You've read all the craft books. You've color-coded your index cards. You've mapped out character arcs on a spreadsheet that would make a project manager weep with joy. And yet, you're paralyzed. The more you plan, the less you write. Sound familiar?

Here's the counterintuitive truth: sometimes the best way to handle story structure isn't to add more structure—it's to apply the very principle your story needs most. And that's where Robert McKee's Oblique Approach to conflict becomes your secret weapon, not just for writing scenes, but for conquering your planning paralysis.

What Is the Oblique Approach?

McKee describes the Oblique Approach as a technique where characters pursue their goals indirectly rather than head-on. Instead of a character saying "I love you," they fix your car. Instead of demanding a promotion, they volunteer for the impossible project. The desire is the same, but the path is sideways, slant, circuitous.

Most writers learn this principle to improve their scenes and dialogue. But here's what no one tells you: you can apply this exact same approach to your relationship with story structure itself.

The Problem: When Structure Becomes a Confrontation

Traditional story planning advice treats structure like a battle to win. You must "conquer" three-act structure. You must "master" the hero's journey. You must "nail" those plot points at exactly the right percentage of your manuscript.

This head-on approach works beautifully—for about 20% of writers. For the rest of us, it creates a Mexican standoff between our creative impulses and our analytical brain. We want to write a great story (goal), so we attack structure directly (frontal approach), and we end up blocked (negative outcome).

The more rigidly we face structure, the more overwhelmed we become. It's the narrative equivalent of trying to have a heart-to-heart conversation by shouting "WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT OUR FEELINGS" across a crowded room.

The Oblique Structure Method: Planning Sideways

Here's how to apply McKee's principle to your planning process. Instead of confronting structure directly, you pursue the same goal (a well-structured story) through an indirect path. I call this The Sideways Blueprint Technique.

Step 1: Name Your Story's Emotional Journey (Not Plot Points)

Instead of asking "What happens at the midpoint?" ask "What does this story feel like?"

Write a single paragraph describing the emotional experience you want your reader to have from beginning to end. Not events—feelings. Use sensory language and emotional transitions.

Example: "I want readers to start feeling curious and slightly unsettled, like walking into a house that's too quiet. By the middle, they should feel that skin-prickling sensation when you realize you're not alone. By the end, they should feel breathless relief mixed with a lingering unease they can't quite shake."

You've just created structure—but you came at it obliquely.

Step 2: Ask "What Moments Create That Journey?"

Now you're not plotting. You're collecting. Write down 5-10 moments (not scenes, just moments) that would create those emotional shifts.

For the example above, you might list:
- A character notices their mail has been opened and carefully resealed
- They find a photo of themselves they don't remember being taken
- A trusted friend says something only the stalker should know
- The character realizes the threat is coming from inside their own home

Notice what's happened? You've created a structural spine without once thinking about inciting incidents or act breaks. The emotional journey dictated the moments, and the moments will dictate the structure.

Step 3: String the Moments with Questions

Instead of filling in plot points, connect your moments with questions. Between each moment, write the question that would make a reader turn the page.

After the opened mail: "Who's doing this?"
After the photo: "How long has this been going on?"
After the friend's slip: "Can she trust anyone?"

These questions become your scene goals—and they create structure automatically because each scene now has a built-in purpose and trajectory. You're building a skeleton, but you approached it from the inside out rather than the outside in.

Step 4: Trust the Invisible Architecture

Here's the magic: when you apply the Sideways Blueprint Technique, your story will naturally hit structural beats. Why? Because human emotional journeys follow patterns. Rising tension naturally creates turning points. Emotional reversals naturally create act breaks.

You don't need to force your story into structure. You need to let structure emerge from genuine emotional progression.

Seeing It in Action

Let me show you how this worked for a writer I'll call Sarah. She'd been planning a fantasy novel for six months. She had detailed worldbuilding, character backstories, and a 20-page outline. She also had zero first-draft pages and complete analysis paralysis.

We applied the Sideways Blueprint:

Her emotional journey: "Wonder melting into dread, then dread crystallizing into determination."

Her key moments: A girl discovers a door in her grandmother's basement that shouldn't exist. She steps through and the door vanishes. She finds a beautiful city but notices there are no children. She learns children are sacrificed to keep the city alive. She discovers she's been chosen as the next sacrifice. She realizes the city's "enemy" she's been warned about is actually trying to save the children.

Sarah wrote those moments on separate index cards. She didn't number them. She didn't mark act breaks. She just wrote scenes that connected those emotional beats with compelling questions.

Three weeks later, she had 40,000 words and a clear path forward. When she looked back, her "moments" had naturally fallen into a three-act structure—but she'd never felt constrained by it because she'd approached it obliquely.

Why This Works

The Sideways Blueprint Technique works because it aligns with how stories actually function. Structure isn't a cage you build and then fill with story—it's the skeleton that grows from the story's living tissue.

When you pursue good structure directly, you're writing from the outside in, which makes every choice feel arbitrary and overwhelming. When you pursue emotional journey and let structure emerge, you're writing from the inside out. The choices feel inevitable.

Your Next Move

Put down your beat sheet. Close your story structure book (just for now—they're not the enemy).

Write one paragraph about your story's emotional journey. Then write five moments that create that journey. Nothing more.

You're not avoiding structure. You're approaching it the way McKee's characters approach their desires—obliquely, organically, and far more effectively than you ever could head-on.

Sometimes the best way to hit your target is to stop aiming directly at it.