Which Story Structure Should You Use?

Our brains naturally seek order. We want to put together instances, images, actions, evidence, imagination, and more to understand, satisfy our curiosities, assess safety and danger, learn lessons, connect, and have emotional experiences.

As a storyteller, structure is your main tool for bringing order. Clarity is a primary responsibility because many people will lose confidence in the tale and abandonment if they can't make sense of it. Or if there's not, at the very least, the promise of making sense. So linear storytelling, which is the primary way most people explain the world to themselves, is the most common structure. There is often a rigorous logic: this happened, so this happened, so this happened, but then this happened. As the chain is built, more is revealed to the reader/audience.

But every moment isn't linear. We reference past experiences throughout our days. We anticipate, project, and imagine possible futures. We dream and daydream to edit, sort, and play with our realities. So many linear stories are interrupted by flashbacks, flashforwards, considerations, memories, evaluations, and distortions.

When enough of these interruptions to the linear narrative find their ways into a story, that story becomes nonlinear. A movie like Pulp Fiction has multiple threads that are presented without concern about chronology. A movie like Memento works backwards. There are circular structures and many other variations, as well.

So, how does this fit with the idea clarity? The answer is that stories are not mathematical equations. Often, part of the fun is engaging with the story by putting the pieces together and making discoveries and finding new meanings along the way. We enjoy surprises, revelations, and finding answers for ourselves. And we’re willing to put in the work and deal with a certain amount of uncertainty to experience that fun. Writers who have content that can pay off in this way (and audiences who enjoy it) will push beyond the linear as far as they can.

But thrilling and inviting participation and providing aha! experiences don't explain everything. Many subtle works which would never be considered mysteries or adventures or surrealistic stories play with story structure to enhance understanding and intensify emotions.

A simple example is comic relief. When things get tense or disturbing, a writer will often insert a funny moment. Why? Because we naturally protect ourselves against big emotions. The moment of comic relief distracts us from the emotions (often dark) that are building so that when the payoff comes we are unguarded.

There are many ways that structure contributes to emotions. Repeated sequences can become rituals to unlock feelings. And they can become even richer when the sequence is turned or broken after it’s learned. Sometimes parallel stories are placed so that comparison is invited (as I mentioned recently in my analysis of Catch Me If You Can). Even characters returning to a place can invite comparison with their last visit there, causing us to reflect on how things changed.

Exposition is often provided out of sequence because its natural placement lacks a context that demonstrates its value. Where information is placed, as every mystery writer knows, can make it memorable or allow it to hide in plain sight.

Storytellers also use another trick, choosing the point of view. For instance, a law story may shift point of view so that the character who is most vulnerable during interaction (say, a love scene) becomes the point of view character — enhancing the emotional impact for readers/audiences. This also can be used for ironic effect. Information presented from another character's point of view may tell us that something observed, missed, or experienced by a different character is more important than he or she realizes.

Very few stories play out in real time. Most have the dull parts cut out. Often this deviation from strict adherence to time is used for pacing. But it's not just editing. The placement of certain events can be used to manage pacing as well, disregarding the actual order of events. This is one of the uses of flashbacks.

The concept of pride of place is important, too. Where things show up – the beginning, the end, in association with a highly emotional scene – provides clues to how much they matter in the narrative. Some moments set up in support, while others are the jewels we came for. And we've learned there are times special things happen, and we lean in when stories reach those times.

Structure may also serve a purpose beyond the main story – spectacle. This can be as obvious as the insertion of car chases, explosions, and sex scenes, added to spice things up. But, especially in movies, the disruption in the story may have the purpose of including evocative images. Often these are wonderful in and of themselves, but more sophisticated storytellers will include them to suggest themes.

Images and dialogue and story logic and all the other parts of experiencing the story can be shifted around in delightful and novel ways, as long as they don't lose the attention of readers/audiences. Now, nothing satisfies everyone. Some people were delighted by the apparent chaos of Inception. Others found it tedious and unrewarding.

