Tips on Integrating Secondary Storylines/Subplots That Drive The Purpose of the Story
If you’ve been telling stories for a while—novels, scripts, games, whatever—you already know subplots aren’t just filler. But here’s the thing I keep seeing, even in some great work: subplots are often treated like side quests—cute, optional, loosely tied to the main event.
In powerful storytelling, a well-integrated subplot isn’t extra. It’s essential scaffolding that holds up the emotional or thematic structure of your main story. Strip it away, and everything weakens—stakes, pacing, sometimes even meaning.
What I’m talking about here isn’t just “subplot for subplot’s sake.” I’m talking about those narrative threads that deepen the story’s purpose—the ones that echo or challenge the core, not distract from it.
This article’s all about how to build those kinds of subplots—the kind that feel inevitable, not optional. Let’s get into the deeper stuff, where subplot becomes strategy.
How Subplots Hold Up the Main Story
Let’s start by calling out a misconception: that subplots are just entertainment buffers, breaks in tension, or ways to “flesh out” side characters. That’s fine for basic storytelling. But if you’re aiming for resonant, layered narratives, subplots have to do more than just exist—they need to work in service of the core story.
Think of them as thematic load-bearers. In stories that really land, subplots aren’t just running alongside the main plot; they’re underneath it, supporting its weight in ways you might not even see on first read.
The Echo Effect
One of my favorite ways subplots create depth is through what I call the Echo Effect. That’s when a subplot reflects, in some distorted or refracted way, the main story’s central tension or theme.
Take Breaking Bad.
Walter White’s descent into moral compromise is the main plot—but look at Jesse Pinkman’s subplot. His guilt, his attempts to find redemption, his relationships—they mirror Walt’s inner conflict, but from a very different lens. Jesse’s arc amplifies Walt’s.
And when those two storylines collide, the result is emotionally explosive because they’ve been circling the same themes all along.
Subplots as Emotional Infrastructure
Subplots also give us the emotional scaffolding we need to make the climax hit harder. Let’s say you’re writing a novel about a character wrestling with abandonment.
The main plot might involve them reconciling with a parent—but a subplot where they struggle to maintain a relationship with a friend or lover can surface that abandonment issue in real time, in scenes that don’t feel overly expository.
A great example?
The Godfather. Michael’s story of becoming the head of the Corleone family is the spine. But his relationship with Kay (subplot) isn’t just romance—it’s emotional proof of his transformation.
Their dynamic shows us what Michael loses (or becomes willing to lose) as he descends into power. Without that subplot, the story’s end wouldn’t feel nearly as tragic or complete.
The Braided Structure
Now let’s go a level deeper. Some of the best stories use a braided narrative structure—where the subplot and main plot alternate focus and feed each other. We see this a lot in ensemble TV shows and multi-POV novels. The subplot isn’t waiting its turn; it’s part of the rhythm.
In The Leftovers, for instance, Nora’s subplot about grief and identity is woven right into the show’s philosophical main thread. Her personal arc doesn’t just complement Kevin’s—it tests the entire premise of the show’s world: how do people live with unfixable loss?
This is key: the best subplots aren’t separate—they’re inseparable.
When It Doesn’t Work
You’ve probably seen the other side of this too—when a subplot just eats up screen time or page space without earning its place. You can feel it when you hit a scene and think, “Wait, why are we following this guy again?” That’s a symptom of a subplot that hasn’t been emotionally or thematically integrated. It might be a cool idea, but if it doesn’t shift the tension, echo the theme, or test the protagonist in a meaningful way, it’s noise.
So when we’re talking subplot strategy at the expert level, we’re not asking, “Does it add variety?” We’re asking, “Does this subplot do real narrative work?” That’s the bar.
Next, I’ll break down the tools I actually use when deciding if a subplot deserves to stay—think of it like a checklist that spares you from writing 10,000 unnecessary words.
A Checklist for Seamless Subplot Design
now that we’ve unpacked the why, let’s get into the how. Because even if you understand that subplots need to serve the story, the truth is—it’s easy to get attached to ones that don’t.
I’ve done it. You’ve probably done it. You fall in love with a subplot because it’s clever, or a character’s voice is too fun to cut. But if it’s not doing narrative work, it’s dead weight. So here’s the checklist I personally use when I’m writing or editing, to make sure a subplot isn’t just tagging along—it’s pulling its weight.
1. Does the subplot explore a core theme from a different angle?
Every subplot should be in conversation with the main story’s theme. If your story’s about forgiveness, maybe the subplot tackles self-forgiveness. Or maybe it asks what happens when forgiveness is refused. The point is to widen the lens—add complexity, not distraction.
