There are many kinds of plot beats, some being more important than others, with each being known by a variety of names. Objectively speaking, no plot beat is essential, yet their exclusion is more likely to harm a story than improve it. This is partly due to plot cohesion, but also reader expectations, especially in genre fiction.
Below are three plot beats that I consider essential to my own work, and which I will strive to include early on in the outlining of a story.
In Medias Res (‘in the middle of things’):
A great way to engage a reader immediately is to start a story in the thick of the action. Stories that begin slow risk creating a poor first impression: that the book’s pacing is overly sluggish or worse, that the author does not know how to tell a compelling story. Of course, there are great stories that take their time during their opening chapters (Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring), though in these cases the author likely has an established audience and a well-regarded reputation, and so is at liberty to write as they please. For the rest us, In Medias Res is a near-essential plot beat.
However, beginning a story in the thick of the action does not mean excluding a character’s earlier arc, as their backstory or the plot’s initial setup can always be visited via flashbacks, dialogue, or through (compelling) exposition. And by ‘thick of the action’, I mean a scenario in which the main character is at risk of harm (physically or emotionally), as this always makes for an interesting read.
Inciting Incident (‘trigger event’, ‘catalyst’, ‘point of no return’):
The inciting incident triggers the story proper; it is the moment in which the main character’s everyday life gives way to a series of dramatic events. This moment may occur immediately, as it does in Kafka’s The Metamorphosis; after the story begins, such as with Frodo’s decision to leave the Shire in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings; or has already occurred, as with the ‘off-screen’ plane crash in Golding’s Lord of the Flies, which strands the protagonists on an uninhabited island.
Denouement (‘falling action’, ‘resolution’, ‘aftermath’):
The denouement of a story is often very short (unlike an epilogue, which serves a similar function) and works to give the narrative a sense of closure. It is a scene that occurs after the story’s climax and when the story itself is arguably over. Yet without a denouement, a story can be left feeling unresolved or hollow. If the inclusion of a denouement is particularly effective, a story is likely to resonate with a reader long after they’ve put the book down.
What then makes for a good denouement? It very much depends on the genre and what has occurred in the story. For a romance narrative, the denouement may provide a glimpse of the lovers’ future happy life, reassuring the reader that all will be well. In a tragedy, a final scene may show the tragic character suffering the consequence of their decisions (Ennis Del Mar in Brokeback Mountain), reinforcing the tragic theme. For horror, the denouement may show how all is well for the central character, yet uses foreshadowing to imply how their future will be otherwise (the unnamed narrator in Lovecraft’s The Colour of Out of Space).
In technical terms, a good denouement can be crafted by using implication; that is, to imply a continuation of the story’s central theme, whether that is love or sorrow, refuge or horror, etc.
Here is how two stories imply a continuation of their theme (spoilers inbound):
Brokeback Mountain:
There was some open space between what he knew and what he tried to believe, but nothing could be done about it, and if you can’t fix it you’ve got to stand it.
The implication here is that Enis’ grief will continue, most likely forever, and all he will be able to do is bear the pain.
The Colour of Out of Space:
Ammi is such a good old man—when the reservoir gang gets to work I must write the chief engineer to keep a sharp watch on him. I would hate to think of him as the grey, twisted, brittle monstrosity which persists more and more in troubling my sleep.
Here, the story’s horror persisting ‘more and more’ in the narrator’s dreams implies that not only is the horror still present and growing, but that the narrator himself is doomed.