I should mention that sometimes the audience is the writer. A structure can provide the scaffolding some writers need and help them to focus in on what will work. I often use stories I love or that feel related to my topics as models to get me started or bring order to the ideas, characters, and moments that are rattling around in my brain. Usually (but not always), those structures survive the revision. But whether they persist or not, they raise questions, provide ways to challenge my ideas, and point me in directions worth exploring.

Another use of structure is to get attention. If you can present a satisfying story in a new or unexpected way, you have a powerful tool making your story stand out. Because people notice anything that is unusual. That’s a good practical reason for playing with structure, but notice the proviso:  present a satisfying story.

Which story structure should you use? Look through the options above (and what they provide), play with them, and make your choice based on what fits your purpose and your story (juxtaposition is almost always worth considering). Be open to make a strange choice, but return to the basics before you put your story out into the world: clarity, attention, and emotion.

Building, Twisting, and Deepening How Readers/Audiences View Character Reputations

I’m studying a TV series now, and the instructor pointed out that different characters become “go-to” for highlighting story/protagonist themes. It rang bells because my course with Danny Simon, many years ago, demonstrated how this works in comedy. Take a situation/comment and imagine responses for each character in the story. One will resonate. And that reflects what we expect of the characters.

Reputations are what drive our expectations. You know some characters can’t be trusted. Other will sacrifice themselves for others. Some will bring a laugh when it’s needed and others will point out what goes wrong. Last time, I used Catch Me if You Can (CMIFC) to present the evidence writers can use to shape reputation. This time I’ll talk about a few tools that can make the reputation memorable.

Building and Deepening

The reactions of other characters. In CMIFC, characters surprise us by accepting even slight evidence to continue trusting a character after that character has been proven untrustworthy. This ironic response reinforces our contrary point of view because it forces us (audience, reader) to defend the truth we’ve come to believe.

Repetition. This can be as simple as catch phrases that make sense, but it is more often a pattern of behavior. In CMIFC we know Frank will dig in and do research. In fact, he studies more and more intensely as time goes on. He similar builds on his other tactics, like distraction, often taking them to a new level (as when he surrounds himself with “stewardesses” to get past police and escape on a jet.

Seeing consequences. We naturally tend to observe choices and actions that lead to big results. Part of the fun of CMIFC is seeing what tricks might be used or might fail in a confidence game. The bigger the consequence (making piles of money, landing in a French prison), the more we attach specific attributes to a character. As always, if some of the results are surprising, they become more memorable.

Contrasts. CMIFC continuously plays Hanratty against Frank, usually in consecutive scenes. But one of the tricks for drama, and especially comedy, is creating situation that trap very different people together. Odd couples make it easy to assign characteristics.

Twisting

Losses, falls from grace. This is big in plot building, but it also reveals character, usually by showing that a characteristic that is assumed to be true is hollow. (It also make force the character to explore a latent talent or value and raise it to the top.)

Injustice. When a character is blamed unfairly or talents and values are unappreciated, it’s usually an emotional moment. And nothing makes information stick like emotions. This also might lead to a moment of courage, when the character stands up to the person who knocks them down (often even though it makes things worse for them). Betrayal is the flashing neon sign of this kind of a twist because it reverses expectations and shatters a personal connection.

Crushing cliches. There are a lot of stock character in fiction. They come with ready-made reputations (like the prostitute with the heart of gold). Often, writers will take advantage of that assumption long enough to lull audiences and readers in, then subvert it with unexpected behavior. A moment of grace from a villain or cruelty from a hero can deepen a story and become a vital, provocative moment.

Characters may double down when it’s ridiculous to do so. They may break away from their patterns and be misunderstood. They may make a late entrance that nullifies all the stories and rumors about them. They may behave differently in private than they do in public.

One of my favorite twists in CMIFC comes from Hanratty. A big contrast between him and Frank is his honesty. When he talks Frank into surrender, claiming the place is surrounded by angry police eager to kill him, we know he’s highly motivated to lie. And his statement seems ridiculous. But it turns out to be true. The one time he lies to Frank is when he says he can meet his dad when they get home. My interpretation is that he does this out of compassion, so Frank won’t have grief tearing him apart on the long flight home.