Example: In The Queen’s Gambit, Beth’s chess journey is the main plot, but Jolene’s subplot (and their eventual reconnection) speaks directly to themes of addiction, identity, and found family. It doesn’t just echo the theme—it expands it.
2. Is the subplot character-driven or plot-driven—and is that choice intentional?
Subplots don’t all need explosions or twists. Some of the most effective ones are quiet and personal, and that’s the point. But you have to choose consciously.
Ask: Am I using this subplot to develop a character emotionally? Or am I using it to increase external pressure on the plot?
Example: In The Handmaid’s Tale, Moira’s subplot (especially in the book) is a character-driven arc that contrasts Offred’s passivity. It forces us to see a different kind of resistance—and that friction reframes the reader’s view of the protagonist.
3. Does the subplot intersect with the main plot—narratively or emotionally—by the climax?
Here’s a big one. Subplots can run on a parallel track, sure. But if they don’t connect by the third act—either by converging literally or complicating the emotional stakes—then you’ve got a missed opportunity.
Example: In Stranger Things, the kids’ mystery plot and the older teens’ monster-hunting subplot start off feeling separate. But by the final act, those threads collide, forcing all the characters into the same conflict. That convergence is what gives the season its punch.
4. Would the main story suffer—emotionally or thematically—if I cut this subplot?
Here’s your acid test. Strip out the subplot and ask yourself: What’s missing? If the only answer is “some cool moments,” that’s not enough. You want to feel a real hollowing out—a lack of depth, resonance, or perspective.
Example: In Parasite, the housekeeper’s secret in the basement is technically a subplot. But cut it, and the whole movie collapses—it’s the turning point that sharpens the satire and escalates the tension.
5. Is the pacing working—or is the subplot breaking momentum?
A great subplot should act like a breath or a gear shift. It shouldn’t feel like a stall. If every time you cut to the subplot, the reader/viewer checks out? That’s a signal.
Pro tip: Use subplot scenes to pivot tone. If your main arc is tragic, use a subplot to offer irony, absurdity, or even quiet relief. That tonal contrast keeps your story from going emotionally flat.
Deep-Dive Techniques for Weaving Subplots Like a Pro
Let’s say you’ve passed the checklist—your subplot belongs. Good. Now comes the real artistry: how to weave that subplot into the fabric of your story so it doesn’t feel tacked on or structurally separate.
Here are the deep-dive techniques I’ve used or stolen (let’s be honest) from writers I admire. You’ll want to bookmark this part.
1. Introduce the subplot early—even if it doesn’t look important yet
The earlier you seed a subplot, the more organic it feels. It doesn’t have to explode right away—just exist in the narrative space.
Example: In The Godfather, Michael’s relationship with Kay starts in the very first act, and it seems light—romantic tension. But by the end, that dynamic becomes the emotional fulcrum of the whole arc. Early introduction creates emotional memory.
2. Use character intersections to stitch plots together
Instead of siloing subplot characters into their own narrative space, have them crash into the main plot in subtle or direct ways.
Tactic: Let subplot characters cause problems for the protagonist—or solve them, but at a cost.
Example: In Game of Thrones, Tyrion’s subplot as a political player collides with the main plots constantly, reshaping outcomes. His arc is a subplot for a while, but its ripple effect keeps pushing the core plot in new directions.
3. Echo symbols or motifs across plotlines
If you’re using visual or symbolic language in your main plot, mirror it in the subplot. It subconsciously binds the two arcs together.
Example: In Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, the memories of Joel and Clementine feature recurring imagery (ice, blue hair, beach settings) that also appear in the side story involving the memory technicians. It’s not random—it ties the emotional stakes together.
4. Let subplot resolutions reframe the main conflict
A truly pro move: resolve a subplot in a way that forces the audience to rethink what the main plot is really about.
Example: In Arrival, the subplot involving Louise’s daughter is revealed to be nonlinear. That revelation completely shifts how we understand the main plot. That’s not a subplot as a side dish—that’s a subplot as a mind-bending punch.
5. Map your plots in layered beats
When I outline, I don’t just track one plot. I literally stack the main plot and each subplot in beat layers. Then I look for crossover points—where a subplot can amplify a beat in the main arc, not just fill space.
Try this: color-code your story beats by plotline. Then ask: Where do the colors meet? Where could they?
If they’re not touching enough, you’ve got work to do.
Before You Leave…
Here’s the real takeaway: subplots are not side projects—they’re story engines. When done right, they push your narrative deeper, make your themes sharper, and give your characters dimension that the main plot alone can’t carry.
So the next time you feel like you’re juggling too many threads, don’t ask what you can cut. Ask: What’s earning its place? If a subplot is doing real work, keep it—and weave it tighter.
And if you ever need a reminder: even the best stories are built on the backs of their “minor” threads. They’re not minor. They’re structural.
Now go write something that feels inevitable.