a souvenir he’s carried around with him since the beginning of the film, a symbol of his profession and his love for studying extinct creatures.
He considers it for a moment and then tosses it away.
The choice
The turning point here is Dr. Grant’s decision to embrace the unpredictability of the future.
In context, this is the central turning point of his character arc. He’s a man who has buried himself in the past because the past is safe. Nothing unexpected can surprise you or put you on the spot.
But through the events at the park, Dr. Grant has been forced to confront the fact that he cannot avoid the future. It’s there, whether he likes it or not.
That’s the dilemma he faces: embrace the future he’d rather avoid or continue to live in the past, knowing that’s a failed strategy.
He picks the future.
Reinforcing features
What features reinforce Dr. Grant’s decision? How do the story elements in this moment add to or detract from its effectiveness in impacting us as audience members?
Every scene is composed of a number of elements. For today, we’ll consider six:
- Characters
- Setting
- Action
- Dialogue
- Symbols & motifs
- Theme
1. Character
The characters in the scene are Dr. Grant and the two kids, Lex and Timmy.
Up to this point in the story, Dr. Grant’s relationship with the kids has mostly been played for humor. He’s uncomfortable around them, so for the first half of the second act, he’s thrown into various situations in which he must first try politely to avoid them and then, inevitably, figure out how to tolerate them.
But at the midpoint, things shift. Dr. Grant rescues the kids and finds himself in an almost fatherly role. He must protect them, guide them, encourage their hopes, and calm their fears.
The key is that Dr. Grant’s dislike for children is a proxy for his avoidance of the future. They’re a symbol of his discomfort with unpredictability. It’s an artful bit of storytelling that, in the moment Dr. Grant decides to embrace the future, it’s the kids who challenge him to consider his situation.
Certainly, this is a reinforcing element.
2. Setting
Dr. Grant and the kids are in a tree at night. We could look for some symbolism in the time of day or the location, but to me, these are mostly determined by the practical logic of what has come before. I’m not convinced that they have any special reinforcing effect here.
And that teaches us something useful as well. Not every element in a scene or turning point needs to loudly sing the same note. Sometimes it’s okay to just let logic play out and follow it where it leads — especially if there are other elements that are already pulling their weight to reinforce function.
3. Action
We can break action down into two categories:
- The events that happen
- Their relative internal and external intensity
Events
We’ve already mentioned the key events — the discussion with the kids and Dr. Grant discovering the raptor claw and throwing it away. Those all reinforce the decision.
Intensity
What about intensity? Dr. Grant and the kids are settling in for the night. It’s a peaceful moment. There’s latent danger in their situation, sure, but the external intensity is at a low point. C
The scene doesn’t really emphasize the intensity of Grant’s internal conflict either. For his character, it’s a tectonic shift. But on the surface, the choice happens quietly.
Does this low level of intensity reinforce the function of the moment? I’m not sure. It’s not uncommon for characters to have a moment of realization and decision in the quiet following a major upheaval. In terms of realism, this tracks. But I wouldn’t say it’s specifically reinforcing in any way. So we’ll count this one as neutral.
4. Dialogue
We’ve already talked about dialogue briefly. Dr. Grant’s admission that he’ll “have to evolve” definitely reinforces the decision. Combined with the action to toss away the raptor claw, these two elements are the centerpoint to the whole thing.
5. Symbols & motifs
What about symbols and motifs?
Both the kids and the raptor claw are symbols. Handily, they sit on opposite sides of Dr. Grant’s dilemma. The claw is a symbol of his old, failed strategy. The kids are a symbol of the new. The turning point is about which one he embraces.
I don’t know if Chrichton, Koepp, and Spielberg planned it that way or if it just came together, but it’s a masterful bit of work.
The symbols at play definitely reinforce the function of this turning point.
6. Theme
Do thematic elements at this point reinforce or distract from the function of the turning point? Or, put another way, does the turning point reinforce or distract from the theme?
I think they play together “hand in glove.”
If I had to state the thematic argument of Jurassic Park, I’d say it’s something like, “To truly live, you must let go of control and receive the future as it comes to you.” D
“Life” — the future — cannot be repressed. Any attempt to control it will inevitably fail. It moves inexorably on, and if we want to succeed, we can’t try to hold it back or direct it. Instead, we need to flow with it.
Is this turning point reinforced by and reinforcing that idea?
Absolutely.
Grant’s dislike of technology and children, his choice of careers, they all represent his discomfort with the chaos and unpredictability of the future. At this turning point, with kids at his side, he decides to embrace that unpredictability.
Applying this to your stories
In April 2025, essayist Henrik Karlsson discussed the common writing advice to “kill your darlings.” His observation was so well put that I think it’s worth quoting at length:
“[Favorite passages become darlings] because they are striking, and therefore they tend to [be] much more jarringly unsupportive of the wholeness than an average paragraph. It is like when you make a garden and go around picking flowers because you think they look cool alone, and together, they look garish. You want to have 1-2 strong flowers in a composition, but not more; the rest is support to bring them out.”
This applies to the elements that support our turning points as much as to other types of favorites. Things can either reinforce your turning points or dilute them, and not everything needs to be prominent. Sometimes you need one or two dominant elements that everything else supports.
Don’t worry about nailing this in your rough draft. At that point, you’re just getting words down.
But once you have a chance to step back, look at your story, and really see what’s there, take a moment to assess each major turning point and consider:
- What is the function of the turning point in the overall story?
- How are you achieving that through the events, revelations, and decisions in those moments?
- What level of external and internal intensity is appropriate? (For example, you’ll generally want more external intensity at the Defining Moment than at the Call to Adventure.)
- What setting, characters, dialogue, and other external and internal elements can you bring forward to support the turning point?
- What opportunities could there be for symbolism, irony, and thematic resonance? Is there a callback that would make sense without being too “on the nose”?
Once you have the big pieces in place, you can go back address the smaller turning points as well.
Not every moment has to touch on every level. Forcing it will, in itself, distract from the function of the turning points. But look at the opportunities you have and see what you can do.
You might surprise yourself.
Onward!
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