Exceptions and surprises, when they are tied to important turns, are memorable and always impact reputations.

How Writers Can Shape Characters’ Reputations (and Enhance Their Stories)

I was ready to push send on this post, a followup promised in the last one) when I realized reputation is a critical part of the movie Catch Me If You Can. It's filled with great examples. If you haven't seen it, you might want to take a look before reading further.

The main character, Frank, is already an expert in using appearance, charm, and gifts to get people to like and trust him. He got all this from his father, who was honored by the local Rotary, even as he was involved in tax evasion. Frank's first triumph is pretending to be a substitute teacher at his new school. He uses confidence, presence, and knowledge (of French) to pull it off.

He also uses it to humiliate a student who has bullied him, making him do a horrible recitation in French. In a sense, it's a moment of justice, but it also is a projection of power, which is another important element of reputation. Frank's ability to embarrass people, especially those who could challenge him, continues in the story (e.g., when he hides his ignorance of medical procedures from interns who could detect his con).

When he's caught at school, he reveals a knowledge of the use of documents for credibility, advising a student skipping class to fold the fake note from her mother. This foreshadows the use of documents as proofs throughout. He passes checks that are doomed to bounce. But passing them is more of a challenge. He needs more knowledge about who can pass checks easily (airline pilots).

For documents to have more success against challenges they need to overcome all the obstacles savvy people, like banks, put in the way. One of his actions is to obtain equipment to make checks that authenticate themselves.

So, so far we have reputation in its easiest form based on charm, likability, and confidence. Combined with reasonable documents, these can fool many people. Adding in knowledge can expand the range of people who believe. And the lack of knowledge or correct documents will engender disbelief and harm a person's reputation.

One piece of knowledge is jargon. Frank purposely learns how pilots talk, which becomes a short step toward another proof – the uniform. Often, people don't look past the uniform and in doubt people with credentials because they assume the appearance is validating. Showing a badge can gain cooperation. There is a funny take on this in the movie, where Hanratty accidentally shows a maid the back of his genuine FBI identification, and she accepts it.

Expertise — real knowledge and capability — also can bolster reputation. Another key element in the film is Frank's deep knowledge of stationary (which was his dad's business). He's obsessed with documents, and learns everything there is to learn about ink, paper, texture, and more. In fact, this genuine expertise gets him released early from prison to help the FBI. Ironically, he also shows expertise in law by passing a bar exam without cheating, but he loses all credibility with the judge because, though he has a lot of knowledge, he knows nothing about presenting a case.

Association is another means to harm reputation (as referenced regarding Stand by Me in the last post) or for building it (as with Frank claiming degrees from Harvard and Berkeley). Frank also claims to be working for the Secret Service (which handles crimes involving currency) to evade the FBI, and it's simply accepted, bolstered by handing over a wallet that he claims has his identification (and doesn't). Association is used in a negative way for Hanratty. The only people who will work with him are FBI screw ups. In fact, one of them is assigned to him as a punishment. This undermines his reputation, even though his knowledge is extensive.

One of the most intriguing elements of reputation in the movie is when The New York Times pegs Frank as a glamorous James Bond of the skies because of his ability to fool the airlines. Nicknames and public approbation can enhance reputation, but also can change a person inside. Frank deliberately accepts the Bond characterization, using the name Fleming (as in Ian) when he buys a suit that matches the one in the movie. He sees himself differently.

That brings up the impact of reputation and who is effected. Any piece of evidence that changes trust can work in different ways with different witnesses. In addition, the power and memorability of such evidence can be manipulated by writers to enhance a story. These will be the subject of my next post.

Your Story Can Turn on the Reputations (Good and Bad) of Your Characters

One of my favorite stories as a child was "Seven at One Blow" (also known as "The Brave Little Tailor"). The catalyst for the action is the tailor's claim that he killed seven. He actually killed seven flies, not, as people assumed, seven men. His reputation was overblown, but it opened up opportunities for him, eventually, to marry the princess and rule half the kingdom.

