When I sit down with a client who’s about to start a novel, I can usually tell which camp they fall into: the “I’ve got an outline longer than War and Peace” camp or the “I’ll just wing it and see where the characters take me” camp. Both approaches can work—but both can also leave you stranded halfway through, wondering what on earth you’ve gotten yourself into.

So, how do you actually construct a novel? Think of it like building a house. You don’t need an architect’s blueprint down to the last nail, but you do need a foundation and a plan.

Start with your premise. What’s the big idea? “A young woman discovers she’s heir to a cursed kingdom” or “Two estranged brothers are forced to run the family business together.” Simple sentences that capture the essence will keep you focused when the middle gets messy. Just remember that plot isn’t a formula or a then-this-happened, then-that-happened sequence of events—it’s a cause-and-effect chain of choices. Plot unfolds through action and consequence, not coincidence. Each event should spring from the decision that came before..

Next come characters and conflict. Who wants what, and what’s in their way? A novel without conflict is like a cake without sugar—technically possible, but no one’s going to eat it. Give your protagonist goals and obstacles that matter, whether that’s defeating a dragon or finally forgiving themselves. A lot emerges when a character with a goal faces escalating obstacles that force transformation. It’s not about what happens next; it’s about why it happens.

Next is structure. Even if you don’t outline scene by scene, it helps to know the general arc: beginning (set up the world and problem), middle (complicate everything), end (resolve it). Within that, you’ll usually have turning points where the stakes get higher. Every step should increase cost or risk. If nothing changes internally or externally, it’s not a plot point—it’s a pause. Some writers swear by the three-act structure, others by the “Save the Cat” beats—a storytelling method that maps out fifteen key moments, from the opening image to the climactic finale, to keep a story moving. (The name comes from screenwriter Blake Snyder’s idea that early on, your protagonist should “save a cat” or otherwise do something that makes us root for them.)

And don’t forget theme—the thread that ties it all together. You may not know your theme until you finish the first draft, but once you do, weaving it back through will give the story depth.

Of course, all this is the bare-bones framing of your novel’s house. The real magic happens in the writing when pantsing makes its entrance and the characters start talking back, or the “aha!” twist hits at 2 a.m., and you realize your story is about something bigger than you thought.