What secret is your character keeping? Why are they safeguarding it? What’s at stake if it’s discovered? Does it need to come out at some point, or should it remain hidden?

This is some of the important information you need to know about your character’s secrets—and they will have secrets, because everyone does. They’re thorny little time bombs composed of fear, deceit, stress, and conflict that, when detonated, threaten to destroy everything the character holds dear.

So, of course, you should assemble them. And we can’t wait to help.

This thesaurus provides brainstorming fodder for a host of secrets that could plague your character. Use it to explore possible secrets, their underlying causes, how they might play into the overall story, and how to realistically write a character who is hiding them—all while establishing reader empathy and interest.

For instance, let’s see what it might look like if your character…

Fled a Crime Scene

ABOUT THIS SECRET: Fleeing a crime scene—on purpose or unintentionally—is a secret that clings like gunshot residue. The character might not have committed the crime, but being there at the wrong time makes them look guilty, or at the very least, deeply suspicious. Staying silent isn’t just about avoiding legal trouble, it’s about dodging the endless fallout—like being blacklisted from jobs, losing friends, or becoming the hot gossip at every dinner party.

SPECIFIC FEARS THAT MAY DRIVE THE NEED FOR SECRECY: Being Attacked, Being Unsafe, Being Watched, Government, Letting Others Down, Losing One’s Social Standing, Losing the Respect of Others, Not Being Believed, Rejection, Trusting Others

HOW THIS SECRET COULD HOLD THE CHARACTER BACK
Being fearful of situations similar to where the crime was committed
Avoiding public activities out of fear a witness may recognize and out them
Fearing that if they come forward, they’ll face legal and social repercussions or jail time
Close relationships being compromised due to the character’s dishonesty about what happened

BEHAVIORS OR HABITS THAT HELP HIDE THIS SECRET
Destroying evidence that places them at the scene of the crime
Avoiding the location where the crime was committed to prevent being recognized
Lying about their whereabouts during the time of the crime
Breaking off contact with anyone who may suspect the truth
Becoming isolated out of fear for their own safety

ACTIVITIES OR TENDENCIES THAT MAY RAISE SUSPICIONS
Exhibiting avoidance tendencies when the topic comes up with a partner or spouse
Lying “tells” being activated when topics around the event come up—e.g., excessive sweating, stammering, or not making eye contact
Becoming obsessed with the victim
Being unable to explain evidence that points to a crime (a crumpled fender, bloodstains on a shirt, bruised knuckles, etc.)

SITUATIONS THAT MAKE KEEPING THIS SECRET A CHALLENGE 
Being asked directly about the events surrounding the crime
An accomplice wanting to confess
Being connected to the setting or people involved in the crime in a way that others know about
Being roped into the investigation because of their connection to an involved party, one of the investigators, or another witnesses

Other Secret Thesaurus entries can be found here.

Need More Descriptive Help?

While this thesaurus is still being developed, the rest of our descriptive collection (18 unique thesauri and growing) is accessible through the One Stop for Writers THESAURUS database.

If you like, swing by and check out the video walkthrough for this site, then give our Free Trial a spin.

The post Character Secret Thesaurus: Fleeing a Crime Scene appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Writers hear it all the time: Show, don’t tell. This advice is so iconic that I wouldn’t be surprised if a few tattoos are kicking around the community. After all, our job as writers isn’t to explain what’s happening to readers, it’s to help them experience the story themselves. And show, don’t tell is how we do it!

Showing Creates an Experience.
Telling Hands Out Information.

Imagine your story as a culinary masterpiece and your reader a dinner guest. Sure, you could slap a plate down and say, “It’s lasagna, enjoy,” or you could slide the steaming dish in front of them and let those saucy layers, bubbling cheese, and heavenly aroma rev them up for the first bite.

Telling has its place -and for more on that, zip over here- but showing engages readers. It will bring them in close, make them feel involved, and awaken their emotions and memories.

One problem with show, don’t tell?

Somewhere along the way, it became so integrated with character emotion that writers didn’t necessarily think to use it for other things.

To be clear, showing emotion is great advice! I’m sure you’ve attended workshops and been told not to say your character is sad—instead, describe them standing at their school locker, clutching a break-up note, blinking fast and swallowing hard. If you’ve read The Emotion Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Character Expression, you know Becca and I preach loud and proud about showing emotion. But it has so many other applications, so let’s recap a few.

Showing Can Anchor Readers in the Setting

When it comes to worldbuilding, readers should be able to imagine the character’s world and feel part of each scene.

Telling: The castle was massive, with stone walls and high towers.

Showing: The castle loomed over the village, its stone walls etched with centuries of wind and war. Torchlight flickered along the high towers, where banners snapped against the night sky.

Telling works for delivering details that aren’t important, but showing can draw a reader in, help them imagine what they reader, convey the history or importance of a location, and more.

Showing Can Set the Mood

Part of creating an experience is steering how readers should feel. The details we share, especially sensory description, can nudge them to view a setting a certain way—safe, dangerous, calming, worrying. It’s up to us.  

Telling: The alley was dark and scary.

Showing: The alley narrowed, its brick walls leaning inward, swallowing the last flickers of streetlight. Garbage bags sagged against dented cans, the air thick with something damp and rotting.

Here, telling is factual, but showing creates foreboding. Only one will push readers to eagerly read on to see what sort of bad thing is waiting in the dark.

Showing Can Define a Relationship Without Labels

Characters shouldn’t have to say they’re best friends, mortal enemies, or hopelessly in love. Their actions should make that obvious.

Telling: Jake and Connor had been best friends for years.

Showing: Jake barely knocked before pushing open Connor’s door. “Bro, I got a problem with someone and need backup.”
Connor shut his textbook. “Let’s go. I’m driving.”

Best friends? Yup! Telling would work if this friendship wasn’t relevant, but if it is, we need to see that closeness in action. Showing does that, pulling the reader along for the ride.

Showing Can Reveal Character Motivation

Characters need to have agency, doing and saying things for a reason. But if we just tell readers what’s driving them, it falls flat.

Telling: Olivia wanted to prove she was just as capable as her older brother.

Showing: Olivia tightened the laces on her running shoes. She could still hear her brother’s voice from last night: “You won’t last a mile.” Gritting her teeth, she stepped onto the track. She’d make it ten.

A character’s motivation is more likely to land with readers if they empathize with their reasons. Showing here utilizes a common human experience—a lack of support and voiced doubt—and places readers in Olivia’s corner. They want her to succeed.

Showing Helps Deepen Conflict and Stakes

If the stakes matter, readers should feel it.

Telling: If Sam lost, he’d have to leave town for good.

Showing: Sam rolled his poker chip across the felt. One hand. One chance.

Across the table, Mason smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll pass on your goodbyes to everyone at the wedding tomorrow.”

Here, telling readers what’s at stake is equivalent to a sad trombone (womp-womp). Showing makes readers care about Sam and invest in what happens next.

Showing Can Showcase Characterization

Each character will have their own personality, talents, beliefs, tendencies, quirks, etc. How you convey who they are can mean the difference between a cardboard character and someone so authentic it feels like they stepped out of the real world.