The Scarlet Letter is all about reputation in the community. Westerns are full of people challenged because they have the reputation of being the fastest gun. And it's very common in stories for characters to have their reputations threatened, which could destroy their hopes or even make them pariahs.

I love how in the movie Stand by Me, Gordy, the protagonist is overshadowed by his late brother's reputation as an athlete. In fact, it's interesting to see how, with all the action in that movie, reputation is vital to the story. For instance, Chris is trapped and abused because of the reputation created by his family. No one expects anything good from a Chambers boy. He's so oppressed, he's willing to surrender his future, but the story changes him so that he embraces his talents despite the community's opposition.

With all the great examples in fiction, I think, because visual storytelling is so powerful, the idea of reputation is neglected by today's storytellers. It still shows up, but often is its fully exploited because the focus is on goals and desires that you could photograph. Now, I'm a big advocate of having tangible goals and desires in stories. But sometimes deeply understanding the power of reputation can create story choices that resonate with audiences and readers.

As with the little tailor, can create opportunities (or threaten them, as with Chris). This can lead to more interesting and substantive challenges for the protagonist, putting him or her into a larger world where more is at stake.

A lot of new opportunities are founded on trust. If your reputation says you are both competent and someone who can be relied upon, people will want to include you in projects, to provide resources so you can do more, and possibly even seek you out as a friend, companion, or lover.

Of course, doors close if you are seen as someone who is untrustworthy. People will take precautions, at the very least, monitoring and testing your behaviors.

One of the most powerful things you can do in the story is have a trusted character betray others. It creates a visceral reaction tied to our own experiences of being disappointed in or damaged by people whom we trust.

In addition to opportunities and trust, those with remarkable reputations gain influence. Their advice, suggestions, and commands are listened to. They may even be seen as role models and their behavior may be imitated.

Note: While influence is often earned, reputation can be tied to expectations based on rank or association. Most people will obey a police officer. The influence of a General in the military may have nothing to do with known accomplishments, and everything to do with status. When I was in business, many executives were more likely to pay attention to someone with an Ivy League diploma (no matter how foolish they were) than to others. Cachet matters.

Reputation can be more granular. Think of a sports team. Someone who plays his or her position at an All-Star level, even though they may be disasters as human beings or as one coach described an athlete "dead from the neck up," they are welcomed as role players.

Likewise, people can make mistakes in specific areas and others will be warned not to give them another chance. In practice, it's often even worse than that, with people being defined by one horrible moment in their lives where they didn't meet the challenge.

The story possibilities of these consequences of reputation gained or lost aren’t exhausted with this list. Every single story could be looked at in terms of the value of reputation, both in terms of the people who matter to the protagonist and the impact on the character's confidence and self-esteem. How do you as a writer deliberately make use of reputation in stories? It begins with having a sense of how character reputations might be created, twisted, or destroyed as the story progresses. That will be the subject of next week's post.

50 Gentle Questions to Ask Your Characters

Do you know people who have a difficult time accepting a compliment? Who may even be more comfortable with constructive criticism? There are story characters that are like that, too. They have no problem exploring their faults and flaws, often seeing past bad behavior as learning experiences. Or they see current cravings not as “just who they are,” but as targets for improvement.

This is not to say that the characters (or real people) are saints. They can be as human as the rest of us, but they are comfortable recognizing and (often) admitting their shortcomings. With them, getting answers to my 50 Rude Questions is easy. Maybe too easy.

One of my most important writing practices is interviewing my follow-up questions. How they evade the truth tells me as much about who they are as their actual answers. Now, a straight arrow can be a hypocrite (or worse), but someone who is less egocentric and more self aware may welcome rude questions and answer them as best as he/she can. Think of most characters Tom Hanks has played.

I ran into such a goodhearted character while working on a recent story, and I came out of the interview with useful questions, but less of a sense of who he was. So I tried something new. I went after him with some gentler questions, and he got (wonderfully) uncomfortable. He had a lot of trouble talking about and owning some good traits and behaviors. That led to the kind of hesitations, equivocations, and telling responses that mean so much to my style of storytelling.

