You Can’t Process This
Why story systems works… until they don't
There is a particular kind of optimism that shows up as you learn a new system or process.
It’s the this optimism that convinces you this time will be different. This time, you will not wander around in the cavernous tunnels of your mind hoping to stumble onto your story’s structure because now you have the torch of a proven system.
My torch in this case was a beat sheet.
Specifically, one of those “this must happen on this page” kinds of beat sheets. The kind that promises if you just hit these moments at the right time, you too can produce something that feels like a story instead of a collection of scenes that occasionally make sense.
And on paper, it made perfect sense.
I had a workable idea. An autistic cosplayer discovers a body at scifi convention and, through their knowledge of the culture to identify the killer. There’s tension, stakes, moral ambiguity. The kind of premise that makes you think, okay, this one has it all.
So I sat down with the beat sheet.
Page 1: opening image.
Page 5: inciting incident.
Page 25: things get worse. Character A must say “shimmy shimmy ko ko bop” to character B.
Page 60: things get much worse.
Toward the end: resolution, but meaningful.
It was all very clean. Very organized. Very reassuring.
And yet…it felt wrong.
Not broken. The scenes were there. The structure was there. Technically, everything was happening where it was supposed to happen.
Problem was, I wasn’t telling a story so much as assembling one. I had a checklist and I was making sure each box was properly ticked. The characters weren’t doing things because they would do them. They were doing things because it was page 25 and something had to happen.
That’s bean-counter story telling.
It felt forced. I wanted the torch to show me the corner, but it kept pulling toward the ceiling.
I was managing the story instead of flowing with it.
Before all this, I didn’t start with page numbers. I started with a question.
Wouldn’t it be funny if Mrs. Loggins actually murdered Mr. Messina because of a completely avoidable misunderstanding involving recycling bins and escalating eye contact.
And then I followed it.
Not perfectly. Not efficiently. But honestly. The story moved because something in it wanted to move, not because a framework said it was time.
But, the system wasn’t the problem.
The system worked in the way systems work. It created order. It reduced uncertainty. It gave me a map.
What it didn’t do was give me a story.
And if you’ve spent any time in business or fitness, this will sound familiar.
In business, there is always someone you can emulate. Someone who has a system. Follow these steps, adopt this mindset, replicate this structure, and you too can build something successful. Tony Robbins built an empire. Company X scaled. Therefore, if you do what they did, you will get what they got.
Except you won’t.
Because you are not Tony Robbins. Your company is not NVIDIA. Your culture, your constraints, your weird collection of decisions and accidents are not theirs. You can borrow the structure, but you can’t duplicate the context.
In fitness, it’s even more obvious.
You pick up a magazine or scroll through an article and there it is: The Workout™. The exact routine that built Chris Evans or Chris Hemsworth. The exercises, the reps, the schedule. It’s all laid out.
All you have to do is follow it.
Ignoring, of course, the small detail that their body is their job, and your job is to build Excel spreadsheets and occasionally remember to drink water.
The system is real. The results are real. But the translation is…questionable.
And that’s the thing about systems.
They’re incredibly useful right up until the moment you mistake them for answers.
The beat sheet wasn’t useless. There were parts of it I liked. The subject headings. The way it framed certain moments. Those are tools. Those are helpful.
But the page requirements? The rigidity? That’s where it started to feel less like guidance and more like Mother Superior with yardstick. (Probably shoulda had a trigger warning up top for my Catholic friends).
Creativity doesn’t do well with compliance.
It tolerates structure. It even benefits from it sometimes. But it resists being told exactly when and how it should show up.
Which is frustrating, because a system would be much easier.
A system runs like a machine.
Stories don’t run. They wander. They double back. They get lost. They search the dungeon. They occasionally surprise you. And every now and then, if you’re paying attention, they find something you didn’t know was there.
You can guide that process.
You can give it shape.
But you can’t fully system it.
Systems are fine. I’m not suggesting you toss them all (you’ll never take my seven-act structure from me). What I am suggesting is this: take what helps, and leave what doesn’t.
And if you find yourself hitting page 25 because you’re supposed to—instead of because something actually happened—put the checklist down.
And follow the thing that moves.
If you’ve been reading along and enjoying it, paid subscribers get this a day early. No pressure—it just helps keep it showing up each week.
Tony
(Photo by Photo by Shivansh Sharma: https://www.pexels.com/photo/abstract-spiral-staircase-with-geometric-design-29068281/)