Telling: Jonas was a germaphobe.

Showing: Jonas pinched the edge of his plate, avoiding contact. Across the table, a man sneezed into his palm, then grabbed the breadbasket. Jonas stiffened. Bacteria—everywhere. He chewed fast, breathed shallowly. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could scrub this place off his skin.

When we show it, Jonas’ fear feels authentic. Readers can surmise how this phobia will shape his life in the story.

Look for Opportunities to Make Your Story Immersive!

Showing can vastly improve a story, but crafting the right descriptions is not easy. This is why it can be so tempting to slip into telling. It’s worth the worth, though, when the situation in the story warrants showing.

It comes down to knowing what to show, and what to tell. Readers never need to know every little thing about the story and your characters, but they know the important stuff that helps them follow the story, care about the characters, and feel invested in the outcome.

Focus on what’s important, what readers need to know, and what makes them care the most. If you need help finding telling that you suspect needs to be converted to showing, try 7 Ways to Find Telling in Your Writing.

The post How to Use Show, Don’t Tell to Strengthen Your Story appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

With Valentine’s Day around the corner, Becca and I want to ensure you have a bigger budget for any I-Love-You gifts, so for the next two weeks, you can snag a One Stop for Writers subscription at 25% off with the code VALENTINE25.

We love helping writers bring their strongest, most immersive fiction to the page. One Stop for Writers offers the best of our descriptive thesauruses, guidance, tips, and tools.

What Will You Find at One Stop for Writers?

CHARACTER BUILDER
CHARACTER ARC BLUEPRINT
TIMELINE TOOL
STORY & SCENE MAPS
WORLDBUILDING SURVEYS
IDEA GENERATOR
WORKSHEETS & TEMPLATES
THE STORYTELLER’S ROADMAP
SHOW-DON’T-TELL THESAURUS DATABASE
& MORE

Make your description shine in every scene by using our 18 signature descriptive thesaurus lists:

Save 25% Off All Plans

If it would help you to have a powerful story support tool helping you plan, write, and revise, sign up & become part of the One Stop family. Don’t forget to use this code to save 25%:

VALENTINE25

To redeem this 25% discount:

1. Sign up or Sign in
2. Go to Account >> My Subscription and choose your plan
3. Add & activate the VALENTINE25 code in the box provided. (You’ll see this one-time discount apply onscreen.)
4. Enter your payment details, click the terms box, & hit subscribe!

Already a subscriber? Just add/activate this code on the My Subscription page and it will apply the discount to your next invoice. Woot!

Sale ends Feb 20th, 2025.

The post Be Our Valentine: Save 25% at One Stop for Writers® appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

A while back, I shared a post at WHW about Scene Writing, and why it’s such a valuable tool for writers (especially those like me, whose brains get easily overwhelmed by details). This post also shares my tricks for keeping a story organized even if you have a disorganized brain or process.

A Word About Writing Process…

Adapt everything you learn to your own unique brain

Like underpants, writing process is personal. You’ll find out what fits YOU the best by trying it on for size. At the end of the day, the only writing process you need to embrace is the one that allows you to finish your stories.

It took me a long time to figure out that I couldn’t write linearly like all my friends. I had to find the process that worked for my brain. My brain needed stories to be in tiny pieces.

My old life:

(That’s the life of creating unfinished stories that taunted me.)

Whenever I’d get stuck, I’d stop. I’d stare at the page, clean my kitchen drawers, come back to the page and stare some more. Sometimes there was crying. Almost always, after a few weeks, I’d berate myself for being a hack, give up and start another story.

My new life:

Now I just pick a new scene and write it and the pantser half of my brain works the problems out. Most important, this method lets me keep writing. That immersion is what keeps most writers engaged with their story.

How does “process” work for a new writer?

The problem for most new writers is they don’t know what works for them yet. There’s a lot of trial and error when you’re new.

You’ll have to ask (and answer) questions like:

• Am I a plotter or a pantser?
• A linear writer, or an out-of-order writer?
• Am I more productive in the morning or at night?
• Do I like to use 3-Act Structure or the W-Plot?

A lot of what you try as a new writer won’t work for you. That’s okay – keep trying things out until you are able to produce a finished story. You might not even love the first story or two, but you’ll still be proud you finished it.

A View of My “Scene-Focused” Process

The abbreviated description of my process is that I’m a Plantser and a Story Quilter. That means I plot a little, I free write a bit, and I piece the story together scene-by-scene.

What does that look like in practice?

1. I start by making a list of all the scenes I know.

Like many writers, each book usually starts with an idea or a scene that comes into my head fully formed. I write that scene to get it out of my head and onto the page. I keep writing until all the initial scenes are out of my head.

Usually, there are between 5-10 scenes that come with the initial idea. When I’m lucky, this list includes some key turning points of the story.

2. I make folders for all those scenes in Scrivener.

That folder list is key for me. It means when I sit down to write, I have a list of places I can go in the story. Sometimes something will come to me all Pantser-like and I make a folder for that one too.

3. I try to brainstorm early.

Near the beginning of the process, I bat some ‘what if’s’ around with my writing peeps and decide on the overriding theme for the book and the internal and external conflicts for the main characters. I might be wrong, but it gives me a place to start.

Note: Scrivener has places for characters and research. For me, they’re part of my at-a-glance folder list over in the left sidebar. I can click on them to add, or when I need a refresher on a character for a scene.

4. Sometimes I get lucky.

During #3 above, sometimes the turning points make themselves known. I’ll often share the story with someone I trust, and ask if they see any major logic holes. If I’m lucky, they find one! Finding logic holes early, before I’ve done a ton of work, makes me way less cranky later in the process.

5. I keep writing until I’m out of scenes.

Sometimes that means I’m actually done with the book, and sometimes that means I have to beg some nice writing friends to do a manuscript swap. This step is usually when I begin the Second Draft work, which means using all those cool plotting and polishing tips that Plotters use on their first draft.

My Top 3 Tips for Getting Unstuck

Despite our best intentions, we all get stuck sometimes. OneStop for Writers is a great place to start when you get stuck. These smaller steps help me, too.

1. Change locations.

Typically, the act of moving to a new writing space can jiggle up some writing inspiration. This can be from your desk to the couch, from inside to outside, or from the library to a favorite restaurant or coffeehouse.

2. Use a digital timer.

I tend to use my cooking timer. When I don’t want to write, my deal with myself is I have to do at least 30 minutes of work on my fiction.

We can do anything for half an hour, right?

While it doesn’t sound like a lot, it really makes a difference. If I’m not digging the writing that day, I know “I only have to do this crap for 30 minutes.” If things are going well, I’m likely to go way longer than 30 minutes.

3. I print a list of all the scenes I know in table form.

This trick requires a printer and scissors, and I’m known to do it when I’m getting to the end of a book. Margie Lawson gave me this brilliant idea, and it works when I have difficult scenes that I don’t want to write. You could also handwrite your to-do list and make a game out of it.

• I print the table of all those scene prompts and cut it up until each scene is on its own slip of paper.
• I find a pretty container and I put all the slips of paper into it.
• Every time I sit down to write those final scenes, I randomly choose one from the container until they’re all gone.