I’m eager to do more of this sort of questions, so I’ve used the experience to create this list of 50:

    1.    What kindness did you do for someone with no expectation of a return?
    2.    What lesson do you hope someone learned from you example?
    3.    What’s the most embarrassing compliment you’ve ever received?
    4.    What achievement are you most proud of?
    5.    When did you not get credit you expected?
    6.    Can you tell me about any friends or family who helped you get through adolescence?
    7.    How has a teacher inspired you?
    8.    Tell me about a time when it was awkward or difficult to do the right thing.
    9.    When someone suffered a loss, how were you able to comfort them?
    10.    What break or advice or example made you understand what your vocation was?
    11.    What challenging day of hard work ended best?
    12.    If you had a slogan on how to live your life well, what would it be?
    13.    What example or experience deepened your understanding of a value you treasure?
    14.    If you received a million dollars to make life better for others, how would you spend it?
    15.    What advice or story have you come to appreciate more with each passing year?
    16.    If you could spend an hour with one person from history, who would it be?
    17.    What’s the most important gift you’ve given or received?
    18.    What’s the greatest act of friendship you have personal knowledge of?
    19.    Which obstacle that you’ve faced taught you the most about life?
    20.    What moment would you like to relive?
    21.    On a regular basis, what’s the best use of time for you?
    22.    Which relative would you be most proud of being “just like”?
    23.    Tell me about someone you only came to respect and appreciate over time.
    24.    What advice led wisdom when you learned to ignore or reverse it?
    25.    What’s the biggest blind spot you moved past?
    26.    What’s the most important thing you learned accidentally?
    27.    What act of kindness (by you or to benefit you) led to the biggest payoff in terms of understanding?
    28.    What advice continues to challenge you to be better?
    29.    What incident caused you to seek out help that changed your life?
    30.    Tell me about a relationship that taught you the most about yourself.
    31.    Has someone ever rescued you?
    32.    What strength of yours is most needed by your family or community?
    33.    How did you respond successfully to a setback or blow that seemed impossible to overcome?
    34.    What’s the greatest gift your family or community ever gave you?
    35.    At this point it your life, who do you depend on most?
    36.    What was the most difficult choice for you between two apparent goods? Two apparent bads?
    37.    If you were drafted to provide a year of service to your community, what would you hope that service would be?
    38.    What for you are the values that are most difficult to put live out?
    39.    How do you express loyalty, affection, and commitment to others?
    40.    Is there anything that gets in the way of your doing the right thing?
    41.    Tell me about a time when you were surprised you had the strength to do something that mattered.
    42.    Tell me about a time when you were surprised by the positive impact of a choice you made.
    43.    What historical event would you have been delighted to witness firsthand?
    44.    What question would you have liked to have asked a contemporary who is dead now?
    45.    If you had one person you could partner with to get an important job done, who would that be?
    46.    Name a work of genius you admire that was created by a horribly flawed person.
    47.    Is there a chronic injustice in this world that you believe could be remedied in your lifetime?
    48.    Is there anything others see as nonsense that you see as wise?
    49.    If you could pass on just one fable, parable, or experience to the next generation, what would it be?
    50.    What do you hope your personal legacy will be?

For many of these, the follow-up questions are invaluable. While I often conceive of some questions in the moment and make them specific to the character, “Why?” almost always pays off.

Humiliating Villains (and Heroes)

One of the delicious aspects of entertaining fiction is what's sometimes called "creative humiliation of the villain." Seeing a bad guy kept his comeuppance in a way that wounds his ego never gets old. This often occurs after great damage to others, so it's an evening of the scales. But it also reflects repugnance for antagonists who believe they are smarter or better than everyone else and even taunt heroes and victims. I don't think I ever missed an episode of Colombo because each one enacted these little morality plays.

