Note: These are reconstructions of Brandon Sanderson’s 2025 writing lectures. I’m focusing on the mechanical frameworks he uses to diagnose structural problems, moving from the philosophical stance of Lecture 1 into more concrete tools.

The distinction between plot and story

Sanderson opens the technical portion of the course by separating the mechanics of events from the emotional experience of narrative. In casual conversation, people often use “plot” and “story” interchangeably, but here they function as different layers that need different kinds of engineering.

One useful way to think about this is through what Sanderson calls the “Big P Plot.” This is the answer to the question: what is the book about? In Game of Thrones, that macro layer involves the struggle for the Iron Throne and the looming threat of the White Walkers. It’s the back-of-the-book promise, the big conflict that sells the story.

The “Little p Plot,” meanwhile, is what actually happens chapter by chapter. These are the immediate problems characters face right now: Ned Stark investigating a death, Jon Snow navigating politics at the Wall, someone trying to survive the next crisis.

Writers often stumble here. They have a compelling Big P Plot — save the kingdom, defeat evil, uncover the conspiracy — but nothing urgent happening on Tuesday afternoon. Without small, immediate problems, the larger narrative feels distant and tension drops.

Sanderson also notes something slightly sobering: setting is easiest to innovate, character comes next, but plot is hardest. Readers have very specific expectations about how stories move, even if they can’t articulate them.

The core framework: Promises, Progress, and Payoff

Rather than leaning on familiar models like the Three Act Structure or the Hero’s Journey, which Sanderson treats more as archetypes than working tools, he organizes the lecture around three mechanical components: Promises, Progress, and Payoff.

This framework works especially well as a diagnostic tool. If a story feels slow, the problem is often Progress. If the ending feels flat or unearned, the issue usually traces back to Promises made — or not made — earlier on.

1) Promises (The contract)

A promise is the expectation set early in the story. It tells readers what kind of experience they’ve signed up for, including genre, tone, and stakes.

Sanderson points to The Wheel of Time, whose prologue shows a confrontation between the Dragon Reborn and the Dark One. The scene doesn’t explain the immediate plot, but it creates a binding promise: eventually, we are coming back to this conflict. Star Wars works similarly, opening with space battles and clear moral lines, immediately signaling adventure.

Tone makes promises too. Open with humor and readers expect humor. Open with a beheading and readers expect danger. Promise horror and deliver romantic comedy, and readers feel cheated even if the comedy is good. Indiana Jones works because the opening promises that the hero will suffer, improvise, and survive chaotic adventure.

Compared with the 2020 lectures, Sanderson moves through this material much faster now. Earlier versions lingered on outlining versus discovery writing. In 2025, that debate seems assumed to be settled. The focus shifts from how do I write? to what exactly am I constructing?

2) Progress (The illusion of movement)

Readers are surprisingly bad at measuring actual progress but very good at sensing whether progress feels like it’s happening. A story doesn’t have to move quickly, but readers need signs that movement exists.

This helps explain why travel structures are so common in fantasy. Physical movement stands in for narrative movement. Even if the main plot stalls, traveling from Town A to Town B still gives readers a sense of forward motion.

Sanderson mentions reading Dante’s Inferno and being pulled along largely by the structure itself: moving from one circle of hell to the next creates momentum even when individual episodes feel repetitive.

He also introduces what he calls the “Stealth Thesis Paragraph.” If the opening paragraph of a chapter quietly signals what problem the chapter will address, readers subconsciously track progress. This creates small promise/payoff cycles inside the larger story.

Progress doesn’t need to be geographical. Solving pieces of a mystery, deepening relationships, or increasing competence can all generate the same effect. What matters is that conditions change in visible ways from beginning to end.

3) Payoff (Fulfilling the contract)

Payoff is where promises get honored. The standard formulation is “surprising yet inevitable,” but Sanderson breaks this into two parts: the event itself and the way it arrives. The event may be predictable, but the delivery should still surprise.

He explains twists using a Christmas gift metaphor. If you promise a child a toy car, you must eventually deliver the car. A successful twist involves persuading the child they now want something else before revealing the car again in a new context. Simply swapping the gift at the last moment feels like betrayal.

Into the Woods shows what happens when stories deliberately violate promises, shifting from fairytale resolution into tragedy halfway through. Many viewers resist this turn because the contract changes midstream, even if the move serves a thematic purpose.

The “Gandalf Promise” from The Lord of the Rings feels especially emphasized in this lecture. Gandalf says he will return on the fifth day. When he actually does, it feels surprising not because the promise was hidden, but because the immediate crisis distracted both characters and readers. Emotional noise buried the logical expectation.

Pedagogical takeaway

Lecture 1 focused on mindset. Lecture 2 shifts toward craft as engineering. The Three Ps give writers a way to debug stalled drafts without starting from scratch.

Instead of asking whether the book is “good,” a writer can ask simpler questions: Did I make a clear promise? Does the story feel like it’s moving? Have I actually delivered on what I set up?

This also shows how Sanderson’s teaching has evolved. The 2020 lectures often felt like permission-giving: convincing students they were allowed to write. The 2025 lectures assume students are already writing and need sharper tools to organize and repair what they build.