Margie is so smart.

Why Scene-Focused Writing Is a Great Organization Method for Me.

The first major advantage is that I rarely get stuck.

Everything is visible to me at a glance. I just pick a scene from my to-be-written list of scenes (aka: my Scrivener folders/documents) and get writing. Eventually all of them will get written.

Here’s an example

A starting scene list for a made-up romance novel:

• Initial Meeting
• Scene in the Coffee Shop
• Job interview at the clinic
• Reunion with Sister
• Fight about parents’ funeral
• First look at sister’s house
• Discovery of parent’s will in the garage
• Flesh out mom’s mental illness
• Confront sister about secrets

The second major advantage (for me) is that I can see the story structure visually, without getting overwhelmed.

As I write those early scenes and begin seeing the bigger picture, I start making more folders. Every so often in the process, I’ll move those folders around, so they feel more logical.

Scenes and turning points will move into a logical three-act structure, which organically shows me plot holes. I can color code scenes (folders or documents) in Scrivener if I want to make unwritten scenes stand out more, which is great for an at-a-glance to-do list.

In a Word document, I can’t see the structure at a glance, and it stresses me out. I feel like I don’t know where to start or where I’m going. I lose scenes. It’s easy for me to get overwhelmed, and then the writing isn’t so fun anymore.

An example of my Scrivener folder list further in the process:

Act I

• Amanda and Archer meeting in Coffeehouse
• Amanda’s job interview at clinic
• Amanda chats with Unknown character about Disliking Archer
• Day 1 at Clinic WHERE ARCHER WORKS

Act II

• Need a scene with heroine’s BFF – Topic TBD
• Reunion with Sister
• Fight about parents’ funeral
• First look at sister’s house
• Find excuse for social occasion with sister
• Talk with Archer in Clinic Kitchen
• Discovery of parent’s will in the garage
• Flesh out mom’s mental illness
• Date with Archer at pub
• Confront sister about secrets
• All is Lost Moment

Act III

• Ending

Final Thoughts

Whether you’re innately disorganized like me or a detailed plotter, finishing a book is a big task. There are a lot of moving parts to be organized. Scrivener is my tool of choice, but I have friends who do things differently and stay organized.

I’ve seen great books organized all these ways:

• Using a notebook and writing by hand with Post-its and dividers
• Using Word documents with headings or Master/Sub Documents
• Using software like Plottr and ProWritingAid
• Creating folders on the computer and saving each chapter as a document
• Writing the book in a single Word or GoogleDoc file

Figuring out your writing process and how to keep your stories organized are two of the most important things you will ever learn as a writer. I’m wishing you a smooth journey!

The post Book Structure for Disorganized Writers appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

AI is reshaping the book industry, and writers are polarized; some have integrated AI into their writing process while others refuse to. No matter which camp you align with I’m sure you share a growing concern: creatives are not the only ones publishing books. Thanks to AI tools, anyone with a keyboard can slap something together (sometimes ripping off the original), leading to a surge of AI-generated books.

Oh, but the books are bad. They don’t matter.

Are they all bad? And even if they are, will they remain that way? The hard reality is that it is the nature of AI to improve and refine, and so improve and refine it will. In the meantime, quality books become harder to find because this AI side hustle is picking up steam. Writers are beginning to worry about having to compete with AI-generated books.

So, is the board set against us–should we give up writing? Heck no! Instead, we write better books by leaning into our strengths and harnessing the one thing AI can’t compete with: being human. Here’s how.

1: Write about human experiences

AI absorbs knowledge about people and learns how to write scenes by training itself on works of fiction. But when it comes to the experience of being human, AI can only mimic. So, put your innate understanding of humanity onto the page. Let your own life experiences guide you in showing the rawness of vulnerability, the subtleties of emotion, and the profound depth of human needs in your characters. Be unafraid to go deep inside yourself. What questions keep you up at night? What thoughts and worries about the world weigh you down? Chances are, your readers have similar questions, so make them feel seen by weaving these into your story.

Consider the duality of life. On the surface, people present an ‘everyday’ version of themselves—their jobs, choices, routines, and social interactions. Yet beneath lies a more complex and private being, one who wrestles with questions of identity, purpose, and belonging. Write characters with this same hidden self, complete with unique doubts, fears, and unspoken dreams. Readers will feel drawn to them, and relate because this deeper, human side mirrors their own.

Another reason to double down on human elements in stories? As customer service bots, AI social profiles, generated videos, news, etc. become commonplace, the world starts to feel artificial. People will crave authenticity and you can give it to them.

2: Share your worldview, culture, identity, and lived truth

You are the subject matter expert in your lived experience, not AI, so consider how you can bring something special to a story. Whether it’s a window into your culture or religion, a worldview based on experiences or identity, or something else like a personal hardship, upbringing, or belief, readers recognize the authority behind a true-to-life portrayal.

AI can write generically about these things using information within its datasets, but only humans can capture a lived truth. So write characters and situations that are echoes of your own life. Bring readers in close so they experience things that come from first-hand knowledge.

3: Master your craft in areas best suited to showcase human elements

A misconception (long before AI) among some novice writers was that they didn’t need to learn how to write well because that was an editor’s job. This led to a painful lesson when reputable editors wouldn’t touch their manuscripts or the cost to do so was too high, causing them to seek cheaper options or a vanity press. Either way, the writer ended up with a poor-quality book.

Thankfully most writers understand that writing well means putting in the work. But some do treat AI like it’s a magic genie, and this laziness affects the quality of their stories. So keep learning your craft, especially in areas that help you showcase human elements readers are hardwired to connect to. For example:

1) Voice. Learn all there is to know about developing your author voice and creating authentic voices for your characters. Write characters who reveal their individuality through observations, actions, and decisions. This is where your story can stand out.

2) Description (especially the art of show, not tell). Being able to describe sensory details, use metaphor, symbolism, etc. to imply something deeper, and bring a character’s authentic emotions to the surface will draw readers in and convey authenticity in a way AI writing cannot.

3) Inner Conflict. A character’s personal struggles illustrate the complexity of being human in a powerful way. Sure, AI can rehash common problems, but only humans can draw from their experiences to create relatable internal battles. Learning how to write about internal conflict to accurately show a character’s clash of fears, desires, needs, duties, and beliefs is well worth the investment.

4) Character Arc. Study character arc and what it will specifically look like for a character. What personal epiphanies will help them move past old hurts and break free of fear? How have they been viewing life and themselves wrong? How must they change and grow to achieve a happier, more fulfilling life? What do the steps of self-examination, personal realizations, and renewed self-belief look like for them?

It may seem like a lot of questions, but the answers give you the knowledge you need to write an authentic journey of highs and lows that readers will connect to. Alternatively, you should know what failure, unfulfillment, and unhappiness will look like for a character because people never make good decisions all the time. Fear and making mistakes can chain them to failure, and if they can’t break free of it, you need to be able to show that, too.