Against villains, humiliation provides readers or viewers a pay off. But humiliation can also be useful to good storytelling if it's used against heroes. Often, the reason why we empathize with the character is because he or she has been wronged. As Damon Knight told me once, "we've all been wronged, so we're naturally on their side." In addition, humiliation can contribute to real change. The more a character faces obstacles, including reputational damage (which is largely what humiliation is), the more likely they are to deal with a flaw.

Note: Depending on the villain, it might also be used to create a level of empathy or understanding. Think of the backstory of Syndrome’s rejection in The Incredibles.

Suffering humiliation for the sake of doing the right thing makes a character more noble in our eyes. In Jerry Maguire, Jerry makes himself vulnerable and reveals his true love in the presence of a women's group, where none of the members are on his side… to say the least.

How do you humiliate a character?

• Show the character has crossed the line or violated the taboo.
• Present a behavior out of context were put it in its worst light.
• Make the "offense" against a cherished part of the character's self image or public persona.
• Make the behavior appeared to be cruel or worthy of disdain.
• Put the offensive behavior on exhibit, often including the character falling for a trap or being hoisted by his own petard.
• Focus on a behavior the character is ashamed of.
  

How do you make the humiliation more intense?

• Be sure the humiliation sticks. Make it difficult for the behavior to be disavowed, apologized for, or minimized.
• Make a shift in power part of the moment of humiliation.
• Make the consequence proportional for the villain and out of proportion for the hero.
• Make the humiliation happen in front of enemies or people the character cares about.
• Increase the consequences, making them more dire or including multiple impacts (such as hurting family as well as self).
  

How do you create humiliation in fiction?

I found that, often, my characters tell me what would humiliate them. Or, I can ask what makes them proud, and then reverse it. Similarly, I can examine some of the factors above (the audience for the humiliation, the image tarnished) and use these to amplify the emotional and practical consequences of a humiliation.

I think it's easier to imagine how to humiliate a villain that is to come up with powerful ways to humiliate your hero. Giving heroes flaws, making them suffer, and creating obstacles for them is very difficult for a lot of writers. The easiest trick is to think in terms of humiliating the villain, then do something similar to the hero. It doesn't always work. In advising students and clients, I may resort to using a step-by-step process that gradually makes even horrendous moments for heroes tolerable. I'll suggest one for humiliation here:

Embarrassment is closely related to humiliation, so remember in times when you or someone you cared about suffered embarrassments can help re-create the feeling and even suggest what the humiliation might be.

Once you understand the what and the how of humiliation, you can get creative with it. In Mad Men, Don Draper has (unjustly) been discovered to be an imposter by Pete Campbell. The information is true. He does not have the credentials, identity, war record, or name he has claimed. It’s so humiliating, Draper’s initial reaction is to run away (sacrificing his career and family). He is further humiliated because his sweetheart of the moment won’t go with him. And she calls him a coward. (In fact, he loses her completely.) It is a low moment for him. So he challenges Campbell to do his worst. The two go into his boss’s office. Campbell puts his discovery in a horrible light. Draper not only faces the situation, he takes ownership of it. He suffers the blow with dignity, and is Campbell whose character flaw is revealed, with him ending up being humiliated. It’s brilliant storytelling.

One area I haven’t touched on is comedy. While humiliation works for me in drama, I’m not a big fan of laughing at people being humiliated. Even the slights of name-calling and practical jokes feel like cheap humor to me. But there’s no doubt that a lot of humor, from late night hosts to sitcoms (like Fawlty Towers) to movies (like Something About Mary) lean heavily into humiliation. Much of what I’ve mentioned here can work for comedy though it might include the same level of pain (except in dark comedy) or story importance.

Curiosity for Writers

“Curiosity has its own reason for existing.” 

                                                    -- Einstein

For me, part of the fun of writing is making connections between ideas and finding something that's amusing and/or insightful. I have an outsized curiosity and, as a child, tormented people with my questions. I can get obsessed with subjects, researching them and probing for the limits of understanding.

While this is not an essential trait for a writer (observation, grace, and facility with language may be enough), I suspect it's important to creating work that is original and innovative. And the surprises and revelations that make stories (especially commercial fiction) engaging often depend upon knowledge and facts that are gathered more by happenstance than by focused research.