5) Psychology. It may not seem like a traditional writing element, but it is. The more you understand how people think, feel, and behave and why, two incredible things happen. First, you’ll create more complex, authentic characters whose actions, choices, and decisions line up with who they are. Second, you’ll see how to weave elements about the character’s life, journey, and inner struggles in a way that resonates, encouraging readers to connect more deeply with the characters and your story.  

If you’ve read any books in our Writers Helping Writers Thesaurus series, you know how much Becca and I focus on psychology and human emotion. This is why. AI will apply psychology too, but not like you and me because it only has clinical knowledge, not personal experience. And that makes a big difference!

4: Shake it up and experiment

AI likes to draw from character tropes, predictable plots, devices, and story patterns, so color outside the lines! Blend genres and story elements. Shatter stereotypes and twist tropes. Be original and bold as you write, and use craft to serve your vision of the story.

5: Embrace one of your greatest human strengths: adaptability

We enter this career path knowing it won’t be easy. But like our characters, we must find a way forward when things get hard. AI-generated books are causing problems for us, yes, but as they get better, so will we. Learning our craft and leveraging our human knowledge and experiences will help us distance ourselves from the generic stories others churn out.

Worried about the future of writing?

Let that go. You can’t control how AI is used but you can adapt how you write to compete with AI-generated books.

Include human elements. Use your story as a mirror to reflect the reader’s hidden self–their hopes and dreams, perspectives and questions. Leverage your humanity to outshine AI!

Remember, readers love to read and great stories will always be in demand!

The post How to Leverage Humanity to Outshine AI-Generated Books appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Writing intense scenes can be one of the most exciting parts of storytelling. Whether it’s a gripping fight, a romantic encounter that leaves hearts racing, or an emotional moment that hits readers hard, these scenes pull readers in and keep them hooked. But creating truly intense moments takes more than just throwing in action or dramatic emotions. It’s about pacing, sensory details, and staying true to your character.

Fight Scenes: Keep It Clear and High-Stakes

Fight scenes grab attention because they often mean danger or life-and-death moments. But too much focus on body movements or external conflict can make things feel off. To keep things gripping, focus on what’s at stake and how the characters internally react to the fight. Don’t overcomplicate things with unnecessary details—keep the action clear and immediate.

For example, instead of writing: John lunged forward with a feral scream, his fist flying crashing against Mark’s jaw with the force of a freight train. Blood sprayed like a crimson fountain, painting the air in a ghastly tableau.

Try: John lunged forward, his fist connecting with Mark’s jaw. Mark staggered back, tasting blood. He couldn’t afford to go down—not now.

The second version cuts the fluff and keeps readers focused on the action and its impact. By keeping the description tight and concentrating on the immediate stakes, you can make readers feel every hit and every moment of tension.

Romantic Scenes: Go for Subtlety and Sensory Details

When writing passionate scenes, it’s easy to slip into over-the-top territory. Instead, focus on the connection between characters and use sensory details to make it feel real. A well-written romantic scene doesn’t need to scream its intensity—it should evoke the tension and vulnerability in the moment.

You can show the tension and vulnerability through small gestures and understated emotions.

For example, instead of writing: Their lips met in a fiery explosion of desire, their hearts beating as one in the eternal dance of passion.

Try: She hesitated for a moment, her breath catching as his hand brushed her cheek. When their lips finally met, it was slow, tentative—as if neither was sure whether they were ready for the storm they were about to unleash.

This second version feels more genuine because it builds on the characters’ hesitation and the sensory experience. Readers don’t need grand declarations of passion—they need to feel the connection through small, meaningful details.

Emotional Scenes: Let Tension Build

Emotional moments work best when they’re given time to grow. Jumping straight into high emotions can feel jarring, so it’s important to let the tension simmer. Build up to those big emotional beats by showing small actions, bits of dialogue, and even silences.

For example, instead of writing: “You never loved me!” Sarah screamed, tears streaming down her face like rivers. “I gave you everything, and you threw it all away!”

Try: Sarah stood in the doorway, her hands trembling. “I don’t understand,” she said quietly. “I gave you everything. Was it not enough?”

By letting Sarah’s pain emerge gradually through her quiet words and trembling hands, the scene feels more authentic. Readers can sense the buildup of emotions without being hit over the head with melodrama.

Decision Scenes: Show the Inner Conflict

When characters have to make a tough call, the intensity comes from their internal struggle and the pressure of the situation. To capture this well, use short, sharp sentences and show the character’s thought process without over-explaining their feelings.

For example, instead of writing: David clutched his head, torn between two impossible choices. His mind screamed at him to act, but his heart was frozen in fear. “What do I do? What do I do?” he muttered, over and over.

Try: David stared at the two paths ahead. One meant safety. The other, everything he cared about. His hands clenched into fists. He didn’t have time to think—only to choose.

This version creates tension by focusing on David’s immediate dilemma and keeping the language direct. Readers can feel his urgency without being bogged down by too much internal monologue.

General Strategies for Writing Intense Scenes

Trust your readers to understand the emotions without spelling everything out. Instead of telling them how a character feels, show it through actions, dialogue, and reactions. Use strong verbs to convey action and emotion, and engage the senses to draw readers fully into the scene. Remember, not every moment has to be high-energy. Sometimes, quiet moments of reflection or tension make the intense parts stand out even more.

Intense scenes are all about keeping readers hooked and evoking emotion. Don’t be afraid to dive into the deeper layers of your character—just make sure it feels real and earned. By focusing on pacing, sensory details, and character reactions, you can create scenes that stick with readers long after they finish the story.

The post How to Write Intense Scenes That Captivate Readers appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Writers come in a variety pack of processes. The most common types – regardless of genre – are pantsers, plotters, and plantsers. We know these terms well, right?

• Pantsers sit down at the keyboard and see what falls out of their fingertips for a while to figure out how the story will take shape.
• Plotters lay everything out in advance, so they have a guide for their story.
• Those rebel Plantsters do a little bit of planning – maybe the inciting incident and the turning points, possibly the All Is Lost moment – but not too much before they write away.

And Then There Are Story Quilters Like Me

These storytellers might do one or all of the three methods above, but probably not in the same way. Story Quilters are writers who divide books into individual scenes that they stitch together later into a cohesive story.

If I want this brain of mine to make continual progress, I must take a story down to a bite-sized chunk of writing. I am not alone in this.

Some writers like Diana Gabaldon, Lorna Landvik, and Janet Fitch (and little old me!) don’t see their stories from beginning to end. Instead, we see glimpses and glimmers that we write down until the whole fabric of the story becomes clear. Janet Fitch originally wrote White Oleander as a series of short stories. Lorna Landvik (Angry Housewives Eating BonBons) has been known to string a clothesline down her hallway during the editing phase, with every scene on an index card. She walks the hall, shuffling the cards around, until the story feels right to her.

The idea of doing it this way gives most of my fellow scriveners hives but hear me out. I have good reasons for this.

Sometimes a Book Just Feels Way Too Big

For some writers, the idea of an entire novel can paralyze you and send your muse back under the covers for the day.

Maybe it’s an ADD thing, or our executive function is too unreliable for a project as big as a book. Maybe focus is a monumental achievement some days. Maybe you are sandwiching writing in between all the other things you must do and you only have a tiny slice of time.

All I know is that I tried a gajillion “linear” beginning-to-end ways in my quest to get a book off the ground and finished and none of them worked. I could start a story, but I couldn’t seem to keep my focus and finish the darn thing. I tried many many fancy things: Fast Draft, the W-Plot, the Snowflake Method. They all helped me be a better writer, but none of them got me to “The End.”  

The only thing I’ve found that can get this brain to the end of a story is to embrace my inner scene writer and let her lead the way.

Let’s get this scene-writing ball rolling with some definitions.

What Is a Scene?

I love how Margaret Dilloway describes it in this post:

Each scene is an event that changes the character’s situation in a meaningful way.

• Every scene needs something to happen.
• Each scene produces a change achieved through conflict.
• Each scene shows how the character responds under pressure.

The hard part: If the scene doesn’t meet these criteria, take it out.

Further reading: C.S. Lakin did a post here at WHW with 10+ questions to consider when crafting a scene. Awesome stuff.

How Long Is a Scene?

Scene length varies depending on a lot of factors, including the genre, pacing preferences for the scene, and the author’s personal style. While thrillers and action-adventure stories often have shorter, snappier scenes—say, in the 1,000-word range—the word count typically goes up in literary fiction, historical fiction, and fantasy stories. So let’s take an average and say our scenes will run around 2,000 words long.

Here’s some math on this (knowing the numbers will change for longer scenes):

If each page is 250 words, that maps out to roughly 4-20 pages per scene.

• Doing the math for novel-length fiction, you will end up with 50-60 scenes per novel if you keep your scenes at about 2,000 words.

Keep in mind that just as white space draws the eye down the page, shorter scenes tend to keep your readers turning pages. “Only four or five more pages? I can keep reading…”

We’ve all done that. So if shorter scenes work for your story, they can also have the added benefit of encouraging that page-turning effect for readers.  

What Does It Mean to Be a “Scene Writer?” (Aka Story Quilter)

As I mentioned above, all those cool linear “big picture” methods I mentioned above aren’t small enough for me to stay focused. My busy brain says, “Ooooh…GLITTER!” And I’m off doing something else, instead of writing those 50-ish scenes that make up a novel-length story.

It was Diana Gabaldon who shined light on scene-writing as a possible writing process. I read some articles about Gabaldon and how she wrote the Outlander series.

In her own words:

Anyway, yes; I write just about everything piecemeal, including nonfiction articles, book reviews and essays. It’s effective because it works; I’m never held up stewing about What Comes Next— I don’t care what comes next, I just care about something I can see happening. The order of the happening has a logic to it (often, more than one), and that will become clear to me as I work.

When I read about Gabaldon, a light went on in my head. I finally accepted the truth: I’m a scene writer.

The scenes don’t even have to be in order, they just have to be finite. I need to be able to open a writing program, create a document, and save it in the correct folder. I don’t have to see anything except that scene during the writing session.

How Can YOU Use Scene Writing to Your Advantage?

Scene writing isn’t just a way of life for Story Quilters, it’s a powerful weapon in any writer’s creative arsenal.

One of my writing friends, Laura Drake, is a linear writer who gets stuck in the middle of every book. As a pantser, she comes to that terrible predictable place, that muggy limbo land, where her story is going nowhere and she doesn’t know what to do. She wonders if she should quit writing the story altogether. Every. Single. Book.

When she calls me from Limbo Land, you already know what I tell her to do: write a throwaway scene.

Examples of out-of-order scenes:

• An interview with your main character.
• A character engaging in a hobby you make up on the spot.
• A quick trip through their closet, car trunk, or underwear drawer.
• Figure out their favorite song, and why it’s their favorite.
• Head over to One Stop for Writers and use some of those cool tools. (Character Builder fun, anyone?)

The point of this exercise is to invite your muse to take you to the next place in your story. And even if you don’t use the scene in your book, you can use it as a marketing tool. Readers adore Bonus Scenes.

Final Thought

Everyone must learn their own process and lean into it to bring their stories into being. For some, that learning journey is the hardest part of being a writer.

You might be part of the triple threat writing process variety pack I mentioned at the top of this post, or a quirky Quilter like me, but I hope you experiment until you discover what gets you to “The End.” Your process doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s.

Whether you’re a Pantser, Plotter, Plantser, or Story Quilter, every single one of us has to embrace our stories one scene at a time.

The post Writing a Novel, Scene by Scene appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

By Savannah Cordova

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It’s that time of year again: the leaves are changing color, the wind is getting chillier, and pumpkins are decorating doorsteps. And given that today is Halloween, there’s no better time to pen a spooky story of your own — even (perhaps especially!) if you’ve never done it before.

True, horror stories might not be everyone’s cup of tea… but as they say, variety is the spice of life, and attempting to write horror can be incredibly valuable for writers looking to refine their abilities. So light a candle and sharpen your quill — here are three essential reasons why every writer should try their hand at writing a horror story.

Horror Teaches You to Build Great Tension

Knowing how to properly build tension is a must for any writer, no matter your genre of choice. At its core, creating narrative tension requires you to understand your reader’s expectations; they may know that something bad is coming, but it’s your job to make them wonder when, where, and how. This is no easy feat — in order to properly scare your readers, you’ll need a strong understanding of how to methodically build anticipation, gradually raising your story’s stakes until its dramatic crescendo.

If you’re searching for inspiration, look no further than Edgar Allan Poe’s classic The Tell-Tale Heart. In this tension-building masterclass, Poe immediately puts the reader on edge by having the narrator insist on his sanity, despite clear evidence to the contrary. The anticipation builds as the narrator patiently (and then not-so-patiently) watches the old man — the sound of the man’s heartbeat acting as an auditory indicator of the ballooning tension — and the erratic commentary creates a pervasive sense of unease throughout the story.

Your tale may not be as twisted as The Tell-Tale Heart, but there’s still plenty to be learned from Poe’s sinister style. Tension comes in many forms, depending on the kind of climax you’re leading up to. For example, when writing romance, you might draw out the “will-they-won’t-they” moments between your characters to hook your readers. Much like how a horror writer will add a creak in the floorboards or a bump in the night to put readers on edge, romance authors can sprinkle in small conflicts or misunderstandings to create emotional investment and keep readers guessing.

Similarly, if you’re writing sci-fi or speculative fiction, you might not fully explain certain parts of your worldbuilding in order to increase the tension — i.e., readers might know that a certain element exists in your world, but they don’t know why until the critical moment. These kinds of unanswered questions are great for engaging readers in all genres, but it may be particularly useful to practice posing them in horror, wherein the stakes are often high.

You Can Practice Weaving Internal and External Conflicts

Horror also offers a whole host of classically creepy phenomena you can draw on to spook your readers — silence, darkness, isolation, etc. These elements are all effective on their own, but you can elevate the fear factor and introduce some characterization by linking your character’s internal conflicts and vulnerabilities with the external horrors they’re exposed to. This will make things all the more terrifying for the character, and far more gripping for the reader.