For some curiosity is an overwhelming drive, while for others it is a minor distraction.  Given how universal and familiar curiosity is, it is surprising that its definition, “a desire to know,” is less than helpful.  David Beswick, a social psychologist and professor emeritus, University of Melbourne, points to the origins of the word in careful attention or scientific or artistic interest (from the same root as accuracy, curate and care).  This seems like a relevant perspective for writers since curiosity often leads to the sort of focused attention that provides insight.

Experimentally, curiosity has been viewed both at a state (feeling curious) and a trait (being a curious person).  For the former, it is clear that we all have a need to be in a state of arousal with regard to knowing more.  If we didn’t question or learn, we wouldn’t be able to satisfy basic needs or grow.

Curiosity, in most cases, is its own reward. It’s an intellectual hunger that feels good to satisfy. It’s also a natural and healthy cure for boredom. But it also can have some practical value. It can be a starting point for creativity, motivating action. It can suggest deeper and/or transgressive  questions that challenge the status quo. It can reveal unexpected truths and new areas worthy of exploration. And it can stimulate an interest in going beyond the obvious to understand other people.

If you are naturally curious, there are a number of ways it can be piqued, including:
    ▪    Novelty
    ▪    Contradictions
    ▪    Incomplete information
    ▪    Delayed gratification (especially when questions go unanswered), which builds anticipation
    ▪    The urge to complete a picture, resolve a story, or solve a mystery.
    ▪    Recognizing and learning to form good questions
    ▪    Getting past expectations so you can observe and listen to other people without judgment

There are ways to reshape your environment to encourage and deepen curiosity:
    •    Reduce attention to wants so that adequate resources for basic needs are not in jeopardy.
    •    Schedule time for exploration that is driven by interests and questions, not just directed at goals.
    •    Move past habitual subjects (preferred genres, current hobbies, engagement in topical subjects) to discover and sample new intellectual areas, kinds of art, and perspectives.

Einstein said, “It is a miracle that curiosity survives formal education.” But, even if you have been trained to be conventional, you can find your way back to child-like virtues like humility, wonder, playfulness, and even obsession, unreasonableness, and rudeness. Embrace the toddler within.

Beswick sees curiosity as successfully balancing openness to what’s new and a natural concern for orderliness. He says, "I see curiosity as a process of creating, maintaining and resolving conceptual conflicts." When something surprising or unique comes up, especially when it doesn’t fit your worldview, a productively curious person will not dismiss it or force it to fit. Typically, it becomes a prompt for questions that lead to research and exploration. And, when enough information is gathered, analysis, restructuring, and testing new perspectives—real and often difficult work— begins. With enough questions, wonder, doubt, and imagination, something new is allowed to emerge. The surprise may fit itself into place or may lead to a new structure of thought and perception.

For many people, going so far with curiosity is difficult. Beswick says, “highly curious people will remain longer than others in situations of uncertainty, as well as being more likely to be there, that they will have developed a range of investigative skills to help resolve conceptual conflicts by gathering additional information, that they will have a sufficient sense of security in their world to put their cognitive map in jeopardy without debilitating anxiety, to run the risk of creating a new and better order, and that they will have the capacity to carry out the integration required to create a sense of cosmos where there was the threat of chaos. That is, they will be able, typically, and more than most people, to create, maintain, and resolve conceptual conflicts.”

Here are some other thoughts on developing curiosity:

• Go slowly - This is about learning at your pace, not someone else's. This may mean taking piano lessons, teaching yourself another language or exploring a new sport.
• Take small steps - Remind yourself of the sayings "How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time!" Remind yourself that self-managed learning means making mistakes so you can learn what works and what doesn't. There are no grades posted, no deadlines to meet. This is your learning something solely for your enrichment.
• The best part is to make a list of things you want to do, learn or play. Find something delicious to eat, play your favorite music, sit down, and create your wish list.
  

Then get ready for the unexpected. You never know where asking a good question will take you.

This is adapted from an article I wrote regarding curiosity and innovation.