The characterization of Rosemary Woodhouse, from Ira Levin’s Rosemary’s Baby, is an excellent example of this tactic in action. In the novel, Rosemary becomes pregnant shortly after moving into a new apartment with her husband. Rosemary’s internal struggles — her longing for motherhood, human connection, and social acceptance — become a source of vulnerability that the novel’s antagonists are able to take advantage of, as her greatest fears slowly become her nightmarish reality.

On paper, Rosemary’s story would still work even with less insight into her character; the horrors she faces are unnerving enough to disturb your average reader. However, it’s the intersection of those external terrors and her deepest internal fears that makes her experience so profoundly terrifying — and makes Levin’s novel such a paragon of the horror genre.

Mastering this technique will add another notch to your own writing toolbelt. Every story has some kind of conflict, and understanding how to intertwine that conflict with something personal for your protagonist is sure to level up your characterizations (again, in horror and beyond).

It Tests Your Ability to Write Believable Dialogue

Writing dialogue is one of the trickiest things for any author to master. Readers will be able to recognize when dialogue sounds fake or unrealistic, so understanding how to make your characters sound authentic is essential for immersion.

And writing a horror story puts this skill to the ultimate test — when you’re trying to construct a life-or-death scenario, the dialogue needs to feel authentic in order to keep readers engaged. After all, nothing makes a terrifying scene fall flat more than forced or unnatural dialogue!

In order to sell your readers on the stakes of the scenario at hand, you need to understand how people really communicate when they’re under a lot of stress. When characters are in danger, they aren’t going to wax poetic or remain highly logical. Instead, their dialogue needs to be raw, emotional, even incoherent at times. Still, you need to be careful not to go too far in the other direction, as overly-dramatic dialogue can also break immersion. Writing horror forces you to walk that tightrope between authentic panic and forced dramatics.

The ability to write realistic dialogue in high-stress, emotionally-charged situations will help build your characters’ authenticity — regardless of genre. For instance, if you’re a mystery writer, you can use your experience in horror to craft a gripping interrogation scene between detective and suspect. The key principles remain the same: understanding how people actually speak when emotions are running high, rather than how we imagine they might speak.

As you can see, horror isn’t all about crafting scares — it’s an excellent way to brush up on some fundamental writing skills that you can use across all genres. So, embrace the darkness and face your writing fears! You might just find that your writing becomes a little more thrilling along the way.

Looking for the perfect setting for your dark fiction scene?
Along with hundreds of other locations, you can find lists of sensory description for a Haunted House, Graveyard, Ghost Town, Mausoleum, Medieval Castle, Abandoned Mine + more inside our Setting Description Database at One Stop for Writers.

Savannah Cordova is a writer with Reedsy, a marketplace that connects authors and publishers with the world’s best editors, designers, and marketers. In her spare time, Savannah enjoys reading contemporary fiction and writing short stories. You can read more of her professional work on Litreactor and the Reedsy blog.

The post Why Every Writer Should Try Their Hand at a Horror Story appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

“I read your pages,” said my critique partner. “And I think it’d really increase the tension if you tore the one page out of the book that your main character needs.”

It was a great suggestion. My main character was poring over hospital records, searching for a clue about her daughter’s disappearance. In my original draft, she discovered that the records for the day in question simply didn’t exist. But if that crucial page had been torn out instead, the stakes and tension would skyrocket.

I thought about it for a few days, and finally decided against making the change. Why?

Because adding tension for tension’s sake can backfire, creating a shallow narrative that doesn’t resonate with readers.

Avoiding the Trap of the “Plastic Novel”

We’ve all read them. Stories that don’t quite hold together. They feel lightweight, with no substance. The characters are paper-thin, and the plot is easily breakable.

In psychological thrillers, the last thing you want to do is write a “plastic novel”—a story that feels artificial, breakable, and lacking substance. This genre demands depth. Readers expect stories that dig into the human psyche, unearth dark secrets, and explore emotional turmoil. A plastic novel may hook readers temporarily, but it won’t keep them invested, leading to poor reviews, lower sales, or disinterest from publishers.

So how do you avoid this trap? By ensuring your thriller has depth, complexity, and, most importantly, substance.

The Pillars of a Suspenseful Thriller

To craft a thriller that not only has substance but also that unputdownable quality of bestsellers, several key elements are essential.

Let’s dive in.

Atmosphere

Weather has a lot of sway with readers in a suspenseful thriller. Why? Extreme conditions amplify tension. A lingering heatwave frays nerves, pushes characters to their breaking points, and creates an undercurrent of unease. Often, this oppressive heat will culminate in a climactic storm, breaking the tension alongside the story’s dramatic finale.

Incorporating weather into your story is like adding a character—one whose sole purpose is to amplify the conflict. Freezing temperatures add physical risk. Approaching storms introduce a ticking clock element, adding urgency. Heat breeds impatience and irritation. Even drought can symbolize a slow burn of desperation. Use weather to mirror and heighten the emotional stakes of your story.

Fast Pacing

While some suspense novels build slowly, creeping under your skin (thinking of you, Silence of the Lambs), most thrillers pick up speed quickly and never let go. Pacing in thrillers should never stall. A few ways to maintain a breakneck pace?

• Shorter chapters: This encourages readers to keep turning the pages.
• Staccato sentences:  Quick, punchy language mirrors the intensity of the unfolding action.
• Every scene drives the story forward: No wasted conversations or unnecessary exposition—every word should push the plot toward its climax.

High Personal Stakes

When I first started writing thrillers, the main conflict always ended in the threat of physical harm for my main character.

But in psychological thrillers, the danger is often more insidious. The true threat lies in the character’s mental and emotional state. While the body can heal, a fractured mind may not.

So, what vulnerabilities does your character have? What emotional wounds could the antagonist exploit to torture them on a deeper level? Target these areas and it will immediately increase the personal stakes for your character.

Secrets

In an earlier post, I covered in detail how to layer secrets into your suspense to increase tension, so here I’ll just cover it lightly.

Secrets are the lifeblood of suspense, particularly in the early stages of the story. Your first Act should be packed with them, creating intrigue and setting the stage for revelations later on. Act 2 gradually unravels these mysteries, offering tantalizing hints that keep the reader hooked. By the time you reach Act 3, the secrets should be exploding into the open, transforming the story and its characters.

Unreliable Characters

Trust no one in a psychological thriller. Assume that your characters, even your protagonist, are always lying or withholding the full truth. Readers of this genre expect deception, so take advantage of their mistrust. Who in your story is clearly untrustworthy? Who appears honest but has hidden layers? Play with these expectations to keep your audience guessing.

A Masked Antagonist, With A Relatable Agenda

One of my favorite parts of writing in this genre is creating an antagonist that is irredeemable yet relatable. The more human and understandable they are, the more chilling their actions become. To deepen the suspense, often the true identity of the antagonist remains a mystery until the middle or end of the story. In some cases, there are multiple suspects, and part of the challenge for the reader is to figure out the villain’s identity before the protagonist does.

Conclusion

An unputdownable psychological thriller needs more than just surface-level tension and twists. It requires depth, substance, and a careful balance of fast pacing, high stakes, and well-crafted characters. By focusing on atmosphere, secrets, unreliable characters, and a chilling yet sympathetic villain, you’ll create a story that truly is unputdownable.

The post How to Write Unputdownable Psychological Thrillers appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

By Savannah Cordova

It’s been said that every good story needs a villain. While that villain doesn’t have to be another character — it can be something more abstract, like a supernatural force or even fate itself — this “person-to-person” conflict is often what’s most compelling for readers.

But just because you’ve landed on this form of conflict for your story, doesn’t mean everything will naturally fall into place; far from it! An antagonist in this sense must be just as carefully developed as your protagonist, and it’s crucial to avoid the classic traps that people fall into when creating villains.

Here are five pitfalls to avoid when developing your antagonist, with illustrative examples to help you along the way.

1. Making Them Completely Unsympathetic

You’ve probably heard this one, but it bears repeating: if your villain has no redeeming qualities whatsoever, their journey — and their relationship to the protagonist — won’t be terribly exciting. Readers might be glad to see them get their just desserts, but they’re unlikely to get invested, and won’t remember much from your story beyond its generic “good vs evil” arc.

This doesn’t mean readers must have equal amounts of sympathy for your hero and your villain; it does, however, mean that the latter needs some grounding, realistic traits and goals. Think about their core motivations in your story. Why are they opposed to your protagonist in the first place, and how does that tie into their personality?

A low-stakes example: say you’ve established that your protagonist is a schoolteacher, and their nemesis is a grouchy school principal who thwarts the teacher’s ideas and initiatives at every turn… but why? Maybe the principal has been burned by bureaucracy and is disillusioned with the system; maybe they’re trying to prevent the teacher from getting promoted and leaving the school; maybe they’re jealous of the teacher’s good ideas and work ethic, etc.

Remember, these motivations don’t have to be flattering, but they do have to have to be comprehensible. Even if the reader wouldn’t take the same actions as your antagonist, they should be able to grasp their reasons for doing so — basically, a good antagonist doesn’t require total reader empathy, but they do require some sympathy and understanding.

2. Failing to Consider Their Backstory

In conjunction with that first point, don’t just stop at your antagonist’s immediate motivations re: your protagonist! If you really want to develop a worthy opponent, you must consider their entire backstory: their childhood and formative experiences, their turn to the “dark side” (whatever that means in your story), and other aspects of their life beyond the page.

Indeed, unlike the sympathetic elements to include in your story, your antagonist’s backstory may not be fully revealed to readers. If you’re familiar with the “iceberg theory” of fiction, that’s the technique to employ here; the details you divulge should only be the tip of an “iceberg” of backstory. The rest remains beneath the surface, largely unseen, but adding meaningful subtext to the details you do mention — and ready to be deployed in future books if needed.

Think about one of the most famous villains of all time, Voldemort from Harry Potter. One reason why he’s so effective as a character is because we know just enough about him to see him as a legitimate threat… but plenty about him also remains mysterious and frightening.

Over the course of the books, we learn more about Voldemort’s family trauma, orphaned childhood, and fundamental misconceptions about things like love, power, and immortality. Through this process, we see how his backstory has subtly informed his character all along. And when he and Harry have their final confrontation in Book 7, we’re invested in the outcome partly because we know both characters intimately now, not just Harry alone.

3. Barely Letting Them Interact with Your Protagonist

Speaking of final confrontations, another surprisingly common mistake with antagonists is to not ever let them encounter the protagonist until the very end — if they interact at all!

Some authors might think this creates a sense of mystery and narrative suspense. But while this tactic might work well for a short story, it starts to feel tedious and flat-out strange in a novel. A few times I’ve gotten well past the halfway point in a book and thought: “Okay, but when are these two going to meet?”

One popular novel I read a few years ago (I won’t mention the title) was particularly guilty of this, with chapters that alternated POVs between the protagonist and the antagonist. The villain kept trying to meddle with the hero in roundabout ways, but the hero didn’t really understand what was going on, so it was frustrating to keep going back and forth. The two never metuntil a climactic battle at the end of the book… at which point the story had already lost a lot of steam.

So don’t take this approach to your own villain’s arc. Instead, try doing the opposite — that is, intertwining your protagonist and antagonist’s paths as early as possible. Another novel from a few years ago (which I will name), Vicious by V.E. Schwab, does a brilliant job of this: the two main characters, Victor and Eli, are college roommates and friends before they turn enemies, and their established relationship and history makes their dynamic all the richer.

4. Having Them Do Stereotypical “Villainous” Things

This is another one that seems obvious to avoid, but comes up surprisingly often! It’s unfortunately true that even once you’ve rounded out your antagonist with backstory and strong motivations, you can still find them slipping into stereotypical actions. These include: delivering evil monologues at the protagonist, laughing the quintessential “mua-ha-ha” laugh, shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die, etc.

You may be more susceptible to this issue if you write fantasy, horror, or any sort of “epic” fiction in which the hero and villain have an archetypical relationship. But just because your genre can occasionally get trope-y, doesn’t mean you’re doomed! Really, the best way to combat this pitfall is just to stay aware of it. Try to remain meticulous as you write your villain’s scenes — and when the time comes to edit, do so with fresh eyes and a staunch intolerance for clichés.

Alternatively, depending on what kind of fiction you’re writing, you could try subverting or lampshading certain stereotypes… but you need to have a lot of confidence in your satire in order for this to land! As a result, I’d generally advise to simply steer clear.

5. Creating Multiple Antagonists Who Are Very Similar

Finally, this piece of advice is for those writing a series, particularly if you have the same protagonist from book to book (which, to be fair, not all series have).

Basically, if you remove or kill off a villain in one book, don’t bring back a nearly identical villain in the sequel — not just in terms of looks (though best to avoid that as well!), but in terms of key motivations and personality. It might feel natural to have similar antagonists — especially if your protagonist is defined by a worldview that their enemies always oppose — but remember that the majority of a villain’s character details should be unique to them.

This is what makes villains in media like the Batman comics so vivid and memorable: though Batman’s enemies are united in their criminality, they all have different motives for their crimes, different modi operandi, and certainly different personalities (just think about the Joker vs the Penguin, for example). If you happen to be writing a series of books or even stories, you should strive for the same degree of differentiation.

With that, I do wish you the best of luck in creating your own iconic antagonists. If you avoid these all-too-common pitfalls, you’ll be well on your way to character dynamic success!

Savannah Cordova is a writer with Reedsy, a marketplace that connects authors and publishers with the world’s best editors, designers, and marketers. In her spare time, Savannah enjoys reading contemporary fiction and writing short stories. You can read more of her professional work on Litreactor and the Reedsy blog.

The post Five Pitfalls to Avoid When Developing Your Antagonist appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

Every word counts in a story and first impressions matter. Traditionally, a prologue is an introductory chapter that sets the scene, tone and genre of your novel. But should you write one? The million-dollar question! Believe it or not, using a prologue can be quite controversial in the social media age.

So, let’s put prologues under the microscope, so you can make an informed choice on whether YOU should use one … let’s go!

What Is A Prologue?

Put simply, a prologue is an introductory chapter that lays the groundwork of what’s to come. Their purpose is to hook the reader and make them want to turn the pages. Prologues are usually shorter than the average chapter, but they don’t have to be. Prologues can be controversial because both writers and readers can have strong feelings about whether they are necessary … or not.

You may have seen online discussions in which authors say they believe prologues provide important context and intrigue. Others might reject prologues, saying they can be too cryptic. You may even have heard that readers claim to skip prologues altogether.

So, with all this in mind, let’s explore the pros and cons of writing a prologue. Ready? Let’s go!

Prologue PROs

i) Can be important for set up

Prologues can be powerful tools in setting the stage for your story. Early foreshadowing prepares readers for what lies ahead without revealing too much. Ultimately, it’s about creating a sense of anticipation.

ii) Can be important for backstory

In setting the stage for your story, a prologue can allow authors to provide readers with crucial backstory. This may be character or storyworld-related … or both.

iii) Creating Suspense or Intrigue

A good prologue can help hook readers from the very first line. By introducing an unresolved conflict or a puzzling scenario, you create suspense right away. This means good prologues can raise questions without offering immediate solutions.

Prologue CONs

iv) Can be confusing

Prologues can sometimes overwhelm readers with excessive information. This is known as ‘info dumping’ and should be avoided at all costs. This is because too much upfront about the characters or storyworld can feel frustrating for the reader.

v) Can disrupt the flow of the story

Narrative flow in a story is very important … and starts with the prologue! If the beginning is too slow or overly complex, readers might become impatient to get to the main plot. They may even skip the beginning altogether. This is because a prologue can sometimes feel like a detour.

vi) Giving away too much too soon

Prologues must not give away too much, too soon. Readers may feel they already know what will happen, diminishing their motivation to keep turning pages. Striking a balance between intrigue and clarity is essential.

So, Should You Write A Prologue?

When contemplating whether to write a prologue, consider …

• The Genre and Style of Your Novel. Some genres and styles like historical fiction or fantasy are enriched by prologues. Action thrillers often don’t need one. Weigh it up.
• Relevance and Impact. Too much detail can sidetrack – rather than support – your story. Make sure your prologue ADDS to the reading experience, rather than detract from it.
• Your Personal Writing Style and Preferences. Be honest with yourself about prologues: do you really need one? Think about what resonates with you and your target reader. Trust your instincts.

Last Points

Ultimately, you need to decide what will serve your story best … you’re the writer, after all! Weighing up the pros and cons will help you make an informed choice on whether your novel needs a prologue or not.

Good Luck!

The post Should Your Novel Have a Prologue? appeared first on WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®.

When we think about suspense in writing, we naturally leap to thrillers and mysteries, genres that are known for suspense and rely on it. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us are off the hook. Suspense is an essential element in any story. Whenever we create a feeling of anticipation (or dread) that something dangerous or terrible is about to happen, we increase the odds that our reader will keep turning pages.

There’s suspense in romance: will the boy win over his crush?

There’s suspense in humor: will the joke land?

There’s even suspense in picture books: what will happen the third time little Johnny looks under the bed?

But suspense alone isn’t enough to keep your reader engaged.

Suspense Depends on Connection

The reader has to care about the character to care about what happens to them. If some stranger down the road is in danger of losing their job, it’s objectively sad but it probably won’t keep you awake at night. If it’s your partner, however, that’s a different story. You have a connection to that person. You care about what happens to them. You’re invested in the outcome of that problem. What will happen tomorrow at that big meeting? You can barely sleep thinking about it.

Just so in fiction. As an author, your primary job in the opening of a novel or story is to create connection. You want your reader to bond with the protagonist so that they’re invested in the character’s wellbeing. They care about what happens to them. Once you’ve done that, your job is to make the worst things either happen or threaten to happen so that your reader is on the edge of their seat hoping their beloved character will survive.

This is why it’s never particularly effective to start a novel with a car chase or a fight scene. If we don’t yet care about who these things are happening to, we won’t care how they turn out.

Suspense Depends on Future

Suspense involves the creation of anxiety in the reader over what will happen—not about what’s happening now. What’s happening in the moment involves (or should involve) either tension or conflict. Things are going wrong. Something is off. The character is uneasy. People aren’t getting along.

This is why foreshadowing and suspense go hand in hand. Foreshadowing prepares the ground for future disaster. If you don’t use foreshadowing, either your reader will feel cheated or the plot twists will seem too coincidental. But if you do foreshadow and your reader is paying attention, they’ll see the breadcrumbs and sense where they’re leading and think, No. Not that. Please not that. And voilà, you have created suspense.

Literary agent Donald Maass suggests including tension on every page. That means you should be giving your reader something to worry about on a regular basis. You should especially be doing this at the end of every chapter so that your poor reader cannot shut off the lamp and go to bed (yes, we authors are sadists).

I’m not necessarily talking about cliffhangers. While sometimes these might be appropriate, too many in a row will feel gimmicky. What I’m talking about is the creation of anxiety. The last thing you want at the end of a chapter is resolution. There is only one appropriate place for that: at the end of your novel.

Suspense Depends on Rhythm

Pacing and suspense are soulmates. You want to draw things out just enough to keep your reader hooked. If you take too long to get the job done, they’ll drop off to sleep. If you move too quickly, they might stop caring because you’re not taking the time to develop internal conflict. And internal conflict is what makes readers care.

Suspense Depends on Playing Fair

I can’t count the number of manuscripts I’ve edited where an author decides to create suspense by purposely withholding information from the reader, even though it doesn’t make sense and in fact breaks POV.

Example: someone asks your protagonist to do them a rather sketchy favor. But you, the author, decide to manufacture false suspense by not revealing what the favor is. This is an example of not playing fair and it breaks POV rules. If we’re in the protagonist’s head and he was present during the conversation with the other person, we should have access to what’s going on.

The suspense should not be in the favor itself; it should be in the fallout. What will happen now that this person has asked your protagonist to do something shady? Will they do it? Should they do it? What will happen if they don’t do it? There’s the real suspense. Simply withholding the dialogue makes the reader feel manipulated.

Suspense Depends on Stakes

What will happen if Tina loses her job? Again, we’re talking about future: anxiety, giving the reader something to worry about. There must be something at stake—consequences if things go wrong. The reader needs to be reminded regularly of what they are. And the consequences have to matter—both to the protagonist and to us.

This means all parties involved must care about how this terrible situation might turn out. Which means, for your protagonist, whatever is going on needs to be personal. Again, not Joe Schmoe down the road but Tina sitting across from you at the breakfast table. Your protagonist should have skin in the game.

Dramatic Irony Can Heighten Suspense

Dramatic irony involves putting your reader in the privileged position of knowing more than the protagonist. We know the businessperson they’re getting involved with is actually a con artist. Danger hurtles toward the protagonist and we see it coming—but they don’t. Dramatic irony can be a sharp tool to heighten suspense.

In Conclusion

Suspense belongs in every genre. Create connection. Make your reader care about what happens to the protagonist—and then give them things to worry about.

The future is unstable. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

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